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Sal and Ness. (A Chicago Down Excerpt)

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Greetings everyone,

Here is another excerpt from Chicago Down. This a very rough first draft and is mostly dialogue – for a purpose, of course. I gave this a once over, so I’m sure that you’ll find something goofy in there. LOL. Thanks for reading…And please keep all Tommy Guns under your coats. 😉

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SAL & NESS October 1931

A car skidded to a halt in front of Eliot Ness’s home. Salbatora Guerrera shoved the door open before the driver could make it around to her side.

“I can do it, David! I’m not helpless you know.”

“I know, Sal, I just…”

Sal stormed across the front lawn, fuming like a challenged rhino, leaves rustling and crackling as she treaded.

“Ness! You come out here!” She screamed. Ness!

“Sal,” David started toward her. “Someone’s going to call the cops.”

“Eliot! Eliot Ness!”

“Sal, please,” David pleaded.

“David,” her arm jutted outward, pointer finger aimed toward the car. “Get…your…ass…in the car!” Her teeth clenched together, and her cheeks were cherry red.

“Yes, ma’am,” David complied. He hurried to the driver’s side of the vehicle, but he kept vigil by the door.

“Eliot!” She screamed.

“Salbatora,” Ness was on the stairs.

“Eliot, what did you do?” Sal’s face was red and wet, her chest heaved from anger and Eliot thought she might hyperventilate. “I knew it would come to this. You!” She pointed an accusing finger. “You betrayed us.”

He came cautiously toward her, arms outstretched in surrender, palms facing her. “Take it easy, Salbatora.”

“What happened? Why did you go to the court?” Sal’s eyes welled with water. “Why did you let them destroy Al like that? Why?”

“You knew I was going, Salbatora. You knew I went. Why are you here, four months later?”

“I’m so disappointed.”

“Now, Salbatora. You know why I went. I need you to understand. Al does,” Eliot put his hands down and approached her. “Besides…he isn’t going down for bootlegging or prohibition violations is he? No. Some tax wise ass got the jump on me… Oh, never mind.”

“They gave him eleven years, Eliot. This is not a time for jokes.” she cried. “Please. If you have one shred of decency you will do something. Help Al.”

“I can’t, Salbatora. I wish I could. My hands are tied. I wish I was that guy…the one who could help you. But I don’t have that kind of power.”

“That’s okay,” Sal straightened herself up, smoothed out her coat. “Uh-huh.”

“Salbatora,” Eliot breathed a sigh. Something so simple, but Sal believed he couldn’t help. He looked so defeated.

“These asses running Chicago,” Sal said. “Running Illinois. They can try to cover it all up. Run it into the ground…what we did. You, me, Al, Bugs, and the Commissioner – God rest him. But, they can’t. And if they think for one minute that putting Al Capone in jail is going to change it, it won’t. He’s Al Capone. He’ll live forever…”

“Salbatora,” Eliot said, “there’s a big chance Al won’t even serve the full eleven years. Maybe half. But things are about to change. Chicago’s going to change. And, you know…”

“Eliot. Chicago will never change. It’ll always be home to barbarians who need tending to. This is Al Capone’s city. He can’t trust too many. But I’ll be here…in Chicago…to make sure it stays Al’s territory,” she trembled again, maybe from grief, or anger, but it was making Eliot Ness question the last couple of years of his own life. Question his own sanity. “They have no right to put Al in prison after all he’s done for them…this no good town! He doesn’t deserve to be in prison, Eliot. He doesn’t. He was good to everyone. Vultures!”

“Yes, Salbatora. He does. He belongs in prison. And he knows it, and you know it too,” Eliot took her gently by the arms, his voice low and soothing. “There’s nothing I can do, or you can do, to change events that were set in motion long before you came to Chicago. We can’t undo…”

“Oh, I’ll make them pay… I’ll kill them, every single one,” Sal said, hell bent on vengeance.

“Who?”

“Those bastard jurors…one by one, I’ll kill them. That’s right. And they’ll be scared, each of them, waiting and wondering which of them will be next. Holding their breaths…scared to death. Hiding…”

Eliot shook Sal a little. “Salbatora, listen to yourself. Those are innocent people…”

“Oh, Chicago needs a leader. They need a boss…and I’ll give them one. Me. I’ll be the father of this town until Al can return and take back what’s his. I’ll do that. I’ll kill them. And that judge. I’ll kill his whole family. I’ll blow that whole courtroom to hell…I’ll kill…”

“Salbatora!” Eliot yelled. “Nonsense. Stop it.

