Typewriter
from Hell
Diane
Cox
Genre:
paranormal romance, romance suspense
Publisher:
Opal Creative Enterprises, Inc.
Date
of Publication: November 2013
ISBN:
978-0-9910982-0-0 ebook,
ISBN:
978-0-9910982-1-7 paperback
ASIN:
B00GCSL6FC
Number
of pages: 147
Word
Count: 20226
Cover
Artist: Rebecca Poole
Dreams2Media
Book
Description:
Unemployed
librarian Ellen Brinson submits her steamy manuscript to literary
agent Henry Morgan. The only thing they have in common is that they
are both desperate for money. Henry believes the unfinished piece is
his ticket back to the big time.
His
hopes for a winner are thwarted when Ellen falls in love and is
offered a cushy job. As her interest in finishing the manuscript
wanes, Henry's desire to get it published increases.
Enter
the Typewriter from Hell. Ellen can't stop writing. The old Corona is
a magnet and it's wrecking Ellen's new romance. Henry will pull any
dirty trick he can think of to win - and he does!
You'll
laugh your way through this fast paced suspense story and you'll
never guess the ending.
Book
Trailer: http://youtu.be/QFaynWjTZLU
Available
at Amazon
Excerpt:
Chapter
One
Ellen
Brinson peered over her half glasses at the messy typewritten page.
The ‘e’ on the old Corona was so occluded it looked like a giant
dot. She quickly read through the last few paragraphs she’d just
pounded out. She had a screaming headache.
Where
the Hell was this stuff coming from? It was true she’d always
wanted to write. Her MLS in library science was all about Ellen’s
belief that she couldn’t write, so being around books was the next
best thing. But, this, this stuff she was typing -- she’d never
done the things, never even known anyone like the people in this
story.
It
didn’t matter. Six more weeks and her unemployment was going to run
out. The stress of not having a job for two years, of trying to find
something else she could do to earn a living and getting nowhere, the
sheer desperation, was about to drive her crazy. This book was the
only hope she had right now, and she clung to it.
Rubbing
her eyes, Ellen stretched and the old afghan that covered her lap
slipped to the floor. This damn dump was so drafty; she was always
cold. Pushing her chair back, she moved to the other side of the room
where a row of cabinets and a miniature stove and fridge masqueraded
as a kitchen. She poured a cup of hot water from the kettle warming
on the stove and dunked a tea bag in it. Then, she reached under the
sink and found a pint of vodka, splashing a liberal shot into the tea
mug.
The
mug cradled in both hands, she plopped down on the rumpled bed that
dominated the small room, and leaned back against the wall. Sometimes
she felt like she was someone else. Maybe that explained what
happened at the typewriter. Or maybe she was just going nuts. That
was probably it.
Ellen
took a big gulp of the spiked tea, her mind running in circles like a
hamster on a wheel. She had to do something, even if it was wrong.
She got up and crossed to the rickety wooden table that held her
typewriter. She grabbed the messy pages of the manuscript that had
been pouring out of her for the past three weeks. Automatic writing,
wasn’t that what they called it? Ellen read a paragraph at random:
Serena
slid a glance at the senator next to her. With a twitch of her
shoulders, she hit him with a blast of décolletage, and then sent
her tongue on an exploratory tour of her mouth. She could feel the
man heat up like a kitchen stove.
Another sideways
glance confirmed that the front of his pants now looked suspiciously
like a tent. Turning her head to look directly at him, she lasered
him with the 100 Watt Sex Bomb Smile. Tossing her head back, she
trailed her long, red fingernails down her arched, white neck toward
her bosom. Then she rose and wiggled her way across the room,
giggling to herself.
My
God, what crap! Where had it come from? All the same, it was so
trashy that maybe it had some potential for being published. It
reminded her of the stuff written by Isabel Ritter –no, Isabel
Rider.
Rider
- she got a visual of the author astride a naked man, bucking in
unabashed lust. Ellen laughed out loud, then as quickly sobered as
the gravity of her situation struck her.
She
ran her fingers through her curly hair. What could she do with this
stuff? She needed to send it out to somebody, but who?
And,
why would they read it? She was nobody, unpublished. She didn’t
even have a friend at a publishing house. She knew a few writers, but
they were mostly historians. They would be appalled if she asked them
to pass this trash on to their agent.
She
read through the pages again. What the Hell. It’s worth a try.
Taking in a deep breath, Ellen jumped off the sagging bed, pulled her
parka on over her sweats, and tugged on some mukluks. Slamming the
door to her flat, she descended five floors of walk-up, her mukluks
slapping against each step.
A
late spring snow was lazily drifting down as she pushed through the
front door of her building, cursing as a splinter poked her hand. She
hated this dump. She was beginning to hate New York. Ellen had come
here with such high hopes, sure she would discover the glamor and
excitement that beckoned in so many novels. Instead, the reality was
that New York was no fun for the poor.
In
spite of her disappointment, the farmhouse in Iowa where she’d
grown up still didn’t look good to her. That was something. Her
mother would make her life a living Hell if she had to go back home,
broke. Only her father had believed in her dream, and he’d been
dead five years now.
“Watch
where you’re going!” A guy in a plaid wool jacket bumped her as
he passed on the busy sidewalk. She turned into the Strand book
store, and headed straight for romantic fiction.
Diane
Cox lives in Atlanta, Georgia with two dogs and two cats. She loves
to garden, snap photos of her flowers, and dine out with friends.
She works hard for her money, so she squeezes in her writing early in
the morning.
Some
years ago she fell in love with the true story of one of her
neighbor's pioneer ancestresses. After seven years of rewrites, she
had learned about the craft. Her next tale -"Typewriter from
Hell" was a complete departure from the first, incorporating
romance, satire and a bit of fantasy. This year she will bring out a
third project, and once again writing will be part of the plot.
She
has been in love with books and reading all her life and has always
wanted to write. Finally it has happened.
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/typewriterfromhell
Twitter:
dianecoxwrites
Youtube:
http://youtu.be/QFaynWjTZLU
Goodreads:
Pinterest:
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