NO BULL

There's absolutely NOTHING harder in writing than to "kill your darlin's" (i.e. delete things) especially when you're still trying to add length to a novel. However, it's what I had to do this past week. Cut out an entire character. This is from Chapter 3 of my work in progress:  The Atchison Haunting.

Can anyone guess why ole Bernie Pasqual had to go?


Once in the Emergency Waiting Room, a rather tall lanky man in his fifties rushed over. Boney shoulders protruded from his flannel shirt. Mostly white and combed back, his hair had retained streaks of black that matched the frames of his thick-lensed eyeglasses. The wrinkled skin from his cheekbones sagged on his face. There was worry in his blue eyes. Zach felt certain he’d never seen this man before.

“Zach?” He held out his hand and grasped Zach’s and shook it. “I heard and came over as fast as I could. News spreads quick in a small town.”

As the man spoke in rushed tones, Zach recognized his voice. “Bernie Pasqual?”

“Sara. Sara Chen.” She held out her hand. “I’m the show’s producer.”

The squat nurse seemed to be taking it all in. “So Bernie, so long as you’re here on official newspaper business, you can come on back too. Wouldn’t want to be holding back the press none.” She winked.

“Why thank you, Hillary.” He beamed at her. His blue eyes were much brighter than moments before.

Zach suspected that, in his day, Bernie Pasqual had used his charm to draw a story or two out of the female sex.

Past the entrance and waiting room, the hospital halls were nearly deserted. The nurse turned left, then right and led them down a long corridor. Bernie slowed leaving space between them and her. He nudged Zach’s arm. “Hillary’s brother is on the city council,” he whispered, as though that explained her behavior.

They entered a large room lined with beds and partitioned with white curtains to provide the illusion of privacy. Nurse Hillary motioned to the far wall. They’re over there. I’ll give you ten, fifteen minutes tops. Then I’ll need y’all to call it a night.”

This scene had been right before XPI actually does begin investigating Rosewood. It takes way too long to get to the point. In the novel, we get to the action much more quickly.


Like an expectant child rising at dawn’s first light on Christmas morning, Zach awoke early and couldn’t fall back asleep. He didn’t attempt it long before heading out to Rosewood. He was the first to arrive. Indian summer had brought unseasonably warm temperatures and sunny skies, even at the morning hour.

Wendy showed up not long after but, as was her custom, barely said two words to Zach before sulking off to the side to obsessively study her note cards. The next to arrive was Rico, the Demon Hunters Lead InvestiHunter. From the episodes Zach had watched, Rico was a decent paranormal investigator but tended to assume every case pointed to evidence of either the site having been built over ancient, Native American burial grounds, or demonic possession. Occasionally the show aired scenes that distinctly displayed tension between Rico and Bryce. Zach wasn’t certain how much of that was accurate versus manufactured drama, but he suspected that, at some point, Rico would branch off Demon Hunters and host his own show.

Apparently undaunted over not being selected as an investigator, traditionally tardy Matthew Morgan arrived at 7:45 AM, a full fifteen minutes early. Perhaps he was on his best behavior in the hopes that Zach would change his mind and allow him to investigate. If he was, he and his red baseball cap would be severely disappointed. The more Zach had considered the task ahead, the more he understood that it was a technical nightmare—it was going to take a lot of power to generate their cameras and lights. Moreover, the cameras and video equipment would require substantial effort to properly situate and set up. Depending on the location of paranormal activity being experienced, they may need to reposition the video feeds in an attempt to document it.

A rush of arrivals occurred as eight o’clock drew near. Before the hour struck, all except Sashza were present and accounted for. Apparently, Bryce had told her to take the morning session off and seemed confident that she’d show up for her psychic walkthrough that evening. Just in case, Zach had called XPI’s psychic consultant, Hunter Martin, and asked him to standby in case of an emergency. Zach took it as a great sign that no one from either team was late –or, better yet, appeared hung over, not even his new friend, Pierre. The only person looking weary, but wasn’t too tired to give him the evil eye, was Wendy.