“He’s not bad. He did everything for me and Leandro, and he never asked to be paid back. Never. Nothing.”

“You are not a killer, Salbatora.”

“Oh, no?” Sal stepped back out of Eliot’s reach and opened her arms wide. “I am not?” She opened her coat to reveal her holstered weapon.”

“You have to wear that because you are in the Capone Family mess,” Eliot said. “You have to protect yourself from people that hate Al Capone.”

“Yes. Not just that. They look at me all nasty like I am some damned no good moll,” she raved.

Eliot shook his head. “No, Salbatora, you’re no…m”

“Not a moll?…unless you don’t consider a trouser-wearing-tommy-gun-toting woman a moll. I killed many people, Eliot. You know it.”

“Most of them were already dead. I mean, who else is there? Who? Roger McClennan? He was an idiot with half a brain. So what…and he left your best pal to die,” he ran his fingers through his hair. “Killer told us that the bastard didn’t want to wait.” He laughed, nervously. “So, you killed some people. But you are not THAT kind of killer.” He laughed.

“That kind of killer? What’s that? Funny, huh, Eliot? You’re…a killer too.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I’m a killer too,” he threw his hands up. He gave up. “Okay, Salbatora. You’re a killer. Is that what you want to hear? That you’re a murderer? Fine, then, be a fucking killer!”

“I will, then!”

“Good. Go ahead. See if I give one damn!”

Sal turned and slowly started toward the waiting car.

“Salbatora,” Eliot followed her to the car. “Please. We can argue all day. The only sense there is, is in you letting this go.”

“I cannot. I have everything because of Al. He gave me work. He taught me business. Made his ruffians treat me like a lady…like they’d treat Mae,” her memories were fine ones. “Mae. She taught me that I can still be strong willed when wearing a skirt,” she laughed, tickled by memories of her and Mae that Eliot didn’t share. “She hates trousers, you know,” she smiled at times past. “She taught me how to bake a turkey.”

Eliot felt her distress and uncertainty. He saw that despite her young age, just 20 years old, her youth had long gone. In fact, it was history before she ever met Al and him. And as for Al Capone, as she saw it, he may as well be dead.

“But you can still have that, Sal,” Eliot said. He was looking for any way to make her see what was right. To make her see that killing innocent people was not the answer. “Mae. She’s not going to jail. She’ll still be here for you. My God, Sal, can you imagine Mae running between prisons trying to keep up with you and Al?…The two idiots that drive her the most nuts? And what about Rudy? Huh? What’s going to happen to good ol’ sweet Rudy if you end up in the clink? Or dead?” He looked around, lost for words to describe the outcome. “That guy…brave as he is…is not too good at caring for himself, Sal. He can’t even boil an egg. Even Al said that himself…Rudy can’t boil water. He was always afraid to let Rudy have weapons,” he laughed. “But, that boy’s handy dandy with explosives and grenades. I’ll tell ya.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Nothing to be heard but the wind rustling the trees.

“I can’t let it go,” Sal said. “This is Al’s town. And I’ll keep it warm for him until he comes home, Eliot. And you can help me, or try hinder me, but it’s going to happen. Chicago needs a babysitter. Just so happens I’m free. And besides that…they already know me. And if those police and the rest of them law-wielding hypocrites don’t like it… I’ll burn this mother fucking town to the ground. Besides, there’s bigger fish to fry in this world.”

Gently, Eliot took Sal’s face in his hands. Just a last-ditch effort to talk sense into her. He couldn’t save Al, or himself, or Roger McClennan, but maybe, just maybe… “Sal, Al Capone is not your father. He’s not your father.”

Shattered. That was the outcome. Sal was crushed. Troubled, she stared at Eliot. He couldn’t move, couldn’t take his hands from her face. No thoughts came to him. His own words stunned him as much as they did Sal.

She stared at Eliot for a few seconds, tears streaming. “You’re right, Eliot,” she choked. “Al is not my father. I killed my father. He’s just another victim of mine.”

“You didn’t kill your father, Salbatora. You know that. He was…already… He was one of them,” Eliot stepped back, nodding his head, shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “And you met Al Capone, and through him you gained another family. Your mother and father. Your sister, Nancy. Big brother, Pedro. You and Leandro…you lost them for good. And Al Capone and his people. His wife and his mother. They gave that back to you. Trust me, Salbatora – Savior, you were worthy of every minute of their time. Every dime you earned. Everything. Not to mention, you earned your short-lived place in history. But. Like me. Like Al. You’ll never be notorious again. Our time is ending, Sal.”

