Write to Life blog

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 4

An end of the day fire alarm had delayed Mr. Harrison’s faculty meeting to the second day of school.  According to Cindy Barker, my Language Arts counterpart, the head administrator was a stickler for relaying his rules and regulations and inspiring his teaching staff with philosophies that had secured his position for the past thirty years.  It was hard to believe he had already been principal at Boaz High School for four years when I started as a freshman in August 1987.

“Get comfortable, this will take a while.”  Cindy said as she and I, along with fifty or so other teachers, marched into the auditorium.

“How long?  Cullie is waiting in my room and will be starving if I’m not back in thirty minutes.”

 “At least an hour.  Don’t think you can slip out.  The last thing on Harrison’s agenda is introducing new teachers.  He would fire you if you weren’t here to receive his recognition.”  Cindy said checking her iPhone.

“What is Mr. Harrison’s policy concerning cell phones.”  I said in case he didn’t cover this.

“For emergencies only, or for teaching purposes.  He believes electronic devices are the bane of education.  I’ve heard him call them ‘a tool of the devil.’”

Mr. Harrison and Patrick Wilkins walked across the stage with the assistant principal taking a seat in one of eight chairs behind and beside the giant podium at the center of the stage.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, my fellow teachers.  I apologize for any inconvenience that may have been caused by the fire alarm at the end of the day yesterday.  It was a malfunctioning cooler in the lunchroom.  It overheated and triggered the alarm.

“I want to do something a little different this year.  I suspect most of you have met our new teachers, but I wanted to take this opportunity to formally introduce them and allow you to learn a little more about them.  Please, if you are one of our seven new teachers please come on the stage.  Patrick and I have you a chair waiting.”

I hated being the center of attention, unless it was in my own classroom with my own students.  I always felt everyone would know my story, my dark story, and would conclude that I was a person to be avoided.  I reluctantly made my way to the stage.

Mr. Harrison went in alphabetic order.  I was the last one he asked to come to the podium and give a short bio.  Before Kenneth Alverson said a word, standing beside Mr. Harrison, he laid out the rules.  I could tell my principal was a man who followed the rules.  Mr. Harrison had said to tell everyone our professional history, including educational background and teaching experience if any, also to describe our personality in two or three words, and next, to tell the group what we liked to do in our spare time.  Finally, he said, with a laugh, to tell everyone our deepest and darkest secret, ‘if it is one you don’t care to keep as a secret.’

Oh, this was just perfect.  I had to impress everyone with my ability to remember four things I had been asked to share and, if that wasn’t bad enough, I had to make up a secret that I didn’t mind sharing.  For a second, I thought I would be truthful and share how I was brutally raped fifteen years ago by five local men who everyone here knows.  I guess Brenda Peyton, and her story, changed my mind.  I needed to stick with something less horrible, a lite and funny story.  Brenda shared how she had dreamed the night before she married that she could have done better finding a husband.  She said she was thankful Brad was such a loving and forgiving man.  She had the entire group roaring.

When it came my turn, I noticed Mr. Harrison looking at his watch.  I figured he believed his agenda was behind schedule.  Sometimes blessings come carefully disguised.  I kept my speech short, totally on point, four points.  I didn’t have any trouble remembering my outline but was a little disappointed that my secret didn’t earn a single laugh, at least not any I heard.  “My secret is also a dream.  I won the Nobel Prize for Literature.”  I hoped no one thought I was being arrogant.  I also hoped they would appreciate a cynical and paranoid personality type.  These two descriptors didn’t garner any laughs either. 

“I’m glad you’re here.  And, I’m excited about learning a lot from you.”  Cindy said when I returned to my seat.  She must have noticed the beads of sweat across my forehead.  I wished I hadn’t pulled my hair back this morning.

“Stop trying to be funny.  You’re my inspiration.  I’ve heard that two of your former students are now working on a creative writing master’s degree at the University of Alabama.  The Boaz community is blessed to have an English instructor of your caliber.”

