I wrote a novel in a genre that’s brand new to me.
Who ever guessed that I would write a work that is part spy adventure, part paranormal deception, and part “enemies-to-lovers” romance? I didn’t expect to do so.
However, I had the start of such a book in my old files. It had been hidden away for about forty years, and I had never done anything with it.
In the middle of a world-wide pandemic, something made me open and read the old story fragment. That’s when ideas began to flood into my mind for writing something along the lines of the Gothic classic Rebecca, or The Mistress of Mellyn, with a hapless female at the mercy of a manipulative man.
Then a new character popped up, bringing complications and romance to the plot.
Suddenly, Chill became a real story, and even though I was far out of my depth in the new genre, I was encouraged by a writer who crafts delicious horror novels that I was right in the groove.
Ultimately, I let go of the fear and began to write. Since then, an editor allayed my fears about venturing out of my usual writing patch, saying that I write well in any genre; beta readers sang the praises of Chill; and readers who bought the book said things like “the writing is masterful,” and “another awesome book by Marsha Ward.”
I’m glad I pressed forward and completed this work.
Chill is currently available as an ebook at the following locations:
Apple Books
Kindle US
Kindle UK
Kindle DE
Kobo
nook
Smashwords
Here’s an excerpt:
Laura Malloy
I pushed through the glass entrance door to the terminal, dragging my wheeled suitcase, and hurried to get into the line for the aerial tram car to the Castleton Ski Resort. Why did it have to be a tram? The view out the glass-sided station was of a yawning abyss under the cable. My stomach clenched and my head whirled. Overwhelming queasiness moved up my chest into my throat. Would I throw up? The accompanying vertigo made me feel as though I was slipping into a bottomless void.
What if the car falls? Will we all be killed instantly? Who will mourn for me? Mother? Father? My brother Philip?
I shifted from one foot to the other, curling my toes and fighting the urge to run. My family would be sad for a while, but my neglectful husband Nicholas would not mourn. He didn’t care about me. That’s why I was divorcing him.
As the line advanced at a snail’s pace toward a pert young woman holding a clipboard and a pen, I retreated to a happier thought. I would be Laura Malloy again. No more Lafferty at the end of my name. Even imagining the name made my throat tighten and my mouth turn sour. The name “Lafferty” would always be tied to Nicholas, and to his time-eating job. I cringed, holding my arms tightly against my body. I hated his job, and I didn’t even know what he did.
I tried to relax. I couldn’t enjoy my vacation if I was all tied up in knots.
Something hit me in the small of my back. I turned to look over my shoulder.
A man carrying a small suitcase stood behind me. A camera with a long lens attached hung from a strap around his neck. He was so close that when I’d turned, the lens bumped against my body again. I tightened down on a scream threatening to erupt from my mouth. I had to leave. I had to escape. I couldn’t get in that fragile tram and take it up to the mountain.
But behind the man with the camera, a curvy blonde woman freshened her garish red lipstick while she waited. Her hips and her suitcase blocked the door.
As I tried to figure out how to get around her, a man ahead of me in the line raised his voice.
“It is arrange yesterday. From the Plaza Hotel. You must have the record.”
“I don’t see your name here,” the girl with the clipboard answered, her voice harsh.
My attention was drawn away by a crackling announcement on the PA system.
“Keep your hands, arms, and belongings inside the tram car at all times.” The droning voice went on. For some reason, the interruption soothed me and quieted the turmoil in my brain. Yes. Everything would be fine if everyone obeyed the rules.
I could breathe again, and the need for escape left me. Perhaps I could enjoy my stay at the resort after all. I would simply close my eyes tightly while we ascended.
The dispute ahead of me settled down. When I saw the man leave and head for the tram car, I realized I had seen him in the parking lot when I arrived.
Shortly afterward, my turn came. The girl holding the clipboard asked me my name. I said, “Laura Laffer—, that is, Laura Malloy.”
What was wrong with me? “Lafferty” was my past. I was getting rid of it.
I breathed deeply, seeking peace.
The clerk found “Laura Malloy” on her list and made a check mark alongside it.
The brief, crisp movement of her pen brought the peace I sought. I turned away from her to confront a man who wanted to take my suitcase and garment bag.
Panic descended on me. I drew my luggage toward my body with stiff arms. He might as well have asked to take my jacket away from me, or a leg. I had to keep—
“It’s okay, miss,” he said in a quiet voice. “You’ll get your belongings at the top of the hill.”
“Move it, lady,” the man with the camera said.
I was holding up the line. Embarrassment suffused my cheeks. Reluctantly, I opened my fingers and surrendered the luggage.
I stepped away. Ahead of me was the tram car, its door gaping open like the entrance to Hell. I couldn’t move.
A young male staffer with a name tag that read, “Ewell,” held out his hand indicating that I was to enter the door of the tram car. I sucked in my breath and hung back, once again dreading the coming ascent, but Ewell reached behind me with his other hand, placed it on the middle of my back, and persuaded me onto the suspended car.
~~~
Get your copy of Chill at
Apple Books
Kindle US
Kindle UK
Kindle DE
Kobo
nook
Smashwords
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