They stared at each other quietly. The sight of Eliot’s wife, Edna, caught her eye. She was standing on the porch. How much had she witnessed? Sal then looked the other way to find the driver, David, staring at her slack jawed, speechless.

“Not yet, Eliot. The book’s not done.” She walk toward the car.

“Stop,” he started toward her. “Come on now.”

She turned her back to Eliot and as she slid into the backseat, “David. Drive,” She slammed the door shut.

David looked at Eliot Ness and drove off as ordered.

Edna came down the stairs and met Eliot on his way to the house.

“Eliot, you’ve got to do something. I’m afraid Sal’s going to get killed.” She hugged Eliot tight. “What happened to our sweet-n-sour Sal?”

“I know,” he said. “I know what to do.”

Copyright 2022 Wanda S. Paryla

Chicago Down: An Excerpt

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*Greetings, All. Here is an excerpt from Chicago Down. It’s a draft, but I’d like to know what you think.  Thanks!

Chicago Down

When Salbatora Guerrera left Al Capone’s bedroom, she felt as if she’d done some horrible deed. A deed so terrible that her own mother would disown her. Maybe she wouldn’t though, if she knew the true circumstances behind Sal’s actions.

Sal felt as if she murdered someone. Her friend; a legend. But that someone was truly already dead. Dead long before his physical death. And now, she’d carry this with her into eternity. Forever, and ever. The confusion this day has wrought.

Sal walked passed the doctor and a body guard or two. She thought she saw the driver of the car that brought her to Florida from Chicago. A long drive, it was. Despite that, she barely remembered the miles as they went by. A train might have been much nicer. And gotten her here a heck of a lot faster. But it’s not what Al wanted. Despite his showy personality, he wanted her arrival to be incognito. For her to be safe from the media and busy bodies. It was his endgame. This whole thing. One that he chose before he lost his mind and his senses. Ironic, for a larger-than-life character such as Al Capone, wouldn’t you say?

He wanted Sal to take care of business in the end. He trusted her and only her to do it. After all, she owed him, and she believed in payment of debts. Yet, he was her friend. And she, his. Despite the world’s perception of Al Capone, he was honestly kind to her and never asked anything in return for all he had done for her over the years. Nothing at all. He never put the moves on her, or asked for any sort of sexual favors, or payment in some other shady way. When she had nothing, he had it all, and he offered some to her, Sal, a lost Texan looking for her family. Sal, who found it, and then lost it all over again for the good of humankind.

Al, he admired her. No doubt that her tenaciousness, crassness, bravery and the way she accepted both success and defeat with grace was just a few of the several reasons why he thought she was worth helping.

Sal wandered passed everyone, barely aware of them. She imagined the blood of her friend being upon her hands and she broke down out there on the veranda. All alone. It took only an instant though, for the brave and strong Salbatora to regain her warrior stature. Not as young as she used to be, and having so many responsibilities these days, she just pushed that grief aside. Now was not the time.

“Salbatora,” Mae Capone was behind her, holding a small box. Only middle aged, Mae was still as pretty as ever, even after all she had been through. “Al left this for you. He boxed up these things a long time ago. I don’t really know what’s in here. And I never tried to look.”

She approached Sal and gestured for her to take the box. Sal started to reach for the box, but hesitated.

“Really, Sal, take it.”

Sal took the box with unease. “I don’t know why Al would leave me anything. I’ve taken way too much already.”

“He left it for you because he knew that you’d come,” Mae took a deep breath and turned away from Sal, almost as if she was ashamed. “He knew you’d come here and do what the rest of us couldn’t. What his family, friends, or employees could not do.” She shook her head and turned around to face Sal.

“I…I don’t know…I…” Sal just stuttered. She was at a loss for words and actions.

“He knew you’d end it for him. Put a stop to it. Do what even his doctor wouldn’t. What I wouldn’t…couldn’t. He never wanted to become like that.” Mae wrung her hands, choosing her words carefully. “Once, he became lucid for a few seconds, Salbatora. It was only a few days ago. He opened his eyes wide, looked at me. Raised his head up off the pillow, and…spoke like he did when he was…oh,” she smiled, “like back when he was twenty-five or so. He said, ‘Mae, get Sal. The time is coming. Like I said. Don’t let me become one of them. It’s in me. I was touched by the darkness. Don’t let it…I can’t.’ Then he put his head back down on the pillow. Breathing hard, staring at the ceiling. I wondered what he was thinking. After about a minute, he closed his eyes.”

