Not My Usual Blog (Tara Taylor Quinn)

I've been working pretty much non-stop since the beginning of the month. All day, and many evenings as well. Last night it was past eleven before I could stop. And each evening that I've had to work, Tim sits here in the office with me, at his desk, taking care of business. Last night, when he started to fall asleep, he played Freecell.

Of course, much of the time, when I'm not on such stringent deadlines, we do a lot of what he wants and likes to do. We build and construct and go to Lowes. And Home Depot. And Lowes. And Home Depot. And once in a while Menards. And watch 24. This is what makes relationships work. The giving each other what is needed. Being there for each other. The sharing.

But right now I am on deadline. We're rounding the corner on The Chapman Files - the four book project that is out starting in September of this year. The First Wife is in the line edit stage. I should be receiving it back by the first of March for review. The Second Lie is in revision stage. The end of revision stage. It'd due to my editor today. She has to have it edited by February third. And then I'll have it back to review. The Third Secret is due next week. It's not done yet. But it will be. And then I have to write The Fourth Victim. And revise The Third Secret. And revise The Fourth Victim. (There are always revisions.) And review line edits for both. I'll have to review print outs of all four books as well. And we're finalizing art concepts.

I'm taking this all one step at a time (with my aromatherapy and music and puppies and diet coke as partners) so that it's manageable. Today I have to finish the revisions that must be in by tonight. I'm still a couple of chapters away. And have to get back to it now. I figured I'd take you with me. The following is an excerpt from the first chapter of The Second Lie. At this point I have no idea if it's good or not. I just know it will be before it's published...

There was only one person who’d have the audacity to interrupt his peace this late at night with a loud engined mustang on his property.
And only one person who drove up the gravel drive like a bat out of hell, too. An officer of the law ought to know better.
It’s private property, I’m allowed to drive fast, Sam always said when he bothered to call her on it.
One look at her face tonight as she stepped out of her re-conditioned ’77 Mustang, and Kyle knew he wasn’t going to call her on anything.
Normally he hated the sight of her in the manly beige slacks and button up shirt and tie that made up her Fort County Deputy uniform.
Not because of the manliness, but because of what they represented. The job. The danger. Her obsession.
Tonight, he hardly noticed her apparel.
Beer first and then talk, he’d learned, when she had the wild look in those so familiar blue eyes. The look that asked him if she was insane. Or the world was.
The look that told him she’d been seeing something really ugly while he’d been staring at the stars.
“You gonna tell me what happened tonight?”
“I was talking to a guy on the phone when he blew his brains out.”
“Jesus, Sam, what happened?” In Fort County? Where cops were called when mothers and daughters had spats. “Why’d he do that?”
“Guess it was something I said…”