Hey everyone! Something I’ve discovered in the process of creating stories in prose is that writing is not just writing, writing is REWRITING.
I’ve done a major rewrite of the first chapter in the second Charlotte book. Here it is in full. If you are good enough to give input, I will probably rewrite again!
CHAPTER ONE: Charlotte Harding walks into a bar…
If Beth and I can just get our hands on Reginald Jackson, all of our money problems will be over. But getting our hands on him has proven difficult. Hell, Reginald Jackson isn’t even his real name. I guess it’s the best he could come up with once he found out there’s a bounty on his head.
Right now Beth and I are sitting in a rented Jeep Cherokee freezing our tails off and keeping an eye on a bar called The Mountain Pass. Freddie Fender’s latest hit, Wasted Days and Wasted Nights keeps us company on the radio. There’s a good chance Reginald will show; we hear he comes by often. From our spot beyond the tree line, we use our binoculars to see the face of every guy that walks in and out. Its only 9:00 pm so there are a couple of hours of daylight left. There’s plenty of time to wait but Beth is getting impatient. “One of us should go inside and check the place out.”
I respond while looking through the binoculars. “There’s no need for that. If one of us walks in he may see us before we see him. I don’t want to lose him again like we did in Chicago.”
“He may not even be here. For all we know he’s skipped Alaska, but someone in there might be able to tell us what we want to know.”
We’ve been sitting here for three hours with nothing to show for it. I’m starting to get a little impatient myself. “Okay, but I’ll be the one to go in; you create too much of a ruckus.”
“Whatever you say sugar.”
After a short march through the snow, I’m at the swinging saloon doors of the bar’s front entrance. A hundred years ago it was a trading post but now it’s a place where Alaskan men go to get a burger and a beer. By all accounts, not many women stop by so I figure my southern charm can get some info out of the bartender. I walk in and notice the lighting is barely enough to make out faces of patrons in the back. From the look and smell of the place, it’s probably a good thing not to get a close look at your food either. I take a seat on a stool about halfway down the bar. I’m not there two seconds when a bulky and pungent man takes the stool on my left. “Hey babe, you lookin’ for a man?”