Salbatora stayed at a hotel, paid for by Al Capone, for the duration of her stay. Mae offered her a room at the house, but with so many years gone by, Sal felt odd about it. She didn’t want to impose upon a grieving family. Sal left the next day. Driven all the way back to Chicago by the same chauffer that brought her to Florida.

 

Copyright 2018 Wanda Paryla

Chicago Down- Cover Blurb

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Greetings all,

I’m working on a draft of Chicago Down’s back cover description.  Here’s a peek at what I’ve compiled from the short synopsis so far. I’m still working on trying to dwindle it a bit more.

*****

Salbatora vows to honor her father’s last request: find Eliot Ness to help free her brother who was wrongly arrested for Prohibition violations. She abandons her Texas home, leaving behind memories, and the living dead.

Ness isn’t the only thing Sal finds. Chicago struggles under Prohibition. While its citizens covertly indulge in spirits, a sinister darkness grows. Born of greed, it’s more disturbing than a lust for alcohol. While gangsters battle over territories, the undead have no preference as they run amok, and the Illinois governor has lost his mind to a madcap plot to corral Chicago’s mounting zombie populace.

An unlikely team, Sal Guerrera, Eliot Ness, and Al Capone form an unusual camaraderie as they fight the Screamin’ Mimis, as Al calls them. They develop a strategy to deter the governor’s plan which will collapse the weakened city. But can they end the evil’s terrorizing hold? When they learn how the dead sprang to life, they must strike at the source to set Chicago free. And they may not survive alive.

Chicago, are you ready for your unsung heroes? (Note: this line is slated for the cover, as opposed to the back blurb.)

Copyright 2017 Wanda Paryla

Chicago Down (a Meme & More)

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Chicago Down

Talk about foreshadowing.  Can you see it?

16bk8z

“Never call me Toots again, Al,” Sal said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Know what?”

“What? You about to cast a kitten?” Al said.

“Cast a what?” Sal demanded, eyebrows drawn together hard. “What, you ass?”

“Don’t fuck with me, girl, or you’ll end up in worse shape than that Screaming Meemie I just bashed.”

“Oh, stop. You’re not gonna do shit.”

“You’re something. What happened to hard boil a sweet, young thing like you?”

I’ve never been sweet.”

Copyright 2016 Wanda Paryla

Chicago Down (an excerpt)

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CHICAGO DOWN (Updated 5/28/17)

“There’s something I know about Al Capone’s life and death that the rest of the world does not. Because history is inaccurate. But, I knew him. I was there the day he died. So, I know. You can believe me or not. Doesn’t matter.

Al was by no means perfect. He could be cruel. Monstrous at times even. But Chicago owes him. It’s a bill that they’ll never pay. It’s a debt they don’t even know they own.” – Salbatora Guerrera

Wanda Paryla Copyright 2016

Drafts

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I enjoy learning about how other writers create. What their writing steps and techniques are.

When I am first working on a story…a book…I usually write it, well, un-colorfully….if I can use a crazy word. Let me explain. I use plain, bland words. I might write a line like, “The boat rocked back and forth on the fierce ocean.” Eh…eh…. Later, I’ll add the words that matter and recreate the sentence. “The millionaire’s yacht creaked and rocked under the weight of the menacing waves. The novice millionaire captain was petrified. His friends and family fought to hold on for dear life against the storm that mysteriously appeared.” Then, later down the road it will change yet again and add points of view, character emotions, etc.

I met one writer who does things differently than I do.  She over describes things, then cuts out instead of building up.

What is your preference?  Your first-draft technique?

Thanks for reading.

Chicago Down (excerpts)

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Below are just a few random bits from my working draft of Chicago Down (the 1st draft). I have not written any real action scenes yet. But this gives a small feel about what’s going to go one. I had a bit of trouble transferring it to WordPress, so there might be some formatting weirdness. I tried to correct it.

 

CHICAGO DOWN

 

Excerpt #1 –

The Florida sky was blue for as far as his eyes could see. But to look at him, you would not know it. His eyes were transfixed on something no one else could see. Something off in the distance. His face, a blank slate.

