I submit this photo as proof that I am working on book number six — a mystery novel that bears some similarities to “The Clearwater House,” but this novel involves motorcycles instead of a house and a biker instead of a painter. I’m currently rewriting and editing and attempting to figure out how to fill some plot holes while also figuring out exactly how to end the story.
Rewriting and editing involves a lot of tidying and tossing of what I’ve already written. If you read my post a couple weeks ago about my manifesto, you may remember that the last item on the list was “Tidy and Toss.”
It’s become something of a mantra for me lately as I’ve also been tidying things around my house and tossing things I no longer need or use.
Ironically, today would have been my 33rd wedding anniversary. Talk about doing some serious tidying and tossing! I got rid of the most useless thing in my life 11 years ago. Should have done it sooner, but isn’t that the way it goes? Too often, we allow our lives to be encumbered with crap we don’t need, but we avoid going through all the work to get rid of the crap because it takes so much time and work to do so.
But the reward is so worth it.
When I throw out the unneeded junk in my manuscript, my writing is better. When I throw out the unneeded junk in my house, my house looks so much better. When I threw out the “trash” 11 years ago, everything about my life got better. Everything.
The process of tidying and tossing IS a never-ending task, that’s for sure. Even though I’ve thrown a lot of stuff out, there is so much more to go through, and since life seems to be an endless cycle of acquiring stuff we don’t really need, there will be more for me to throw out when I’ve finished with what I currently have. That’s why it’s on my manifesto of things I need and must do each day to live the life I want to live.
An uncluttered and purposeful life.
The same goes for my writing when it’s time to rewrite and edit. I must be able to tidy it up and toss parts of it forever. Not just able — I must be enthusiastic about doing that.
And I must be willing to do it over and over until I get the writing where I want it to be.
Today I’m going to share with you the prologue and the first two chapters for paying subscribers (through chapter one for free subscribers). These are the ones that I have tidied and tossed things from the most so far — there will be more, believe me. I challenge you to look for other things I should tidy and toss and to let me know what those things are. You can use the comment button below or reach me via the contact page on my website: author website
Even if they are minor things that bother you, let me know. The smallest detail can have the biggest impact.
Until next week. I will keep working on this book, on my house, and on my life. I wish you all a “trash-free” life — whatever your trash may be.
Please subscribe for full access.
Tammy Marshall
Her Ride or Die By: Tammy Marshall Prologue “Just My Luck” The cop pulled up behind the motorcycle, toggled his mic, and said, “This is Corporal Encino. I’ve got a motorcycle, possibly broken down, about five miles outside of town. No driver in sight. Currently off duty and heading home for the evening, but I’m going to check it out. I’ll radio back if I need help. Over.” He didn’t wait for confirmation from dispatch. The area was isolated, and the bike seemed abandoned. Placing his patrol hat snuggly on his head, he exited his cruiser and approached the motorcycle. He walked around the bike, studying it and the rock-covered shoulder where it was parked. The bike was a newer model and still in pristine condition. It appeared that its driver had abandoned it, though. He reached out his gloved hand, unscrewed the gas cap, and nudged the bike just enough to cause the gas to slosh against the side of the tank. He shone his penlight into the tank and noted that there was plenty of gas in it and nothing else that might have clogged the fuel line. Next, he squatted and eyeballed each tire. They were fully inflated. He carefully studied all the connecting wires that were visible, but everything seemed intact and as it should be. He opened the pouch that was mounted behind the windshield; it only contained a tube of ChapStick and a couple bandannas. Next, he opened one of the saddlebags and was in the process of probing its contents when a state patrol cruiser pulled up alongside him. “Just my luck,” he muttered. He turned away from the bike and nodded at the other officer through his open passenger window. “What you got here?” the cop asked him. Corporal Encino glanced at the young man’s badge and saw that his name was Jurgens. He shrugged. “Seems to be an abandoned bike.” Officer Jurgens craned his neck