A Question of Taste

I am having a trouble with appropriateness in my WIP comedy novel. I began the Miss Havana paranormal comedies series with Miss Havana being an evil wench, one conniving enough to outfox the devil. She had all the attributes of the antichrist and she was easy to portray. Over the course of four novels, however, she has become a kinder, gentler soul—fewer more wanton murders and only an occasional sexual fling. Over time she has become a relatively normal female with occasional carnal inclinations.

I’m on the fourth novel now—almost finished actually—and I’m finding the conclusion difficult to write because Miss Havana might step out of her kinder, gentler character and revert, if only momentarily, to the heinous bitch she was in the beginning. This is hard for me because I’ve actually grown to like her.

Maybe the problem is that I identify more with the evil side of Miss Havana’s behavior than the nicer side. My wife would probably agree. Anyway, I have attempted to transfer Miss Havana’s evil to her daughter, Lilith. Like the evil Miss Havana, Lilith is easy to portray. In fact, she has become more disgusting with each book. Now she’s so bad even I have trouble with her. Does anyone really act like that? I mean, is it ever appropriate for an author to, say, to make fun of an anorexic for being skinny, even if it is done through an evil character? That’s what I mean by a problem with appropriateness—are there topics too taboo for comedy?

I wrote another blog on the limits of bad taste last year when I wrote The Training Bra. In that blog, Lucifer offered Lilith as a “sexual favor” to a couple of his henchmen, an encouragement for them to do his bidding. One of my reviewers thought it a little crass that Lucifer would consider a “rape for loyalty” exchange. Fathers are not supposed to act like that. I gathered opinions from a number of you, and the consensus was that “bad things happen to bad people.” As a result, Lilith got hers (and she didn’t take it gracefully).

Okay, Lilith got abused, no problem; she didn’t have a soul to mar anyway. Now the stakes have been raised. In The Trophy Wife, Miss Havana becomes God’s mate (at least to the extent that immaculate conception applies to mating). So now Miss Havana is on a giant pedestal and she has a very wholesome daughter named Angel. But bad things keep happening to Angel, precipitated (of course) by her half-sister, Lilith. Now, here is where I’m having my problem. Should terrible things happen to a really nice person? To kill or not to kill (violently), that is the question.

I actually planned on writing a five book series: The Substitute; Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana!; The Training Bra; The Trophy Wife; and Sisters. Now I’m wondering, if Lilith gets too darn mean in The Trophy Wife, will that discourage people from reading Sisters (assuming I really do write it)?

The specific scene that precipitated this blog concerned eating disorders. I originally planned to make skinny jokes about that, but then delved into the real issues surrounding the disability. Being the sensitive male that I am, that researched caused me to back off. The intent of the books is to make people laugh, not to trigger a purging episode or to make anyone feel bad. I suspect all authors struggle with this. It would be easy to go overboard on a sensitive topic—and everyone would hate you for it. I don’t want that. I don’t even want people to hate my characters. I want them to laugh at their ridiculousness, nothing more.

Up to now, the comedy in my Miss Havana novels has dealt with dicey issues, and the bad guys always come out on the short end of things; few innocent people or characters are harmed in the stories. However, with the books gradually depicting an improvement in the behavior of my main character, that has become harder. Now I am faced with a kinder, gentler ending … and I’m not sure I like it. Someone MUST die. That’s just the way it is. But this time, it could be the good guy.

Overall, to maintain a modicum of good taste, here are the rules I have attempted to follow (feel free to comment if you like):

a. Necrophilia. Jokes about such deviant behavior are okay, but the story should stop short of actually cracking open a cold one, even though the character would never have to say he was sorry.

b. Incest. Not cool. Threats are okay though, as is often the case between Lucifer and Lilith.

c. Rape. Used sparingly and reserved for the worst of the worst (for those without a soul to scar). Lilith gets passed around a lot, but she deserves it. I will say, in defense of defiling Lilith, she gives more than she gets—to the point that some demons refuse to take her when Lucifer offers her as a bargaining chip in some wacked-out scheme. Lucifer gets his too … when Lilith is in charge.

d. Killing of the guilty. Have at it. This happens on a continuing basis.

e. Killing of the innocent. Poop happens, but not in every paragraph. A few innocent people die in the rampages of the devil’s people on “the surface.”

f. Making light of sickness. This one bothers me. I haven’t made any jokes about cancer, eating disorders and the like, except in very tasteful ways. For example, two bulimics might barf playful comments at each other’s disease, but not at each other.

g. Religion and politics. Fair game in all circumstances. The books are comedy so the barbs can be hilarious.

h. Bestiality. Never in detail, but okay by reference. For example, when the farmer says, “Don’t believe those sheep. They’re all liars.”

h. Child abuse. Not permitted, except to point out its horror … and to take action against perpetrators (as when Miss Havana goes after the child sex traders).

Well, that’s about it. If it’s not on the list, then it probably happens somewhere in the novels. It’s item “f” that causes me the most trouble. People with sickness already have enough to deal with. It just seems wrong to attempt to get a snicker at their expense. So I haven’t.

Feel free to leave a comment; let me know what you think. I’m always open to new ideas.

--------------------------------------------

The Substitute and Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! are available from Solstice Publishing and at amazon.com/author/jameshatch. The Training Bra should be released soon. I will begin the editing process for The Trophy Wife sometime in the next two months. Sisters is still a gleam in my eye. I’ve given a short excerpt from The Training Bra below (from Lucifer’s POV when he’s just about to kill Shelly, Miss Havana’s host). Please enjoy.

---------------------------------------------
 

We are about five hundred miles from Omaha when Shelly whines that her legs are cramping. Her cough is getting worse, she’s holding her stomach like she got cramps and her bowels are growling so loud I can hear them from across the front seat. She says she needs to stop. What a baby.

I’m torn. A cough with diarrhea is a bad combination, and a butt explosion could foul the car with a stinking mess. On the other hand, it will be far easier to dump her body if no one else is around when she croaks. I have just about decided to drive straight through when, to my surprise, Shelly bolts upright and screams, “You fucking idiot, she said stop the damn car!”

Oh, dear, I fear I’ve awakened a sleeping monster—the high-pitched shrill whine sounds like my ex. I glance over just in time to see her eyes flash red before Shelly’s body slumps back into the seat. Crap. Maybe I should stop. The heavily-salted French fries I gave Shelly for lunch might be pushing her over the edge.

I gleefully rub Dick’s hands together as I enter the motel office in Laramie, Wyoming. The proprietor is a middle-aged female with boobs far too small for her butt. From the back, she looks like two Buicks fighting for the same parking space. I try not to stare as I offer a friendly compliment. “Did you know nine out of ten men prefer a woman with a big butt … and the tenth prefers the other nine men?”

She looks up with a deadpan expression. “Would you like me to call the police?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary. How about just checking my new wife and me into your very best room? Anything to die for would be great.”

