Courage Under Fire

As D-Day approached, I remembered a short story, Courage Under Fire, I'd written some time ago. Although my story takes place during WWI, and D-Day was during WWII, I wanted to share this story.

The idea came from a visit to the War Museum in London when I was a teenager, and my older brother had dragged me along with him. While he meandered, eyes wide, gawking at the weapon displays, I found myself almost in tears reading accounts of outstanding acts of bravery performed by soldiers awarded medals of honor in WWI.

Many years later, I remembered those stories and my reaction, so while Courage Under Fire is a work of fiction with names, characters, places and incidents either a product of my imagination or used fictitiously, the inspiration came from a real event.*

Courage Under Fire

Eddie clutches at wisps of his dream. Summer. His ma smelling of babies and herbs. He shivers, curling hedgehog-like into a ball, something he did when he was small after Da came home and battered anyone who said anything he took umbrage with. Even those harsh childhood memories appear rosy compared to what he is encountering now.

‘Time, lads.’ The sergeant’s heavy hand taps Eddie’s shoulder before moving along the trench. For such a big man, his movements are tender. The mercy of the hangman for the condemned.

Eddie pulls the coarse blanket up around his ears to keep the freezing cold at bay. The need to empty his bladder forces him to move. While he waits his turn at the latrines, the stink of feces mixed with quicklime curls up his nostrils, filling his mouth and belly with nausea. At least he’s not seen Jameson’s face for a few days.

Eddie thrusts aside the memory of his field punishment: tied to a gun wheel two hours a day for eleven days—awarded for a brawl started by Jameson. He won’t forget that in a hurry. After returning to his position, he finishes his bully beef and biscuits before sipping the cold tea that tastes of turnips. He relishes the rare moments of quiet before the day’s action.

‘You ready?’ his mate, John, whispers.

Eddie nods.

Both kneel. ‘Our Father who art in Heaven. Hallowed be thy name ...’

Eddie glances up and down the line. Most have put their rifles aside, and a gentle murmur rises as, with eyes shut, minds turned inward, they pray.

‘No one is an atheist when the bullets start flying,’ John had told him once. ‘Then everyone prays.’

The ack ack ack of enemy weapons knots Eddie’s guts, the fear familiar. Training kicks in, and he grabs his Lee-Enfield, checking the bolt-action mechanism, the ten-round box magazine, cartridges, cylinder and bayonet.

He dismisses the seditious whisperings, appearing daily now. But they return. The bastards move us like pawns while they sit far from the front line. This is just a game for them. It’s not their guts being smeared into the soil. But if you question, hesitate or, God forbid, lose your wits, your own side executes you. He clenches and unclenches his hands, feeling the cold metal of his weapon against his palms, as he remembers Willis, a private condemned to death as a traitor after walking away from the battlefield, stunned and in shock. Jameson had volunteered to be on the firing squad, but it was the contemptuous sneer on his face as he aimed his rifle at Willis that sticks in Eddie’s mind.

‘2nd Battalion,’ the sergeant growls, ‘move up the fire steps.’

The men surge up the rough ladders lining the wall and fling themselves to the ground. The angled top protects them as they lie on their stomachs.

Eddie tenses. There’s nothing that equates to warfare. Before the action, adrenaline primes you. You lie motionless, but alert, poised, every sense heightened. Each sound you hear draws a response from a nerve somewhere in your body. You don’t dare think this might be the last few seconds of life, because if you did, you’d remember your loved ones, and lose the hate you hold on to because you need it to kill.

He stares out at No Man’s Land. If he half closes his eyes, he can almost believe he’s with his Da in Chelmsbury Woods; an early morning mist creeping along the ground, frost nipping at his fingers, and cold seeping into his bones as he lies concealed in bushes, holding Da’s old rifle and waiting for a rabbit or squirrel to happen past.

The earth shudders as a barrage of artillery pounds targets, and choruses of mortar detonations swell to a deafening volume.

‘Fire’ bellows the sergeant.

Eddie raises his head, scanning the area; he aims and discharges his rifle. Bullets scream through the air. Empty the magazine; reload and fire. Again and again. 

The Huns are too distant to distinguish individual features, but close enough to see rows of steel helmets and glinting bayonets.

Eddie pauses, rubbing his numb fingers. Something catches his eye. He squints. ‘Look! There! Isn’t that Housby? ’ he mutters to John.

Housby had fallen too near enemy lines for an attempted recovery even under darkness. That was two days ago when they tried—and failed—to storm their adversary’s position.

Sure enough, where Eddie is pointing, barely distinguishable from the churned, frozen sludge, John sees a brown-gray lump twitch. “You’re right, lad.”

But Eddie’s up and moving.

'Hey! Eddie! Stop! You can’t save him. They’ll shoot you,’ John yells after him.

Eddie doesn’t stop, keeps racing forward.

'Cover him, lads!’ John orders.

Eddie moves in stops and starts; bent, scuttling crabwise, he scuffles sideways and forwards, his heart pumping so hard he thinks it’ll rupture. Then he trips, and his face smacks the earth as shells whistle by far too close to his ear. The wounded man groans; Eddie scans the injured soldier and realizes he’s not Housby. It’s Jameson.

More shells detonate.

Eddie freezes. What if John’s right? What if he doesn’t survive? The thoughts crowd in, and he can’t control the violent temors running through his body. Oh God, I don’t want to die out here in this freezing hell of muck and mud. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Not yet, dear God. Please. Why am I risking my life for that rat Jameson? Have I come too far to go back? Then he hears Ma’s voice: ‘You always got to try, Eddie. All you got to do is try.’ He seesaws. Should he save himself? Or try to rescue Jameson?