 
“Say that again, Rudy,” Al Capone said as stared out at swaying palm trees.

 
“Al. I’m tellin’ ya. I wouldn’t lie to ya,” Rudy said. There was a clear begging in his voice which trembled with both fear of what Al Capone might do if he did not believe him, and what he saw on in that Chicago garage on February 14th.

 
Al Capone sighed hard.

 
“Al, things didn’t go how we planned. I mean. It wasn’t supposed to go that way. You should’ve seen them…those things, Al. Al, you should have seen ‘em.” Rudy whined.

 
“Are you crying, Rudy?”

 
Rudy sniffled into the phone. “No. But there were monsters. I’m tellin’ ya. Like the ones that killed Little Joe Gilmore and that flapper, Dorine. Like Rebecca said. They weren’t alive. Al, how did they go around the city and no one seen.

 

 

How?” Rudy carried on, raving quietly, voice shaking. “Al, you have to come home.”

 
“Rudy. Rudy, close your damn head.”

 
“But, Al. You should’ve seen ‘em, Al. I never seen anything…Ask John and Alberto. Al, I’m tellin’ ya.”

 
“Rudy, shut it. Close it!” Rudy fell silent. “I’ll be back to Chicago soon. Don’t say anything. You don’t know a thing.”

 
“No. No, sir. Nothing,” Rudy swore.

 
“And, Rudy,” Al said.

 

“Yeah, boss?”

 
“No tiger milk. No flappers. No whores. Understand me? Don’t set yourself up to be anyone’s patsy. Got me?”

 
“Yes.”

 
“I’ll be there soon to figure this out,” Al hung up.

 

 

Copyright 2014 Wanda S. Paryla

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Excerpt #2-

Waves of heat rose from the barren, parched ground as if it were on fire. The sun blazed down, immobilizing Salbatora who sat on her father’s porch staring out across the land. If she could get a cool drink of water, just one mouthful, she would be grateful.

 
She let the thought of a cool drop of water go though. She thought instead of her father – a short, stout, but brave man who died. He had been gone for only three days and Salbatora’s grief, bitterness and fear was still fresh as their last hours together ran through her mind again.

 

 
“Salbatora. My sweet Sal. My little spitfire in breeches. You always hated dresses,” He laughed. “Your mother would fight you tooth and nail to get you into anything appropriate for a girl. We could never afford much. But she was good at making you and your sister pretty things,” he sighed then coughed as blood spewed from his lungs. “Your mother is dead. Your older sister is married to a man she hates. He treats her like vermin. You go. Find your brother in the United States. You find him. He did no wrong. You prove it to them. You show them he is a good man. And take Antonio with you. He’s but a boy. He needs you. You find Pedro so the three of you can be a family again. Then, you find a good man to marry.”

 
“Go to the United States. Find Pedro, my brother. Where is he, Father? Where?” Sal paced the dirty floor of their home. “Where do I start? Please. Tell me if you know.”

 
“Find a man named Ness. Prove to him Pedro is innocent, and he will help you free your brother.”

 
“Ness? Ness what?”

 
Her father smiled and sank into sleep. Sal went out into the hot night air. Starring up at the sky, full of stars, she gave in. “I’ll find him, father. This Ness. He’ll help me find Pedro.”

 
Sal sat with her rifle at her side, admiring the heavenly skies of her homeland, drinking sips of warm water. How she longed for a cold spring flowing with cleaning, sparkling water. But, even more than water, she wanted her family back. However, that would never happen. And now, with her mother dead, her sister married to a hateful gangster, and her father dying, there was no reason to stay in Mexico. At just seventeen, Salbatora would take her ten year old brother, Antonio, and leave the home that now lay more barren than it ever had in the past.

 
Sal went back into the house to be by her father’s side. She took his hand and he opened barely opened his eyes.

 
“Sal. My spitfire.”

 
She squeezed his hand and smiled at him, trying to be reassuring as he breathed his last. He laid there, dead, eyes focused on her. She let him look for a moment then attempted to close his eyelids. She could get only one eyelid to respond, the other stayed staring.

 
Sal covered him over with a blanket, grabbed her rifle and went back outside. She sat in a chair staring off into the darkness of the desert trying to decide what to do. She was brave before her father died. Now she questioned her promise. She milled it over again and gain. Stay at the homestead or go find this man named Ness.

