My Novel: Chapter 20

Running:

I can't tell you how many times I've dropped my cell phone while running and either stepped on it or kicked it. I ended up sewing a little phone pocket in my running pants because the slip on ones sold at the AT&T store were a pain to use and looked stupid. My funniest experience was getting to the top of a hill and searching for my phone to check my time. No phone!?! There it was, at the bottom shining in the sunlight. Liking running uphill helped at that moment.

Writing:

Writing tip. Watch out for the "to be" verbs. Google them: was, is, are, were, am, etc. They all say that (writing instructors, etc.), but guess what--in my opinion "to be" is one of the greatest things ever. To be published. To be happy. To be satisfied with your work. To be finished. Still, watch those so called "killer" verbs and read a few good sources on why and how. Limit them, they say, and I agree. But in the meantime I proclaim, "I am happy! I am published. And it is very definite!"

 

Despite the fact that everything and everyone exists in some kind of state of being , watch those niggly little "to be" verbs.

Secrets at Midnight

Leona Palmer Haag

Chapter 20

Matt hardly knew what to do with Jenn. Hadn't he pushed her swing until he taught her how to pump? Hadn't he made sure she got straight A's in math? He and Shawn allowed her to play basketball with them, even though she was lousy. Now she thought of him as a devious, manipulative liar—but those qualities defied his nature. He'd always been the nice guy—the genuine thing.

He grabbed his laptop and checked in with the office, discovering something big lurked on the horizon—but no one knew what. Speculations merged with sparse facts. An email arrived containing one word: Counterspy. No one posted accusations unless they knew something specific. His fingers flew, asking a single question: Who?

Curtis responded: Could be any of us, eh?

Matt sat back in his chair and scowled. Everything he knew about the other agents marched through his mind and he inspected each for glaring flaws and minor defects. Blurbs of information surfaced: Natalie in Dallas. Monica missing. Nick in a hole. A disguised cable guy snooping at the Washington's. Curtis attacked. None of the situations combined to point to defection and only hinted at something significant.

A message came in: AD! AD! AD! His fingers flew over his computer keyboard until codes flashed in red: Natalie Holtz.

Holtz visited Dallas while supposedly in Bogotá. She lunched with Monica and Jenn. She toured Daisy’s as Kathleen Worthins. Increasingly, Matt felt certain someone had defected.

Another pressing question rose: How could anyone take Natalie down? She’d worked with Monica for years, building one of the most legendary partnerships. It had morphed into two incredibly strong, independent women who preferred working alone, usually producing more effective results than their male counterparts. If Jenn had interacted with them they’d apparently joined forces for some reason. How were they connected now, and had they gotten in over their heads? Had Natalie defected? What about Monica?

His fingers flew over the keys, sending information and questioning those he trusted most. Curtis answered first: Double cross. Are you treasonous, Jensen, making it triple?

Matt deleted the sting of four-letter words he’d typed and sent a succinct denial. Curtis' replied: Monica’s missing. She's your wife, and you’re the closest one to her. Holtz is dead—in Dallas—when she’d supposed to be in Columbia. First guess at time of Holtz' death—Monday. Remember that night? You were the first agent on the scene. Mrs. W. interacted with Holtz recently—info you gave me, although I now can’t fathom why.

A fist pounded Matt’s thigh—his own. His trademark characteristic was thoroughness. If anyone killed Natalie and left her behind a trashcan and then removed her, he was the best one to do it without leaving tracks, but there’d been tracks—a fingernail and fabric fibers. That alone had to persuade Curtis he hadn't been involved.

But Curtis was an excellent tracker. He uncovered clues everyone else overlooked. Matt had called him in to do just that, and what did he find—evidence. Had it been planted? He typed his reply, telling Curtis to get back to the trash can to find out if Holtz was the body Jenn discovered, but even as he typed, he suspected it was. Before closing he added his own terse conclusion: You were second on the scene. Did you make it thorough?

Curtis would react—shift into gear so fast he’d forget his injuries—after he’d cursed so loudly all of Dallas held their ears. He laughed dryly, then sent another message: Did you plant evidence? Are you traitorous?

He imagined what Curtis would say, knowing an abbreviated version would flash across his screen in a moment, and it did. Back and forth messages flew, then without warning, everything fell silent. If the screen hadn’t been glowing he would have suspected his battery died. He glanced at the window and groaned. Morning streaked the eastern sky. He shut his laptop and stretched out on the sofa. He needed to sleep, but rolled off and lay prone on the floor, pausing only momentarily before he pushed himself up. Once. Twice. Fifty times. One hundred. Three hundred. Sweat dripping from his chin didn’t prevent him from rolling over to begin sit ups. His lungs filled and deflated as he counted, reaching three hundred. He rested briefly before rising into a headstand. He held the position until his body shook, then lowered himself before repeating it. With strength nearly depleted he moved to another exercise, pushing each muscle. Exhausted, but mind focused, it was time to shower and greet another day.

