#amwriting #FridayFiction Part 1 #TheVanishedBoy @harmony_kent #newbook #crimethriller
Hi everyone. I can’t tell you how much pleasure it is to pen my first ‘am writing’ post in such a long time. While I still have my sci-fi trilogy to finish from last year, I also have this standalone novel that I also abandoned last year. As for most of us, 2020 proved a difficult time, and added to that, my health nosedived too. I’m still up and down with my breathing and immune system, but I’m determined. Even if I only get a few-hundred words a day, it’s a lot better than a big fat zero. This week, in just three days, I’ve penned over 8,500 words on my latest book, The Vanished Boy. Below, you’ll see the blurb and an excerpt. I’d love to know your thoughts, bearing in mind this is straight from the WIP and is the first, unrevised draft. Have a wonderful weekend, everyone 🙂
About the Book:
A missed phone call in the night is all it takes.
When Carole’s 18-year-old son goes missing, she breaks into Jayden’s laptop to try to understand his life.
All too soon, Carole discovers just how little she knew her boy.
And when one lead after another dead-ends, the distraught mother has to face the unthinkable.
Sucked into a sticky web of deceit and lies, nothing is as it seems.
When your life turns inside out and upside down, who would you trust?
Carole’s little boy gazed up at her with tear-filled eyes. ‘Is Daddy going to die?’
Desperate to show a brave face to her son, she forced a smile and squeezed his hand. ‘Daddy’s gone to sleep now. He won’t wake up. The doctors gave him something so he won’t hurt any more.’
Jayden blinked. ‘So … h-he’s dead now?’ He stared in horror at the shrunken body in the bed.
Carole closed her eyes and prayed for strength. ‘No, sweetie. He’s in a coma. But the doctors think he’ll die real soon. Maybe within the hour.’
The boy nodded. When he spoke again, his voice had dragged itself from the vulnerable depths of a small child and back up to the relative heights of the eleven-year-old that he was. It made her proud—he, too, had pulled on the reins of his fear and pain. At the same time, it hurt her that he had to.
Eleven was no age to lose a father.
Hell, thirty was no age to lose a husband.
© Harmony kent 2021