“We better listen to General Harrison or we both will be in the soup line.”  Cindy said turning her iPhone face down on her lap. 

For the next forty-five minutes our leader shared his teaching rules and regulations, along with his educational philosophy and vision.  Most of what we were told I had already learned from reading the Pirate Practice, the school’s policy and procedures handbook for teachers and students.  The only new thing I learned was Mr. Harrison believed in the power of prayer since he closed out his time with a plea for the Divine one to bless the new school year. 

Mr. Wilkins, the assistant principal was younger, much younger than Mr. Harrison.  He was probably in his mid-forties, like me.  I whispered to Cindy, asking her if he had graduated from Boaz High School.  She didn’t know. 

Two things I quickly learned and hated them both.  Mr. Wilkins oversaw lesson plans and demanded teachers have the following weeks submitted to him, both electronically and physically, by Thursday of the current week.  This was so antiquated.  Real teaching demands teacher flexibility.  Teaching English Literature demands a heightened degree of teacher mobility.  Literature, especially fiction pieces, are like mining gold.  You never know what direction a promising vein will take you.  No matter what the handsome Wilkins said, I would stick to my methods, those that had proven profitable since I learned Mr. Dawson’s secrets during my first year at Marymount High School in Los Angeles.

The second thing I didn’t like among Wilkins commands was his requirement that all supplemental materials had to be approved by him.  What the hell?  Later, back in my classroom and with Cindy searching for a snack in my little refrigerator in the corner of my room, I asked her about this arcane issue.

“He’s afraid the students will be exposed to something offensive, especially contrary to his Biblical beliefs.  You know he is the Education Director at First Baptist Church of Christ?”

“Does Wilkins not know this is a school, an institute for learning, possibly even higher learning?  Does he not know that even things offensive may be the truth?”  I said, feeling my heart rate rising, just as it always did when I heard of any injustice.

“Welcome to Boaz Miss Katie Sims, this ain’t New York City.”  Cindy said popping open the only Sprite I had and trying to incorporate a phrase from the popular salsa advertisement.

“I love Picante.  I also love colloquialisms, local and national.”  I said realizing Cullie had been sitting at my desk in the little office beside my classroom.  “Sorry for the long faculty meeting.  Are you ready to head out?”

“Been ready for an hour.  Mom, can we go shopping this weekend?”

“I thought we had already been.  Remember?  Two days after we got here, even before visiting Darla?”  I was guessing Cullie had figured out her clothing choices didn’t fit with the Southern girls in Boaz, Alabama.

“My jeans aren’t tight enough, nor are my blouses.”  Cullie said crumbling a potato chip bag and tossing it towards a trash can in the corner.

“No way, but we will go if you will be reasonable.”

“Hey, you two, I’m leaving.  Thanks for the Sprite.”  Cindy said walking toward the hallway.

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 3

“Literature will change your life for the better if you will give it a chance.”  I said leaning back against the giant old desk and facing a room full of tenth graders virtually unaware of my presence.  Half the class wasn’t even looking at me, peering into their cell phones instead.

“I will not ask you to put away your phones, to sit up straight, to look at me, to listen.  That will be up to you.  If you prefer to eat bologna at your desk while I am serving filet mignon up here, that’s not a problem.  It will just be more for the few of you who will be both present and hungry.”

A red-haired, pimpled faced young man in the back stood up and started walking towards my desk.  “I’m hungry right now for that steak.  Where’s the beef?”  The class belched out a roar that would send Mr. Harrison, the high school principal, into the room if he were walking the halls within a hundred feet.

“Come on up.  You are Ben Gilbert.  Right?”  I said glancing at my roster.

“That’s right.”  Ben said, already standing before me, his face turning red as he realized he was making a fool of himself.