Her flatline expression doesn’t change an iota. Is it possible someone as outgoing and flamboyant as me has come through here before? She blinks before answering; at least I know she’s alive. “We have the bridal suite … if you have cash.”

I pay for three days, plus a big tip, and ask for extra “Do Not Disturb” signs while winking suggestively and giving her two thumbs-up. All she says is, “I need a hundred dollar deposit in case you damage something.”

I grin as I peel off another hundred. “No problem. Do you ever wonder if the bills you get have been in a stripper’s ass?”

She shakes her head as she slips my payment into a slot in the floor. “Your parents must be siblings.”

Well, that wasn’t very nice. Too bad I’ve already tipped her. Oh, well, with luck I’ll leave alone in the morning and won’t deal with her again.

I settle Shelly into the bridal suite and excuse myself to seek out food for the evening. She needs sleep to bring her to the brink of death, and I would hate to disturb her. Now that I’m free of the collar, I don’t have to play Lilith’s game any longer. As it has been from the beginning of eternity, I can go directly to Croco’s waiting line simply by killing my host. No one will miss Dick anyway. He’s such a dork.

----------------------------------

Thanks for reading!

James L. Hatch

Amazon.com/author/jameshatch

http://cookinwithmisshavana.blogspot.com/

First Person vs. Third Person

The last novel I read before I began writing about ten years ago was Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz. That book was written in first person point of view (POV). I enjoyed the approach and tried to emulate it. I have now completed nine novels. All were originally written in first person POV, the last being The Training Bra. I sent the third edit pass for The Training Bra back to the editor last week. Editing was a slow and painful process, and I learned three important lessons relative to first person POV.

a. When the story includes many characters, and all are in first person POV, it is difficult to communicate to the reader who is narrating at any given time. As I look back over the novels I’ve produced in the past, I can see why this wasn’t a problem sooner. My earlier novels had fewer characters and less complex plots. In the case of Odd Thomas, the entire novel was told from one character’s perspective, so there was no confusion. To avoid “head hopping” in my prior novels, I used separate chapters when the POV changed. That approach became harder as the number of characters and plot complexity increased.

b. When more than one character is involved in a significant event, and both give their perspective on what happened, the POV problem gets worse. If Character A has just completed his view of events in one chapter, and Character B then tells another version of the same events in the next, there is inherent confusion for the reader. When the reader finishes reading about the event from Character A’s POV, he/she believes the event has passed, and reading about it again in the next chapter causes a bump in the flow of the plot. One way to overcome this is to change from present tense for Character A to past tense for Character B. I eventually managed to accommodate both characters in that situation without destroying the story, but it was tricky.

c. A third problem with first person POV, but not as important as the two above, is that “show vs. tell” can be more difficult in first person. The reason for this is that only the character who is currently in charge of the POV has known feelings and thoughts. If the POV is being told from Character A’s perspective, then that character can’t know how any other character is feeling … or what any other character is thinking. Character A can only know about himself, and can only guess about what other characters are thinking and feeling from observed actions.

Fortunately for me, I had an outstanding editor … even more, she was patient. She helped me muddle through the problems of first person POV because she believed in the story. Without her insight, a really good story could have been bogged down with technical issues.

I have read that new authors frequently begin writing from first person POV, and subsequently switch to third person limited. Now I understand the reasons. Because of the issues listed above, I began writing the follow-on novel, The Trophy Wife, in third person limited POV. I have reached 65,000 words in that WIP, and find the pitfalls listed above are not a problem. The writing is easier when the entire story is told from an impartial limited perspective that watches all events unfold—a POV that knows the thoughts and motives of all the characters as needed. I doubt that I will ever return to first person POV, but it’s like saying good-bye to an old friend.

So, as a farewell shot, here’s one of the last examples of first person POV you will see from me. I call the excerpt “To Kill Or Not To Kill, That Is The Question.” The Excerpt is taken from my soon-to-be-released novel The Training Bra, the third novel in the Miss Havana series. Lilith is the Princess of Darkness, the daughter of Miss Havana and Lucifer. She is the absolute ruler of the underworld and reigns from the Throne of Judgment in hell. She has called Lucifer and two of his co-conspirators (Alice and Otto) before her to entertain her gallery of demons and shadow creatures as part of the Solstice celebration. For this day only, Miss Havana has been invited to sit in a straight-backed chair at the base of the throne, not knowing she will be part of the entertainment.

*****

Lilith leans forward, places her elbows on her knees and rests her chin on her hands. “Well, well, well. What an interesting little party we have here. What do you think, Mother, aren’t they just adorable?”

The gallery hoots and screams while throwing feces and vomit—the same kind of reaction you get when you piss off the monkeys at the zoo.

Lilith raises her arms to the gallery, taking in their accolades. This is the first time she’s had both Miss Havana and me in her sights for a long, long time. What better way to celebrate the Solstice than to humiliate the two of us together.

My daughter has a mean streak as broad as Alice’s ass, and she loves a good fight. She glances at me, and then to Miss Havana … and seems especially fascinated with our collars. Her glare falls on me, and then she passes her hand toward the collar on my ex’s neck. “Why don’t you try it out, Father? It’s quite gratifying.”

I crawl to my knees and then stand erect, facing my ex. Miss Havana also stands, genuflects toward Lilith, crouches like a cage fighter and then begins sweeping from side-to-side as she comes at me, looking for weakness. I see vengeance in her eyes. Like an approaching storm, she’s ready to destroy anything in her path. This could be bad; she knows I’ll go for her collar and she’ll fight to the death to prevent it. The bitch will do anything to keep me from feeling good at her expense.

When she’s near enough to spit on me, she relaxes her fighting stance and extends her arms as though she’s going to give me a welcoming hug. What an idiot, like I’m going to fall for that. Before she can reach the button on the back of my collar, I grab the hair on the top of her head, pull her face into my sweaty hot chest and drop to the floor with her atop me. It seemed like a good plan at the time—just pull her head down and jam my finger on the button on the back of her collar—but the wiry bitch bites a chunk out of my chest, screams my name in unflattering ways and thrashes like she on PCP before kneeing my groin and bringing her head up hard under my chin.

Shit. I see stars. The bitch never had this much energy or enthusiasm when I bedded her. We roll around in the slime and, as I fight to prevent her from getting another good bite, her arm slithers unnoticed up over my shoulder like a silent rattlesnake and her bony finger presses my button instead.

My body goes rigid as a bank of capacitors the size of Central Park discharges in that scrawny little band. I bounce and vibrate atop the slime with little flashes of lightning darting out from my knees and elbows into the surrounding rock. The gallery celebrates big time with high-fives and caterwauls as my body slams again and again against the cavern floor, sloshing the oozing muck with such gusto that I actually create a froth outline around me like an aura of pain.

I had no idea I knew so many unnatural moves. Between my twitching eye lids, I notice Miss Havana is mocking me by trying to emulate some of my more unusual gyrations. What a heartless bitch.

