Content: rape

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Is being psychic a gift? For Mackenzie it's a curse--especially when that "gift" delivers her into the hands of a serial killer.

When Mackenzie Hill discovers her mother’s colossal deception, she tosses her life down the garbage disposal and relocates to Watcher's Point, Oregon in search of answers. What she finds is shocking; the man she's been dreaming about for years not only exists in the flesh, but he's got a secret agenda of his own.

Aidan Payne doesn’t expect to get emotionally involved with anyone, least of all a woman who looks at him with disturbing insight. As a serial killer escalates his twisted game, Aidan’s protective instincts take over and sparks begin to ignite. Both realize that if the killer isn't caught, Mackenzie might become the next victim. But neither foresaw the web of lies spanning three decades—lies which paved the way for the wrath of a serial killer.

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Please see Part I - I listed the changes the editor would like to see made and would like to know if you think I've accomplished this. PLUS, I need a good title :)

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For those familiar with he other Side...an editor has emailed me with some changes he would like to see made. namely, "can't always tell who is saying what to whom, acronyms may be familiar to author but not to all readers (DQ), story opens with a number of characters being brought in w/o being introduced, story stops without a conclusion, didn't like title!) Hopefully I've addressed these issues. I'd like to know if the chatting/texting works in italics vs. quotation marks. Help!

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The inspiration for this novel is the Victorian obsession with 'sanitising' history; changing, ignoring or deleting facts which they found unpalatable. One such myth is the belief that women did not go to sea in the ships of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. They did. Officially they were forbidden, but some captains and officers took their wives with them and allowed women to accompany some of their men. There were even enlightened masters who allowed troupes of resident prostitutes to sail on board to service the physical needs of the crew! Another myth is that the Royal Navy was an evil organisation run by sadistic officers handing out cruel, wicked punishments to men fed on putrid, rotting food who regularly indulged in acts of sodomy! The truth is, the royal Navy was a benevolent employer with a keen interest in the welfare of its men. Ships depended on vast amounts of healthy manpower to keep them afloat. Every ship carried a surgeon. Many of whom went on to become eminent physicians of their time and many discoveries and advances in medical science can be attributed to them. Injured sailors received a pension and, realising the value of healthy men, captains and pursers devoted much effort in procuring fresh water and food whenever possible. With the exception of voyages to America, West Indies or the Southern Ocean, ships were seldom far from land. The health and fitness of the men of the Royal Navy was a considerable contributing factor that enabled them to win every major engagement in which they were involved for over two hundred years. Britain did, indeed, rule the waves. It took a lot of manpower to work a man-of-war and every man was vital. A sailor flogged until his back bled was of no use at all, and the lash was used far more sparingly than we have been led to believe. Floggings did, however, occur when necessary. Discipline had to been maintained for the safety and efficient running of the ship and the most common offence was drunkenness, due to sailors hoarding or acquiring illicit supplies of alcohol. An inebriated sailor was a danger to himself, his mates and the ship. As water quickly became unfit to drink, sailors were, paradoxically, given a daily ration of beer and diluted rum which took care of their bodily need for fluids. The low alcohol content being worked off by the sheer physical nature of the work they had to do. Sailors, usually young men in their late teens and early twenties, had other bodily needs and the navy took care of that as well. Sexual frustration leading to fights, clumsiness and accidents was as much a hazard as drunkenness, storms or enemy action and not conducive to efficiency. As most voyages lasted about six weeks, sexual frustration, to the point of leading to sodomy, which was a hanging offence, did not occur. Prostitutes existed in abundance in every port and it was customary, before a ship sailed, to allow the women on board. 'Marguerite, Heroine or Whore' is at the moment, a working title. I am useless at coming up with good, imaginative titles that inspire the interest of would-be readers. The story is about Margaret, a destitute Huguenot silk weaver in eighteenth century London. When her husband fails to return from a rendezvous with someone offering him employment, Margaret goes in search of him and discovers that he has been pressed into service aboard a Royal Navy frigate. Having nowhere to go or means to support herself, she joins him on board but tragedy soon changes her circumstances. A naïve and righteous young woman she is determined to avoid the only salvation open to a woman in her situation and strenuously avoids descending into a world of prostitution but, in spite of her efforts to remain chaste, is raped and left with a child growing in her belly. A child that she believes, because of the circumstances of its conception, was sired by the devil. Adding to her misery she is afflicted with the scourge of the eighteenth century, the pox, the stigma of sin that could destroy her good looks and which she fears above all else. Sharing the trials and tribulations of a 'Jack Tar' Margaret survives a horrendous battle where, accredited with the killing of an enemy sailor, she assists the ship's surgeon in his grim task of amputating limbs and suturing terrible wounds. Called upon to interpret the language of a captured Frenchman Margaret is introduced to the soft comforts of gracious living and the low morality of the upper classes. In spite of her determination to avoid prostitution and unrequited love for the first lieutenant, she is abused by the captain. Unexpectedly finding the love of a decent man fate, however, is determined to deny her happiness. Following the cruel rape of slave women at the end of a voyage to the West Indies, she is attacked by men she once regarded her friends. Giving birth at sea to a child which, clearly, is not her man's, she is abandoned by him upon the ship's return to England. Once again alone, destitute and impoverished, hunger forces Margaret to forget her righteous principles and sell herself to anyone with cash in his pockets and lust in his loins. Determined not to remain a dockside molly, she sets out to attract a better clientèle and, as mistress to a gentleman, is presented to the most eminent fornicator in the land; His Royal Highness, The Prince Regent. Having climbed the social ladder, reaching the pinnacle of her hopes and dreams, fate cruelly intervenes when, in an argument with her benefactor, she believes she kills him and is forced to revert to her former means of survival; selling herself at the dockside gate. Now a fugitive, Margaret is determined to escape harsh, undeserved justice, and returns to the sea aboard a man-of-war commanded by Great Britain's most celebrated naval hero, Admiral Horatio Nelson. The story concludes with our heroin at Trafalgar and present at the death of the illustrious admiral and, having performed his dying wish, is denied her rightful place in British history.

