Thanks to all my readers that have taken advantage of my two day free book promotion… I hope you enjoy reading The Science of Loving. So what am I up to now, you ask? I’ve just started the first pass edits of my novella Dead Dwight: a dark comedy. I’ll be sending this to test readers (you know who you are.) in a few weeks. I’ll be publishing it under the pen name E.V. Iverson in honor of my paternal grandmother since this isn’t a romance—Sorry fans. Next one, I promise.
Below is an exert for anyone interested:
“I sat on the front porch with a toothpick, full as a tick on a summer night. It just didn’t get any better than this I thought, loosening my belt. I knew I should feel bad—remorseful, something. I munched Darla down quicker than she could say, “do nothin’ Dwight”… Again. Maybe it’s cause I’m dead ‘n all, but somehow I just can’t seem to get all that worked up. I mean, I’m dead, right? Or maybe it’s shock from the whole Darla-Cody revelation.
Cody Billings for Christ sakes! Why him? He’s a lazy, low-down, no account, redneck, inbred lump of stupidity; crazier than a shithouse fly. Last I heard he was in county lockup for siphoning gas out of cars—cars parked across the street from the sheriff’s office no less—mullet-headed dumbass. He’s the reason cousins shouldn’t be allowed to live in the same county.
But, whatever the reason, I just couldn’t quite make myself feel anything, other than a reluctance to leave the porch glider. But Mama’d always been real particular about her kitchen, and I felt I owed it to her memory to put it to rights. Besides, Lord only knew who’d stop by while I went to see Old Hannah. If it weren’t for saving my twig ‘n berries, I’d rather eat farts than cross that old crone’s path.
Heaving a sigh, I gathered myself up and set about doing the supper wash-up. Who would have thought arterial spray could go so far? And cleaving someone’s head to get to their brains was nothing like cracking a coconut. It’s amazing what a man will do for pie.
So’s not to be foresworn, I packed Darla’s leavings into those Hefty bags just like I promised (‘though I don’t reckon she’ll keep,) and mixed up about five gallons of bleach-water since commenced scrubbing, and then scrubbed some more…”
Update… 12/15 This exert is deader than Dwight. After initial tests reads I’ve gone back and rewritten the entire book in third person…