The gallery goes wild as she stands and raises her hands to one and all, and only then do I catch a glimpse of Lilith’s hand as it flashes down toward her pocket. Oh, fudge, I fear she won’t find my controller there—the jig is up.

Before I can contemplate all the negative ramifications of the missing controller, Miss Havana goes momentarily rigid, and then begins spastic shaking before she catapults to the ground. I hear the familiar buzz of electricity from beneath her collar just before her knee jams into my crotch again, this time driven by 100,000 volts. I grab my boys and double up in pain while her body flops around like a dying fish. This is so unfair. She’s the one being shocked, but my testicles pay the price. We writhe together on the cavern floor.

By the time her final unnatural jerk causes her right leg to kick my left shin, the gallery’s screeching has reached a new high. This is a Solstice celebration they will never forget. I remind myself of two things. First, that Mr. Lucky just ran out of luck. That bastard lied to me—he only got one controller, not two. Second, that I’m here to please and, despite the personal risk to myself for doing so, I wobble to a semi-standing position and take a bow.

The gallery explodes in yowls, belches, curses, and all manner of noises that would never be heard above, and they show their appreciation with a rain of garbage the likes of which I have never seen. I feel like I’ve got my mojo back. As I make my slow turn, trying hard to stand straighter, I see what they are really cheering. It isn’t me.

My fucking daughter is holding up Miss Havana’s controller, like Nero might hold up a scepter to the cheering crowd before letting the lions loose on the Christians. To kill or not to kill, that is the question.

To my everlasting surprise, Lilith lowers her arms even though the entire cavern is chanting, “Again. Again. Again.”

I’m torn. Lilith has Miss Havana’s controller. Should I be chanting too? Those bastard demons. I’ll reward them later for this.

Lilith lets the audience bloodlust run its course and, when there is a modicum of quiet, announces, “Ah, my children, I am so pleased to be able to tickle your fancy. Your enjoyment of my parent’s pain makes my day. But let’s not eat all the ice cream at one sitting. How about I let them spend the night together before we play this game again tomorrow?”

Another eruption follows, even louder than the first. Lilith raises her arms, accepting their adoration, and adds, “Then let it be so. Happy Solstice to all creatures great and small!”

*****

The Training Bra should be available for purchase in a couple of months. The novel will make you cry laughing. Like The Substitute, the first novel in the Miss Havana series, The Training Bra does not have a social message. It is written for humor alone, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed putting it together.

Thank you for reading,

James L. Hatch

amazon.com/author/jameshatch

http://cookinwithmisshavana.blogspot.com/

Editing: A Continuous Learning Experience

I just completed the second edit pass on my new novel, The Training Bra, so I thought I’d share two things my editor, Cheryl Nicholas, pointed out. They are (1) don’t tell after showing and (2) be more creative with similes and metaphors.

I made four passes on the manuscript before I sent it back to Cheryl. The first two corrected the majority of the small errors and changes, and moved several blocks of text around where needed. The third pass caused a couple of chapters to be moved around and one new chapter to be written. The fourth was the clean-up pass, and it turned out to be the hardest because of the two items listed above. That pass was also the most enlightening for me.

At first I didn’t understand what Cheryl meant by “not telling after showing,” but I think I do now. That happens when statements like the following are made.

Her eyes widened in astonishment.

He hung his head in shame.

He stamped his foot in anger.

In every case there is a “show” aspect (eyes widening, head hanging, etc.) followed by a “tell” aspect (astonishment, shame, etc.). These examples also demonstrate the reason I had trouble with them. I knew use of adjectives and adverbs indicate “tell vs. show,” and that they should be minimized, but I was far more careless about nouns. Each “tell” item above is a noun. So, here are a couple of hints to help fix the problem:

a. Try The Emotion Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide To Character Expression by Angela Ackerman and Becca Pugisi. It’s a great resource and has helped me a lot.

b. Be sure the “show” is complete enough to paint the picture you are trying to convey, and then follow it with dialog that is appropriate for the mood of the moment. If the dialog is not in synch with the description of the character’s emotions, the scene won’t make any sense.

c. Be sure to remove extraneous dialog and/or text insertion that will distract from the flow of the scene, especially if you are building tension.

Okay, I don’t claim to be an expert, and I will probably fall into the “tell” vs. “show” hole again. All I can say is I will try to avoid the pitfalls above as I continue to write The Trophy Wife, the next comedy in the Miss Havana series.

While I’m on the “show vs. tell” topic, I should mention the “show” item I have the most difficult time with—the one I don’t have a solid handle on yet. I run into the problem whenever a character is faking an emotion, such as sympathy, sincerity, astonishment or whatever. I understand showing each of those items, but showing someone feigning them is something else. It’s like the character must show and not show at the same time. It’s hard, so sometimes I just “tell” that the item is being faked and attempt to cover the deception in the dialog that follows. That seems like a cop out; I’ll continue to struggle with it, but here’s an example. The text is taken from the part of the novel when the devil is poisoning Miss Havana (he is concerned she might have too much underworld power to attack her directly).

When she is too weak to strike back, I will bare my soul without fear of retribution. I feign sympathy. “Bad shrimp at the buffet?”

Now, in this case, maybe I didn’t need “I feign sympathy” phrase. Maybe it was enough to offer dialog that is totally out of place when the devil knows without question he has poisoned Miss Havana and that she is dying—the problem is not the shrimp. I will mull this over until the next edit pass, and then attempt to do something to eliminate the “tell” part of these situations. Suggestions are welcome! Please!

The second problem mentioned above, the need to be more creative with similes and metaphors, is much harder to deal with because it involves creative laziness. I believe this one is especially critical for comedy writers. In fact, in some of the reviews I have done for other authors, I have singled out some of the more creative metaphors and put them in the reviews. I enjoy really creative writing and understand the author’s creativity comes through in the metaphors and similes he or she uses. I need to be on top of this myself. I have provided a few examples below, and then I’ll offer a suggestion that might help others develop their own.

Original: I know Shelly’s soul. Miss Havana is in there, and that particular female is darker and meaner than Newt Gingrich’s ex-wife.

Changed: I know Shelly’s soul. Miss Havana is in there, and that particular soul is darker than the inside of a vampires casket and meaner than a constipated IRS agent.

The problem: Not all readers are current on politics. Since I am shooting for humor, I needed a statement that people would both laugh at and identify with.

Original: Then, before I can make my move, he bowls me over like a lineman sacking the quarterback.

Changed: In the next instant, he barrels at me so fast I’d need a restraining order to stop him, and hits me hard enough to impress James Brown.

Problem: Original not creative enough and too trite.

You get the picture. In writing comedy, I try to make every paragraph a punch line, or at least put enough creativity into the way things are said to get a chuckle. It taxes my creativity, and I struggle with it throughout every novel. Sometimes I spend hours on a single sentence.