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Some time ago I posted a short story titled "The Bus Spotter." I am trying to extend this into a novel. This is the first two chapters, but I think it might be better as chapter 1. I'd like opinions. Also I am not sure whether to include the first section which briefly describes the relationship between the MC and his missing father. Also of course, did it hold your interest? Explanatory notes: DI: Detective Inspector similar to US Detective Lieutenant. DCI: Detective Chief inspector, similar to US Detective Captain. Sweets - candy. Black Jacks - licorice flavoured soft candy.

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“Physician, heal thyself,” are words Doctor MacKenzie “Mac” Reardon never thought he would hear although he has seen far too much sickness and death in his thirty years on Earth. The small isolated town of Possum Holler, West Virginia, has suffered numerous tragedies without a doctor and with a hospital that is nearly one hundred miles away. The people are poor and backward. At last, one of their own has managed to become a doctor. Doctor Reardon returns to his hometown to find his own heartache might be something no medicine can heal as he struggles with a narrow-minded community, ignorance, a rocky marriage to a city girl, Felicia Chambry Reardon, and an overwhelming attraction to the new school teacher/principal, Sunny Bankston, at the newly established school. Having met Sunny while in his ER rotation at Cook County Hospital when he was an intern and her having been shot in a school-violence incident, Mac knows the spirit of the woman, a spirit that is more akin to his than the spirit of the woman he married. Mac struggles against overwhelming odds to bring his community into the twenty-first century even as Sunny Bankston battles her own demons, including fighting an attraction to Dr. MacKenzie Reardon. This is a romance that is a bit different. Yes, there is romance of the man/woman kind, but there is also love of community and friendship, driving forces of the story. I want the reader to see growth and change in these characters. I do not want the reader to hate any of them. The main antagonist is a situation of poverty and ignorance, not an individual. All comments welcome.

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Okay, this is going to be difficult for American readers (even yonger British ones), This is a very English thing, even regional -- as in London. Bus spotting was a popular hobby with kids (and nerds) in the 30's, 40's and 50's. However, this is a mystery short based around bus spotters, which I think stands up as a short story, but has potential to be expanded into a novel. I would really like some feed back on the plot. If this is expanded into a novel I plan for the reader to be transported all over London and learn some local history. Does it have a potential?

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Seeing the human monster in all of us...

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In Search of Mr. Wonderful, The Journey from Myth to Madness Romance / Adult To Invite Love, You Must Love Yourself First Syvanna Lee knows what she wants—an everlasting love, her own “Mr. Wonderful.�? Yet in her precarious quest to find such a man, she refuses to listen to the truth of her inner voice and ends up disappointed time and again. Each “Mr. Somebody�? Syvanna becomes involved with opens a new chapter in her life. Each new relationship causes her to look at herself from a different perspective. Each new lover unveils previously unexplored facets of her own personality. She is ready for love, but will she ever realize that to give love, receive love, or even demand love, she must love herself first? And if Syvanna would only take a moment to listen to her inner voice, she might learn an important truth. As the tale unfolds, an ominous secret from Syvanna’s childhood rises to the surface, a secret that may ultimately kill her. In Search of Mr. Wonderful is a tale of heartbreak, self-destruction, desperation, and, ultimately, of transformation and discovery. Ms. Bouvier has written a novel of intense beauty and introspection that will stay with you long after you’ve turned the final page. REVIEWERS PLEASE NOTE: I will be adding chapters daily until the whole manuscript has been submitted. There are a lot!!! Stay tuned!!

