First Word

13             Sandra had been called downstairs. It was early morning, and she had just used the Keirug to make a cup of coco since the center discouraged coffee drinking. Sandra found that particular rule hard to follow since all her life she had begun her mornings with a cup of a coffee and a stack of patient files. Now she found it especially difficult to concentrate without her coffee. The coco had become a hot substitute and she found the act of just holding the cup in her hand helped her adjust.             Just as he got to the top of the stairwell she heard a loud crash and a lot of loud voices. She peered downstairs to see what looked like a homeless man thrashing about as the orderlies Stu and Paul tried to get him restrained. Sandra rushed downstairs just as Paul got the man under control. The resident nurse Karen, who staffed the reception area, was standing off to the side with her clipboard. Just as the orderlies got the dirty, grungy man under

12             Kendra sat alone in the rose garden. She was only half studying a fire-and-ice rose when Craig walked up and sat down next to her. She barely glanced at him.             “My daughter would have liked pink … hot pink.”             “I see … you know Kendra … I, I want to share something with you.”             Kendra momentarily glanced up.             “My wife and I have lost four babies.”             “I’m sorry … that must feel terrible.”             “No worse I am sure than you feel right now.”             “Huh? What do you mean?”             “Your baby … gone. I’m so sorry. I’m even sorrier to see you hurt so badly. I know how terrible. My wife is beside herself.”             “My baby isn’t gone.”             “What do you mean?”             “She’s here right now … Can’t you see her?”             “What?”             “Yes, she is right there …” Kendra pointed to an open patch of grass. “She’s playing with a butterfly.”  

11             Craig walked into the conference room on the top floor of the rehab center. He had just taken a break and smoked a vape on the outside patio, which was strongly discouraged by the Center. He was stressed and preoccupied today. His wife Sarah had just suffered her fourth miscarriage in one year. When he left for work earlier that day she was sitting on the sofa wrapped in a soft purple blanket and blankly staring at the TV that wasn’t turned on.             Craig was a substance abuse counselor not a bereavement expert. He knew from the literature she was grieving the same way a woman would who lost a live baby. Four deaths though was a lot for his lovely wife to handle – for any woman to handle. When he looked at her she seemed so frail and lost. Her soft blue eyes darkened, her elegant long hands resting in her lap, her light-brown hair disheveled and tangled. She barely looked at him when he left for work. He had kissed her cheek and gently su

Date: March 26, 2016 Time: 10am to 4pm Place: 267 Spoonbill Lane, Galt, CA 95632 This intensive 6-hour workshop is designed to take your novel idea from beginning to end. Michelle Gamble, CEO of 3L Publishing and author of 7 books and numerous publications and magazine articles, will be teaching the class. In the workshop you will walk away with the following: 1. a booklet designed to fill information as she walks you through the steps. 2. An overall critiqued discussion on the theme of your book. 3. A breakdown discussion about each elements of your book, including plot, subplots and characters. 4. Review and guidance of your first chapter (if you don't have one she will make suggestions on how to create one). This is an intensive, exclusive workshop. She will only be accepting five students. Once the number is filled, the workshop will be closed. The cost is $175 for an intensive afternoon of work. It includes: 1. Work book 2. 6 hours of intensive personalized a

10             Finley Sullivan, a homeless man who looked to be about 40 to 45, stood in the rainforest with the drizzle of first morning’s rain sending a damp mist that sprinkled his greasy black hair. Finley had lived in San Francisco before they cracked down on the homeless. Before he was picked up by what was in his estimation a kind of “Big Brother” squadron of political “goody-goodies” dedicated to clean up the City by the Bay. They had him hauled before county services for relocation – anywhere else as long as it was outside of the city and the new mayor could brag he had solved the homeless problem.             Before it had happened Finley had been dully warned and advised he should depart on his own lest he find himself somewhere he didn’t want to be. Finley was sleeping on his usual bench in Golden Gate Park when the maintenance man Freddy sat down with the San Francisco Chronicle in his lap. He pushed his buddies’ legs over and sat down on the

9 Dr. Craig Pauline, head psychologist, sat in the group therapy room in one of the chairs set up for the first session of new patients. They circulated groups in rotations based on duration of stay. This group would be his crowd for the next six months. Craig, thinning dark hair and brown eyes, was a tall, lean and lanky guy who was so thin he had no choice but to wear belts to hold up his slacks. Weight gain had been a lifelong problem. When the other boys in high school were bulking up, Craig just wished to gain a pound. Craig was mercilessly bullied through middle school and high school. His nemesis one James Buckner managed to almost literally kick his ass from grade to grade to grade. James was the resident scumbag who was always double Craig’s size in both height and weight. Craig’s mother Irene tried to help her young son. She sent him to Karate and even bought him vitamins and protein shakes hoping to bulk him up. She went to the principals and teache

The Abused is a psychological thriller about 8 addicts who go to rehab only to have one start murdering the others. Reader discretion is advised. 8             Merry’s office was on the top floor of the St. John’s Rehab Center. She was the director of rehabilitation services and a Ph.D. in psychology and mental health with a specialty in addiction and substance abuse. Merry never did drugs or used her entire life. She never even took a shot of liquor. As a teenager Merry once witnessed some girls in the bathroom of the local dance club doing cocaine and she didn’t even know what they were doing. So when they offered her a snort of “blow” she said no without a clue to what she had just turned down.             Merry’s own childhood abuse fueled her desire to figure out what was wrong with her. She felt an endless unease and dissatisfaction in life. Nothing made her happy. No amount of education, academic awards or personal accomplishments could fill the em