He makes a scurrying, scampering, mad dash toward the prostrate man, ignoring the incessant shellfire and shots screaming past. Somehow, he reaches the fallen soldier. He crouches and sees black blood oozing from Jameson’s wounds. ‘Jesus, you’re a mess,’ he whispers.

Jameson whimpers as Eddie heaves him up onto his shoulder.

Balancing Jameson’s weight, trying not to breathe in the smell of festering wounds, Eddie locks eyes with the Boche soldier facing him, not twenty feet away.

The young, blue-eyed, dirt-smeared lad, who couldn’t have been a day over sixteen, if that, has him in his sights. But he’s frozen with fright. This must be his first battle.

And Eddie knows that look. Once, out hunting with Da, there’d been a deer, a creature whose grace captivated him. Eddie recalls the soft innocence in the animal’s eyes as it looked up, sniffing for danger—oblivious to death’s approach. Da, impatient, snatched the gun from his hand and, with one sharp shot, secured enough meat to feed his hungry brood for a week.

Eddie winks at the German lad and grins through cracked lips.

The youngster manages a stiff nod.

But Jameson is heavy. The same as the deer Da had forced him carry home. A full-grown doe is a heavy weight for a thirteen-year-old boy, and twice he fell. Da stood, his expression hard, and watched without helping each time Eddy labored to rise. It took an hour to walk the mile to their cottage. Afterwards Da made him skin and butcher the animal while he sat and smoked his pipe. But Eddie’s committed. No-one is going to butcher Jameson.

Incoming Howitzers whine and lights flash as they strike their targets: excruciating cries echo from both sides as heavy mortar rounds find soft flesh which explodes outwards. The sound of aircraft overhead adds a deeper bass growl to the awful cacophony of battle.

Eddie recognizes that not a single shot from behind comes anywhere near them. They are blessed; their return a miracle.

John scrambles out and rushes toward them. Grabbing Jameson’s arms, he lowers him from Eddie’s back and together they half-carry, half-drag the unconscious man to safety. The three of them slide in a tangle of limbs into the trench. A rousing cheer erupts from the men, who, hardly believing what they’d just witnessed, had expected Eddie to be killed at any minute.

‘Bloody fool!’ barks the sergeant as he takes Jameson off them. Carrying him like a babe in his brawny embrace, he moves up the line, throwing more words over his shoulder. ‘You’re a bloody fool, Eddie, but a bloody brave one!’

***

Thank you for visiting my blog and reading the story. You can find my books and audiobooks on the relevant pages (click on the tabs at the top of the post) and I also publish on the following platforms:

Substack: bit.ly/3RDtTHh    Medium: https://medium.com/@teagankearney1

To read about the fearless soldier who inspired this story, visit Wikipedia and seach for Abraham Acton.

Stay well, stay safe and keep reading.

Best wishes,

Teagan,

FYI: I have published previous editions of this story under the title, Eddie's War, but I flashed on this new title this morning, and it just fit a whole lot better. 👍

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Title & Cover Reveal (plus a sneak peek!)

 I Know It Was You

Wow! I’m thrilled to reveal the title and cover of my new book. The publication date, October 10th, is fast approaching, and I'm getting real nervous with thoughts like, what if everybody hates the book or - a writer's worst nightmare - nobody even reads it buzzing through my brain.  But, having started down this path, I will keep going and learn from whatever happens next. 

And here is the blurb for my new psychological suspense:

Lauren and Kane each harbor a dark secret. One of them believes their secret is safely buried, but the other is very much aware their skeletons share the same closet.

After Lauren experiences a traumatic assault, she returns to her small hometown of Lamington, Massachusetts. Finding a job in a local bookstore, she meets the charming Kane, a security consultant, and an immediate attraction sparks between the two. As their relationship develops, she puts her past behind her and looks forward to the future.

When Lauren finds a box of Kane’s hidden in the attic, long-buried memories are triggered. Faced with a discovery that makes her life a living nightmare and promises to destroy her hope of happiness, she takes matters into her own hands.

To, hopefully, entice all you lovely readers out there, I have included a sneak peek at the Prologue, and have my fingers crossed that you will enjoy and wish to know more of Lauren's story. 

I Know It Was You©

By

G.N. Kearney

Prologue

Lauren stared, transfixed by the message on her cell phone as the frenetic Friday lunchtime shoppers in Louisville’s Central Mall swirled around her. She ignored the shiny shop windows, with their glaring displays that dared you to look away; the mishmash of voices from moms out shopping, office workers on lunch breaks and students from the local high school. A gaggle of teenage girls, their piercing giggles ricocheting off the white-tiled walls, separated and flowed around her without a break, as if they were a river in flow and she, a rock in their path, hindering their progress not the slightest.

The pressure in her chest increased, as did her heart rate, and the heat in her neck and cheeks intensified. She clenched her fists, knuckles whitening around the phone as she reread Tod’s text. ‘It’s not you, it’s me. We’ve had some great dates, Lauren, and you’re great, but I’m looking for something more exciting than the girl next door.’

What irritated her, apart from the lack of originality in his choice of words, was that he had beaten her to it. They hadn’t dated for long—a month, possibly a half-dozen dates—and while the scintillation of an initial attraction had drawn them together, any potential had soon withered. She’d prepared her own version of the it’s-me-not-you speech, but would have waited for their date tonight and delivered it to him with a soft expression, fingers touching his arm, her tone regretful. Having perfected the art of droning on about himself, once he got going, crevices in the wall of his discourse were rare. She bristled. What did he mean by someone more exciting than the girl next door?

A man darted past, knocked her arm, startling her. She almost dropped her phone and turned to yell something after him, but all she could spot was a bobbing head of fair hair that disappeared into the crowd.

“Hey, you!” Maria tapped her on the shoulder.