“Sit here if you like.”  I said, pointing to a chair beside my desk that faced the classroom.  Ben sat without a word as though he was being seated at a restaurant. I walked to a microwave in the corner of the classroom that was almost hidden behind a huge bookcase filled with books I would loan to anyone who promised to read.  I opened the microwave’s door and removed a plate.  Walking back towards Ben, I said, “Here’s your filet mignon and a sharp steak knife.  I hope you enjoy it.  I’m so pleased you were willing to act on your hunger this morning.”  Half the class stood to see if I had given a real steak to Ben. 

“Thanks Ben for giving us our first lesson of the day.”  I walked to the blackboard behind my desk and wrote, ‘Literature builds experience.’  Turning to the class I said, “Most of you probably have heard that experience is the greatest teacher.  That seems to argue that the more experiences you have the smarter you will become.  There is just one problem.  Does anyone know what it is?”  I said walking to the long row of windows next to the outer wall.

“It takes a lot of time.”  A plumb, purple-haired girl said from the desk in the far corner.

“Excellent response Joanie.”  Thankful that I had taken the time to study last year’s Annual.

“Literature is a time-saver.  If you will read, then you will gain experience.  In a few hours with a book you can learn lesson after lesson the protagonist took a lifetime to learn.”

“What’s a protagonist?”  Ben said with a mouthful of steak.

“It’s the main character in a story.”  I said looking over the entire class, not seeing a single student peering into a cell phone.  Several had gathered around Ben asking for him to share his treasure.

“So, if I have a lot of experiences, whether real or virtual, then I’ll automatically be the brightest bulb in the room?”  Clara Ellington said from the front desk in the center row clearly in the running for teacher’s pet.

“Great question Clara.  What do you think the answer is?”

“It doesn’t seem to follow, not naturally.  I say something is missing.”  She said sitting up even straighter in her chair if that was possible, pressing her designer eyeglasses upward a little on her nose.

“And, great answer also.  Experience alone is insufficient for true learning.  It is a vital ingredient, but you also need to add in a heavy dose of thinking.  Now we are at the heart of Literature, the greatest benefit of all.”

“Thinking, Literature will teach me to think, teach me how to think?”  Clara transformed her statement into a question.

“Exactly.  When you read the story of our protagonist, let’s call him Bill, taking the subway in New York City every day from the ghetto to Brooklyn and high school, what is he learning?  Let’s say he sees a preppy young man that gets on the train in Queens, all dressed up and carrying a briefcase.  After a few days the two begin to talk.  Bill learns Bob is a lawyer who lived in a series of foster homes most of his teenage years but, through hard work, determination, and a little luck, overcame the obstacles that kept most young men his age and in his position, down and out.  If Bill will think about Bob and what happened to him, he might begin to believe there is a chance he can overcome his homelessness.  Bob’s experience gave Bill hope mainly because he engaged his mind and didn’t let his circumstances drive his emotional despair.”

“That was awesome Miss Sims.  I’ll be hungry for more in the morning.”  Ben said as the class again erupted in laughter.

“I suspect you were referring to the mignon.  There will be an all you can eat steak supper at my place in the country for every student who pursues Literature this next year like you were a starving man.  Or woman.”

The students stayed fully engaged the remainder of the period.  It was a good first class and a good way to begin my teaching career at Boaz High School in the fall of 2016.  I sure hoped my third teaching job would be as rewarding as the six years I had spent at Eleanor Roosevelt High School in Brooklyn, New York, teaching AP English Literature and Composition, and the eight years before that teaching English Literature, Poetry, and Creative Writing, at Marymount High School in Los Angeles, California.

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 2

“I’ll have four eggs over-easy and a pound of bacon.”  Ryan Radford said as the young and shapely waitress multi-tasked writing down his order and fending off his left hand that was attempting to rub her lower back.

“You’re going to die at 40 if you don’t lay off that fat.” Fulton Billingsley said.  “You may be as tall as your dear late father, but he used his head, exercised, and ate sensibly.”

“What’s so important we meet today and not Sunday’s as usual?”  Justin Adams asked sipping a steaming cup of coffee.

