The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Schoolteacher, written in 2018, is my fifth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
In the summer of 2017, Katie Sims and her daughter Cullie, moved from New York City to Katie’s hometown of Boaz, Alabama for her to teach English and for Cullie to attend Boaz High School . Fifteen years earlier, during the Christmas holidays, five men from prominent local families sexually assaulted Katie. Nine months later, Katie’s only daughter was born.
Almost from the beginning of the new school year, as Katie and fellow-teacher Cindy Barker shared English, Literature, and Creative Writing duties for more than 300 students, they became lifelong friends.
For weeks, Katie and Cindy endured the almost constant sexual harassment at the hands of the assistant principal. In mid-October, after Cindy suffered an attack similar to Katie’s from fifteen years earlier, the two teachers designed a unique method to teach the six predators a lesson they would never forget. Katie and Cindy dubbed their plan, Six Red Apples.
Read this mystery-thriller to experience the dilemma the two teachers created for themselves, and to learn the true meaning of real justice. And, eternal friendship.
Chapter 25
It’s Monday morning, September 11th, sixteen years after the event now known simply as 9/11. That early Tuesday morning in 2001, the Islamic terrorist group al-Qaeda crashed two hijacked commercial airplanes into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. Less than two hours later, both buildings themselves crashed to the ground in a pile of rubble. After my writing time this morning in the basement I was glad I had changed my mind on altering today’s lesson plans to focus on such a tragedy. But, I would give each class an opportunity to have a moment of silence to remember all the victims from the event that changed the world forever. I was feeling guilty over not doing more for the victims but ultimately realized I didn’t have a day to spare if I wanted to give my students the hand-holding attention they would need to complete a novel by the end of the year. Most mornings I regretted considering such an audacious idea.
This morning, showering and getting dressed for school, I was happy I had only watched one episode of The Walton’s with Nanny and Sammie last night. With Cullie at Alysa’s working on an American History project I had returned to my room and spent three hours sitting at my desk working on today’s presentation for my Creative Writing class. A few days earlier I had the thought for the first time that I had to refine the novel writing project. It had been ridiculous that I had first stated that my twenty students, broken up into five groups of four, would produce five books, each with four authors. At best, we might be able to produce one novel. Thus, my change of mind demanded I inform the class that their groups would remain intact, but their focus would change. Each group would focus on one of the five antagonists. I myself would be primarily responsible for drafting scenes dealing with Stella, our protagonist, when she wasn’t dealing directly with an antagonist.
Today, I would also introduce character sketching. I suspected the students were more interested in creating a scene, for the novel that is, than engaging in the prewriting phase. However, novel writing is anything but glamorous. It is tediously hard work. And, like most things in life, is better accomplished with a plan.
At my little desk last night, I had determined that my twenty students and I would begin with Mason Campbell, the Mayor of Ellijay, Georgia. My purpose in relaying my own character sketch was not to dictate to Group 1 (the Mason Campbell group) who he was to be in the book, but simply to give them an idea of the method to use in building and describing their assigned character.
To be completely honest, I really did not like the prewriting phase. I personally was a seat-of-the-pants type writer, versus what novel writing experts referred to as plotters or planners. But, I also realized that most writers, especially brand-new fiction writers, didn’t have a developed enough imagination nor a sufficient knowledge of the necessary components of a modern story to simply sit down and start writing. They needed an outline and an outline needed fully-developed characters. Those experts typically argued that, “you need to know everything possible about your character, his eye and hair color, his height, weight, and build, his hobbies,” and on and on, including “his fatal flaw.”
That final little thing was the big thing according to the experts. “Every protagonist has a flaw that defines him, something that has happened in his life, usually some traumatic physical or emotional experience that has so affected him that he now believes a lie.” One example that is often used is the one where Billy’s fiancé died in a robbery where he was present, and he couldn’t save her. After it happened and even now, some five years later, he believes he is unworthy of a woman’s love. This is the lie he believes, and it is causing him major problems with every woman he encounters and later tries to date. For Billy to have a positive character arc (he is positively transformed by the end of the novel) he must deal with this lie.
For Mason Campbell, I would offer him to the class and primarily to Group 1 as an arrogant, ex-football star who returned to Ellijay after winning a national championship with the Georgia Bulldogs. Mason’s father was a former mayor and was still well respected. Mason was used to getting his way in every area of life, especially with the ladies. The lie that Mason believed was that no matter what trouble he got into, there was a way out, one that was, at most, slightly painful. He believed this lie because that’s the way it had been all his life, but the focus experience was in college when he was accused of raping a cheerleader. The short of it was Mason’s father came, once again, to his rescue. This time, with the behind the scenes disappearance of the victim.