to look around Encino. “That’s a nice one. Can’t imagine why anyone would abandon it here. Maybe the rider wandered off to take a whiz or a nap. Did you check behind those trees over there?” He nodded toward a copse of fir trees that served as a windbreak in the corner of a nearby pasture. Encino shook his head. “Not yet. Haven’t been here all that long. Figured if the owner were nearby, he’d have shown himself by now.” He cleared his throat and spit onto the road next to the idling cruiser. Jurgens scowled and patted his steering wheel. “I’ll help you look.” Jurgens eased his car toward the opposite shoulder. “You really don’t have to,” Encino called after him. “It’s just an abandoned bike. I’ll call for a tow. No need for you to bother.” Jurgens parked his cruiser, stepped out of it, and donned a pair of sunglasses. “It’s no bother. I was in the area when I heard your radio call. Besides, you’re a little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?” He pointed to the side of Encino’s car where the City of Grand Island insignia was prominently displayed. Encino nodded. “Was on my way home. Saw the bike and thought I’d stop to see if there was a stranded motorist in need of assistance.” He shrugged. “So far, though, no motorist.” The young man looked up and down the empty road. “We’ll scour the nearby area, and if we don’t find anyone, then you can call for that tow.” “All right.” Corporal Encino pointed his chin toward the south. “You check both sides of the road that way, and I’ll look up this way.” He swung his chin in the opposite direction. Jurgens nodded and headed toward the ditch behind Encino’s cruiser. Encino walked back to the bike and made another quick search of the saddlebags before closing and relatching them. Then he walked toward the fir trees that Jurgens had indicated, studying the ground around him as he went. There were no noticeable tracks, but the ground was hard from the lack of moisture. He circled each tree as best he could and yelled a few times, “Anyone here?” Only some nearby cattle replied with gentle lowing as they munched on a bundle of hay. He stepped away from the trees and called to Jurgens, “No one’s here. I’ll call for that tow, and we’ll get a registration on the bike. Should be able to track down the owner from that.” He walked toward his cruiser, and Jurgens finished his sweep of the ditches behind them before meeting Encino next to his vehicle. Jurgens pointed ahead of them. “I’ll drive on a bit and see if I come across anyone walking down the road.” “Suit yourself,” Encino replied. “I don’t see anything wrong with the bike, so I don’t know why the rider would walk off and leave it here.” “Could be a medical thing,” Jurgens said. Encino eyed the other man. “Don’t you think he’d still be around here if he had a medical emergency? Or that he would have called for help?” Jurgens removed his sunglasses and squinted into the sun for a moment. “Cell signal is really weak around here.” He moved toward his cruiser. “I’ll let you know if I come across a bike-less rider. You call for that tow.” Encino nodded and watched Jurgens get into his car. The young man slowly headed up the road, keeping his cruiser in the middle of the road. Encino’s gaze fell upon the bike again, and he studied it from behind. Nothing seemed out of place or wrong with it. He was about to look it over once more when he noticed the brake lights come on in Jurgens’ cruiser about a quarter of a mile down the road. He watched the younger man step out of his car, walk around the front of it, and peer into the deep ditch that ran alongside the road. Encino’s vest radio crackled to life, and Jurgens said, “Found your rider. Almost drove past him, but the sunlight reflected off his helmet visor. Poor bastard’s not wearing it, though. He’s deceased, that’s for sure. Might be a suicide. Better call it in.” Encino groaned and then replied, “Copy that.” He scanned the bike once more and then opened the door to his vehicle. Before pulling forward to assist Officer Jurgens, he placed a call for a coroner and a tow truck to take the bike to the impound lot. Then he shook his head and muttered, “Just my luck.” Part One: Kickstands Up Chapter One: “Are You Crazy, Mom?” They said she was too old for a bike. Of course, they didn’t mean the kind with pedals and a flower-adorned wicker basket wired to the handlebars because if they did, she’d be the first to agree. No, they meant she was too old for a real bike, the kind that menacingly roared and rattled the windowpanes in the houses she passed even as it purred seductively in her soul. They all laughed at her when they first saw her ride up to the school on her newly purchased Harley-Davidson Fat Boy. “Can you believe it?” They