Guest Author Susmita Bhattacharya. An Excerpt from The Normal State of Mind.

A week late and a day early! So much happening that my regular post was missed last Friday BUT here it is.

I am so pleased to have Susmita back on the Scribbler. She was featured on the 4Q portion of the Scribbler last month and you can find her links, a short bio and catch the interview here .



Following is an excerpt from her exciting new novel, The Normal State of Mind.

Two women from Diamond Harbour district of twenty-four Parganas have committed suicide after their ‘marriage’ is shunned by families.

Moushumi stared at the television news reporter. He was standing among a crowd of villagers, shouting out the report over their chanting. The camera then zoomed on the faces of the two women’s mothers. They were wailing and beating their breasts, claiming their daughters were innocent. They had been victims of black magic. There was an inset, a rather dated photograph of the deceased, then probably in their teens, with ribbons in their hair and toothy grins.

The lovers, both from farming communities, had grown up together in their tiny village near Falta. They had secretly married each other, when their parents started looking for prospective bridegrooms, by exchanging garlands and promises in a Shiva temple. When one of the women’s fathers went ahead with wedding preparations, the two came out and confronted their parents. They were then beaten by the families. A tantric was summoned to drive away the spirits that had possessed them to take such action. An ojha was performed and one of the women was forcefully married off to an old man. Her lover immolated herself at the time of the wedding. Hearing this tragedy, the other woman escaped from her husband’s home and drowned herself in the river. She left a note for her family saying that if the two had been allowed to live together, they’d all be happy and alive.

The reporter looked straight at the camera as he finished his report. Moushumi looked away. She realised she had been so caught up with listening to the news, she hadn’t noticed her father had been watching as well. ‘Sensationalism,’ he exclaimed from behind her. ‘They will report anything in the media nowadays to get attention.’

Moushumi looked up. ‘But Baba, surely must be something genuine to report this, or why would they? They were very brave to face the world.’ She watched him for his reaction.

He sniffed and reached for his cup of tea.

‘Ma, did you hear about this?’ Her mother was juggling a spatula and a spoon while stirring the dal and frying the fish. She wiped the sweat that ran down her neck and strained to hear above the splutter of the fish sizzling in the pan.

‘Utter rot,’ her father mumbled and opened the newspaper again. ‘What is the world coming to? Chee chee. Desperate village bumpkins. How can the TV news report such filth, I fail to recognise.’

Moushumi flinched, ashamed. She was indulging in something her father found filthy. ‘It’s quite normal in the Western society. It is becoming accepted there.’

Her father glared at her but said nothing. He turned to the sports page and cursed about Mohun Bagan losing again. He was clearly not interested in continuing on the topic. ‘What were you saying, Mou?’ her mother asked, joining them in the sitting room. The air was smoky with all the deep frying.

The smell of the fish had seeped stubbornly into the mattress on the divan and the cushions and the curtains. But it was a comforting smell, not the artificial rose and lily room freshener that Moushumi had to adjust to on Saturdays in Jasmine’s flat.

Her father left the room and Moushumi decided that she could still try out her mother. ‘Two women committed suicide because their marriage was not accepted in society.’

‘Oh,’ her mother said. ‘Hindu women?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Did they marry Muslims or what?’

‘No, Ma. They married each other. The two women married each other.’

Her mother stopped tidying the cushions and stared at her.

‘Two women? Why on earth?’

‘They said they loved each other.’

‘But how will they have children? Who will look after them?’

Moushumi felt better. At least she was curious and asking questions. At least her first reaction was not that they were filthy. ‘Does that matter? They loved each other.’

‘What fools,’ her mother replied. ‘They’ve ruined their families’ reputations. I hope they haven’t left behind any unmarried sisters, or that will be the end of the road for them.’

‘You think so?’ Her mother busied herself with putting right the newspaper.

‘Stupid naive girls, did something under the influence of filmy romance, I suppose.’

Moushumi felt betrayed. Her mother was not on her side.

How could she ever tell them if the time came? Wiping her hands on the end of her sari, her mother said,

‘Anyway, I don’t have time for all this nonsense. I still have to finish cooking lunch. How would you like your fish? Mustard sauce or tomato?’

 

***

 

‘Silly girls,’ said Jasmine, grimacing at the newspaper-cutting Moushumi thrust into her hand. ‘No brains, these villager types.’

