Friday Thirteenth Blog Hop

When I was a small child my mother taught me to love reading. Every Friday afternoon she took my sister and me to the public library, a one room building about the size of a large living room. We would choose several books, and then she would take us to the discount store to spend our allowance. Afterwards, she would take us to dinner. This was a great Friday treat.  

So, from an early age books were associated with something good. Both my sister and I became avid readers. I remember thinking how incredible it would be to put words on paper and tell a story that people would enjoy reading. I daydreamed about becoming a writer, but it never occurred to me that I could really do it.

It was my younger son who showed me the way. He called me one day a couple of years ago and told me that he had written a book. I wasn’t surprised. I knew he had a lot of talent because he had won a prize for a short story he had written when he was in college. I liked his story, and it made me think. If he could do it, why couldn’t I?

While I was thinking about it, I had dinner with several of the teachers from the school where I teach. One of them suggested that each of us should write a book and critique each other’s work.

Well, that did it. I sat down to write my masterpiece. The problem was, I couldn’t think of how to begin. There were umpteen dozen ways to do it. Finally, I realized that it didn’t matter. Pick one way and get started. I typed my first sentence, and from that point the words seemed to fly from my fingers to the computer screen. It was absolutely exhilarating!

I finished my first story in record time. Nobody but me liked it much, but I didn’t care.  I wrote another book right away.  It was almost finished when I found out about a small publisher who sponsored a yearly writing contest. The first prize was publication of your novel. I decided to try it, and several months later I received a call from the publisher telling me that I was one of two grand prize winners.

Since that day, I’ve been published 8 times and have 3 signed contracts.  Talk about dreams coming true!

Matt McCallum, my hero in my last full length novel A New Dream, also knows a lot about dreams coming true.  He was an NFL player who kicked the winning field goal in the Super Bowl before he had an accident that destroyed his career forever.  Here’s the first part of the prologue in A New Dream which is available at http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_11?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=a+new+dream+by+elaine+cantrell&sprefix=a+new+dream%2Caps%2C338   or at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/a-new-dream-by-elaine-cantrell?keyword=a+new+dream+by+elaine+cantrell&store=allproducts

The red convertible cut a path through the moonlight, its headlights dancing along the arched limbs of the trees above the road.

“Oh, Matt, it’s such a beautiful night,” Stacey declared with a sigh. “I’m going to miss you when you leave tomorrow.”

Matt reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’ll miss you too, but if I don’t report on time, I’m in trouble with the coach.”

“That’s what I get for falling in love with a pro football player,” Stacey teased, her blonde hair turned to frosted silver by the light of the full moon above them.

Matt squeezed her hand that wore his engagement ring. “It’s too late to back out now,” he teased. “You’re mine.”

“Mmm, do I like the sound of that!”

The car rounded a curve, and without warning a deer bounded across the road.

“Look out!” Stacey screamed.

Matt braked sharply to avoid the animal. The tires slid on patch of loose gravel in the road, and he lost control of the convertible. It fishtailed and started to spin in the road.

Matt hauled the steering wheel to correct the slide, but it was useless. The car turned around once more and skidded backwards for a short distance before it charged off the road. It jumped a steep ditch and went airborne. All Matt could see was a blur of trees and darkness as the car careened into the woods. It made a lazy turn in the air and came to rest bottom side up.

The last thing he remembered was the sound of Stacey’s screams.

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