Here is the only advice I can offer to help other authors come up with clever ways to phrase things: use the Internet. I search on everything related to the topic at hand, and often add the word “joke” or “one liner” to the search criteria. I have never found exactlywhat I want, but I often find comments that cause me to think of the item in a new and creative way. Sometimes I might spend an hour or two searching, only to conclude nothing is going to help. However, by the time I reach that point, I know what not to use.

Another source for me is Facebook. People say some pretty creative things on Facebook, and when I see a cool way of saying something, I write it down. I might never use the concept, but the list continues to grow, and it always provides inspiration for different ways of looking at a variety of topics.

Excerpt: The Training Bra is the third comedy in the Miss Havana Series. The first two are The Substitute and Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! The book should be released in a couple of months. The draft novel received a five-star review from Tony-Paul deVissage. That review is on my web site at http://cookinwithmisshavana.blogspot.com/. The excerpt below, taken from The Training Bra, is told from Lucifer’s point of view at a time when he is covertly murdering Shelly, the host for the spirit of Miss Havana.

---------------------------

We are about five hundred miles from Omaha when Shelly whines that her legs are cramping and that she thinks she might have diarrhea. Her cough has intensified and she’s holding her stomach like she got cramps. She says she needs to stop for the night, but I’m torn. A bad cough with diarrhea is a bad combination that could foul the car with a stinking mess. On the other hand, it will be far easier to dump her body if no one else is around when she croaks. I have just about decided to drive straight through when, to my surprise, Shelly bolts upright and screams, “You fucking idiot, she said stop the damn car!”

Oh, dear, I fear I’ve awakened a sleeping monster—the high-pitched shrill whine sounds like my ex. I glance over just in time to see her eyes flash red before Shelly’s body slumps back into the seat. Crap. Maybe I should stop. The heavily-salted French fries I gave Shelly for lunch might be pushing her over the edge.

I gleefully rub Dick’s hands together as I enter the motel office in Laramie, Wyoming. The proprietor is a middle-aged female with boobs far too small for her butt. I try not to stare as I offer a friendly compliment. “Did you know nine out of ten men prefer a woman with a big butt … and the tenth prefers the other nine men?”

She looks up with a deadpan expression. “Would you like me to call the police?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary. How about just checking my new wife and me into your very best room? Anything to die for would be great.”

Her flatline expression doesn’t change an iota. Is it possible someone as outgoing and flamboyant as me has come through here before? She blinks before answering; at least I know she’s alive. “We have the bridal suite … if you have cash.”

I pay for three days, plus a big tip, and ask for extra “Do Not Disturb” signs while winking suggestively and giving her two thumbs-up. All she says is, “I need a hundred dollar deposit in case you damage something.”

I grin as I peel off another hundred. “No problem. Do you ever wonder if the bills you get have been in a stripper’s ass?”

She shakes her head as she slips my payment into a slot in the floor. “Your parents must be siblings.”

Well, that wasn’t very nice. Too bad I’ve already tipped her. Oh, well, with luck I’ll leave alone in the morning and won’t deal with her again.

I settle Shelly into the bridal suite and excuse myself to seek out food for the evening. She needs sleep to bring her to the brink of death, and I would hate to disturb her. Now that I’m free of the collar, I don’t have to play Lilith’s game any longer. As it has been from the beginning of eternity, I can go directly to Croco’s waiting line simply by killing my host. No one will miss Dick anyway. He’s such a dork.

I find a Hooters restaurant where I can think through the plan I’ve been honing during the hours of driving. Any place with owl eyes the size of huge knockers can’t be bad, and besides, I like the name. The place isn’t crowded, so I flirt with the waitress as I order a thick, rare steak with all the trimmings along with a shot of tequila. Her tight T-shirt and form-fitted white short-shorts are a turn on, a welcome sight after being cooped up with a sick broad all day. I also like the little badge she wears like bling over her right boob. It says everything that needs to be said: “Attention Whore.”

Women are far more aggressive these days than they used to be. If I tip her a thousand dollars, I wonder if she would join me in the back of my car for a little romp. I could use that. I feel horny, and a dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Killing Shelly the slow and painful way makes me feel elated, like I’m getting my Mo-Jo back. I’ve been Lilith’s tethered puppet for so long I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to be free. Still, I would not dare attempt to kill Shelly outright; she must eat the tainted food herself. Ironic, isn’t it, that she should be poisoned by a little extra condiment. That’s exactly how Waldo killed me so long ago, except he mixed arsenic with my cocaine. I glance at the waitress again, and sense the girl likes cocaine as much as I used to. It’s good to have my special powers of observation; tonight could be special.

I chuckle internally at Shelly’s weakened condition; we are both taking life with a grain of salt. She’s taking hers with potassium chloride, and I’m taking mine with a slice of lime and a shot of tequila. I lick the salt off my wrist and down my drink. I am pleased with myself; I am truly a clever devil.

----------------------------

I hope this helps some of you newer authors out there. Learning to write well is a difficult process. If you are fortunate enough to encounter a few very hard editors during your journey, learn from them. Don’t argue; just do.

Thank you for reading,

James L. Hatch

amazon.com/author/jameshatch

The Trophy Wife

I have written three novels with the spicy Miss Havana as the tarnished hero. I have enjoyed writing the books because they are bazaar in almost every way, and they provide an outlet for humor like nothing I’ve ever done. I like to think of the stories as twisted humor, but I assure you the story in each novel will keep the reader engrossed and guessing at the outcome. The novels have consistently garnered five-star ratings, some of which are posted on Amazon (http://www.amazon.com/James-L.-Hatch/e/B005CQB6E6).

The third novel in the series is currently in the edit cycle at Solstice Publishing. It should be available in the next six months, but I can’t promise a release date because the edit cycle is very protracted. The third novel is called The Training Bra, and that book follows the character of the first novel, The Substitute, in that it was written for humor alone and does not have an overriding social message. The second book in the series, Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana!, is written around a number of difficult social issues. It is dark comedy, whereas all other Miss Havana books are light comedy.

I currently have plans for two more novels, and am writing the fourth novel now. The fourth book is called The Trophy Wife. So far, that WIP promises to be funnier than The Substitute. So, for my blog on SASD today, I thought I’d bring a little humor into your day by giving you the first ever glimpse into The Trophy Wife. At the point in the novel where the excerpt is taken, Miss Havana and her friend, Jackson, are preparing to put one over on Lily, the eighteen-year-old girl in whom the spirit of Lilith, the daughter Miss Havana and Lucifer, currently resides (that means Lily is rotten to the core). Up to this point in the novel, Lily has been wreaking havoc on Miss Havana, who is one of her teachers at Redmond High. The excerpt describes Miss Havana’s first attempt at “real” payback, and Jackson, a part-time private investigator with access to the high-tech spy tools used in the excerpt, is helping her. Three of Jackson’s friends are also involved: Terry, Jake and John.

Ooops. Forgot to warn you. The following passage could be considered a little risqué by some (but not by me). If you might be offended, you can quit reading now and leave a comment to that effect. For the rest of you, I hope you enjoy the excerpt as Miss Havana and Jackson press their temporary advantage.

