Today I have, my friend and chaptermate, Kelly Janicello playing Author 1-2-3. Actually, more like Author 1-2-5 because I just had to ask about the NY Rangers! LOL. Anyway, Kelly’s book Remember Me? is on sale for $0.99 right now – only for a limited time. It’s an awesome story, so don’t miss out!
The very first story you wrote down – good, bad, or ugly?
I’ve always written but never finished stories. The very first story I completed that I actually let someone read was I think my senior year in high school. The story was total fan fiction similar to the 80’s movie The Goonies. I got an A on it and my teacher scribbled a note saying she can’t wait to see me published one day. My mother contacted my former teacher and shared the great news. I dust it off once in a while and might edit it one day after I deal with the other people screaming for attention in my head.
Are you a procrastinator? What do you do to stay on track?
I am the Queen of Procrastination and tend to work better under pressure. Nothing like waiting until the last minute to get the blood pumping and start complaining about procrastinating. The only thing that keeps me on track is where what needs to be done falls on the priority list.
Bonus Question: On a scale of 1 to Crazy, how big of a Ranger’s fan are you? And, ever consider writing a sports romance? (I know, two questions – but they go together like PB&J.)
11 on the Crazy NY Rangers fan scale. I am the creator of the Headless Ranger.
What did you find hardest about writing this story?
I didn’t necessarily have hard time writing this story however, once I finally got it back to my publisher I started to question if it was a good time for it to be released. It takes place in New York City and since it is Romantic Suspense the hero is an NYPD Detective. Even though clearly I am writing fiction, I was concerned on how some readers may react to some of the content given certain events during the last few months not just in NYC but other cities across the country.
Another Bonus Question: One of your reviews states the twists and turns kept the reader “guessing and anticipating from page 1 to the OMG surprise at the end.” How did keep track of all those twists and turns?
I honestly can’t say how I keep track of my twists and turns lol. They kind of just happen and I say Oh OK and go with it or I just have a twisted mind. I wish I could say I have a process. I don’t. I am a 95% pantser. Generally I throw things on paper and see what sticks. I remember I was about 75% through the book when I e-mailed, I might have even called fellow author / friend Kat Attalla and told her (spoiler alert) “so as it turns out Ryli has a baby sister.” A baby sister wasn’t on the radar but she came to me in the midst of researching guardianships. Once she was there she was there. When nearing the end of a book, Post It notes will liter my laptop screen because point A must get to point B then C etc. No loose ends.
As a child, Ryli Madigan witnessed a heinous murder burying it deep in her mind. Years later as a rookie police officer she takes down an armed suspect in a convenience store and finds herself assigned to the Detective's Division. She must work with the veteran detective shot during the robbery she thwarted. Ryli clashes with Brody McKenna, who pursues her on a more personal level despite his deep-seated mistrust of women.
While tracking a serial killer Ryli is plagued by haunting nightmares. The stakes grow higher as she and Brody uncover a cold case involving her family concealed by one of their own. Brody suspects her terrifying dreams are really flashbacks. Their personal attraction raises the stakes in their pursuit of the man responsible for a murderous spree. Will Ryli remember her past before it's too late?
Brody rolled the driver's side window down and lifted the night vision binoculars to his eyes. There she was. Without tearing his eyes away, he felt around the passenger seat for his radio turning the volume up for a listen. They didn't need him for this operation. He could see the van, and two unmarked units parked in close vicinity to his rookie. He should have known she was the chosen one. Only four had filtered in. Two men, and another woman, who looked more like a man than the other two baby faced ones.
Yeah, if they'd used that woman, she'd actually look like a man dressing like a woman. Now his rookie…stop thinking of her as your rookie. He didn’t like where his mind wandered off to. Those stilettos were something else though. Added five inches to her short legs, on view for anyone to ogle, in what he wouldn’t call a skirt on a good day. If she could run in that disguise he'd promote her in a second.
An hour later he finally pulled the binoculars from his face, rubbing at his forehead to stall the headache building between his eyes. After scrutinizing the last two takedowns, he grudgingly had to reverse his skepticisms. His only misgiving at present? His inability to stop himself from watching her the entire time from the cover of his vehicle, and super zooming the binoculars like a damn Peeping Tom. Off limits Brody. Off limits. Time to make his presence known. Time to stop looking at her legs, ass, ti…..He climbed out of the truck, popped his ear bud in and clipped his radio to his back pocket.
"Okay Ryli, we are going to wrap this up for the evening. Five johns in the pokey are better than none. Good job."
Tim Cleary's voice rang through his ear so loud Brody almost ripped the bud out of the canal. He adjusted the volume and kept walking in the direction of the operation. He had to give it to her, his rookie did well. Their last encounter had concerned him. Her flying through the air like an acrobat without a net was the only memory not distorted by shock and blood loss.
"Ya know Pimp Daddy, five is such an unlucky number. Let's go for number six. He looks ready to party."
Her little retort squelched painfully in his ear. Nails on a chalkboard, a needle tearing across a vinyl record. Brody stopped in his tracks. From where he stood, he could see her on the sidewalk without the benefit of lenses. He didn't see number six looking to party.