 
She dozed on and off in the chair and the sun was finally coming up over the horizon when she finally stirred. “It’s going to be another hot one,” Sal said whispered to no one.

 
The quietness of the dawn was ruined by a loud thump and thud coming from behind her. It alarmed Sal and she spun in her chair to find where the noise came from. She spotted Jesus, her father’s mule, at the side of the house. It looked as if he had knocked over a wooden pale.

 
“Jesus! You crazy mule. You nearly scared me to hell.”

 
A thud and a crashing noise came from inside the house. The sound scared Jesus who took off running at a quick pace. Sal sprung up from her chair.

 
“Damn, Jesus! Wish I could get you to go that fast more often.” The mule just kept going. “What the hell’s going on in there?”

 
Sal hesitantly approached the house. Through the doorway she saw a shadow move among the glowing lights of the kerosene lamps. “Antonio?” She whispered. “Antonio,” she stepped through the doorway. “You’re supposed to be at Ana’s…” Her words left her.

 
There stood her father half illuminated by the lamps, the other half concealed by the shadows.

 
“Father?” Sal took one guarded step toward him. “It cannot be.”

 
Her father staggered forward. Left eye open, right partially closed, he stood with the blood he coughed up still on his chin and shirt. His eyes were void of emotion as he stumbled toward her with an outstretched arm, moaning and groaning, mouth agape.

 
“What the hell? Father? Father, what are you…” She shook for a moment. As he came closer, he seemed to not know a thing. Stunned, Sal could not move. She was frozen as she observed her father, now seemingly alive, but not at all like himself. As he came toward her, he did not notice the table in his path. He ran into it and hit his face on a chair back as he fell to the ground. He laid there disoriented and moaning.

 
Despite her disbelief that her father could be alive, she warily approached him. Still on the ground, he lurched at her, grabbed her ankle. She screamed and tried to pull away. She fell to the floor. Her father looked up at her and his left eye was out of its socket, resting against his face.

 
Sal screamed and nearly lost consciousness as her father crawled toward her. She kicked at him. Her foot hit his face and dangling eye and it totally dislodged and fell to the floor. Sal got loose and scuttled on her hands and knees to the porch. When she stood up and spun around, her father was still crawling toward her.

 
“Oh, God! What are you?” She asked him.

 
Without any further examination, her mind settled on demon. Why would a demon possess her father’s dead body?

 
“Oh, no you won’t,” she said. She charged over to the chair where she had kept vigil with the sky all night and grabbed her rifle.

 
She stalked up to the porch and just as her father, now back on his feet, came to the door she only hesitated for a second or two before she blew the top of his head off.

 
“No!” Antonio screamed just as their father hit the ground. He ran toward their father but Salbatora intercepted and grabbed him. “No, Sal!” he yelled.

 
“Antonio, listen to me.” He struggled against her. “No, Antonio. That was not our kind father. He died in the night.”

 
Her brother stopped squirming. “If he was dead, why did you shoot him? I saw him walking. I saw him.”

 
“Antonio,” she hugged him tight. “It was a demon. Father died peacefully in the night. But this…thing…took over his body. For some reason, the thing was after me.” Tears flowed down her cheeks as the realization of what just happened hit her. “I think he… it…wanted to kill me. It was not father, it was a walking corpse.”

 
“You mean, like Uncle Eduardo said happened to his wife’s mother, Lupe?”

 
“Yes. Like that.”

 
“Oh, no,” Antonio stepped away from Sal. “Oh, no.”

 
“What?”

 
“Only two hours ago, Ana’s son, Julio, died from a fever. She made Maria and me stay outside most of the night. When I left…I mean, I…Everything was okay. But what if?”

 
“Stay here,” Sal ordered and she started back to the house.

 
“No,” Antonio grabbed her hand. He looked toward their father.

 
“It’s fine now, Antonio. I promise. Father really is at peace this time.”

 
Sal entered the house and gathered ammunition for her rifle. She put on her gun belt and grabbed her father’s guns then went back out to meet Antonio.

 
“You should stay here. It’s safer.”

 
“Safer?” He looked toward his father’s corpse. “I don’t think so.”

 
She took him by the shoulders. “Now, Antonio. I told you, father’s dead. You are safer here than anywhere.”

 
“And what if more of…of them…show up?” He gestured toward the zombie corpse that was once their father.

 
“Point taken. Come on.”