At 2:40 p.m., I was satisfied. My day had been virtually perfect. Every class seemed unusually attentive, focused, self-policing even. My Creative Writing class that had just ended was the best prepared and engaged of any day so far. They critiqued my Mason Campbell character sketch in ways I did not anticipate, even made me see it for its shallowness and the likelihood it would produce a story that was tired and boring. I knew this day had to be a complete aberration, but I accepted it as a gift from God.
When Cullie came into my room after the last bell, I knew instantly something was wrong. Her eyes were red and puffy. The mascara above her left eye had transformed into what appeared a horribly black birthmark that encircled the eye like a giant C. No doubt she had been crying.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I hate school and I hate my life.” Cullie said, throwing her book bag onto the floor halfway before she reached my desk at the head of the classroom.
“You want to talk about it?” I said.
“No, I just wish Daddy were here. In English class we were working in small groups on interpreting a silly little poem about a family of birds. Riley Radford, the queen bee of all ninth-grade queen bees, who seems to hate me, said, ‘what type of name is Cullie? Sounds like you are a cull. That’s more a boy’s name, like Cullen. Is your dad named Cullen? You probably don’t even know who your dad is, kinda like your mom.’ She just kept on. I told her my dad was Colton and he was coming during Christmas. I hate her.”
How in the hell had this happened? Mine and Cullie’s history center stage in her ninth grade English class, albeit in a small group? I knew of Riley Radford, it was Ryan and Karla Radford’s oldest daughter. Come to think of it, her and Cullie could almost pass for twins. What if? Hell no, I couldn’t dare think that.
“Honey now is a good time to thicken your skin. Kids can be horribly mean, even hateful.” I said, not knowing exactly what to say.
“If Daddy were here, he would tell me to burn Riley’s locker or sneak into her house and cut off a foot of her long and silky red hair.”
“He would do no such thing. If he did say that he wouldn’t be serious.” I wanted to lay my head down on my desk or run out into the hall screaming. Colton Lee Brunner was not Cullie’s father, but she certainly didn’t know that. He was a scapegoat, the man I was dating, seriously, in 2002 when I was raped. One decision had altered my life. At the last minute he had to change our plans. He and I had already purchased our tickets to fly from Los Angeles to Birmingham and drive on up to Boaz. That was Christmas 2002 when his estranged brother was murdered. Colton stayed to support his mother. I had flown, by myself, home for the holidays. But for that random, drive-by shooting and Colton’s decision to forfeit his ticket and remain in Los Angeles, I would not be having to lie to Cullie about her father. Then, I was once again reminded of the horribly wonderful truth. But for Colton staying in Los Angeles, there would be no Cullie. He would have been with me when I had visited old downtown Boaz and its dilapidated Fountain, and I would never have been gang-raped. The gang-rape that had produced my darling daughter was also my traumatic, life-changing event, my fatal flaw. The lie that it had spawned was that I too, like Billy in my Creative Writing class example, believed I was unworthy of love. But, that wasn’t the only lie it spawned. I had lied to Cullie about her father. In truth, I did not know who her father was. Did Riley Radford’s statement to Cullie, the daughter of Ryan Radford, portend the discovery and revelation by Cullie of this lie?
I felt Cullie shaking my arm. “Earth to Katie. Listen to me, one thing is for sure, Daddy would tell me something, give me some real tangible advice. That’s more than you could ever hear from your father. You never could even talk to him since you never knew who he was.” I now regret having told Cullie about how I came to be. Sometimes the truth is too dangerous and needs to be altered. I now wish I had, along with Darla’s help, created a story, a beautiful love story that had ended tragically in the sudden, unexpected death of Darla’s Romeo, but only after I had been conceived. I hadn’t done that.
I had chosen truth over comfort. As I leaned back against my desk looking over at the back of Cullie’s head and her curly black hair while she stared into an open refrigerator in the corner behind my bookshelves, my gut felt like it had been jerked into a thousand knots. How was this going to play out? Was it time to tell Cullie about how she had come to be? Was it time to tell her the truth? She deserved to know the truth. She deserved to know her real father. I almost laughed out loud. I didn’t even know which one of five men had given me the best gift of my life. Truth for sure, was always stranger than fiction.
The Pencil Driven Life 