The news of the two women had found a little space in the local newspaper. Moushumi had cut it out and kept it in her handbag. She wasn’t sure whether this was to remind her that this sort of thing was not accepted, or to reassure her that this was not her fate, yet. She had hoped that Jasmine would take up their case, get angry, and promise her that such things didn’t happen in big cities. Instead, Jasmine had just laughed about the whole situation. ‘You too, Jazz? Don’t you believe in their love? Wouldn’t you have backed them up?’

‘For what, Mou? Be sensible. You are living in a fantasy world.’ Jasmine switched on the television. The theme song of The Bold and the Beautiful filled the room. She tucked the sheet under her chin and watched idly.

‘But it is accepted in the West,’ argued Moushumi.

‘Then go and live in the West. Find yourself a lover there and make a home for yourselves. Don’t keep harping on about it and spoil my mood.’

‘But we are lovers, Jasmine.’ Moushumi shot back. ‘Like those two girls. We do the same thing, and yet you reject their bravery in wanting to live together?’

Jasmine increased the volume of the television. The air-conditioning started to whir noisily, adding to Moushumi’s distress. She wanted to shut everything off and shake Jasmine hard. Make her listen to her. Answer her questions.

‘We can’t live together, surely you know that? Or go public,’ Jasmine said finally, during a commercial break.

Moushumi nodded. She was not stupid to have such hopes.

‘Then why the entire headache?’ Jasmine asked her. ‘You will eventually have to get a man to marry you and then we could continue meeting.’

‘But, I don’t want it like that,’ Moushumi said. ‘I want to have a truthful relationship.’

‘A truthful relationship? Which world are you in, madam? Just enjoy yourself and stop complaining. You’re lucky with what you’re getting.’

There was truth in every word of what Jasmine had said.

How could they have an open relationship? What name would they give it? Moushumi thought of those two village girls. Did this kind of love mean being confined in a bedroom, once a week, having sex?

She realised she was lucky that Jasmine had another flat for them to hide in, to indulge themselves in.

What about the rest of them? Where did they go? What did they do?

‘It’s useless, Jasmine. This whole thing is a waste of time.’

Moushumi slid under the sheets and held Jasmine’s hand.

‘Why do I bother to come?’

Jasmine turned around and stared at Moushumi for a long time. Her gaze softened, and when the commercial break ended, she didn’t turn back to the television. ‘I’m so glad you do come, darling. So don’t spoil things with miserable realities. Okay, let’s get out of this place. You’ll have to tell your parents a very big lie, mind.’

Moushumi nodded. At that moment, she didn’t care very much. She would do anything for Jasmine. She clung to her, trembling, waiting for Jasmine to touch her. Soothe her nerves. They kissed quietly, and Jasmine stroked her hair, murmuring into her ear. Moushumi calmed down.

At last they were going to venture out of this flat. They were going to do something fun.

Thank you Susmita for sharing an excerpt from your novel. The book can be purchased here .



Please visit us next Friday when the 4Q Interview features Moncton artist Ralph Gruenewald. An interesting and very talent man.

Looking for an awesome summertime story? Look no farther. Get your copy of  this thriller The Dark Side of a Promise here .

Guest Author Ellie Campbell - The sister writing team of Pam & Lorraine.

Ellie Campbell is the pseudonym for sisters, Pam Burks and Lorraine Campbell who collaborate across the mighty Atlantic, finding writing together  the perfect excuse for endless phone conversations. They are equally passionate about travel, animals and the great outdoors. Although Pam lives near London, UK, with husband, three children and a dog, while Lorraine is on a Colorado ranch near wonderful and wild Boulder with husband, five horses, five cats, one dog and four chickens - they both believe in enjoying life to the fullest.

 Today you can read an excerpt from "How to Survive Your Sisters". You can learn more about these talented authors by visiting their website chicklitsisters

CHAPTER 1

 

Natalie MacLeod walked into the maternity ward of St Joseph’s with purple daisies in her hand and profound dismay in her heart. Wincing visibly at the groans and screams audible through too-thin walls and averting her eyes from half-snatched glimpses of drip bags, plastic piping and other disgusting hospital apparatus, she pushed open the doors to the semi-private room and hesitated, examining the tableau before her.

