So we've struck out lately at a few nice houses. There's still hope for the book. But I didn't write to get published, that's just a bonus. I write to be inspired and breathe life into my characters. With that in mind I am happily chugging along in book 2 of the Knox series titled All the Devils are Here (A line I like from Shakespeare's the Tempest)
Here's a snippet from it. Setup: Knox has just been assaulted by a beat cop that he antagonized.
It’s hard to explain why but the violence made me happy. It made sense to me. It made me feel comfortable. Up to this point I’d felt lost and out of place. This city was so different, so clean. Happy kids played on freshly paved streets. New restaurants with expensive handmade signs advertised fusion cuisine. Young Millennials bar-hopped on H street NE. 5 years ago not one but two separate murders involved victims being lit on fire on this street. By two different suspects. Now drunk 20-somethings stood outside bars at 4 am safely awaiting the eventual cab. This was not my home. I was a foreigner in this new district and a foreigner can’t be a detective. They know so much less than even an average criminal does.
But within an hour of being out on the street I’m getting assaulted by the police in a back alley. The new look was just a facade, and a thin veneer at that. Underneath it was the same old violent shithole I knew. I laughed the kind of laugh soldiers do when they touch down on American soil after a long tour. I was home.
When I regained my senses the cops were gone. In their place was a chubby little kid standing a few feet in front of me. He had my wallet in his hands. I tried to speak but the first word merely pushed a bubble of blood and saliva out of my mouth. It burst in a fine mist. I laughed at the thought of that sight.
“Sorry.” I mumbled. “I’m fine. This is fine.” I said, slowly staggering to my feet. The child dropped my wallet and ran around the corner screaming bloody murder.