It never occurred to me that I would write a second novel. Like so many of you, I always wanted to create a work of fiction, if for no other reason than to be able to say “I did it.” The nagging thought that there was a novel lurking in the back of my mind would finally, once and for all, be quelled.
But something happened. I liked writing. There was something invigorating about sitting at the keyboard and letting my mind produce things that I never dreamed I could meaningfully express. Then, during the editing process, when I realized that what I had put down on paper was actually interesting, I wanted to keep going.
Then there came a startling, jolting discovery, one that still amazes me. They liked it. My readers liked what I had to say. I guess I should admit, at this point, that I had written Book One mostly for my benefit, just for the pure satisfaction of crossing it off my “bucket list,” but now I suddenly and unexpectedly had readers who wanted more!
Quite a revelation. Maybe even a life altering event. So now, surprise, I found myself again at my desk writing the sequel, Finding Justice. Many of the same characters, plus a few new ones, get involved in several exciting and dangerous challenges.
It seems there will always be someone waiting for justice to be served, and fortunately my heroes, The Payback Team, are there, ready to step in and take over.
Here are a few paragraphs from the sequel. My readers tell me that I have a way of “putting them at the scene.” Take a look and see if you get that feeling as you read the following:
At six A.M. Monday, the chopper was in the air about a mile from a little village so small that it didn’t have a name. Calling it a village would have been an exaggeration, as it was not much more than a cluster of eight or ten small homes. Four rusted hulks that were once someone’s means of conveyance were randomly strewn about the little community.
Several chickens wandered about aimlessly, pecking at the dusty trail that served as the only way in or out of the settlement, and two goats were tussling over a discarded beer can.
The helicopter touched down just long enough to discharge four armed men, who began making their way down the path that led to the village. At a slow jog, it took just ten minutes for them to arrive at the outskirts of the hamlet.
Just as they hoped, no one was stirring. Brandon pointed out which of the domiciles belonged to the killers’ uncle, and they all had the same reaction: how could four people reside in what was not much larger than a standard prison cell? Did it have water or electricity?