------------------------------------------------

They laughed in high spirits all the way to Sandy’s Bar, and then settled in at their reserved table before the speed dating event began. Terry, John and Jake had already staked out numbered tables, and were waiting for the first round to begin. As seven p.m. approached, Lily walked in like she owned the place, but not the Lily Miss Havana knew from school. This Lily looked like an adult woman. Her hair was combed straight and seemed to bounce with each step, her lipstick was a dark shade of pink and her makeup even showed a touch of rouge at the cheeks. Without question, the girl was both fetching and desirable. Her tight knit black sweater showed every curve of her svelte body, and her Bossa Nova gored skirt swayed with each step like a lure before hungry fish.

She immediately spotted Terry and made a bee-line to his table and sat down. Miss Havana listened intently as Lily greeted him, “I didn’t think they gave losers a second chance in this place.”

Terry smiled, “They must; you’re here.”

Miss Havana whispered into her mike, “Tell her you hoped she wouldn’t come tonight because her breasts are too small.”

From across the room, they could see Lily’s mouth fall agape. Miss Havana winked at Jackson, “I knew this would be fun.”

When Lily recovered, she pointed at Terry’s crotch … and laughed, a loud, mocking laugh that Miss Havana could hear clear across the room. Everyone looked at Terry, and then at his crotch. He flushed beet red, and Miss Havana whispered, “Tell her she seems particularly mean tonight, that the batteries in her vibrator must have gone flat.”

Lily’s head jerked upright like she’d been hit with an uppercut, and she fired back, “You should unzip your pants so you can get oxygen to your brains.”

Miss Havana quickly responded, “Tell her the useless piece of flesh between her vagina and her asshole is a public chinrest.”

With that, both Terry and Lily jumped to their feet, placed their knuckles on the table and leaned into each other’s glare. Their eyes radiated hatred for each other. Jackson whispered to Miss Havana. “It’s a good thing they aren’t armed.”

Lily hissed, “If they crossed you with a potato, you would be a dictator!”

Terry retorted, “If you didn’t have a vagina, no one would speak to you!”

Lily growled, “You’re so boring your hand falls asleep while you masturbate!”

And Terry shot back, “Your diaphragm is a trampoline for dick heads!”

Miss Havana winked at Jackson. “See, all they needed was a little encouragement.”

Lily and Terry snarled at each other and hissed epitaphs until their time was up, at which time Lily stormed off to meet her next victim, pissed that Terry wasn’t as easy this time as he was last time. As luck would have it, she slammed down on the chair across from Jake, who grinned wide and asked, “Bad day at the office?”

Lily feigned a yawn. “Just an encounter with a guy as useless as the ‘p’ in psycho. Sometimes I think the whole world hates me.”

Jake glanced at Lily’s nametag. His eyes lingered on her breast. “That can’t be true … the whole world can’t possibly know you.”

Lily’s innocent smile vanished and she pointed toward Terry. “Do you know the guy over there?”

Jake shrugged. “Never seen him before, but shame on him if he upset you.” He reached over and patted her hand. “You’re here now and my only wish is that your most beautiful dream comes true tonight and that you’ll find a place in it for me.”

Miss Havana leaned toward Jackson. “OMG … he’s spreading the bullshit a little thick isn’t he?”

Jackson chuckled. “He’s been briefed. He’ll make her think he’s vulnerable, and then jerk the rug out from beneath her at the end. Turnabout is fair play.”

Lily winked at Jake. “Ah, that’s sweet, but I’m not free very often.”

A sly smile crossed Jake’s face. “I hope I can afford you; you’re so hot you could make the devil sweat.”

Lily leaned forward and rested her chin on her folded hands. “I came here to meet a nice man, but you might do.”

Jake smiled. “That’s good news for me. I’m the kind of man who loves women I don’t deserve.”

Lily reached across the table and poked Jake’s arm. “And I’m sure you don’t deserve me.”

After nine minutes of easy banter, with Lily leading Jake on, Jake pulled a single red rose from a bag sitting beside him and handed it to Lily. “I want to show this rose how incredibly beautiful you are.”

Lily put one hand over her heart as she took in the scent of the rose, and then glared into Jake’s eyes. “Roses are red, violets are blue. I have five fingers and the middle one’s for you.”

Expecting the abrupt turn of events, Jake retorted, “Roses are red, violets are blue. I screwed your mother, and the ripped condom made you.”

And Lily responded instantly, “Roses are red, violets are blue. I thought I knew ugly until I met you.”

Jake glared back. “Roses are red, lemons are sour. Open your legs and I’ll give you an hour.”

Lily jerked straight up and jammed a finger toward Terry. “Liar. You do know that asshole over there!”

Miss Havana whispered into her mike, “Tell her all that ugly fatty tissue around her vagina is her.”

And he did. And things went downhill from there. Lily growled in response. “No, you have it wrong. The useless piece of skin at the end of your dick is you!”

Miss Havana whispered. “Tell her she has a lot in common with a tampon—both are stuck up cunts.”

Lily spit on the floor, and then hissed, “Your penis enlargement pills must be working because you’re twice the dick you were yesterday!”

Miss Havana stirred the pot from across the room. “Tell her the most irritating things about her pussy are the other guys waiting in line.”

Lily snarled back, “The only way you could make your girlfriend scream during sex is if you wiped your dick on her curtains!”

Lily and Jake soon had the attention of everyone in the room. No one coughed; no one dared utter a word. Jake looked around casually, and finally said, “I suppose you all are wondering why I called you here today. I just wanted to demonstrate the meaning of a whole roll dump. I mean, no matter how much you wipe, it doesn’t seem to be enough. You blow through the whole roll and have to flush twenty-five times in the process. It all seems a huge waste.”

Everyone stared with blank faces, until Jake passed both his arms across his torso toward Lily. “That’s what it’s like to meet this woman.”

Lily flushed bright red as the bar exploded in laughter. She spit on Jake, and then stomped out the door, slamming it behind her. Miss Havana glanced at Jackson. “But John didn’t get a turn.”

He winked back. “John has been busy. He slipped out while Jake and Terry entertained Lily … and let the air out of her front tire.”

Miss Havana and Jackson leaned toward the window, listening intently to hear the outside sounds over the din within … until they heard a satisfying, muffled scream. Jackson shrugged. “I guess she found John’s little gift.”

--------------------------------------------

I warned you it was racy. BTW, if you like this, please consider buying The Substitute and/or Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! as the perfect Christmas gift for those hard-to-buy-for people in your life. The books will cheer them up even if they are grouchy, and the books are much cleaner than a lump of coal.

Sincerely,

James L. Hatch

http://cookinwithmisshavana.blogspot.com/

Proper Editing Attitude

I just completed a grueling edit cycle with my new novel, The Training Bra. My editor (Solstice Publishing / Cheryl Nicholas) is very good at what she does. I know that in my heart, but I still catch myself thinking “she just can’t be right” when, in fact, she almost always is and it’s my novel that needs an adjustment.