whispered behind her back as she passed them in the halls on her way to her office. “Principal McFarley bought a Hog.” “No way.” “She’s too old.” “What is she? Like thirty?” She was fifty, but she understood their confusion since they were teenagers, and to a teen, anybody over the age of twenty-five is ancient and ought to be euthanized for the benefit of everybody else – meaning, of course, other teenagers. Sadly, though, it wasn’t just the teenagers who said she was too old. She heard it from her younger staff, parents of her students, fellow churchgoers, and even the man who sold her the bike, who must not have realized she could hear him while he was talking to another salesman within her earshot. Above all, though, she heard it from her own family. “Are you crazy, Mom?” her twenty-two-year-old daughter, Angelica, asked. Angelica was looking at her, aghast. She’d decided to break the news to her daughter and to her parents, at the same time, over supper at their favorite Italian restaurant. Josephine McFarley shrugged and sucked a piece of spaghetti off her fork. “Pretty sure I am after twenty-seven years spent working with kids.” She peered at her daughter over her glasses. “But what’s that got to do with it?” Angelica regarded her mother with a stunned expression and then turned to her grandparents for support. “Seriously, Pops, she’s going to kill herself on that thing. Talk some sense into her.” Josephine turned her over-the-glasses look from her daughter to her father who returned it with one of his own. They held each other’s gaze for a minute and then burst into raucous laughter. “Angel, you know better than to ask your grandfather to control your mother. He never could tell her ‘No,’ and that’s why she was the hellion that she was.” This remark was made with a weary sigh by a stoop-shouldered woman who was dabbing at the lipstick that had smeared around her puckered lips while she ate. Josephine sighed. She shot her mother a side-eye glance. “For the millionth time, Mother, being stopped twice in four years for speeding does not a hellion make. Must you be so overdramatic?” She raised her wine glass and downed the rest of its contents. Her mother frowned and looked pointedly at the carafe of ice water sitting in the middle of the table. She audibly harrumphed as her daughter refilled her glass from the wine bottle. “I’ll stop being overdramatic when you decide to act your age, dear.” Josephine’s father, Gerald Moyner, cut in before a battle broke out between mother and daughter. “Ladies, let’s not forget why we’re here tonight.” He raised his glass toward his wife. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” Angelica joined in. “Yes, happy birthday, Gram-gram.” Josephine noticed that her daughter made a point of using her left hand to lift her glass high into the air even though she was right-handed. She chortled softly to herself but not softly enough. “Something funny, Mom?” Angelica asked, her eyes narrowing. She started to shake her head, but then she changed her mind. Her own daughter and mother were so quick to ridicule her, so why not return the favor. “Couldn’t help but notice how you’re showing off that big rock every chance you can get, that’s all.” Angelica colored, and for that Josephine felt chagrined, until her daughter said, “At least I have a man who loves me.” Even her prim, seventy-year-old mother sucked in her breath at that comment, and Josephine sensed that one, or both, of her parents were about to say something to their snotty granddaughter, so she raised her hand to ward off their comments. She fixed her daughter with a stare that said more than words could say, and she let her eyes bore into her daughter’s until the younger woman looked down at her plate and mumbled, “I’m sorry, Mom. That was uncalled for.” Josephine nodded. “Yes, it was.” She took a shaky sip of wine before adding, “And I’m sorry for being snide about your engagement ring. You know I think it’s beautiful, just like you are.” Angelica looked up, tears brimming, and whispered, “Thanks, Mom.” “And where is Thomas this evening, dear?” Virginia Moyner asked her granddaughter. Josephine felt her back teeth grind together in irritation. She specifically told her mother not to ask about Thomas tonight. He and Angelica had fought, and he’d gone off to sulk a while with his buddies. “Uh, he’s busy,” Angelica mumbled. “Well, that’s too bad that he couldn’t join us tonight,” her grandmother continued, oblivious to the meaningful looks emanating from her own daughter. “Maybe he could help talk some sense into your mother since your grandfather is of no help.” Angelica laughed in a tittering fashion and turned her attention back to her mother. “No kidding. What possessed