In many ways it echoed several she’d passed along the way; the same Perspex cot beside the bed, the same medical paraphernalia and the same crowd of eager visitors, except in one important respect. This patient, with wet patches across her chest and a tired smile plastered onto her face, was her sister.

What on earth was Milly thinking? Didn’t she have enough on her plate with two rambunctious boys and one insufferable teenage daughter? Hazel, their youngest sister, had said – swearing Natalie to secrecy – that Ivor’s condom had sprung a leak, but in this day and age everyone knew there was absolutely no need for mistakes. Tubes could be tied. Ivor could have the snip. Men were ridiculously squeamish about these things of course, but if she and Jeremy were ever in that particular waterlogged barge…

She shuddered. Nope, it would never happen. Couldn’t happen. She, Natalie, would never allow it. After all, there was such a thing as a morning after pill.

And now here was Milly, who’d never quite lost the baby weight from Rory, sprawled out on the hospital bed like a… like a… well, Natalie sucked in her well-toned gut automatically, she didn’t want to be uncharitable – or, worse, cliché – but it was hard not to get an image of scores of exhausted do-gooders trying to push a hapless orca towards a receding sea.

She ran a manicured hand quickly through her blonde bob, pasting a magnanimous smile on her face as she waited by the swinging door for her family to notice her.

“Natalie,” Milly’s face was unbecomingly flushed, a lock of damp hair stuck to her forehead but her happiness radiated the room. “Come and meet your new nephew.” She cooed over the bundle in her arms. “Isn’t he a darling? Isn’t he just perfect?”

 From their chairs by the bed, Peggy and Callum rose to greet their third-born.

 “Natalie,” her mother swept upon her, all dressed up for the occasion in her best winter coat and a hideous printed dress, shapeless if it weren’t for a bulging sash that tugged it too high in the front like a distorted stage curtain that exposed large bony knees.

“How lovely to see you, dear,” she beamed cheerily. “I was just telling your father that I don’t know why I bothered to put myself through the agonies of childbirth. I swear it takes an earthquake to dislodge you or Avril from London these days. Of course I know Hazel’s gallivanting all over the globe and Avril’s fantastically busy with her illustrious career, but I’d think you, at least, could drag yourself away from that sexy man of yours to visit us once in a blue moon. Honestly, I’ve four daughters and, except for darling Milly, I might as well have spared myself the bother of labor and all those nappy changes.”

 Natalie’s eyes narrowed, her teeth gritting, as Callum clumsily patted her shoulder. Her father smelt of peppermints and pipe tobacco but, thankfully, no hidden undercurrents she could distinguish and the fingers searching the pocket of his ancient tweed sports jacket were tremor-free.

 “Och, don’t mind your mother, she’s just teasing,” he rasped. “Come and sit by me. Tell us everything you’ve been up to, eh?”

“Well, as it happens, I do have an important…”

“Wow, he’s gorgeous! You look fab, Milly! Well done, sweetie!” In a tumult of Opium perfume and Nicole Farhi, Avril had hijacked the limelight, rushing over to envelope Milly in her arms, praising her new nephew before she’d even given his sleeping face a glance.

“Hi Mum, Dad, Nats,” she made the rounds of hugs and air kisses with all the insincerity and polish of someone who’d made a very prosperous vocation of working the room, coming to rest on the chair Peggy had vacated, only her circling Chloe-clad toe betraying the urgent tick-tock of precious wasted time. “Sorry I’m so late but I got a call - Julia Roberts of all people. I brought Moët…” She flourished a gold-topped bottle, then caught her mother’s scowl, “…but maybe we should save it for later. I can only stay a minute. All hell’s breaking loose back at the office. I’m over the moon for you, Mills. He’s a cutie! Too bad Hazel’s not here.”

“Too bad?” Stung by the familiar mix of chagrin and disappointment that her family inevitably inspired, Natalie lashed back. “If she had any consideration at all, she’d have come home for this. She knew when Milly was due. Is it too much to expect that she’d make a bit of an effort for her family for once?”

As always Avril was hot in Hazel’s defense.

“Don’t be such a witch, Nasty.” Her fingers fidgeted, clearly itching for a cigarette, her mobile or a quick clutch at her younger sister’s neck. “You know full well Hazel had planned this trip and bought her ticket months before Milly found out she was expecting. Besides, look who’s talking - you couldn’t even be bothered to show up at Hazel’s leaving do. Too busy with Jeremy and his moronic city crowd, I imagine. In any case,” unable to resist she took a peek at her mobile, checking for texts, before realizing hospital policy had forced her to switch off, “it’s not as if it’s Milly’s first, is it?”