"Ryli, this is your first rodeo. Last time I checked, I was running this op. L.T. will bust my ass if something happens to you. Do not do that again. Next time I say wrap it up, you wrap it up. Copy?"
"Understood, Pimp Daddy but this one looks way too easy."
He looked again, even glanced over his shoulder. He saw no one. She was talking about him. God damn overeager rookies. She just disregarded a direct order to terminate the sting, proving his point. His fervent complaints of using an inexperienced, unpredictable rookie had simply bounced off the walls of Bardzell's office. Brody wished Bardzell was sitting with him right now to see the precise reason he'd argued with his superior to begin with. He kept walking and pulled his ball cap lower. Way too easy? He'd give her way too easy.
* * *
Ryli's mouth was always two steps ahead of her brain. Instead of saying an Amen to end the evening, she’d turned into an arrest greedy glutton. In for a penny…Her aching feet sent sharp signals up her legs, threatening punishment later. How could anyone prance around in hooker heels all night long? She had to give these girls some credit, the narrow boots began pinching a half an hour after hitting the pavement. Her poor toes were screaming in agony, each step more unbearable than the last. She should have unzipped the black faux leather and hauled it to the van barefoot when Tim said cut. With her luck, she'd probably require a tetanus shot or a more potent vaccine if she ditched the boots.
A pathetic limp replaced the sashaying, enticing, glide she’d mastered and flaunted hours before. Her new "gentleman" still approached though, crossing the isolated street. She bent over and yanked the stockings up––again. Leaning against the side of the brick building, she adjusted her red wig and eyed the stranger closing in on her location. As he drew nearer, for a fleeting moment she had a sense of déjà vu. Why did he look so familiar? She pasted a smile on her face and snapped the gum in her mouth. "Looking for someone, Sugar?"
Holy crap, he had to tower over her by at least a foot. In comparison to the previous weasel-like, scrawny, specimens of men––now guests in the city lock-up, he was Paul Bunyan minus the blue ox. The combination of the ball cap pulled low over his brow and the dark scruff covering his jaw, gave him an ominous appearance. Why didn't she make for the pimp mobile like a good little subordinate? Bad Ryli, bad.
"As a matter of fact I am. Are you working tonight?"
Yeah, in more ways than one.
"Well the boss man wanted me to escort him to a private party, but he won't mind waiting a bit if the price is right." Oh my God she so had to stop watching the Game Show channel.
"Is this where we negotiate the price of what's behind door number one?" He folded his arms across his wide chest. The action pulled his black t-shirt taut, outlining his pecs beneath the cotton fabric. Why in God's name did this guy need to pay to get some? He was a fine representation of the species. He could probably crack walnuts with those guns. Her brain niggled at her again. Where did she know him from? Had she arrested him? The streetlight flickered off, encasing them in total darkness before slowly humming back on. An eerie foreshadow of what could potentially happen? She'd have her hands full fending this guy off if this went south on her.
"Well I've always been partial to door number three. Better prizes," she teased with another snap of her gum.
White teeth gleamed out from the dark beard. "So door number three…is that the entire package then?"
Okaaaay, he flirts with hookers. Her minute experience with this gig did not draw men who manifested from a studs and spurs calendar, nor did they try to flirt with her. They twitched nervously, their eyes darted all around, and they pretty much asked outright the cost for the particular act. Usually the lewdest act they could come up with, including a few she had never heard of up until a week ago, ones she questioned the legality in a few states.
"Door number three is in fact the whole package, handsome. Would you like to bid on door number three?"
"I think with you." He rubbed his scruff as if considering her faux assets. His voice dropped several octaves lower taking on a sexy drawl. "Door number three would be worth at least three hundred."
She winked up at him. "That will be our little secret from the boss man."
He grinned again flashing those pearly whites. "I won't tell if you don't tell. Twenties acceptable?" His hand dug into the right front pocket of his faded denims extracting a wad of cash.
"Jackson's are good," she replied as he handed her the bills. "You always carry that much cash on your person?"
He didn't release his hold on the bills. Ryli looked up in confusion to find his dark eyes narrowing on her as the air thickened with tension. "On my person? You a cop, Red?"
Oh shit. "I —"
"Ryli, you're made. Go!" Pimp Daddy's voice sounded alarmed. She turned to bolt, not needing to be told twice.
Rough hands yanked her arms behind her back and she heard the distinct snick of cuffs manacling her wrists. Stiffening in shock, her earlier déjà vu came to fruition and she knew without a doubt Brody McKenna just shackled her. "Ummmm, Pimp Daddy, I think we have a problem —"
Kelly Janicello is the alter ego of a staid corporate worker. After years of writing for her own pleasure, she finally joined the ranks of other men and women privileged to call themselves authors. Kelly and her dog live in the Lower Hudson Valley of New York. When Kelly is not writing she is spending her time with family and friends, cheering for her beloved NY Rangers, and inventing the perfect man in her head. Kelly loves to hear from readers.
FB: Kelly Janicello