“What’s that look for?”

“Gee, Zach. Maybe for waiting until the last minute to give me that information last night? I had to pull all kinds of strings to get what I got at that hour and I’m still nowhere near finished.”

“About the fires? Like I told you, it was a last-minute tip. Did you find something?”

Wendy appeared all the more peeved that Zach was ignoring her prima donna act. She wasn’t used to boys not falling over themselves for her when she batted her crystal blue eyes.

“Yes. I found something.”

“What?”

She faked a yawn. “Well, it’s a lot to get into. Can I just save it for the briefing?”

In the interests of time, he had to agree with her. Sara had brought along two camera operators and the sound crew had been working since 7:30 to make sure the street traffic didn’t interfere with their shoot.

It's time for DELETED SCENES!

SPOILER ALERT:  Please do not read these scenes if you've not yet read my novel GHOSTS OF ROSEWOOD ASYLUM. Spoilers will be contained in these Deleted Scenes.

WARNING:  Please do not read these scenes if you've not yet read my novel GHOSTS OF ROSEWOOD ASYLUM. Out of context, these scenes will likely either mean nothing to you, or worse, they'll confuse you.

BAD WRITING WARNING:  Please do not read these scenes if you've not yet read my novel GHOSTS OF ROSEWOOD ASYLUM ESPECIALLY IF you're deciding upon a GHOSTS OF ROSEWOOD ASYLUM purchase. There are reasons these scenes did not make the finished book--one of the primary reasons is that many contain BAD WRITING!

This scene opened Chapter Twenty Six (pg 161). I think the writing is pretty tight and the scene in and of itself flows well, but by this point in the story the pace needs to continue to accelerate and this scene brings it to a crashing halt. The character of Chelsea intrigues me. After writing the scene, I mused that she may show up in future episodes of XPI...and she well may.

Chelsea

 Young people packed Muses Coffee House. There wasn’t a table available. Chicago State University was just a mile or so up the road, and south Pullman was the trendiest area within a quick driving distance. Zach had gotten a text message from Angel just minutes after talking to Rebecca: 

Need 2 talk 2 u offsite. Meet @ muses @ 1?

Zach hoped to also catch Evelyn there early, but as she was nowhere to be seen, he ordered a decaf coffee.

“Decaf at this hour?”

The woman’s voice came from behind him. He turned expecting, maybe wishing, to see Evelyn; instead a black lady with a slim figure but wide hips was smiling at him. She was short, about his age, maybe a couple of years younger. Her perfect smile radiating white against her extremely dark skin was mesmerizing. Zach said nothing.

“I thought that was you,” she said. “Zach?”

“Yes.” He felt no twinge of familiarity. It used to frighten him, but even though he often couldn’t remember people’s names, he had outstanding facial recognition skills. He hardly ever forgot a face and he’d certainly not easily have forgotten this one. These occurrences were happening more frequently, especially since Sci-D TV had started rerunning XPI episodes on Thursday nights, after the late-night talk shows were over.

“You don’t know me,” she verified, “but I’m one of your biggest fans. I hope that doesn’t sound too cliché.”

“No, not at all,” Zach lied. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, God. How rude of me!” She rolled her eyes, and her smile turned to one of embarrassment. If not for her ebony skin, Zach suspected she’d be blushing. She held out her hand. “My name’s Chelsea.”

He took her hand. Soft. Welcoming, but firm. “Nice to meet you, Chelsea. I’m Zach.”

“I know. Would you sign my cup?” She offered the Muses cup and a felt-tip pen.

“Sure. The cup itself or the sleeve?”

“The cup,” she said, winking. “And could you maybe sign the sleeve for my friend, Amber?” Her wide smile returned and he found it intoxicating.

As Zach was autographing, he looked up every time the chime on the door signaled a new visitor. He was expecting Angel but held out hope that it might be Evelyn.

“Are you expecting someone?” Chelsea asked. “A girlfriend or something?”

Zach smiled. “Just a friend. A work friend, Angel—from the show.”