you to buy a motorcycle, Mom?” Josephine studied the faces of the three people who she cared about most in the world and who should care most about her. She read disbelief on her daughter’s face, distaste on her mother’s, and perhaps a touch of envy on her father’s. Finally, she said, “I’ve been thinking about getting one since your father left.” Angelica sucked in her breath at the mention of the man who had abandoned them both. “That was thirteen years ago, Mom. Why now? Why didn’t you get one then?” Josephine shrugged. “Lots of reasons. I had you to raise. I didn’t have the money to get one. I was a little afraid that I might do just what you are worried I’ll do and go off and kill myself, and then where would that have left you?” “With us,” her mother interjected. Josephine shot her mother a look. “Gee, thanks. You were pretty quick to take up on raising my child.” Virginia sniffed. “Well, if you’d been stupid enough to get yourself killed on a bike, then I would have had to step in and take care of my only grandchild, now, wouldn’t I?” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mother, but I didn’t get one then, and I’m certain Angelica can take care of herself now.” She looked at her daughter. “Honey, it’s been a dream of mine for years. I ignored it at first for practical reasons, and then I ignored it for the past few years because I sort of felt the same way that you three feel right now – that I was too old for it. But then one night it just hit me – I’m only as old as I let myself feel. I realized that if I didn’t get a bike now, right now, then I wouldn’t ever do it. I didn’t want to end up an old lady with regrets as I looked back over my life.” She glanced pointedly at her mother. Virginia leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her ample bosom. “At least without that death machine you’d have a chance at becoming an old woman.” Gerald interrupted before his daughter could reply, “Well, I, for one, think it’s great.” Josephine blinked. “You do?” Her question was echoed by the other two women at the table. He nodded. “Yes, I do. Hell, I think of all the things I wished I’d done but didn’t because I was scared or . . . because somebody wouldn’t ‘let’ me.” His wife sniffed. “Not that silly boat business again.” He slammed his palm onto the table, and the three women jumped. “Yes, dammit. That ‘silly boat business,’ as you call it.” Josephine’s interest was piqued. “What boat?” Virginia sighed. “This is supposed to be MY birthday dinner. Why are we talking about this other stuff?” “There you go, changing the subject, just like you have for the last thirty years every time I mentioned the word ‘boat.’” His wife glared at him. “Well, I guess you can be like your daughter, then, and go get yourself that fishing boat and spend every darn weekend out on the lake like all your buddies do and leave your wife at home all alone. Is that what you would like?” “You know I offered to take you out with me.” “And you know I can’t swim!” Virginia’s voice raised just enough that other patrons turned to look at them. Josephine lifted both hands and made a placating gesture. “All right, kids, enough already.” “Yeah, Pops, Gram-gram, let’s not get all excited.” They turned their attention to the dessert menu, but Josephine snuck surreptitious glances at all three of her loved ones. Her daughter was slyly checking her phone, most likely in the hope that Thomas had left her a voicemail message or a text, and her parents were both pouting like small children. She slapped her menu, startling everyone, including herself, with the loud noise it made. “That’s enough. I’m tired of the incessant arguing and hurt feelings over inconsequential matters. Angelica, call the man. Whatever you two fought over isn’t worth this distance you’ve put between yourselves, and if it truly is such a big deal, then maybe the two of you should put off the wedding until you can handle things like grownups.” She turned away from her daughter before she could offer a retort. Looking at her surprised parents, she said, “And you two, seriously, what is wrong with you? Why can’t you be the loving example of long-term wedded bliss that your granddaughter can look to for proof that marriage is a good thing? Lord knows I haven’t been an example of that.” Virginia laid her menu on the table. Effecting the voice, manner, and nickname from Josephine’s childhood, her mother said, “Jo-Jo, you know as well as everyone at this table that you didn’t quit on your marriage or on your husband. He quit on you, and he quit on Angelica. You must stop beating yourself up over that, dear.” Her father cleared his throat and waved away the approaching waitress. “Your mother’s right. He left you. There was something