Since leaving college and settling in Louisville, her co-worker had become a close friend. Lauren thrust the phone at Maria. “Check this out.”

“It’d better be short or else we’ll have Humpty Dumpty on our asses.”

“Oh, it’s got that box ticked.” Lauren watched Maria’s mouth turn down at the corners as she scanned the message.

“Oh, babe. That’s not cool. Why don’t you come out with me and Ellie tonight? We’re gonna hit a few bars, perhaps a club or two. You can have a blowout and forget that sad sack. What do you say? We’ll turn Tod into a dot that you can lose in your rear-view mirror. Get it? Tod. Dot.”

A snorting giggle burst from Lauren’s mouth. “Yeah.” She clapped her hands. “Smush! Gone.”

“We’ll swing past yours around eight. Okay?”

“Sure.” She hugged Maria. “Thank you. You’re a real friend.”

“C’mon, let’s move it before we lose our jobs.”

Even after two months, Lauren was still high on the buzz of living in her own place in Louisville. In Stafford County’s capital, she had a spacious studio apartment on the first floor of a three-story brownstone with an east-facing bay window. The view boasted a patch of lawn with picnic benches and backed onto a pathway that ran alongside Central Canal. Tenants could sit out on warm summer evenings, enjoy a barbecue, and people-watch as joggers and cyclists raced by, lone dog walkers strolled and laughing families chatted.

“Very Scandinavian,” Maria had commented when she helped Lauren move in, her eyes approving as she scrutinized the white walls and baseboards in grey, the small kitchenette with a tiny cooker and fridge freezer, the reversible bookcase that housed a double Murphy bed. The wooden table, that seated two, served for eating, as well as a desk and her ironing board. Somehow, though, its pale wood surface attracted stray objects: bills and her current paperback. At the moment, it housed, a lit candle, her makeup, an opened bottle of wine and a half-empty glass of sparkling ruby liquid. She’d developed the habit of having a glass or two when applying her makeup, so her inhibitions were in neutral, if not deactivated by the time she left the apartment.

Lauren had enjoyed college; the learning and intellectual stimulation, making friends, the parties, the sense of emerging from the chrysalis of adolescence to a world where, as a young adult, she made important choices for herself. She’d mulled over the idea of doing a master’s degree and later maybe a Ph.D. but chose to work for a year and gain some life experience before deciding which career path to follow. She had two favorites: teaching—early childhood was a preference—or entering the publishing industry, because she loved books and, though not a writer, knew she would enjoy bringing a book to life.

She’d landed a retail sales position in a bookshop. Not a mom and pop store like in Lamington, her hometown, but at a sleek Morton’s. The second biggest bookstore chain in the States had a large shop in Louisville with gleaming floors, wide aisles, artistic book displays, a Starbucks, and regular author signings with best-selling writers. Not her ideal situation, but it had advantages: a space to breathe out and think before she decided which future she wanted to pursue.

Lamington was a hundred and fifty miles away, a couple of hours drive, and she liked that it was close enough to visit but too far for her mom or dad to drop in unannounced. She wasn’t, after all, a teenager needing supervision by uptight parents.

She studied herself in the full-length mirror, tucking a few stray hairs into the elaborate bun she’d spent an hour studying how to do on a YouTube video. Her ash blonde hair contrasted with the dark red lipstick, accentuating the Cupid’s-bow curve of her upper lip, and the kohl on her eyelids bestowed a sultry sensuality she didn’t possess. Thinking about where her girl-next-door appearance had gotten her, she was trying a more daring look. It’s not makeup, Maria said, it’s war paint.

Lauren wore a dress she’d bought on a whim from a thrift store. Black, with a short tulle skirt, fitted bodice and long sleeves of sheer, black lace, it reminded her of an outfit she’d worn as a child during her brief infatuation with ballet. She raised her arms above her head and twirled, admiring the fan-like flare of the dress. Mm…that move would look good on the dance floor. Hand on hip, chin tilted upward, she struck a pose and decided, yes, she liked this bolder, more confident self. Tonight, she would dance and have fun.

Her mobile rang. Maria and Ellie were outside in a cab. Glancing around the room, she smiled. She had already reversed the bookcase, and the bed was ready to fall into when she came home. The first time she tried opening it after coming home intoxicated, she had nearly knocked herself unconscious. Another time she’d tried the couch—a useless substitute—as sleeping there gave her a cricked neck. She blew out the vanilla-scented candle, picked up the glass of rosé and toasted her reflection.

They dropped into several bars before deciding on Manny’s nightclub. Friday night, the place was crammed by the time they gained entrance. With hair primped and slicked, faces and bodies primed, and expectations jacked up, serious celebrants started the weekend the second they stepped outside the office. Loud conversations punctuated with raucous laughter bombarded Lauren as soon as they entered. She inhaled the commercial air freshener that overlaid, but didn’t quite disguise the odor of sweating bodies, deodorant and perfume, listened to the pulsating beat and laughed as it drove everything else out of her mind.

Maria and Lauren nabbed a booth near the dance floor as Ellie pushed through the gyrating throng toward the bar.

“Get some shots,” Lauren shouted after her.

Ellie returned with three small glasses, followed by a waiter who placed a plate with limes and salt and three tumblers of tomato juice in front of them.

“What’s with the red stuff?” Lauren asked.

“That’s sangria. Mexicans drink it as a chaser after tequila.”

“Okay.” Lauren licked the length of her forefinger, dipped it in the salt and raised her glass. “Here’s to tequila and sangria!”

“Tequila and sangria!” Ellie and Maria chanted, then licked the salt, giggling as they eyed each other. Together, they tossed down the shots, sucked the limes, grimacing, mouths pinched with the burn of liquor and the sourness of the limes.

