This week I'm an invited guest author at the Barnes & Noble forum discussing flawed characters, so I thought this would be a good "partner" post.
One of the side effects of being a
published writer is that any number of people tell you, “I always wanted to be
a writer, but fill in the blank.”
My usual response is, “What’s
stopping you?”
Usually they blink, or stammer, or
come up with a litany of excuses – everything from their job, to their kids, to
their volunteer obligations.
I get it. Everyone’s busy.
Everyone’s stressed.
Everyone’s afraid. Or lazy. Or they
really don’t want it as much as they say they do.
Does that sound harsh?
It’s not meant to be. It’s meant to
be honest.
Because I’m a Want-to-be too.
I want to weigh less (but I don’t
want to measure food, count calories, or live in a state of deprivation).
I want to volunteer more (but I
don’t want to deal with the politics that often surround the opportunities).
I want to paint my home (but I
don’t want to deal with the hassle of my two dogs messing it up).
But through the magic of fiction,
I’ve created a character, in my Confessions books, Maggie Lee, who is not a
Want-to-be.
She wants to provide the best
possible care for her hospitalized niece, so she does…by becoming a hitwoman (an
undertaking not for the lazy or faint of heart).
Now, you tell me: What are you a
Want-to-be about? Or, in what areas are
you a Former-Want-to-be?
(I’m a Former-Want-to-be an “athlete”….my overweight
self has completed two half marathons (13.1 miles) and I’m doing my third later
this month!)
Take three wacky aunts, two talking animals, one nervous bride, and an upcoming hit, and you've got the follow-up to JB Lynn's wickedly funny
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Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman
Knocking off a drug kingpin was the last thing on Maggie Lee's to-do list, but when a tragic accident leaves her beloved niece orphaned and in the hospital, Maggie will go to desperate lengths to land the money needed for her care.
But the drug kingpin is the least of her worries. Maggie's aunts are driving her crazy, her best friend's turned into a bridezilla…and a knock on the head has given Maggie Dr. Dolittle abilities—she can talk to animals. Unfortunately, they
talk back.
It's just another day in the life of this neurotic hitwoman…
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Excerpt
You just know it’s going to be a bad day when
you’re stuck at a red light and Doomsday is breathing down your neck.
In this particular instance Doomsday happens to be
a seventy-pound Doberman pinscher. Instead of having the voice of doom, she
sounds an awful lot like an air-headed, bimbo-y blonde. “Way that! Way that!”
Did I mention that Doomsday has really lousy grammar?
“Not that way,” Severus Snape drawled from the
front passenger seat. Okay, not really Snape, but God … zilla, a talking brown
anole lizard with an attitude to match his namesake.
Have you followed all this so far? The superior
talking lizard is in the front passenger seat, the breathy Doberman is in the
back, and I, Maggie Lee, am in the driver’s seat, even though it doesn’t feel
as though I’m in control of this wild ride we’re on.
I know this whole thing sounds crazy. I know
animals can’t talk, but ever since I was in a terrible car accident a month
ago, I can understand them. Of course I haven’t mentioned this little side
effect to anyone, because I’m afraid they’ll lock up my crazy ass in the
nuthouse (hell, with my luck, they’d probably make me room with my mom, who’s a
long-term resident), and I’ve just got too much to do to let that happen.
Which brings me to why God and Doomsday were
arguing about which direction we were headed. I needed to kill someone at a
wedding.
It’s a toss-up which I hate more: killing people
or weddings.
Unfortunately, I’m getting pretty good at both.
To learn more about Maggie, or author JB Lynn, please
visit: www.jblynn.com