If I wasn’t the author, would I want to read this book?
I turned back the cover, rich in stark white letters on dried blood red colour contrast.
Skimmed the title, past the dedication and scene sample pages. Read the opening paragraph.
Tires on three utility vehicles mulched the red, gold and brown remains of autumn. A spindled canopy of barren trees arched above an unpaved road. Clouds hid whatever
warmth the sun tried to provide. Nature held its breath and waited for rain, ice or the season’s first snowfall dependent on the timing of the advancing chill and overhead release on the forest, the lake and the cottage prepared for Canadian winter.
I was there again and for the first time in the story and behind the eyes, thoughts and dialogue of characters brought together in love, hate and potentially deadly conflict.
Alec Martin, career cop with an enemy from his past taunting him from his back yard on Parliament Hill.
Jerilyn Connor Martin, the prime minister’s chief of staff, where she wants to be yet longing for more.
Evan Reid, Prime Minister of Canada in his father’s legendary shadow and the crosshairs of an assassin.
Willie Carlyle, beaten down by life, desperate to escape corrosive criticism from his father.
I answered my question that afternoon. I read it. Enjoyed it. Went to my writing place anxious to revisit the world I’d created. Ready to write “Capital Ties”.