Into the impending war a little voice squeaked in.

“Doesn’t anyone want to see the baby?” Milly suggested meekly. “He’s just woken.”

There was a moment’s guilty silence. Then a flurry around the bed.

Avril gently stroked the baby’s left hand, visibly relaxing her usually tense, over-worked gym-toned body. “He’s just precious, Mills. I can definitely see Ivor in him. And such soft skin. So have you decided on a name yet?” It had taken Milly and Ivor a week to agree on Rory’s name.

“Ben,” Milly adjusted his little white hat. “After Ivor’s grandfather, Benjamin. Look he’s staring right at you, Natalie.”

Natalie peered down. “Can they see at this age?”

“He’s not a kitten, Nee Nee.” Callum laughed, what was left of his white hair apparently standing to attention.

“Hush now,” Peggy bent down and picked him up, brown eyes glistening in her wrinkled face. “Here, Callum, you hold him and we’ll call that nice nurse in to take a photo of us all.”

“No, no.” Her husband backed away, rubbing a hand over his rarely-shaven chin where a small piece of toilet paper showed he’d nicked himself that morning. “I might drop him.”

“Phooey! Four children and three grandchildren and you’ve never dropped one of them yet.”

“Sure you never dropped Natalie, Dad?” Milly teased. “Might explain a few things.”

“Funny – not, dear sister.” Natalie screwed up her face. “Where’s Ivor by the way? I thought at least at a time like this he’d be glued to your side.”

“He was,” Milly sounded instantly defensive. “For hours and hours. All through labor. Poor man’s hardly had any sleep in the last few days. He’s only just left to get Erin, Fergus and Rory off to school and I told him to take a nap before he comes back. He’s been a saint, really.”

Natalie looked unconvinced, as Peggy gushed forth.

“Hazel might be the most adventurous and Avril the most successful but I do think Milly’s the bravest. Hours of labor with hardly a peep.” Behind her back, Milly made a face, comically suggesting otherwise, as Peggy continued in her piercing voice that could penetrate the morgue three floors below. “Turned out little Ben here had the cord wrapped around his neck. And then there was that awful business with the placenta. I told Milly she should ask the hospital to save it for her. Lots of aboriginal cultures believe in eating it. Full of iron.”

Natalie recoiled. “That is totally revolting.”

“Not just aborigines, Mum,” Avril chipped in, noticing Natalie look faintly green. “I think there’s a few of the Birkenstock Brigade partial to a little nosh. Or you could always bury it in your garden, have a little ceremony. That’s quite a trend too.”

“Anyway,” Natalie’s voice cut through the unpleasant conversation. “Now we’re all here, I have some news too.” She waited till all eyes were on her and then dropped the bomb. “Jeremy and I have picked a date for the wedding.”

“Oh but that’s wonderful, wonderful!” Peggy’s eyes flooded with tears as she rushed to hug her third daughter.

“About bloody time,” Callum grinned, rubbing his unlit pipe between smoke-stained fingers.

“Gosh, Nats, that’s brilliant. When is it?” Milly smiled happily.

“Early July. We’ve booked the church in Little Hooking. Isn’t it superb?” Basking in her family’s excitement, Natalie’s face looked as pink and pretty as any bride’s.

Avril rose to her feet, towering over everyone in the room, even without her four-inch heels. “Superb.” It was sardonic, her face shuttered, eyes cold. “Well done, Natalie,” she whispered in her sister’s ear. “You couldn’t wait to steal Milly’s thunder for your own little portion of glory, could you?” She swiveled to face the others. “Well, sorry to walk out on all the excitement but I really do have to go.”

And out she swooshed, sucking with her all Natalie’s joy.

Caught off balance, Natalie wavered between guilt and anger.

“I’m sorry, Milly. I never meant… I just thought with us all being together. Anyway,” she took refuge in leaning over Ben, trying to conceal the hurt of Avril’s words from sparkling in her eyes. “Avril’s right, he is a beautiful baby.” She could feel her throat slightly choked. Why was it no one could wound you like a sister? “Utterly perfect, thank God - even if he was a mistake.” The words slipped out before she realized her mouth had formed them.