“I’ll get this round.” Maria slid off her stool and dived into the mass of heaving flesh.

The couple in the next booth untangled themselves from each other and left. Three guys coasted in, claiming the space and throwing glances their way.

Ellie leaned forward and whispered. “The testosterone is stronger than the after-shave, but I’ll have a piece of the tall, dark and handsome one. See anything you fancy, Lauren?”

“Well, seeing as I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, I’ll have the one on the end. A blond Taylor Kitsch lookalike appeals. At least for a night.”

Maria returned, carrying refills.

The glasses emptied amongst more laughter and flirtatious giggles aimed at attracting attention from the young men.

Lauren closed her eyes, enjoying the dizzying rush of alcohol flooding into her bloodstream. “I’m feeling good. Another, ladies? It’s my turn.”

“You know, Lauren,” Maria said, “you don’t just lose your inhibitions when you drink, you turn into a whole other person.”

“Something else to thank Tod the dot for.” At the bar, Lauren waved wildly, failing to attract the bartender’s attention, and turned as a body squeezed in beside her. She hid a smile as she saw the guy she’d picked out from the booth next to theirs.

“Hi, I’m Dario.” He held out a hand.

“Lauren.” Shaking hands was awkward with elbows squished against their bodies, but they managed, their eyes meeting as they laughed. The Taylor Kitsch clone was even better looking up close. Bambi eyes and luscious lips. Mmm… She’d never done the nightclub scene, picking up guys and having one-night stands. She’d always been her mother’s golden girl, doing what people expected of her—working hard, gaining a place at a prestigious college and achieving excellent grades. Withdrawing her hand from Dario’s hot grasp, she asked, “You’re Italian? How come you have blond hair?”

“And you’re beautiful. But to answer your question, my great-grandfather came from Sicily, but my great-grandmother came from Milan. Lots of Italians with lighter hair in the north.”

“Wow! Mafioso, huh?” Lauren giggled.

Dario raised an eyebrow. “No. My family are bakers. You’ve never heard of the Alfieri Brothers Bakeries?”

“Small-town girl here. There are places in Louisville I’ve never even heard of, let alone visited.”

“I’d love to remedy that.”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

As they made their way back, Dario carrying a full tray of drinks, they found his friends had moved booths and were squeezed in with Ellie and Maria.

“Meet Tom and Fabio.” Ellie waved at the newcomers.

“And this is Dario.” Lauren smiled up at him.

Lauren continued to drink, Dario’s arm around her shoulder, as she leaned against him. He smelled of expensive aftershave, and she fancied giving his sensuous lips a test run.

“You wanna dance?” Dario’s warm breath tickled her ear.

She nodded and he led her onto the dance floor. Within seconds, the thumping bass transported her. Nothing mattered but dancing with arms in the air, head thrown back, eyes closed and surrendering to the all-consuming rhythm. She was one cell in a body; the crowd a beast of many parts, each aligned with the others as they jerked and writhed to the omnipotent, insistent beat.

Dario tugged her to him, mouthing, “I need some fresh air.” Towing her behind him, he elbowed his way through the crowded nightclub, leading her outside and around the corner into an alley. “That’s better.” He leaned in, his palm resting on the nape of her neck, his lips on hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth as his hands slid up her leg.

Her body surrendered, soft and pliant, as her arms went up around his neck, drawing him closer.

“Hey, get off her.”

“Maria,” Lauren slurred. “I’m gonna throw up.” She leaned forward, and a gush of red liquid spewed onto the ground, spattering Dario’s pants and shoes.

“She’s drunk and you’re trying to have sex with her in an alleyway a few yards from the main street. What kind of dickwad are you?” The thwack of Maria’s purse smacking Dario’s shoulder was loud in the alleyway. “You’re aware that sex without consent is rape, aren’t you?”

Dario backed away, hands raised, talking as he moved. “Don’t you accuse me of something I didn’t do. She didn’t say stop, and she was hot for it too, believe me.”

“Does she look like she knows what she’s doing?” Ellie cleaned the vomit around Lauren’s mouth with a tissue. “C’mon, sweetie, the night’s over. We’re taking you home.”

Steering a ragdoll, drunk-out-of-her-skull Lauren up the front steps of her building required ingenuity; silence was impossible, and they giggled and stumbled along the hallway.

“A good night’s sleep is what you need, honey.” Ellie unzipped her dress, sat her on the bed and took off her shoes. “Lie down. There’s a sweetie.”

Lauren flopped back on the bed, her gaze unfocused. “Love you guys,” she murmured as Ellie lifted her feet, covered her with the duvet, and settled a pillow under her head.

“We love you, too, sweetie.” Ellie looked at her. “You’re not going to choke on your vomit, are you?”

Lauren grunted and rolled over onto her stomach.

“Listen, Lauren, I’ve put a basin on the floor in case you need it.” Maria bent down and eased the hairpins and ponytail band off Lauren’s bun, ran her fingers through the tangled ends and tucked a wayward strand behind her ear. She turned to Ellie. “I’d bet hard cash she’ll wake up in the same position. I need to get home myself. Let’s call another Uber.”

“Night night, sweetie.” Ellie bent and kissed Lauren on the cheek.

“ I’ll call in on you in the morning. Okay?” Maria called as she closed the door.

Lauren grunted.

After her friends left, Lauren lay in a drunken haze, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla, dozing as the world spun behind her eyelids. She caught the distant growl of a car, and her mind drifted. Sleep was a great ocean, and she stood at the edge, knowing that when she dived in, darkness would claim her. Enfolded in the safekeeping of the room’s silence, she slid into unconsciousness.

Sometime later, the click of her front door opening roused her. She still lay on her stomach and raised her head, but the room tilted and swirled like a Catherine wheel. Her eyes closed and she flopped back onto the pillow.