I tend to write in first person, which can be confusing if there are more than one or two characters. As my editor and I struggled through the first ten chapters, she seemed confused about POV – which character was doing the talking – even though I almost always begin a new chapter when there is a POV change and I try to identify the specific character in the first paragraph of each chapter. At first I had trouble understanding her confusion – why didn’t she get it? I read the material again and wasn’t the slightest bit confused.

In frustration, I re-wrote the entire first ten chapters to try to clarify the POV, although I really didn’t understand why all that work was necessary. Then I had an epiphany. She wasn’t telling me she was confused – she was telling me other readers might be confused. There is a difference. She wasn’t confused at all – she was just telling me the book could be better.

And here’s the good part. I loved the re-write of the first ten chapters. After the re-write, in my opinion, the novel was much better than before. The POV was clearer and the humor sparkled. So, as I approached the remaining 23 chapters, each time I wondered “What is she thinking?” I stopped to change the comment in my mind to, “What can I do to make this passage better?”

In other words, even if it wasn’t exactly clear to me what she wanted (because editor notes can sometimes be cryptic), I knew she was telling me to fix something to make the book better. As a result, I tried to address every in-line change and especially the comments in the margin. She took the time to write those comments, and I didn’t want to leave a single one behind.

I sent the first iteration back to her last week. The novel is far better than before the edit cycle. There is more show vs. tell, and much more humor. The books are comedy; humor is important. I can hardly believe how many opportunities I missed to add more laughs when I went through the story the first ten times.

As I reflect on the experience, I am humbled by my editor's ability to see problems in my writing that I’m not sure, even now, I could have seen myself. I had the same editor for my last book, Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! I thought she was terrific then, but this time she has been even more instructive. One might think I would start to get it after eight novels and one short story, but no. It’s clear I still have a lot to learn, and the most important lesson is probably this: don’t argue with your editor. If she tells you something should be fixed, don’t question, just do it.

Sigh.

James L. Hatch

http://www.amazon.com/James-L.-Hatch/e/B005CQB6E6

http://www.solsticepublishing.com/

I Am Not Sick. I Am Not Twisted.

I can’t tell you how many times my friends have said, on completing one of my paranormal comedies, “Jim, you are sick and twisted.” No, that’s not it. I prefer to consider the humor in those books “inspired.”

I have shared in the past that the concept for The Substitute came to me in a dream – a very funny dream. I woke laughing, and immediately sprinted to my computer to begin writing the story down. That story has no overarching social message – I wrote it for humor and humor alone. People enjoy it. The book has many five-star reviews, and even better, many readers have told me they laughed all the way through. That is the point.

Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana!, the second novel in the comedy series, does have many social messages, but I tried to deal with the serious subject matter it contains in a humorous way. The primary motivation for writing that novel was the plight of the “Juarez Women.” So many have been killed and the perpetrators have not been caught. The sex trade was right up there, as well as domestic abuse toward women … and serial killers. Without getting too preachy, I wanted to see if I could remind people those are real problems, but in a way that would hold their interest.

I added humor to Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! by allowing Miss Havana to become an advice columnist, and she offers pearls of wisdom between each bloody outing as “The Angel of Death.” Of course, she’s not really The Angel of Death … that’s just an incorrect assumption on her part that gets her in hot water with God. I know, I know, it sounds odd, but I think it worked. The book has consistently received five-star reviews. No one has told me they laughed all the way through it, but there is plenty of humor along the way to offset the violent retributions Miss Havana rains down on those in her cross hairs. I also added a tender ending that will make the most hardened reader shed a tear.

That brings us to The Training Bra, the third novel in the series. Again, the comedy was inspired, but this time by a youtube video. But first, let me explain the unusual name. The title, The Training Bra, has little to do with the novel, but everything to do with the symbolism of a young girl’s transition to womanhood. In this case, Miss Havana’s spirit has been parked (and restrained) in the mind of an innocent eleven-year-old girl. Miss Havana is able to make her presence known a few times during the girl’s development, but finally breaks out when the girl reaches eighteen. It isn’t your normal “coming of age” thing – more like going to hell, since that’s where Miss Havana is from.

Now, about the inspiration. We all know youtube.com has tons of videos showing questionably normal people doing stupid things, and it was one of those that left my eyes watering as I laughed so hard I could barely catch my breath. A young man wanted to see what it was like to feel the buzz of his dog’s shock collar, so he put it on. Knowing the amount of shock was directly related to the loudness of the dog’s bark, the kid timidly began with a mild clap of his hands. He screamed and grabbed his neck, but recovered quickly. The rest of the video showed him gradually making more noise to see how much he could take. At the end he fell to the floor clutching the collar and screaming obscenities. Now, THAT’S inspiration!

So, the dog collar became central to The Training Bra story, and everything else was written around it. Like The Substitute, the story has no social value except to make people laugh. And it will. Frankly, I believe it is the best of the three Miss Havana books so far. It has a complex plot (although you might not guess that based on the concept for the book) and a powerful surprise ending. People who read it will love it. Although the book is still in the edit cycle at Solstice Publishing, it has been reviewed once in draft form – it was given a solid five-star rating.

Well, that’s it. For those of you who have read any of the books discussed above, I’d like to say two things. First, thank you! Books are hard to write. Humor is hard to write. That people buy the book and enjoy it makes all the effort worthwhile. Second, just for the record, I’d like to say … I am neither sick nor twisted.

Thank you for reading!

Sincerely,

James L. Hatch

amazon.com/author/jameshatch

http://cookinwithmisshavana.blogspot.com/      

Miss Havana on Love

While I lived, love was simple. If Mr. Right wanted to love me, he needed to bring money and lots of it. That worked when drugs didn’t, booze couldn’t and sex was a temporary fix. I strongly believed easy girls opened their legs, smart girls open their minds and foolish girls opened their hearts. I was smart and easy, but never foolish.

Maybe I’ve grown a little since my death, servitude with Lucifer and stint in heaven’s probation, but I see things differently now that observing love has stabbed me in the heart. While I lived, I believed there was a "lie" in believe, "over" in lover, "end" in friend, "if" in life and after Monday and Tuesday, the rest of the week was simply “WTF!” Back then, had I been a bird, I would’ve shit on you just to light the fuse on your tampon. Now I know a man doesn't need to undo your top to see a better view of your heart, and that love is being able to pee in front of him, fart on him, eat whatever and how much you want and constantly win arguments.

I don’t talk about it much, but here’s a scene from my staring role in Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! when I began to get a clue about love. Yes, even I can learn about love as my spirit observes Jack and Jackie in the excerpt below.

Jack returns in three hours. As promised, he has new child car seats, supplies for the children, just in case they are short on things at home, Jackie’s clothes, and a huge surprise. When the children have been fed and are playing in their rooms, he takes Jackie by the hand, pulls a small box from his coat pocket and kneels. “I should have asked you sooner. Will you marry me?”