“I have a final walk-through at 7:00, so let’s make this quick.  This is my biggest sale in Pebblebrook.”  Danny Ericson mumbled as he wolfed down a stack of pancakes.  “And Fulton, if you call a meeting, make sure you show up on time.

“Are you going to answer my question?  Justin said motioning for the newest and hottest waitress at Grumpy’s Diner to come take his order.

“Two words.  Katie Sims.”  Fulton said just as Ryan moved his hand across his throat indicating for Fulton to go silent until Tina, the waitress, came and went.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”  Danny said.  “We promised a decade or two ago to never mention the lovely Katie.

“She’s in town.  For good.”  Fulton always liked being rather terse.

“For whose good?”  Ryan asked.

“Stupid.  She’s moved here from New York City.  She’s teaching English at the high school.”  Fulton said almost becoming windy.

“How do you know?”  Justin asked.

“I didn’t see her, but she came to the bank yesterday afternoon to open a checking account for her daughter.  I saw it early this morning on the New Accounts printout.”  Fulton said alternating looking at each of his three friends and scanning the dining room for potential eavesdroppers.

“I say this doesn’t even justify a quick heads-up on the phone, much less a meeting.  What’s the big deal?”  Ryan said cramming three slices of bacon into his mouth at one time.

“I agree.”  Danny added.  “She doesn’t know anything.  We made sure of that.  Even if she did, all we need do is deny everything she would say.  By the way, where is Warren?  Why is he not here?”

“Nashville.  A pastor’s conference of some sort.  He’ll be back tomorrow.  I’ll tell him then.”  Fulton said eating the last spoonful of his oatmeal.

Ryan let out a low groan as he looked over at Tina two tables over.  “I wouldn’t mind having that for breakfast.  Come to think of it, I have an idea.  Why don’t we do us a little replay with the lovely Katie.  She liked it rough, just like me.”

“Ryan, get your mind out of the gutter.  We’re not teenagers anymore.”  Fulton said regretting having to spend a minute with the crude and vile Radford.

“As Ryan says, what’s the big deal?”  Justin asked, looking at Fulton.

“Cullie Sims was born September 23, 2003.  I saw it on her account application.  That’s exactly nine months after our little roll in the hay with Katie Sims.  Doesn’t that strike any of you as more than mere coincidence?”  Fulton was always the most serious of the sons of the Flaming Five, the fathers who broke every high school basketball record within a hundred miles when they thrilled audiences during the early seventies.

“Let me make sure I understood you.  Exactly.  You are saying that one of us, including Warren, is the father of Cullie Sims?”  Danny asked, laying his cell phone face down beside his plate.

“Right.  How could it be anything else?  I don’t know much about genes and science, but it seems to me that one of our little sperms found its way to one of Katie’s little eggs.”  Fulton’s statement surprised the other three.  It was so out of character for him to attempt any humor.

“I say you’re making too much of this.  That was nearly fifteen years ago.  What would she gain from bringing it up now?  We would deny it and she would look silly.  Even if she proved that I was the father of Cullie, couldn’t I say that we had consensual sex and had never been told Katie became pregnant.”  Justin said.

“Let’s hope, at the worst, it would be that simple.”  Fulton said looking for the time on his cell phone.  “I have to go.”

“Me too.”  Danny added.

As the four went their separate ways it wasn’t a stretch to guess that each of them, today, and Warren, tomorrow, would spend countless time pondering the potential effects from Katie Sims move to Boaz.

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 1

Once again, I had not slept well.  It was the sixth night since Cullie and I moved back to Boaz.  The dreams, virtual nightmares, were no doubt triggered by sleeping in my bed, in my old room.  I hadn’t slept here since 1996 when I finished college and moved to Los Angeles.  During the intervening twenty years I had visited at least once every couple of years, but I had always made sure I slept at a local motel.