***

If you enjoyed this preview, check out your favorite digital store, buy your copy and follow Lauren's journey. 

Stay safe and well,

Best wishes,

Teagan/G.N. Kearney.

TELL ME THE NAME OF YOUR NEW NOVEL!

Last week I met up with my friend, Flo, for a blether in a local coffee shop. Mid-afternoon, the place was emptyish, and we bagged the comfy window seats so we could people-watch as we chatted, sipped our lattes and munched on pumpkin muffins. Flo's likes to interrogate me about my writing, and here's the gist of our conversation.

***

Flo: You must be so excited. A new book coming out.

 

Me: It's always a mixture of nervous anticipation and dread. 

Flo: (giving me the side-eye) Well, if you can’t or won’t tell me the title of your new book, are you going to tell me what genre it’s in and what’s it about?

Me: The genre is—

Flo: (interrupting - she interrupts a lot) I bet it’s your usual vampire-next-door or another space adventure for a hard-done-by heroine.

Me: You mean urban fantasy or science-fiction?

Flo: Or did you write another romcom? I loved your Serendipity Game.

Me: (smirking) It’s a tragedy. And, by the way, the audiobook of The Serendipity Game is free on Audiofreebies.com right now Do you know anyone who enjoys a drama-filled romcom? 

Flo: Actually, Renee would. I'll let her know. But why would you write a tragedy? Don’t people have enough problems without reading about made-up catastrophes?

Me: When an idea moves in, I have to go with it. But it’ll be marketed as a psychological suspense.

Flo: Yeah, that’s better. I love a thriller.

Me: Not a thriller, suspense.

Flo: (rolling her eyes) Don’t tell me the difference. I don’t care. 

Me: (determined to educate Flo about the subtleties of genre) Thrillers have more external action. Suspense focuses on one character’s internal struggle and the outcome isn’t so obvious.

Flo: Not sure I’ll remember that. Okay, no title reveal. I get it. What’s it about?

Me: It’s set in a fictional town in Massachusetts and focuses on the dark secrets a couple keep from each other.

Flo: Ooh! Dark secrets, eh? This is a new genre for you, right? Teagan Kearney adds psychological thriller to her skill set. Good one.

Me: Not Teagan Kearney. I decided that a new start in a new genre using a new publishing route deserved a new name. So, I’ve shortened Teagan Kearney to G.N. Kearney. I’ll continue to publish my urban fantasy/sci-fi books as Teagan Kearney and, by the way, I’m currently working on a second series that takes place in the same universe as the Saoirse Saga. I’ll use G.N. Kearney for further psychological suspense/thrillers.

Flo: Why not T.G.N. Kearney?

Me: Three initials? Nope, not going there.

Flo: Hey, did you say new publishing route? You're not self-publishing this one? 

Me: No. Level Best Books, an independent US-based publishing company offered me a contract. They specialize in crime and detective novels.

Flo: Oh, Teagan. (Her big shiny eyes get bigger and shinier.) I'm so pleased for you. How many agents and publishers did you try before Level Best Books offered you a contract?

Me: Too many. If I didn’t love writing stories, I might have given up, though I did get some lovely encouraging refusals.

Flo: Serendipity Game was your last book, and you published that in 2020, right? So, this nameless novel took you three years to write? Why?

Me: Writing, editing and formatting the books, then creating covers as well as marketing on social media and advertising became overwhelming. So, I took a break - think Rip Van Winkle not R.I.P. - from the selling side of the business. 

I also completed a Faber & Faber online course and the first year of an M.A. in Creative Writing.

Flo: And you got your mojo back, eh?

Me: Yep. Focusing on the writing without worrying about sales stats and reviews paid off in terms of satisfaction in the creative process.

Flo: To be clear, here. You felt better and wrote a tragedy?

Me: Yep.

Flo: Do you think this is the one? (She makes air quotes as she says, ‘the one’. Flo’s big on air quotes.)

Me: Only if readers enjoy it.

Flo: Release date?

Me: Early to mid-October. Though that's not set in concrete, 'cos stuff happens when you least expect it. But, as long no new world crisis occurs between now and then, hopefully, that's when you'll see me do my happy dance.

Flo: (her phone buzzes) Oh, sorry, honey. I gotta go. Gemma’s got dance class. See you same time, same place, next week? But promise me you'll tell me the name of the new book, okay?

Me: Wouldn’t miss it for the world. (We give each other a big squishy hug)

***

I haven't blogged for a while, but there'll be a short flurry of posts coming in the next month or so as the date of the book release approaches. Please, check back to find out more about the dark secrets in my new novel and to find out the title, cover reveal and other important dates.

Stay safe and well,

Best wishes,

Teagan/G.N. Kearney.

P.S. Don't forget to check out my freebies page! 😊

If You Think It, You Can Write It: The Third and Final Act

Chapter 10: The Third Act

You have written a novel which draws the reader through the first and second acts with an intriguing plot and enough suspense to keep them engaged. People stay hooked, wanting to know what happens because they are invested in the character's dilemma. When you reach the Second Plot Point (SPP) the narrative changes direction again. The SPP, where your principal character receives a last piece of information or an event occurs, is an alert signal that the climax is approaching. 

A general rule is don’t introduce any important players after the SPP. The storyline has a forward momentum, and you shouldn’t be throwing curve balls at the audience and distracting them from the main event that’s about to happen. The SPP occurs around 75-80% into the story, after which the protagonist prepares a strategy for the final encounter. 