No pretense. No preparation. No warning. Jackie is stunned. “I…I don’t know. Would you ask if my sister were alive? Is this a sympathy proposal?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “My time with you has been the happiest of my life. I love you, Jackie, with every fiber of my soul, I love you. Your sister’s death might have encouraged me to act sooner, but there’s no question I would have asked at some point. I want to be with you. I want to love you. I want to be part of your life, to raise these children with you. Let’s do it together. They need a family. So do we.”

She sheds more tears, but these are different; these are tears of joy. She kneels in front of him and pulls him close, sobbing deeply. “Then yes. I love you, too, so very much. This will be a our family, and we’ll do it together.”

I can’t stand it. The love between them rips my soul more strongly than Lucifer’s demons ever could. I want to bawl. I need to leave. At no time while I lived did any man love me like that. For that matter, I never loved another with such passion as she loves him. Why, oh why, did I waste my life?

The more I observed, the more I hurt. I tried many times to join with those two during the pleasure of passion, but was immediately reprimanded for attempting to steal pleasure from the living. Sternly warned by my guide that I mustn’t engage in theft while on probation, I gradually learned what many of the living knew all along. Men and women are different, and not just physically—their mind’s process data in vastly different ways. She needs affection, conversation, honesty and openness, financial support and family commitment. He needs sex, recreational companionship, an attractive spouse, domestic support and admiration. To my surprise, the top five needs of each gender don’t overlap at all.

Let’s look at these top five briefly. Men see life as sex you can't have, while women don’t care much about it at all. Women need affection, which is vastly different from sex. Sex isn’t one of her top five, but affection isn’t one of his either. It’s one of God’s little jokes. Now, before you take issues with me, remember God has given me the ability to understand what people want to hear, and then say what they need to hear. That’s the reason I have an advice column and you don’t. You need to hear this. Judge me all you want, but don't think I'll give a damn. My point in mentioning this is simply to say, ladies, if you deny his need, there will be trouble, and guys, if you deny her need, there will be hell to pay. Want to get along? Give a little romance, guys, to get a little sex. Easy enough. A card, some flowers, a gentle thank you, snuggling just for the heck of it—you get the idea.

So what’s next? Ah, yes. Conversation vs. recreational companionship. He wants someone to play with; she wants to talk. Men view meaningful conversation like medicine. It can cure some things but can be harmful if taken in excess. “Whine, whine, whine. I'm so miserable when you’re gone, it's almost like you're still here.” Listen with your hearts, guys, she needs to talk about how she feels about the events of her day, not about your favorite fishing hole. Most dates center around showing each other affection and talking. Try treating the woman in your life in that way. And ladies, leave the ugly looks behind. If looks could kill, the male race would have died out eons ago. Be prepared to hike, go boating, ski or some similar activity. For me, rugby is totally out, but I can offer a couple of tips for good conversation: don’t use it to punish each other, don’t use it to force the other to agree to your point of view, and don’t dwell on past mistakes. Enough said.

Honesty and openness vs. an attractive spouse is a personal favorite of mine—need number three for both men and women. I’ve always told men, it you want a perfect girl, go buy a Barbie, while in response I’ve heard, “Time may be a great healer but its a lousy beautician.” Okay, maybe it sucks on both sides, but let’s look a tad deeper. What a man really wants is the woman he married, and men aren’t completely oblivious either. If he married a natural girl who later turns into Tammy Faye, then he might resent it. With fake tan, fake eyes, fake hair and fake nails, he might respond, “Bitch, were you made in China?” On the other hand, honesty is a big thing for women—love is not an excuse to put up with shit that you shouldn't. Guys, screw with a woman’s trust, and you will destroy both her sense of security and your relationship. Lying sucks. Cheating sucks. Don’t do it. Girls, there are limits on this score you should heed. After an evening fight one husband taunted, “Good night mother of three” and his wife replied, “Good night father of none.” That might be taking honesty to the wrong place. Trust also means keeping jealousy in check. Remember, love may be blind but jealousy has 20-20 vision.

Which brings us to financial support vs. domestic support. It’s the hunter-gatherer thing. Women expect men to bring home the mastodon, while men expect women to keep the cave clean and the children in check. It’s a fair balance that needs to be maintained between reasonable people. Happy couples live on what they need, not what they want. They also budget and live by it. But here’s a news flash, guys. In many modern families, both partners work. That means both should share the domestic chores too. Demanding the cave be cleaned while she’s hunting the mastodon will get you tossed out of the cave. Do your share.

Lastly, a tough one, her need for family commitment vs. his for admiration. This is like saying she and her kids are a package. Guys, you need to accept both. Being a good father means taking time with the kids, helping them mature and being part of the solution to their problems while not contributing to them. A basic rule is any dick can make a baby, but it takes a real man to be a father. The corollary is the best husbands are the best fathers. Now, ladies, about this admiration thing, I understand the difference between men and pigs is that pigs don't turn into men when they drink. That can be a problem. I also understand the way to find a perfect man is to put on nice clothes, do your hair and make-up, cook, and then give up because none of them are perfect. I know, I know, many of you believe your knight in shining armor turned out to be a loser in aluminum foil, but if you knew that going in and the man you wanted when you married him is still in there, then he needs to be admired by you. If you show him genuine admiration, he will bend over backward to try to please you. Men need approval; don’t force them outside your relationship to find it.

Thank you for reading today. If I offended anyone, get over it. I leave you with this toast: here’s to the men who won us, the losers that lost us and the lucky guys yet to meet us,

Miss Havana

Note: Miss Havana is the outrageous leading lady in the following novels by James L. Hatch: The Substitute, Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! and The Training Bra. All his books can be found at amazon.com/author/jameshatch, while excerpts, reviews, blurbs and other information is provided at http://cookinwithmisshavana.blogspot.com/.

Thanks for reading!

Who Is Miss Havana?

 I have written three novels with Miss Havana as the main character (The Substitute, Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! and The Training Bra), but I have not put Miss Havana’s entire face on the cover of my books or presented her complete image in any blog. The reason is that Miss Havana’s defining nature is her spirit, not her appearance. In each novel, she is described as stunning beautiful and, to be honest, I always have a picture downloaded from the Internet that I use for a “model” when I describe her in each book. The picture itself, however, is never revealed to anyone, except in words. The focus of each book is on the transformation of her spirit from one state to another.

What makes Miss Havana intriguing is that she is so darn evil at the outset (in The Substitute) that even the devil is captivated by her. Fortunately, she does have a few redeeming features that garner God’s attention, so she gets multiple opportunities to botch life as a living being. That’s a good thing because she doesn’t live very long in any of the books. If she begins as “flesh and blood”, she will soon be murdered – you can count on that. Why? Because the fun begins when she is in the spiritual realm.

