More coming down the pipe line

 If you're a writer, it just makes sense you're writing the next story. The next poem. The next movie script . . . or whatever your muse is insisting you create. And so it goes with me. I write novels. Novels which spin out into multi-volume series.

At last count, I'm working on five separate series.  Two historical mysteries, a police-procedural, a fantasy series, and a dark noir series. (Yes, you're right. What the hell is a guy at my age trying to write five damn series?!)

Today I'd like to focus on two of'em. I thought I'd share the opening paragraphs of each.

First up is the police-procedural series. Book Five is very close in being a reality. The book is entitled A Murder Grimly. Homicide detectives Turner Hahn and Frank Morales find themselves sinking into the quagmire of a mystery with lots of bodies falling all over the place.

Here's the opening  glimpse.

One

 

         

   The full moon hung low over the rippling waters of the Brown River. A big, yellow gumball of a moon. Clinging to the fabric of the night so close to the river, one could imagine reaching up and grabbing it with a gloved hand. Much like a sliding outfielder getting underneath a deep hit to center field.

A hard case crime series with a little verbal poetry thrown in to set it apart from everyone else. The second selection is from the third entry into dark noir. I have a hit man who is slowly turning himself into a private detective . . . of sorts.. Actually, the guy is an enigma. He's not necessarily a bad man. Nor, strangely, others consider him a good man. Again, the enigma thing. The third book in the series is called Diedrich Park.

Here's the opening of the novel.

One

 

She was a tall woman dressed in a knee length navy blue wool coat. On the right lapel of
the coat was a large silver brooch with four white pearls arranged in a diamond shape in the center of the jewelry. She wore tight fitting black leather gloves on her narrow but long hands. On her short cut brunette hair was a matching blue pillbox hat with some kind of black netting pulled down half way over her face.

He watched with interest as she stepped off the escalator’s last step and moved into the milling herd of the food court’s busiest feeding frenzy. It was nine minutes to one. On a drizzly wet and extremely chilly Saturday afternoon. 

This one is coming along nicely. But it's a little way down the road before it comes out. I hope you like it when it hits the book stores.