“Oh, sure, Angel. He’s cool. Well, I won’t keep you and thanks for the autograph.” She handed him a folded piece of paper that appeared to have been torn from a notebook. “It’s my phone number,” she said boldly. Then her voice cracked a bit. “Ya know, in case you ever need a date to an awards show or something...”

Ebony skin or not, she was blushing. A thin layer of perspiration had formed on her forehead as well.

Zach thanked her, but didn’t know what else to say. Other fans and even clients had flirted with him. This was different—she was hot.

Before he could decide what to do, the door chimed. It was Angel. Zach was being saved, quite literally, by the bell, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be saved.

Angel approached. “Am I interrupting something?”

Chelsea must have seen it as a chance to escape and, after another stunning smile, faded into the coffee house’s hustle and bustle.

“Nope,” Zach said, breaking his gaze on her, “just a fan.”

“You’ll be seeing a lot of those around here now.” Angel sighed. When Zach didn’t immediately respond, Angel explained. “Good Morning Chi-Town blew our cover. There have been people hanging around the main gate since about noon.”

“Ugh.”

June 5 at 3:41pm Report

My boyfriend thinks your trying to ask me out on a date, when u truly said you'll take me to a nice dinner if I read your books... I dont think he read all our conversation...

Well ttyl Stephen... Hope you enjoy this bright sunny day!

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 Stephen Prosapio June 5 at 3:45pm AHAAHAHA. Funny. That was a long time ago. He

must be scrolling back pretty far! I don't think you even had a bf back then! .

 June 5 at 3:46pm Report

No he was reading it from last month when he broke up with me while we still live together...

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 June 5 at 3:47pm Report

Well its no biggy...

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 Stephen Prosapio June 5 at 4:07pm
:-)

 *************************************

June 22 at 3:56pm Report

Hi Stephan,

I am gonna have to unfriend you or take me out of your fan page.. You asking me to read a book and your offer to take me to dinner if I read your book has cost me my relationship... My boyfriend who broke up with me and we both live together said i cheated and we were going out... So that's all...

Sent via Facebook Mobile .

 June 22 at 3:59pm Report

Which I haven't even met you and only read partial of your asylum book...

That morning I had stopped in a small town along the coast. I got a cappuccino or something of the sort. It looked to be a strong coffee that she—the barista—almost sprayed whip cream into it before I stopped her. I don’t do whipped cream. Even without it, it had been a tasty coffee.

Anyway I explored the town and headed north to the beaches. I parked and continued north. People jogged along OmahaBeach. There were boats. Believe it or not, there were people horseback riding. I thought how ironic that a place where so many had died now was so alive. Was it disrespectful? It felt so for a moment, then I remembered that those lives were given so that people could enjoy freedom.

I walked up to the American cemetery. An emotional day became even more intense as I strode through the grave markers.

I don’t care your political persuasion or party affiliation. I don’t care how supportive or unsupportive you’ve been for any particular military conflict. If you’ve not been to a military cemetery, you can’t possibly have an accurate perspective on the numbers of men lost in these conflicts. I thought I could. Four thousand lost equaled the amount of my High School class. Twenty thousand lost totaled the amount of a semi-filled baseball park. However, standing among them—among the dead soldiers—the shocking and amazing numbers make sense.

The world “overwhelm” is used far to often in our society. However, it’s nothing short of overwhelming to see all those graves lined up. So far from home.

And then I saw the numbers.

At first, I assumed they marked the gravesites. They were assigned to give family a way to find their loved and lost or their distant relations. I made note of the #22 on the grave I stood in front of. Later, I supposed, I’d look up that man and keep him as a memory of the day. Next to that grave, the number at the bottom read 19. In front of these was a #20. They were in no order. Random? Then I spied another #22. Another #20. Another #22. A #21. These weren’t designations...these were their ages at their time of death. Twenty, twenty-two. A few were twenty-four years old.

So young. So far from home—I felt so far from home myself—but they’d never return. To their wives, their girlfriends, their families or friends. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. The overwhelm consumed me. I’ll never forget it.