Miss Havana’s spiritual appearance remains as it was while she lived, but she is free to haunt whomever she chooses. And when she does haunt the living, she can see their soul. In some cases, she is disgusted by what she finds, in others, not so much. Sometimes she acts to stamp out evil in violent ways; sometimes she doesn’t. There is always mayhem, but I try to present it in ironic and comical ways. In fact, her most violent bloodletting in Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! is part of her spiritual transition, and she learns the hard way the world is the way it is for a reason.

Miss Havana is an enigma who exists in the gray area between good and evil. She often acts in evil ways, but always with the best of intentions. The mayhem she causes on “the surface” as a spirit generally results in damage to Lucifer’s realm, but not always. She also manages to offend God a few times. Even the best of intentions can go terribly wrong, and both God and the devil have often put their face in their hands while shaking their head wondering what manner of tornado they are dealing with.

Although Miss Havana begins as an evil soul in The Substitute, she is on a path of continuous spiritual growth and redeems herself with a single selfless act that saves the world near the end. In between, she becomes Lucifer’s mate and produces a female child, Lilith, who is more evil that either of her parents … and who eventually overthrows them both. In Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana!, she exasperates the Proprietor of purgatory and the light creatures that carry out the Proprietor’s instructions. As she muddles through probation, she offends just about everyone before failing completely. She does, however, learn some spiritual lessons about love that causes God to give her another chance at life. 

In The Training Bra, Miss Havana is returned to the surface as an eleven-year-old girl named Shelly. She is innocent but, unknown to her, she retains some of the powers she wielded as the Queen of Darkness in hell, and as the fake Angel of Death while she ran rampant in purgatory. Lucifer snuffs her out by the time she reaches age eighteen, and then the eternal battle continues above and below. In this case, the “eternal battle” is both the battle of the sexes and the battle between good and evil. This time, however, she scores brownie points with God because she tricks the devil into working for God’s kingdom. In addition to shaming the devil for eternity, she also manages to save the world (again). It’s complicated.

I am now working on the fourth novel, called The Trophy Wife. Like the other three books, The Trophy Wife has the potential to cause enough laughter to bring a reader to tears. In the prior books, whenever Miss Havana meets with God, she bats her eyes and asks, “Is there a Mrs. God?” He has ignored her advances in the past, but this time she catches his attention. Remember, her spirit is getting more tolerable all the time. I am weaseling her way into God’s heart, so she can become His main squeeze. I intend they should have a child together named “Angel”, and that will set the stage for the fifth novel called, Sisters, where Lilith and Angel collide.

I have posted excerpts from The Substituteand Oh, Heavens, Miss Havana! in the past on various blogs, but I have never posted excerpts from The Training Bra … until now. The Training Bra is currently in the edit cycle at Solstice Publishing. It should be ready for release in about six months, so that will give all of you enough time to read the first two before the third is available. A PG-rated excerpt from Lucifer’s point of view is provided below. This scene takes place after Lucifer kills Otto, a mobster, to gain access to his stunning wife, Alice. Alice subsequently blows Lucifer’s host body to pieces with a ten gauge shotgun, and Lucifer kills her as his final act of vengeance. The spirits of all three end up in hell. "Mr. Fixit" is mentioned at the end of the excerpt. That's the name of the knife Lucifer used to kill his father.

-----------------

Even though it is pitch-black and lava-hot in hell’s waiting line, I recognize a familiar smell ahead. The ceiling is only three feet high here, forcing supplicants to eternally stoop, so I lean forward in my crouched position, moving my nose forward ever so slowly until I bump something soft—it feels like collagen cottage cheese but smells like Alice. Did I miss something? I thought she was firmer than that. “Alice? Is that you? I can’t tell for sure because your ass feels dimpled.”

“Fuck you. It’s the humidity.”

Still a lying bitch I see. I decide to attempt pleasant conversation while I wait for Croco to find me. “I trust you had a pleasant journey because I have a feeling you won’t like your extended stay.”

“Asshole! Shooting you must have got my heart pumping so fast it exploded, but screwing you sure didn’t. You were lame. Your whole family sucks.”

I slip my hand forward to cop a feel and she bites my fingers. “Come on, Alice, there’s no sense being a bad sport about this. You need to relax.”

“Fuck you!”

“Well, we don’t have to make this just about us. Have you heard anything from Otto?”

After a brief silence, Alice responds. “Not that I give a crap, but I did hear a bellow way ahead that sounded like him. Then there was a hissing sound just before a rancid odor of burning flesh drifted through.”

I’m about to give her a playful little push into the searing hot broken glass walls when Croco taps me on the shoulder. “Boss? You’re early. Did you bring any beer?”

A disgusted look crosses my face but I know Croco can’t see it in the dark. The bastard only thinks about his own needs. What about me? “Why in My Home would I bring you beer, Croco? Have you ever done anything special?”

“No, Boss, but the Solstice is almost here. I just thought—“

I cut him off before he can build up any expectations. This is My Home, not the surface. We actually have a job to do here. “Solstice is just another work day, Croco, and I hope you’re ready for it. Get me out of this line. Alice has an attitude as stinky as her butt.”

As Croco escorts me toward the front of the line, I hear Alice shout her last words, “Fuck you asshole!”

We soon enter Croco’s den, and I put my feet on his coffee table as I settle in. “It’s good to be home, Croco. Everything is right on track on the surface. Is everything ready here?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he motions me toward a small peep hole he uses to look out into the Great Hall of Judgment. “You might want to watch this, Boss. It could be important.”

I strain my eye trying to see what’s going on in the flickering torchlight. Lilith is in a discussion with someone. Then it hits me. To my horror … I see Miss Havana standing before the throne. “Why is the bitch here, Croco? What’s going on?”

The beast shakes his head, making his jowls slop back and forth like one of those wet string mops. “Can’t say for sure, but I know she’s in training—something to do with the horsemen and the apocalypse.”

“Really? I set those three bastards loose an eternity ago because I couldn’t manage them. Insolent and independent—that’s what they are. They never fit in. Maybe Lilith will try to get control of them now. It will be fun to watch her fail.”

I see my ex-mate still has a great afterlife body. I shudder with delight as I study the smooth curve of the back of her neck, picturing in my mind how wonderful it would be to shove Mr. Fixit straight up through the back of her skull.

------------------------

Thank you, SASD, for hosting me today. And thank all of you who made it to this point. If you are interested, you can find reviews of my books and the first chapter of each at http://cookinwithmisshavana.blogspot.com/. Further, all of my books are available for purchase at http://www.amazon.com/James-L.-Hatch/e/B005CQB6E6. BTW, if you haven’t “friended” me and would like to, please feel free to do so. My facebook URLs are provided below.

Sincerely,

James L. Hatch

Author for Solstice Publishing, xoxopublishing.com and Eternal Press

https://www.facebook.com/JamesLHatch

https://www.facebook.com/pages/James-L-Hatch/122349661172963

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Miss-Havana/182620898417164