“A mistake!” Milly clutched her child to her breast, outrage widening the blue eyes that were so similar to Natalie’s and the infant in her arms. “Why on earth would you say that? Ivor and I wanted this child more than anything else in the world. We were trying for an absolute age.”

This time there was no ambivalence about Natalie’s feelings. Rage rushed through her as she realized that, once again, she’d been had.

Damn! With every ounce of her heart, and for the thousandth time in her life, she wanted, longed, yearned to kill that bloody Hazel.

 

Thank you Pam and Lorraine for sharing an excerpt from your novel. Read more about Ellie Campbell at www.chicklitsisters.com  where you will discover more links to their novels and social media.

Please drop by next week for a thrilling excerpt from my latest Novel-In-Progress. The Wall of War. I've almost completed the second draft and then it's off to beta readers.

 

4Q Interview with Author Susmita Bhattacharya.

The Scribbler is pleased to have Susmita Bhattacharya of Plymouth, England on the 4Q Interview this month. It is Susmita’s second visit. As one of our Guest Authors she previously shared her enjoyable short story, The Mango Season.  Susmita is an accomplished author who has just released her debut novel, The Normal State of Mind.  You can discover more about by following the links below.

 

4Q: We are anxious to hear about your new novel. Please tell us what to expect when we read The Normal State of Mind.

SB: The Normal State of Mind is a story about love, friendship and finding one’s voice. It is a story about two women, Dipali and Moushumi and their friendship. It is a story of how their friendship helps them deal with personal issues and the Indian traditions that dictate how they should present themselves in society, for one is a widow, and the other is a lesbian.

The novel is set in 1990s India, and I hope to show aspects of urban India and Indian society that have not been seen in Indian fiction. I hope this book will bring about a debate or discussion about women empowerment and the LGBT presence in India.

One of my favourite quotes is by Vijayalakshmi Pandit, the first woman politician to hold a cabinet post and diplomat, whose brother happened to be the first prime minister of India. She mentioned in a piece in the Ananda Bazaar Patrika (1938): ‘People tell me the modern woman is aggressive. I wonder if this is true. But if it is, she has good reason for it, and her aggression is only the natural outcome of generations of suppression. The first taste of liberty is intoxicating, and for the first time in human history, a woman is experiencing the delights of this intoxication...’ 

This stands true even in today. She wrote this in 1938, we are in 2015 now, and still, the modern woman is fighting... fighting for her rights, fighting for her equal place in society. I realised that be it lesbian or a widow, as Dipali, mentions in the book, women are still identified in relation to a man, or to the lack of one.

It is a story simply told and I hope it will connect with readers around the globe. When I was researching for the book, I talked to people from different cultures and social backgrounds, and realized that there are some issues that affect people no matter where they come from. The struggle with coming out and acceptance is something common for most gay and lesbian people I talked to. But this is a story set in metropolitan cities of Mumbai and Calcutta, this is not a general reflection of Indian women in any way.

And yes, there is a lot about Indian food in the book!

4Q: You have many short stories and poems published in the UK and internationally. How did the idea for your novel begin and when did you decide to write this story. 

SB: The novel started as a dissertation for my Masters in Creative Writing in 2005. I was comfortable with writing short stories, but I wanted to push the boundaries and attempt writing a novel. It was difficult to put a finger on what I should write about. I thought of many complicated plots, historical themes etc but wasn’t confident to write, or rather see it to its end. But the mantra ‘writing what one knows about’ struck a chord as I realised that my experience as a single, working woman in Mumbai and having friendships with like minded women, and men was the best place to start. My experience as an assistant to a well-known fashion photographer also helped me shape the book. Though I have been inspired by some of my experiences to write the book, this book isn’t about me or anyone I know. But I had fun revisiting some old haunts to refresh my memory and reconnecting with old friends.

The book took eight years to write, as in between, I had two children, moved houses and relocated from Cardiff to Plymouth. It then took two years for the book to be accepted by a publisher, and finally it is here in 2015.

 

4Q: Please share a childhood memory or anecdote. 