The Climax

You may be eager to get on with writing the defining dramatic scenes that are playing out in your head, but allow time and space for the climax to unfold, to develop and expand—don’t rush this section. Take a deep breath and pause. The critical highpoint should take at least one, if not two, chapters. Picture the ultimate confrontation as a slow-motion sequence and explore it fully. The climax in action & adventure/fantasy will frequently be a battle of opposing forces; in crime and mystery, the injustice is corrected; and in romance, the misunderstandings are resolved. This is where the pieces of the puzzle you’ve been laying out slot together. You do not want to zip through this, and leave people feeling cheated. 

The Denouement

The denouement comes after the climax when your protagonist has overcome the challenges they faced. For example, the film High Noon doesn’t end when the bad guy hits the ground after the shootout on Main Street. The tale concludes when Marshall Will Kane climbs aboard a wagon, and he and his wife depart. But after the principal conflict is settled, you have to tie up minor subplots and any loose ends quickly because, if your audience is anything like me, they know it’s over and are already thinking about the next read. A satisfactory denouement should let the reader breathe out in relief and deliver that extra bit of fulfillment—like coffee and mints following dessert.

Open or Closed Endings 

One of a novelist’s many tasks is to provide closure to a series of events which, in theory, began before a book started and continues after it finishes. In a closed ending, there is no confusion about what happens subsequently. Cinderella marries the prince and they will live happily ever after. This type of conclusion fulfils expectations, and readers can put down the book, satisfied that all is well—and this is what they enjoy.

An open ending is one which confers a sense of satisfaction, yet still leaves some aspects unresolved. Leaving questions unanswered—where does the hero go afterward?—can result in a story that lingers in the imagination for longer. People may speculate about the ramifications of the closing moments you’ve given them, besides wondering what happens next.

Today’s audiences are also accustomed to true-to-life outcomes with the possibility of a more emotionally complicated finale. At the end of J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, Holden Caulfield’s future isn’t clear. Has he recovered from his breakdown? Has he come to terms with his brother’s death? What is his attitude toward his new school? We aren’t presented with these answers, and it's left up to readers to hope he has a better future. (As a side note: this tale starts and terminates in the same location—the sanitorium where Holden went after his collapse—creating an interesting cycle.) 

Novels have the potential to influence people and, whether the ending is open or closed, the real test is the life the story takes on in readers’ imaginations after they close your book. These posts are meant to be a map showing you how to get to a destintion and, like any journey, the type of transport you use, the passengers you take with you, the stops you make along the way are your decision alone. Even if there are many others making the same journey, as each individual is unique, so are the stories waiting inside you to be written.

***

Exercises 

1. Think about the last few books (or the last book) you read and analyze the endings. Were they open or closed? Did you like the way the story ended? Did you have any questions afterward?

2. Define which kind of ending you envision for your story and outline an alternative ending. If you prefer a closed ending then think about the effects on the characters (and readers) if you wrote an open ending. If you prefer an open ending, then see how that changes with a closed ending. 

***

This chapter brings us to the end of Part One, and you now have an understanding of the basic techniques used in creating stories. However, there is plenty more to come in Part Two, where you can increase and put into practice your knowledge of the craft of writing fiction.

References: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High_Noon

Photo: Burst on Unsplash

My dear friend, Dee, very kindly asked me for an interview for her website where she promotes indieauthors. Click the link and check it out!

https://donadees.com/featured-authors/november-2020-teagan-kearney/

Stay well, stay safe and keep reading!
Best wishes,
Teagan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If You Think It, You Can Write It: Act Two

 

Chapter 9: Act Two

The second act is the longest section in a novel, and it's where your protagonist, having passed the first plot point and entered into a new situation, meets increasingly difficult challenges. There is one important point during act two which is crucial to moving your narrative forward: the midpoint. 

The Midpoint

Depending on the length of your first act (longer or shorter), the midpoint will occur somewhere around the middle of act two. Up till now, events have been happening to the protagonist, causing a shift in their lives, but the midpoint is where they begin to fight back, take control and become proactive.

The midpoint in The Martian comes when Mark Watney finds out the supplies he’s expecting are delayed, forcing him to take responsibility for staying alive until his provisions arrive.

In Ender’s Game, the midpoint change comes when Ender finishes his training and finds himself in charge of a group of low-achieving students. Instead of being told what to do, he has to take charge, command and train them. 

Instead of ducking and diving to avoid the threats coming their way, these characters stand up and decide they will take charge of resolving their dilemma. 

The Saggy Middle 

When we open a novel and step out of our own lives into the fictional life of another, I’m sure that you, like me, have certain expectations. However, if after a great beginning, that fictional life becomes monotonous, we close the book and find a new one that fires our imagination. 

Act two, where your plot builds, subplots weave in and out, writers can find themselves bogged down in those selfsame subplots or following plot threads that lead nowhere. This is known as the saggy middle. One way to stop readers falling asleep during this section is to use variety. 

Although the dramatic arc is depicted as a line of rising tension, varying the pace in your scenes and chapters increases the drama. Instead of running straight up the mountain, you can rachet up the reader’s involvement by taking two steps up, then one step back, or one step forward and pause to catch your breath. Each forward movement takes you higher than before, but dashing up a mountain not only leaves you exhausted but you miss what’s around you as you climb. By creating variety in the pacing of your scenes you allow your reader to catch up with where you’re taking them. 

A scene is a prolonged moment, resembling real time on the page, and scenes are divided into two basic categories—dramatic and static. Yet this isn’t as simple as alternating car chase/fight/screaming argument scenes with writing shopping lists or lazing on a beach.

There are multiple ways to create drama in a scene that on the surface appears calm but which is actually filled with conflict. If your heroine is sipping tea with the wife of the man she’s having an affair with, a writer can find plenty of opportunity for drama. Does the wife know? How much inner conflict will be revealed? Two elegantly attired women, false smiles for the benefit of onlookers, yet talking in low voices as one confronts the other doesn't have active phsycial movement but is filled with tension. Make them best friends or sisters and you have the potential for a real battle. Static scenes can be used to delve into suppressed emotions or hidden conflicts, and they’re excellent opportunities to show, rather than tell, the reader what’s happening.

