Last week EPIC, The Electronic Publishing Industry Coalition, voted to close after about twenty years.
Membership had dwindled and the board felt that EPIC was no longer relevant, which is sad. Today, with all the computer and electronic changes, you need to stay current with what electronically pubbed authors and companies need.
Also, it’s been almost a year since I had my “new” website designed. It was designed by a company and never felt comfortable. Changes were hard to make and I never felt it was user friendly. I’ve decided to have a new website designed. One I’m more comfortable with and hopefully some I can connect with. And right after I decided that they sent me a 23 page document of their new policies.So if anyone had suggestions for a web designer I’d love to hear them.
And I’m back working on a new book, sort of. I started it awhile ago but I’m editing and rewriting part of it. It’s Sara’s Story from The Foundation series.Here are the first few lines from the Prologue.
18 months earlier
Was he alive? The office had only said he’d had a heart attack. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts at the thought.
The taxi jerked to a stop in front of the hospital emergency entrance.
Sara fumbled through her purse, counting out a meager number of dollar bills. Gordon didn’t allow her to have a credit card and he only allowed her to have a small amount of cash.
She didn’t have enough money to pay the taxi.
“I’m so sorry. I left home without any cash. I...I ... Would you take a check?” Tears spilled over and trickled down her flushed cheeks.
The driver spun around, threw his arm over the seat, a short stubby finger on his other hand waved at the sign over the rearview mirror. “Look lady, it says right there - No Checks.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. My husband’s had a heart attack and I ... I don’t know what to do.” Sara ran her fingers over her hair, scrunching the tight bun at her neck.
The driver shook his head. “Aw shit. Go ahead, lady. Write the check.”
Sara pulled the crumpled check Gordon let her carry for emergencies out of her purse. As she touched the check a vision of Gordon floated in front of her.
She stopped, trying to erase the image. She only saw the ghosts of dead people.
Could he really be dead?
“Gordon?” she whispered.
“Lady, are you writing a check or not?”
“Yes, sorry.” Sara proceeded to scribble her signature on the bottom of the check. “Please, fill it in, and give yourself a generous tip. Thank you.” She clutched her worn, cracked purse to her chest, slid out of the cab and scurried through the emergency room doors.
What if he was dead? She didn’t have any money. Gordon did all the finances and never shared anything with her. How would she manage? She’d managed twenty years ago. Could she do it again? But he couldn’t be dead. Gordon would never allow that to happen.
His face flitted in front of her again, fixed in an angry glare.
He had to be dead or she wouldn’t be seeing him, but he was angry. He didn’t want to be dead.
Shuffling toward the reception desk, she kept glancing over her shoulder, searching for some sign of Gordon, listening for his voice, waiting for him to yell at her. She couldn’t believe he was really dead, even though she could see him. Clinging to the edge of the transition counter, she kept her head down, chewing on her lower lip, waiting to be noticed.
Any comments on the first few lines? Or on a web designer? I'd love to hear from you.