I had to make some changes.  Maybe I would ask Nanny Bev, my grandmother, if I could have mother’s room upstairs.  That was probably a bad idea.  Mother, Darla Sims Radford, may be needing it herself.  Her husband, Raymond Radford, is in some deep shit with the law, accused of a multitude of crimes, including murder.  Mom hasn’t been too open about her situation, but I suspect Raymond’s grandson, Ryan, will pressure Mom out of the sprawling Country Club mansion if his grandfather is convicted and sent to prison.  Maybe, a new coat of paint and some different bedroom furniture will chase out the demons who have homesteaded my room since I was a kid.

I pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of jogging pants and walked down the hall and into the kitchen.  It was 4:30 a.m. and the coffee was waiting, thanks to my automatic coffee brewer that I had brought.  I couldn’t help but feel bad over the scene Bev and I had when Cullie and I had moved in.  Nanny was a creature of habit, hated change, and believed anything smart enough to make coffee without your presence was also smart enough to be a spy.

The thought also reminded me of why Cullie and I were here.  Bev was growing more senile by the day and Darla was too preoccupied to see the trouble Bev was in.  It should have been apparent.  Nanny was going on ninety years old but had a daughter whose dream had become a nightmare. 

Darla was my biological mother, but I could hardly call her mom or mother.  It was Nanny who had raised me.  Darla had gotten pregnant at her high school graduation party in May 1972.  She was still a kid herself.  But, not one incapable of hooking up, eventually marrying, Raymond Radford, the man whose son, Randall, was one of the ones Darla had sex with that fateful graduation night.  Raymond left his wife of twenty years for the young and pretty Darla.  To his credit, he had offered to raise me, let me live in his big house.  Nanny would not have it and literally made Darla sign me over for adoption.  I doubt if I would ever forgive my mother for throwing me away.

Early morning was my time.  It was now an ingrained habit, virtually like breathing.  Since high school I had been a scribbler, finding deep satisfaction in putting words on paper.  During college I had learned a lot about the craft of writing, but my short stories seemed hollow, with uninteresting plots.  Not to mention, my characters were stiff and narrow.  It was my first teaching job in Los Angeles where the early morning routine became the habit that continues today.  Before my day job began, I had written at least a thousand words towards my current story.  I owe my students, rather their seemingly unbearable lives, for transforming my writing from a head knowledge to a heart-throbbing adventure.  My life, for the first time, had discovered meaning.  I finally had a purpose and it was two-fold.  Creating stories, short and long, that moved people, entertaining but also helping them discover something that made their lives more bearable or maybe even spurred them to reconstruct their circumstances and become a whole new person.  The second purpose, closely related, was to inspire my students to read and write for themselves.  I strived to motivate them to learn the power of words, others and their own.  If they did, I knew the stories they read, and the words they scribbled, would provide virtual experiences, the cheap way: by traveling, hiking, swimming, flying, failing, succeeding, and dreaming.  This would give them a better chance of coping with their current lives, and hopefully creating a better one in the days ahead.

This morning was the first in seven days that I had come to my writing spot.  I had adopted this corner of the little used basement, windowless and damp, while I was in high school.  Back then I was not a daily writer, scribbler was really what I was, but it was here that I attempted to fictionalize Darla’s story.  It’s hard to realize how the little snippets I wrote, hardly the makings of the most rudimentary scenes, grew over the years into Out of the Darkness, my novel that won the PEN/Faulkner prize for best fiction in 2002.  During the twelve or thirteen years it had taken to complete the story, it evolved far from where it had begun: Darla’s consensual sex with Randall Radford and the other four members of the Flaming Five (as they were called because of their basketball prowess), her pregnancy, and my birth nine months later.  One thing I had learned in Out of the Darkness, was that horrible life experiences did not have to define one’s future.  That too was what my protagonist had learned.  I still had a way to go before this principle settled in my mind and heart as easily as my habit of rising at 4:30 a.m. every morning.