Matt paused at the bathroom door, listening. Silence indicated Jenn must still be asleep. Running water might wake her. He retreated to the sofa and closed his eyes.

“I'm packed and ready to go,” Jenn said, jolting Matt awake. He squinted at the girl with bags at her feet and a baby on her hip. She shoved his shoulder. “Get up. There's an eleven o'clock flight I refuse to miss.”

He closed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Seven. Get up.”

Sand behind his eyelids held them shut. “Go eat breakfast. Bring me something. I'll be ready by then.”

She sighed in exasperation—a trait she'd mastered before second grade—and left. Chances were good she wouldn't call a cab or take the hotel shuttle to the airport, not with her luggage and the diaper bag in the room.

Sometime later the door flew open and Jenn entered. “I can't believe you're still in bed like a lazy bum, Matt. Get up!” She crossed the room and threw open the curtains. “Call the doctor. I want Katie's test result.”

He sat up and rubbed his chin, the stubble reminding him he’d skipped his shower. “Hand me my phone,” he mumbled.

“It’s hanging on your hip like a gun, cowboy,” she sarcastically said.

His eyes darted to her foot-tapping, hands-on-hips stance. “You're in a good mood today.” He pulled it out and scrolled to the doctor's phone number and pushed send. The office wasn't open. “I'll call after nine. What time is it?”

“A quarter to.” She plopped down in a chair and released Katie to the floor where she wandered over to Matt's shoes and put her feet inside and tried to walk.

He thought it was funny and laughed. He glanced at his friend's wife and wiped off his grin. “Jenn, I'm really sorry about all the rotten stuff you've endured lately because of me. You deserve something better. What can I do to make it up to you?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Since this whole thing seems to be your fault, why not ship me off to Dallas, then bribe Dawn Ann into giving me back my job—with a raise—and then reshingle my roof?”

He laughed and jumped up and picked up Katie. One shoe dropped and hit his toe. “Ow!” he yelped, hopping around with a toddler dangling over his arm, laughing.

“You didn't answer me,” Jenn said.

He cocked one eyebrow. “Let’s see. I can do the roof—but only if Nick buys the supplies. I can probably sweet-talk your boss into giving you a raise, but I can't take you back to Dallas until it cools off. Two out of three isn’t bad.” He turned Katie loose to destroy the hotel room and booted up his laptop as Jenn pouted. He pulled up a file and said, “Read this while I shower and shave.”

“Give me a clue why so I don't disappoint you. Are you trying to inform me, spook me, bribe me, manipulate me, or what?”

He paused, unbuckling his belt. “Just save the world.”

She rolled her eyes and waved him off.

“I have no clue what any of this means,” Jenn said when he returned, feeling like he’d be able to live with himself another twenty-four hours.

“Of course not. It's code. You need one of those little invisible ink pens out of cereal boxes. Did you pack one?” Instead of laughing, she glared at him. He looked over her shoulder, pointing at codes. “Come on, kid, what does that mean?” 

“Agent down,” she muttered.

He paused, catching her eye before saying, “Natalie Holtz, to be precise. A.K.A. Kathleen Worthins.”

She gasped.

“It’s not a nice world out there at the moment.” He took the laptop. “Let me see if anyone has information about it yet.” He typed, then paused and pointed to the screen. “Can you decipher that?”

She leaned forward and stared at the screen. “No. It's gibberish.”

“Actually, it's Bogotá.”

“Ah, that far away place where you claim Nick is.”

“Yes. No news has come in, so let’s let it ride, okay?” He shut the computer down and called the doctor's office. “It's not strep,” he said after hanging up. “Probably a virus. Treat with Tylenol and decongestants. Lots of fluids. Ready to go?”

Jenn jumped up. “Past ready.” She snatched Katie out of the curtains and turned to wait for him. 

End Chapter 20

If you're wondering where you stand on "to be" verbs, read the first page of one of your manuscripts and count them. Don't forget the conjunctions like "she's" and "we're" and "they're." 

If a book seems boring to you, check a paragraph or two for the infamous "to be" verbs. They could be killing interest faster than the story line. If you like the story line and want to continue, try replacing the "to be" verbs in your mind with something better. 

If my work is riddled with too many "to be" verbs and it's upsetting you, let me know in the comment section.  Thanks!