wrong with him, not with you. Put it behind you and leave it there.” He placed a hand on his wife’s arm and turned his attention to his granddaughter. “Married people fight. It comes with the territory. And sometimes, heck, most of the time, it’s over stupid things.” He moved his hand down Virginia’s arm and grasped her hand with his large, shaky one. Immediately, the shakiness subsided. “But when it comes down to it, she’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and because it would upset her, I never bought a boat.” He gave his wife a sidelong ornery look and added, “But don’t think I haven’t considered it every time she annoys me. Remember, she said she can’t swim. I’ve often fantasized about taking her out for a one-way fishing trip.” Virginia removed her hand from her husband’s and swatted at him. “Gerald! You old pain in the ass, you.” He laughed, and so did the others. Then Virginia turned to her granddaughter and said, “And I’ve often considered poisoning his daily coffee, but we’re both still here because we work through our problems or we decide that they’re not really problems after all, and we move on. Do what your mother says and call him. Tell him to join us for dessert.” Angelica hesitated, and Josephine could see that her sense of pride was waging a battle with her common sense, but finally Angelica excused herself for the restroom and took her cell phone with her. After she walked off, Josephine thanked her parents for helping to convince her daughter to stop acting so stubborn. Virginia laughed. “Well, the proverbial apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it?” She looked knowingly at Josephine. Josephine smiled. “Nope, I guess not.” She was quick to defend herself, though, and added, “But it wasn’t my stubbornness that made Lloyd leave.” Her mother put up her hand, palm outward. “Yes, dear, we know. No need to remind us.” Josephine blushed and shook her head a little to clear her thoughts. Having been left thirteen years ago for another woman would have been bad enough, but Lloyd realized a few years into their marriage that his tastes ran more toward men, especially those who called themselves drag queens, so he packed his bags one fine day, left a short note, and ran off to Las Vegas. Her only sense of satisfaction came in knowing that he failed in his own quest to be a star in the drag queen circuit even though he apparently found permanent and lasting love with a former star of the stage. The two of them ran a company that bought up old slot machines from the pricey casinos and refurbished them for the lesser-known ones frequented by the true natives of the area. Lloyd wanted to remain in his daughter’s life, but Angelica refused to have anything to do with him, so he didn’t pursue it, and neither did Josephine. They got a quiet divorce, and he’d been a decent, if absent father, who regularly sent her money to care for Angelica. Once her daughter reached adulthood, Josephine stopped hearing from him. Sometimes she wished Angelica would ask about him or express a desire to have him in her life again, but that was up to her daughter, and from Angelica’s complete silence regarding her father over the years, she wondered if Lloyd would ever see her again. She shrugged off the light depression that always settled upon her at any memory of Lloyd and the happiness they shared during those first years of marriage. She looked up as Angelica re-joined them at the table. She noticed that the pinched quality which had played around her daughter’s lips earlier was now gone. Josephine raised her eyebrows in a silent question. Angelica smiled. “He’s on his way.” “Oh good,” Virginia said. “We’ll wait until he gets here to order our dessert.” “No,” Angelica said. “I know what he likes. I’ll order him something. This is your birthday, and we’re not holding things up any more than they’ve already been. Besides, he won’t be long. He was just a few blocks away.” Josephine said in a low voice, “He’s not joining us drunk, is he?” Angelica glared at her mother. “No, Mom, he’s not. In fact, he said he was on the verge of calling me. He wasn’t having a good time with his friends because he was feeling bad about our fight.” “That’s how it should be, dear,” Virginia said, and then she turned to Gerald for support, but his attention was fixed elsewhere. “Can we order now? I’m dying for a piece of blueberry pie or a peach cobbler or maybe even one of those seven-layer chocolate things I saw the waiter take to that table over there.” They laughed and picked up their dessert menus. Josephine let out a sigh of relief, glad that the conversation had moved on to something other than her new motorcycle.
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