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"Wait!" My voice strained against the wind blowing off the Sea of Cortez. Mulberry was a slow-moving figure several yards ahead, solid looking in the hazy light of dusk, he took his time crossing the beach. I pushed through the sand, running after him. My dog, Blue, stayed by my side, his gait lopsided.
Mulberry didn't turn until I grabbed his arm. "Wait," I panted. "You're right. I need your help."
He grinned, pushing his crow's feet into sharp relief as his yellow-green eyes brightened. "I know," Mulberry laughed. "You're such a mess."
He wrapped me in a hug—one muscular arm around my waist and the other across my shoulders. Mulberry buried his head in my hair and pulled my face into his chest. At first, in that dark intimacy, I felt like I was suffocating. Almost immediately, though, relief washed over me. I am not totally alone in this world; my only companion a limping mutt.
Blue yelped, excited by our embrace, and circled us, churning up the sand. Mulberry smelled like clean laundry, sea salt, and carried an unmistakable scent that was all him. Pulling away, Mulberry left his hands on my shoulders and looked down into my face. He seemed so much bigger than me, so much stronger and smarter, and under control. I felt like a blurry image next to his stark silhouette.
"Come on, I'll buy you dinner," he said, throwing his arm around me. We walked back toward the Oyster Farm. I'd been living there for months, ever since we crossed into Mexico. I'd come for the oysters and stayed for the isolation.
"So, where've you been?" I asked. "It's been what? Four months?" After turning our treasure into money, which made us both rich, Mulberry left, and I stayed, despite his invitation to come with him. "You went to Paris, right?" I asked.
The sun was beneath the sea now, and the deep blue of the sky turned black at the edge. "Yeah, Paris, then London. Like I said, I've been setting up a detective agency."
At my plastic table, a couple of oysters sat in their half-shells. I righted the fallen bottle of tequila next to them, but did not take a sip. The passport, the same deep blue as the darkening sky and embossed with the American seal, waited next to my plate for me to pick it up.
For me to become a new woman: Sydney Rye.
P.S. The dog does not die.
**Beware: If you can’t handle a few f-bombs, you can’t handle this series.**
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I write because I love to read, but I have specific tastes...
If I was offered a job as a professional reader with no strings attached, I would take it. Getting paid to sit around and read while drinking tea all day—I'm there. Since that’s not possible, I became an author.
I write the books I want to read—stories that give me the immersive reading experiences I crave. When a series grabs me, and it's all I can think about, I'm SO happy. When my inner dialogue starts sounding like the protagonist of my current read, I think, Oh yeah, this is IT. This is what I love.
When I finish a book, and I NEED to immediately grab the next one in the series, that’s the intensity I crave. When I binge read an entire series, I want to feel like my own reality changed—as if the stories I read affected the real world just a little. After a great series I'm a little wiser, a little more grateful for my everyday existence, and a little more aware that my personal perspective is not everyone's.
Personally, I like to spend time in fictional worlds where justice is exacted with a vengeance, even though good and bad are not always black and white. Give me raw stories with a main character who occasionally makes me laugh, is flawed like we all are, and feels like a friend by the end of the first few chapters. They don’t have to be a friend I always LIKE, per se, but a part of me has to root for them.
For me, the sentence structure is important. Too much passive voice, and I'm out. I do not mind four-letter words at all though. Sex in books can go either way—fade to black or show me the details, but either way there has to be a reason it’s in the story. I'm also into heroic pets, plots that seem totally unhinged but all come together in the end with a BANG, and long series so I always have more to look forward to.
Those are the types of stories I love reading, so that’s how I write. If you’re into some or all of the above then I think we are going to get along fantastically.
www.emilykimelman.com