SB: I was born and bred in Mumbai. In the book, I have written about the bomb blasts that ripped through the city in 1993. I was in Art College then, and my friend and I were returning home on a public bus. We had made a plan to have lunch at my place. As I was preparing lunch, we heard a bang, and the crows in the trees shrieked and flew up into the sky. We shrugged it off, thinking someone had started off a firecracker. But it happened again, this time closer to home. The house shook, the window panes rattled, and the smell of gunpowder came through. We weren’t sure what was happening. This was before the days of social media and mobile phones, so news didn’t get around so quickly. Also, the telephone lines went dead, so we couldn’t contact anyone. My parents were at work and my sister in school. Then a family friend came rushing in and told us that bombs were going off in various parts of Mumbai, and two had gone off just couple of hundred yards away from my house. And the scary part was, when we were on that bus, it had stopped at the traffic lights just outside the building that had been bombed fifteen minutes before it had gone off.

My dad returned from work and he rushed to the school where my mum and sister were to escort them home. He had to walk past the bombed sites and told us how the street was covered in shattered glass and debris. He got them home safely. But in the meantime, I was worried sick as we didn’t know when and where the next bomb would go off, and was relieved only after they all got back safely. My friend too had to wait until her father managed to find a way to come to our house and fetch her. Unfortunately, there were many others who did not get back home that day. This day will remain etched in my brain forever.

 

4Q: Spending several years travelling to many parts of the world with your husband must have been an exciting adventure. Can you share some of your experiences? 

SB: I spent time on seven oil tankers over a period of three years. Those years seem surreal to me now. Was I really on board oil tankers, experiencing all sorts of adventures? I think spending time away from the human civilization, seeing nothing but the blue sea and sky for days helped me look inwards and make friends with myself. It also made me appreciate nature as well as understand how human interference can harm nature’s way.

One of the first things that come to mind is how I came across events/ moments without planning for them. For instance, I once looked out of my bedroom porthole when we had anchored out at sea, and just below me was a dolphin that was helping her little one to swim. She held the baby over her snout and pushed it above the water to breathe. Maybe they were just playing. I felt very honoured to be given that opportunity to watch.

Another time, our ship had anchored at Augusta, Sicily. My husband and I stepped out to see the town, and I was intrigued to see the whole town covered in ash. Looking up, I saw Mt Etna belching out smoke. For three days, we stayed anchored in the bay, and I watched a live volcano with lava streaming down the mountainside, once again from my cabin windows. We’ve been tossed about on stormy waters, sailed on glass-like calm seas, kept watch to keep pirates at bay and done the Titanic pose to boredom!

But again, being out at sea without much communication (on that particular ship we didn’t have email contact), we completely missed out on the day 9/11 happened to the rest of the world. On that day, we were treated to best ever display of dolphins and whales that came close to our ship, and it seemed they were performing for us. Hundreds of dolphins leaped and danced against the evening sun, whales spouted showers and swam along the ship, swishing their tails and diving. Flying fish glinted above the water. It was a fully orchestrated show. We didn’t know what was happening elsewhere in the world. That night, the Chief Officer got some news on the radio, but reception wasn’t clear, so though we gauged something had happened, we didn’t know what exactly. We called home and that was when we realized what had happened. But it was only a week after 9/11, when we reached Gibraltar, did we first set eyes on the television replays and newspapers.

On a more cheerful note, there was another very pleasant experience when sailing down the St Lawrence River, Canada. There was a man on the shore who would find out which ship passed by his house and he’d raise the flag of the crew as a hello. (Not sure if he is still there, this was about 12 years ago). As we made our way down the river, my husband told me to go up to the deck and watch the shore. So I did. Suddenly, I saw the Indian flag rise up and the national anthem being played, in the wilderness on the shores of the river in Canada. I’d been away from home for so long, it was as if this man had hugged me personally and welcomed me to his home. It was a wonderful feeling.

 

Thank you Susmita for being our guest this week. Susmita’s novel can be purchased here. Her website is susmita-bhattacharya.blogspot.co.uk/

 

Next week on the Scribbler you will meet a writing team of sisters, Lorraine Campbell and Pam Burks that pen under the name of Ellie Campbell. Read an excerpt from one of their novels.

Guest Author Tim Baker of Flagler Beach, Florida.

The Scribbler is pleased to have Tim Baker as a guest author this week. Tim was recently featured on the 4Q Interview. He is an accomplished author with ten books to his credit. Tim was born and raised in Warwick, Rhode Island. After graduating from The Wentworth Institute of Technology in 1980 he embarked on a career in Architecture and Engineering. Along the way he has also worked in the natural gas industry, construction and ice cream sales. In his spare time he enjoys a wide variety of activities including sports of all kinds, music, motorcycles, scuba diving, and, of course, writing.
An avid dog lover, Tim was a volunteer puppy raiser for Guiding Eyes for the Blind, raising and socializing potential guide dogs. Find out more about Tim by clicking his link below. 