However, these apparently quieter scenes aren’t merely gap fillers between the dramatic action. They provide contrast and prevent a spill into the melodrama that non-stop action presents. Characters and readers alike need to catch their breath. Static scenes offer respite, a change of pace and a chance to provide details that would be difficult to place elsewhere; they also provide space for conflicts to build. Nevertheless, they’re not frozen tableaux and shouldn’t stall the forward momentum of the narrative.

When you combine a series of increasingly intense actions with more private moments of equally important revelations, you can approach and pass the midpoint, bringing your audience with you. The end of act two takes you to the second plot point, which signifies the beginning of act three—the climax and the resolution of your story. 

Homework 

Exercise 1. Using the book you’re currently reading or another you finished recently, figure out the midpoint, its effect on the protagonist and how it changes the story going forward.

Exercise 2. Using your own story, think about the midpoint: have you created a situation for your main character that will result in a different attitude toward his situation, one where she/he must now take responsibility for how they will deal with the problems facing them? If not, spend some time figuring out how you can adapt what you've written (or write a new scene) to give your story a midpoint transformation. 

Exercise 3. Consider what kind of scene you prefer to read—one where action takes place or where the tension is less tangible and more descriptive. Examine your own work and see if there’s a dominance of one or the other. 

Exercise 4. Using different colored highlighter pens (or font color), take a few chapters, color your scenes accordingly (red for dramatic, green for static) to create a visual depiction and study the balance between the two. This exercise lets you know where you might need to make changes to achieve a good rhythm between drama and stasis. 

***

Stay well, stay safe and keep writing—no matter what!
Best wishes,
Teagan.



References:
The Martian by Andy Weir: 2011 (self-published); February 2014 (Crown)
Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card, 1985, Tor Books.

Photo by Simon Hattinga Verschure, Unsplash.

 

 

 

If You Think It, You Can Write It: The First Act

 

There are many things which go into producing a book, irrespective of whether it's a digital or print version, but most important of all is the story itself. The glossiest of covers, the most enticing of book descriptions and the smartest marketing campaigns will not hide the fact there is something lacking inside the covers.

I'm not talking about how to be inspired or how to stimulate your imagination—the universe has an infinite number of sources—but we are getting deeper into the nuts and bolts of the craft side of writing. So, lets get on with it...

Chapter 8: The First Act 

If you think of your novel as dining out at a restaurant (an outing which you may or may not have planned), imagine you have eaten the apéritif (the hook) and you are about to dive into the main course. In terms of writing, you are about to embark on a journey of dramatic incidents that will escalate until you reach the climax and resolution of your book.

The plot is the backbone, the spine of your tale, and is made up of a chain of events, also known as plot points. There are plenty of events going on in a novel, although they are not all equal; some have more impact than others because they alter the forward movement of the narrative.

The first act has two happenings of note: the inciting incident and the first plot point (FPP). The FPP is the more important of the pair.

As you lead your characters through their difficulties and successes, bear in mind that drama comes in different guises: a disgusted look that leaves a woman wondering what she did to upset her lover can be as significant as someone finding out their best friend is having as affair with their wife or the first attack of an invading army.

The Inciting Incident 

You have introduced your heroine/hero, and acquainted readers with their circumstances. The inciting incident is the first chance to up the ante. As a rough guide, the inciting incident occurs around the ten percent mark.

In the fairy tale of Cinderella, the inciting incident is when the Prince sends every eligible young lady in the land an invitation to the ball as he is looking for a wife: everyone in the house, including Cinders, is excited. In The Hunger Games, it is when Katniss’s sister is chosen for the reaping. By the time the inciting incident takes place, we have already learned quite a bit about both these personalities, their background and the daily challenges they face.

The inciting incident has an impact on your character but doesn’t yet change their lives or set them on a fresh path. It’s advisable to give some space between the inciting incident and the FPP to allow both the principal character and the reader to absorb what is happening. People get caught up and wonder what comes next, so you have the opportunity to build on that expectation.

Some writers have the inciting incident happen before the book starts or leave very little space between it and the FPP. The rule for writing is do what works for you, although when you start out, it’s worthwhile to learn the rules before breaking them.

The First Plot Point 

If the chain of events is written in normal print, the plot points are highlighted in bold. The FPP, which happens around the twenty-five percent mark, brings the first act to an end.

The FPP in Cinderella is when her step-mother tells her she can’t go to the ball. Cinders decides she wants to go more than anything she has ever wanted and must overcome a series of obstacles in order to succeed. In The Hunger Games, the FPP occurs when Katniss volunteers to take her sister’s place, changing her life and opening up the way to death or victory.

The FPP fulfils several functions apart from initiating a new direction for the protagonist: it introduces the major conflict, indicates the challenges, heightens the investment in winning and mentions the price of failure.

Note the word introduces, because you are showing reasons why people should continue reading by sketching out the general development of your story arc and offering views of challenges (internal and external) they will face. The audience understands and can identify with the central character’s goals and recognize there is a story to be told. As she/he commits to seeing through the challenge, so does the reader.

You can think of the inciting incident as an event that relates to the individual and the FPP as relating to the dramatic arc. The inciting incident touches your protagonist, but the FPP results in a shift from their life before and propels them toward an alternative course of action.

In fiction, action includes thoughts, emotions and observations as well as physical movement. It can be range from remembering something relevant to charging into battle, but it has to transform the status quo.

By now your character is living in your reader’s imagination and they’ll continue to read because, otherwise, they're quitting the table before the end of the meal; and who wants to miss out on dessert?