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Correne Johnson, 18, is all the things most women never want to be: Overweight, illiterate and unloved. And she is being molested by her Aunts fiance. She uses her addiction to the Oprah Winfrey show and Oprah's TV wisdom's to challenge her Oppressor. These actions could either end her life or save her.

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Novel written like a transcript...1/4 of the way through chapter one, it will become easier to read... Two years ago, twenty-nine year old Jayne, a reclusive writer and single mom, suffered a tragedy. After two years and many therapy sessions later, she decides to move to London to continue her writing there. And, in the process move on with her life. By the way, this book will not be in chapters it will be by conversation. Each conversation is its own chapter so on this site, each chapter might have more than one conversation.

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Just to be clear this isn't a rant or expression of venting, just another take on how some view the history of America, in light of comments that have surfaced during this political season. Frederick Douglas and Thurgood Marshall had some interesting ideas about black folks and patriotism in America. Unfortuately, the issue of race is still a sensitive topic, but in order for all of us to go forward it has to be talked about.

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This is a story about the relationship between tragedy and necessity, and the changes we make to keep breathing.

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Chris began to question the wisdom of this trip. The familiar crunching sound of tires on the gravel driveway gave away her surprise arrival. She had planned to arrive undetected, take a look around at her former life, and if necessary, leave undetected. As she pulled up to the once-white, house with the slanted front porch and broken screen door, she was at once joyfully nostalgic and severely repulsed. Before Chris could turn off the engine and step out onto the gravel and oil driveway, Ma was already waving from the window in the big bedroom upstairs. Chris shook her head when she notice Ma wearing the same faded red, pansy-printed house dress she was wearing exactly one year before on Easter Sunday and likely every other Sunday for the last thirty years or more. The hem of this dress must have been re-sewn by Ma’s plump hands a hundred times or more and the buttons were a mere rumor, replaced by multi-colored diaper pins. Even without seeing it now, Chris could describe each frayed piece of the fabric, not only because she seen it in her mind whenever she pictured Ma, but because she’d spent so much time as a child, hiding from the world on underneath it. They met inside the house, at the bottom of the stairs and greeted one another the way they always had. No “I love you,�? or “good to see you.�? No touching moment and definitely no embracing, just right to the business at hand – avoidance. “Lawd chile, I ain’t know who dat was pullin’ in my driveway all fast.�? Ma said, barely stopping at the foot of the staircase. “Uhn, uhn, uhn. What you doin’ wit’ ya hair now?�? “All that money, - cant you pay somebody to do something with that hair?�? Chris sighed. “It’s called the natural look Ma, and I did pay somebody to do this.�? Uhn, we’ll you done thrown dat money away. Look like a natural mess to me. I’ put a pressin comb on it fo’ ya fo’ free.�? Ma laughed. “Lawd have mercy, now I got to go upstairs an’ put some clean sheets on dat bed. Go on out back and say somethin’ to Dad.�? Chris walked through the old house, through the dog’s room on the back porch and out into the back yard where Dad sat atop his ancient, red, riding mower, mowing and drinking what was almost surely corn liquor, wrapped in a brown paper bag. “Hey there, Lil Bit, what you doin’ here? Dad slurred. “You done drove all the way from New York City to help me cut all this grass.�? All morning, Chris sat in the kitchen with Ma snapping peas, peeling potatoes and soaking greens. “You listen here girl, now I ain’t gonna have none of that mess you pull last year at my Easter table, you hear me?�? Ma warned. “What’s past is past.�? “Now, ya Mama an’ them comin.’�? “Again, Ma, she is not my Mama�? Chris said. “Well, she carried ya ‘round in her fo’ nine mont’s di’nt she?�? Ma exclaimed. Chris started, “Ma, but she never did nothing for me….�? At this, Chris was immediately shocked by her improper language, and how easily it came back to her. “She my daughter, and yo’ mama, an’ this is my house and I say she’ comin’ here to have Easter dinner wit’ us, now you just keep ya mouth shut if ya aint got nothing nice to say, hear.�? ‘Ma, if she brings him again, I can’t sit at the table and act like everything is ok.�? Chris explained. Ma fidgeted. “Don’t you say it.�? Suddenly, Chris felt possessed. “What, Ma, that he raped me and my Mama was too high to do anything?�? Ma looked around for something to hold on to and settled on a bag of flour on the. Ma said, “Don’t ya talk with dat nasty mouth in my house girl, now, I jus’ ain’t gon’ have it.�? Brushing flour off her dress, Ma quietly demanded, “Now make yourself useful and go set the table.�?

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I knew this boy when I was a child. My dad and I would go on a dove hunt every year at a friend's farm. The family described in this story lived on his farm as tenants. The boy in the story was a fetcher of killed doves for us. He told me his father and grandfather were the same. I felt compelled to write this because since he died I'm sure no one has thought a second about him.

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