Following is an excerpt from one of his novels.

Eyewitness blues ch 18

 

 

Mercedez tracked the progress of the day by watching the shadows creep their way around the basement.

She fought the need to pee for as long as she could, but inevitably lost the struggle. Two hours later, thanks to the dampness of the basement, her jeans were still wet from her urine. The duct tape on her face and around her wrists combined with the cramps in her legs were an added bonus to the overall misery. Judging by the fading light that made its way through the small window, she decided she had been there for at least eight hours.

When she heard the door open and the footsteps on the floor above, she was oddly comforted, even though she knew she should be afraid. Just to be able to move her arms and legs would be a welcome feeling.

A man’s figure made its way down the stairs. When he emerged from the shadows, she recognized him. Everybody called him Spanky, but she thought his real name was George. Maybe it was his lack of hygiene, or the way his eyes seemed to be looking off in two different directions, she wasn’t sure, but there was something creepy about him.

Creepy or not, at least he wasn’t Lorenzo.

Mercedez knew the next time she saw Lorenzo he would be there to kill her. Spanky wasn’t the guy Don sent on such assignments, he was more of an errand boy. At least she had that working in her favor. Now she just needed to figure out a way to take advantage of it.

The duct tape prevented her from asking the question, but her eyes conveyed it.

“Lorenzo sent me over to check on you,” Spanky said.

As hard as it was to believe, he smelled worse than the basement, and his breath was absolutely toxic even from two feet away.

 He released her and pushed her toward the stairs. When they emerged in the kitchen he pointed toward the bathroom.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Too late,” she said, indicating her stained crotch.

He shrugged and took a container of milk from the refrigerator. After downing a few gulps he offered it to her. She wanted a drink more than anything, but the thought of sharing the milk with this repulsive man turned her stomach, not to mention the prospect of being left tied up in the basement again with no opportunity to relieve herself later.

Mercedez casually glanced at the front door…and the secured dead bolt. The windows, at least the three she could see, were all closed.

Escape was the only way she would leave this house alive, and this was probably her best, if not only, chance.

Spanky had his back to her while he checked the contents of the refrigerator. She scanned the kitchen for a weapon.

Nothing.

The box-cutter!

She always carried a box-cutter in her purse. Could she get to the other room and get it out fast enough?

Probably not.

Maybe she could overpower him—he wasn’t much bigger than her—then run away. She casually lifted one of the old wooden chairs at the kitchen table. It was heavy enough to put a good hurting on the slender Spanky, then she could make a run for it.

The pain and stiffness in her legs dismissed that plan. Unless she knocked him out cold, or killed him, she wouldn’t be able to run fast enough to escape.

Spanky straightened up and closed the refrigerator.

“If you don’t need the can, I guess it’s time to go back downstairs,” he said.

There was no sympathy in his voice, so appealing to his chivalry wouldn’t work. There was only one card left to play.

Mercedez reached back into the buried parts of her mind and recalled her dancer’s mentality. The ability to disconnect from the situation and ignore the reactions of men wanting a piece of her while she smiled and coaxed them into giving her money they could ill-afford to part with.

It was part of her skill set she had hoped she would never have to rely on again, but…

She flipped the mental switch and slipped her arms around Spanky’s neck.

Before he knew what was happening, she kissed him hard. She felt her stomach clench at the foul taste and fought it with everything she had. She ran her fingers through his greasy hair and grinded her pelvis into his already swollen crotch.

His hands quickly found her ass and Mercedez increased the passion in her kiss and added more pelvic pressure to his crotch. She slid her mouth to his ear and allowed her tongue to dance around it as she feigned heavy breathing.

“Anything you want,” she groaned. “Nobody has to know. You tell them I was gone when you got here.”

His hands released her ass and pushed her away.

“No way,” he said. “No friggin’ way.”

Mercedez moved back in and massaged his groin. “Come on, we can have a good time. We can make it look like I surprised you. They’ll never know.”