Homework

Exercise 1: Using the book you are currently reading, identify the inciting incident and the first plot point. Choose a fairy tale or another book and do the same.

Exercise 2: Analyze the first act of your novel, scrutinize your inciting incident and FPP, see how you can improve on what you have written and make changes if you need to.

***

Stay well, stay safe and keep writing— no matter what!
Best wishes,
Teagan.

 

 

 

 

 

Interview with Monica Nash: Narrator of The Serendipity Game Audiobook:

Teagan Kearney · The Serendipity Game

I'm delighted that the audiobook edition of The Serendipity Game is now available to listen to and enjoy!

The Serendipity Game is a romantic comedy and here's the blurb: 

When Casey meets Jake sparks fly. But Casey has no idea that Jake’s soon-to-be ex-wife, Elena, is using her to extract more than the pre-nuptial agreement from Jake. While Jake and Casey spend time together, Elena changes her mind about the divorce and plans to eliminate her competition. A drama-packed, entertaining romcom that will have you rooting for the feisty Casey and praying for her HEA.

The audiobook is available at Audible: https://adbl.co/2XX4tYZ

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3g1aMBb

Also from iBooks at the Apple Store 

Monica Nash is the brilliant actor who narrated and produced The Serendipity Game audiobook. She is a graduate of the prestigious Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. Monica is a pleasure to work with and I cannot believe I had the good luck to have one of my books narrated by her. Thank you, Monica! 

Interview with Monica Nash

1. Could you tell us a little bit about yourself? 

I was born in Reading and grew up in Berkshire where my parents taught at a boarding school. I come from a large family and was very fond of climbing trees, cycling and playing endless games with my sister and our large collection of dolls. For the most part I enjoyed school, particularly English, Art and History.

2. Did you always want to be an actress and what drew you to the performing arts as a career?

 I was always in school plays and loved performing in general as a child, but for years my great passion was ballet. I loved the music and the costumes, but most of all I loved the storytelling. It was as a teenager that acting took over as my primary interest. I knew then that I wanted to act professionally, and never seriously considered any other career.

3. When did you first perform and where did you train?

As an undergraduate studying English at the University of Bristol, I was heavily involved in the drama and music scenes. Later, I went to Bristol Old Vic Theatre School, where I studied for two years. My first professional acting jobs were in 2014.

4. Who are your influences? 

I have drawn inspiration from many people over the years, from family members to school teachers. My greatest professional influences have been certain members of staff at drama school, and, more generally, actors ranging from Samantha Morton to Emma Thompson to Joyce Grenfell. I am influenced by any great piece of theatre that I see.

5. What do you do to prepare?

It depends on the project but generally speaking I jump straight in with the script, and do any research that needs to be done as I go along.

6. What are your strengths as an actor and how do they contribute to the style that makes you unique?

I have always been confident with language, and my English degree has been an enormous help to me. I am good at spotting the rhythm of a line and knowing how to deliver it effectively. This is useful in both comedic and serious roles, and I always try to be a performer who can pass seamlessly between comedy and drama at the drop of a hat.

7. What fears/anxieties do you have about your work?

Actors always worry that they are not getting enough auditions, and I am no exception! In this line of work, financial stability is never guaranteed, so that is sometimes a concern. I am also worried about the way this industry has historically treated women, although I do think that it is improving.

8. What has been your greatest accomplishment as an actor and what impact did that success have on you?

My greatest achievement is that I am still working and making my living in this industry six years in! Probably my greatest specific achievement was successfully learning to walk on stilts, from scratch, in only six days, for a theatre role. It definitely made me more confident about learning new skills and gave me more faith in myself that I could rise to a challenge.

9. How does recording an audiobook stretch you as an actor and what was the biggest challenge you faced in recording The Serendipity Game?

Recording audiobooks is unlike any other form of performing since you do it alone without fellow cast members to inspire you and buoy you up. ‘The Serendipity Game’ in particular has a large cast of characters. Flitting seamlessly from one voice to another was probably the greatest challenge.

10. What did you like about Casey in The Serendipity Game?

Casey has had a difficult childhood and has come out of it as a very independent and spirited woman. She is loyal to her friends and stands up for herself. These were all great aspects to bring to her character.

11. If you had the chance to perform any role in any play or film, who would you choose and why?

There are far too many to choose from, but it’s probably a toss up between Eliza Doolittle in ‘My Fair Lady’ and Cruella de Vil in ‘101 Dalmatians’. Eliza is a richly comic part but also a nuanced character who goes on an incredible character journey, of a kind which is hugely rewarding to play. Cruella is a straightforward, larger than life, insane, bloodthirsty villain (with fantastic costumes) – who doesn’t love playing one of those?

12. Who do you look up to?

I love the work of directors like Josie Rourke, Emma Rice and Vicky Featherstone. The actor I most look up to, in terms of her range, emotional clarity and career choices, is Lesley Manville.

13. What is your next project?

I am working on another audiobook called ‘Hello’, a psychological thriller, and I am in rehearsals for an outdoor concert performance of Sondheim’s musical ‘Into the Woods’, playing Cinderella.

14. Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?

Still acting! Hopefully with a rich and varied CV, having made many more wonderful friends.

15. What do you do when you’re not performing or recording audiobooks?

I have done various other non-acting jobs over the years. At the moment I am doing some online tutoring, as well as writing and performing some comedy pieces for a podcast. Outside of work, I sing with a chamber choir called Vivamus, spend time with my family and friends, drink copious amounts of tea, and see as much great theatre as I can.

16. What does your perfect Sunday afternoon look like?

Probably a longish walk ending up at the pub followed by watching a movie on the sofa with friends.

If you want to find out more about Monica you can contact her via her website: https://www.monicanashactor.com/