 

Copyright 2014 Wanda S. Paryla

 

Chicago Down (update)

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Season’s greetings, friends.

After a wee bit o’ procrastination, a couple of false starts, and writing a few different openings,  I believe things are going well with Chicago Down.

I cannot honestly say  that I’m right on track. Yes, I’m behind where I had hoped to be by now. That’s fine. I won’t go postal about it & Karate chop my holiday lawn ornaments or anything.  Although, that might amuse local law enforcement & have the neighborhood talking straight through to New Year’s Day. I live in a tiny suburb, you see, blessedly free of violent crime.  For now…Until I take out that blow up Santa.  😉

Anyway. On Sunday I’ll post a couple excerpts from my first draft of Chicago Down. I hope that you’ll enjoy the read. Stay tuned for that.

In the mean time, I’ll keep writing and avoiding all inflatable holiday lawn ornaments.

Thanks for reading.

Yes, a Mexican

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A few days ago, I posted a little blog about a character in Chicago Down, Salbatora Guerrera. I received some cheap talk from a few wise a$$es about her being of Mexican heritage.

I find nothing wrong with that. I’ve known plenty of strong, intelligent ladies of Mexican descent born here and Mexico.

Well, as my novel’s storyline and characters unfold and develop, the location remains Chicago and the surrounding areas, but now takes place in the late 20s.

My heroine,  Salbatora “Sal” Guerrera, is actually from Mexico. Hey, she wrote it, not me. She’s strong willed. And, it makes her past and why she’s in Chicago more interesting. She even teams up with Al Capone.

WHAT?

Thanks for reading.

Really? A Mexican?

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I can’t even think of a good title for this blog.

I get so tired of human ignorance.

So my WordPress blog for the day is about ill-mannered, ill-educated people.

In my book-in-progress, Angel Maker, Dorian Storm, the main hero, is a black male. I have my reasons for this. Anyone familiar with Robertson County, Texas, may know why. Maybe not. Regardless, this does not seem to be a problem for people. At least, the subject has not been broached with me.

Now Dorian’s wife’s name is Keesha. I did not name her that, she came up with that name, and it’s spelling, all by herself. Good writers…real writers, know how this works. Low and behold, I was told that I cannot name a black woman Keesha. Why, you ask? Because I’d be stereotyping. Wait… Have you ever spun around or skidded on a patch of ice just before you fell on your butt? That was me. Mental arms flailing like a mad woman. I felt like I was going to slide right off the edge of Mount Some-High-Snowy-Place. Okay, maybe I should name her Maureen, or Alma?

What was that I was looking at when I researched the name Kiesha/Keisha and found that it is European? If you dig deeply, you will find the roots of this now common American name, which is popular among both black and white females, but predominately among black girls, stems from, among other European countries, Germany and France. NOT AFRICA! I just want to get that out of the way. And the origins are so old, that the name was predominant among Caucasians ONLY for eons. End of story. Now who’s stereotyping?

This is what I mean about ignorance. Now if Keesha was a white character, and I had named her this, spelling it Keisha, Kiesha, or Keesha, or any derivative, I would have a horde of imbeciles coming down on me with, “She’s white. You can’ name her Keesha no matter what spelling you use. *Yawn*

Now, from Chicago Down, the heroine is Salbatora “Sal” Guerrera. WHAT?

Oh, she’s a Mexican? No, loser, she’s a Chicagoan. Or, wait…Am I missing something? Is the book not titled, at least at this point, CHICAGO Down?

Besides, what if she was born in Mexico? What? There aren’t any heroic Mexican women? There is not one who can defend her life and that of her family and friends against terrorists, low life politicians, and zombies? Ger the f*ck out of here!

Oh wait. Yes. I’m just stupid. Yep, unworldly, ill educated me. How dare I make the lead in my book a woman, and one that might be a non USA-born person at that. Sal is USA born. But what if I change my damned mind? Maybe she is Mexican born. Hell, maybe she’d not even legally in the USA? So what. That doesn’t mean she can’t kill zombies! What if she were still in Mexico, and there were zombies there? What? She’d have to wait for an American-born Mexican woman to come and kill the zombies?…Or the stupid, evil politician?

How can people be so silly that they can be prejudice against non-Caucasian female fictional characters as a heroine?

Listen! Get out of town with that old-school garbage. And you – I’m talking to the one that actually pissed me off, but I’ll include anyone crazy, Salbatora is staying. So you go.

Thanks for reading!