She knew it wouldn’t matter to Gammino if she had somehow produced an assault rifle and shot her way out of the house, Spanky would pay with his life anyway. She just prayed that he didn’t know that.

He pushed her away again.

“Stop,” he said, adjusting his crotch. “I’d love to take you around the world, but if you get away on my watch I’m as good as dead.”

Damnit!

“No. We can...”

“Be quiet. There ain’t no we. We ain’t doin’ nothin’. You’re going back downstairs and I’m going back to tell Lorenzo you’re still here. Done deal. Now let’s go.”

He extended his arm toward the basement door.

Mercedez went for one more stall.

“I guess I should go to the bathroom after all,” she said.

“Hurry it up.”

The windowless bathroom offered no chance of escape. She searched for some kind of weapon. With the exception of a sliver of soap on the rust-stained sink and half-a-roll of toilet paper, the bathroom was empty.

She reached for the doorknob, but stopped short. She spun around and pried the dried soap from the back of the sink. 

Obviously Spanky wasn’t leaving.

The television in the front room was on.

She started working her wrists. The soap had definitely helped prevent the duct tape from bonding to her skin completely and after several minutes she was able to slip free of the tape. She removed the tape from her ankles and finally the piece covering her mouth.

She stretched her arms and legs as she took inventory of the options.

The basement windows were too small and too high to allow her to get out through one. There was a workbench along one of the basement walls.  At one end of the bench were several old cans of paint. As quietly as she could she searched the bench for a weapon—a hammer would be ideal. The only items she found that could serve as weapons were a screwdriver and a rusty old bow-saw, the kind used for trimming tree branches, neither of which gave her any kind of tactical advantage. She would have to get too close to Spanky to use them, which would result in a skirmish that she would probably lose.

She looked at the stairs and remembered the noise they made when used and knew her chances of sneaking upstairs undetected were not promising—and even if she were successful in making it to the top of the stairs, was the basement door unlocked?

Even if she got out of the basement she would still face the problem of overpowering Spanky, unless she could slip out a back door or window undetected.

The odds were not in her favor. She needed a better plan.

Something Gammino had once said came back to her…The reason I am where I am is because I learned to turn my disadvantages into advantages.

Right now her biggest disadvantage was being trapped in the basement.

And just like that the pieces fell into place. 

Spanky flipped through the channels and stopped on an episode of Man vs. Food. The host was in New York City eating hot dogs. Just as it was getting interesting he heard a loud noise from the basement, like somebody had knocked over a bunch of cans.

“What the fuck?” he muttered.

 

Peering down the stairs into darkness he called out.

“Yo, what’s going on down there?”

No response.

He flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. He flipped it back and forth several times with the same result. He took a zippo from his pocket and lit it. Holding it in front of him he moved down the stairs. About halfway down his foot slipped in a thick liquid.

“What the…”

He tried to maintain his balance, but his other foot slipped as well. Before he could stop himself he had tumbled to the bottom of the stairs and landed in a heap against the concrete wall. He didn’t have to try to stand to know that his ankle was twisted badly and maybe even broken.

 

“Jesus…” He ran his hand over his body, feeling a thick, wet, slimy substance, which, in the limited light, he assumed was his own blood.

The sudden movement to the right caught his attention and in the blink of an eye he knew he was in deep trouble. 

Mercedez watched from the shadows as Spanky slipped on the paint-covered steps and tumbled to the bottom. She sprang from her hiding place and emptied the contents of another can of paint on his face. When he was sufficiently blinded she took a third gallon and slammed it across his head repeatedly until he stopped trying to get up.

She dragged him across the floor and duct-taped him to the same column she had been tied to.

Spanky moaned several times, but offered no resistance. When the roll of tape was empty she was satisfied he would not be able to squirm out the way she had. For good measure she kicked him as hard as she could in the groin. His body went limp.

 

Mercedez stood over him for several seconds to make sure he was out.

Satisfied he wouldn’t be a threat, she carefully climbed the slick steps and locked the basement door behind her.

She found the keys to the van on the kitchen counter, and retrieved her purse. She locked the house behind her before driving away.

 

 Thank you Tim for sharing part of your story. Get the novel here  Read more about Tim on his website .


Next week on the Scribbler the 4Q Interview will host Susmita Bhattacharya of Cardiff, Wales when she answers 4 questions regarding her latest novel. Susmita has been featured as a guest author on the Scribbler previously. A very talented writer.