Today, I chose to work on another project I had put in a desk drawer nearly two years ago.  Out of Control was born after that fateful night in December 2002 when I was gang-raped by the sons of the Flaming Five, including Ryan Radford, Raymond’s grandson.  Sporadically over the past fifteen years I had attempted to gain momentum, but I always seemed to hit the wall.  It was like my mind and my body were fighting each other.  I guess it was because I was too close to the event.  It had happened to me and my entire being, to protect itself, fought my every effort to relive the horrifying two-plus hours.  Maybe now, back in the dark and dingy basement, where my only prize-winning story had sprouted, I could convince my writing mind and heart that my life would benefit, maybe even begin to thrive, by going deep to destroy the demons that were assaulting me lying upstairs in the bed of my youth.

At 6:15 a.m., I returned to my room, showered, dressed, and drove myself and a waiting Cullie to Boaz High School.  It was my first day as an English teacher and Cullie’s as a ninth-grade student at the high school I had graduated from in 1991.  I hoped our time here would be as rewarding as the last six years at Eleanor Roosevelt High School in New York City.  For reasons that were not difficult to list, I doubted things would be as good.

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. 

Prologue

I remember it like it was yesterday.  It was 2002 and I was home for Christmas.  It had been a whole year since I had visited my mother and my grandmother in our hometown of Boaz, Alabama.  This year, unlike the previous five years where I had stayed in Los Angeles fully focused on my high school teaching and writing, I had seen them in April when they had flown to Washington, D.C. to see me awarded the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction in the Great Hall of the Folger Shakespeare Library.

I had driven my rental car from the Birmingham-Shuttlesworth International Airport and arrived in Boaz during late afternoon of the 23rd.  Instead of going straight to mother’s house east of Boaz on Bruce Road, I opted to drive west on Highway 168 to old downtown Boaz to see if the fountain in the center of town was active or lying dormant.  It had become something of a tradition for me after my grandmother had shared the story of how Darla, my mother, had met her husband, Raymond Radford.  I loved Mama Bev’s oft repeated statement, “love is never stagnant, it is bursting forth, new every day.”  It was, to me, a silly and too simple an expression.  I had never known anything but the stagnant type of love.  When I parked and walked to the center of town, the fountain was worse than stagnant.  There was no water anywhere in sight.  The huge basin that fed the fountain was empty.

I never saw anyone.  I was walking back to my car parked in a dark parking lot on the south end of town and past the little building that housed the two public restrooms when someone grabbed me from behind and forced a black hood over my head.  The whisper of voices told me there were several of them.  I was shoved into the back of what had to be a van and driven for miles.  I knew I was going to die.  I couldn’t sit up but could feel a combination of hard and soft hands traveling across my bare legs.  One quick stop by the van and I could hear the vehicle’s tires rolling across a graveled road.

I was removed from the back of the vehicle and led inside a tent.  I knew it was a tent by the smell.  Everyone knows that Army tent smell.  Over the next hour I was laid across a bed covered with what had to be an animal skin and raped by at least five men.  They made lots of sounds.  The man inside me would moan and groan.  The bystanders would laugh and jeer. The only words I ever heard were, “teach the little bitch not to write about Boaz.”  Maybe I shouldn’t have set my one and only novel, Out of the Darkness, in my hometown.

When the five had each taken a couple of turns each thrusting inside me without a single condom, they drove back to town leaving me behind the public restrooms.  That day, I never saw one of the men nor the vehicle they were driving.  They left me hooded and tied up enough to make their getaway before I could untie my hands and remove the hood from my head.

It was as though they wanted me to know who they were.  I did.  But, I never went to the police.  Instead, I drove to McDonald’s and went inside to the restroom, refreshed my makeup and straightened my clothes the men had hastily redressed me with, drank a cup of coffee, and drove home to an eager mother and grandmother worried that my plane had been late.

That was nearly fifteen years ago, nine months before Cullie, my beautiful daughter, was born.  When I first saw her face and the sweetness of her smile, and felt the tenderness of her skin, I swore to myself I would forget the horror of that night, and instead, invest my life keeping Cullie safe and focused on the good all around her.