Murphy's Law

Angela Wiggins was on her way to the adventure of a lifetime, but fate stepped in when she least expected it to.

MURPHY’S LAW

 

 

Racing down I-75 just south of Sarasota, Florida.  Weaving around slower moving traffic, moving from lane to lane erratically.  The needle of her speedometer staying steadily around ninety-five, twenty miles per hour over the legal speed limit.  Her vehicle, an old Dodge Durango wasn’t totally mechanically sound.  The brakes were very soft, and due to a very bad alignment, the steering swayed alarmingly to the right at this excessive speed.  It took all of her attention and concentration to keep the car in its own lane.  It wasn’t really cut out for this sort of trip and right now it was being pushed to the limit, as were her nerves.

“When we get to our destination you can have a good long rest” she kept telling it as she mentally willed the car onwards.

She cursed herself for not getting her car fixed previously, always putting it off.  When you very rarely strayed far from home who really needed a car?   She was a great believer in public transport and could always get wherever she needed to go by bus or cab.  She also didn’t have the money to cover the repairs that she expected to be pretty expensive.  She was, also, way beyond affording to scrap this old thing and getting something a little newer.

---

She should have been in Naples, about a hundred miles further south, an hour ago.  The distance from Tampa to Naples was one-hundred and seventy miles, a journey that at normal driving speed would take three hours.  She was meeting her boyfriend there, but due to unforeseen circumstances she was running way behind schedule.  She thought about calling him to let him know she was running late but didn’t, she didn’t believe in texting or talking on the phone whilst driving.  He would just have to pace around his apartment, chewing on his nails till she got there.  She figured that at the speed she was going she had just over an hour left till she arrived at his place.

---

Angela Wiggins, forty-two, from Tampa had met David eight months earlier at a work convention in Tampa.  He was thirty-seven years old, and single.  David had been there representing his company, and she hers.  They connected pretty much straight away.  After too many drinks together in a bar after the first day, they spent the night together in her hotel room and found themselves swapping phone numbers the following morning.  They had been seeing each other, whenever they could, ever since.  Angela found that as time went on she couldn’t get enough of David, and the attention that he gave her.  What started off as a one-night fling soon became more serious.

---

David owned a yacht that was currently docked in Naples.  The plan was for them to meet at his apartment, and then head to the marina in his car.  From there they were taking his yacht down to the Bahamas for a short visit.  He had business interests there and needed to clear a few things up.  From there they were going to go somewhere, anywhere, just to get away and be by themselves.  Whatever she was taking with her was stuffed in to two old suitcases, thrown hurriedly in to the back of the Durango.  Whatever else she needed she would get as, and when the need arose.

She had never been good on boats and the few times she had ever been on one the results had always been the same, a quick visit to port or starboard, voiding her stomach of whatever she had previously eaten, much to her chagrin.  What also didn’t help was her feeling of total reliance on the skipper’s skills to get her back safely.

The solid thump as the fiberglass hull hit the wake of a passing boat racing by them with its throttle fully open would often make her scream a little inside and grab onto something as though her life depended on it.  How she would often fantasize about planting her fist squarely in the smiley faces of other skippers speeding by in their expensive toys, as they gave their jolly little waves.  She wasn’t a sailor, never had been and never would be.  But for this life-changing adventure she would try to put those fears behind her.  David assured her he was a skilled captain and would ensure no harm befell her.

---

Angela looked in the mirror, and shook herself out of her reverie. Gazing at herself, she let out a few choice curse words.

“Why does this s**t always happen to me?” she muttered.   All she had needed to do was pack her stuff and get out of the apartment.  Of course, when one thing goes wrong everything afterwards just snowballs.  Hence, her now having to race down I-75 at this speed.  Trying to make up time, all thanks to Murphy’s Law.  Murphy’s Law was the general rule that whatever could go wrong would go wrong. Her middle finger was getting a little tired of flipping the bird at the irate drivers and the angry car horns she was leaving in her wake.

The Florida sun beat down mercilessly, and the dazzling reflection off the bonnet of the white Durango blinded her through the windscreen.  And, of course, Angela had forgotten to bring her sunglasses in her frantic rush to get out of her apartment, and on the road.

‘Just another thing to chalk up to Murphy’s Law,’ she thought to herself.  If she hadn’t been in such a godawful hurry, she might have stopped at a convenience store to buy herself a pair.  But she just didn’t have time.  So with the sun visor down and squinting she made the best of it, cursing at the sun, the other slowpoke drivers, and her luck.  Angela checked her watch.  Not too bad.  Due to her manic driving, she had made up a bit of time.  But there was still more to make up.  No easing up on the accelerator just yet.  So she sped on, weaving from lane to lane to get around the other drivers who seemed to have nowhere to go, and all day to get there in.

Crossing the Charlotte Harbor bridge, she was well over half way with just seventy miles left to Naples.  Just forty minutes behind schedule now.  The bridge spans the Peace River, which is a large body of water at the point where the bridge crosses over it.  The river meanders its way along, and eventually dumps out into the Gulf of Mexico.  Today, the sun was glinting furiously off the greenish-blue water; which was so calm it could have been mistaken for a pane of glass.

Any other day, Angela would have gladly taken her time crossing the bridge, taking in the breathtaking views.  But today, she just didn’t have time for that.

She’d really discovered on this trip that she disliked I-75, especially after she passed Sarasota.  It was from this point onward that the planners had seemed to have gotten all confused.  They couldn’t decide if it was to be a three lane highway, or a two lane highway.  Three lanes would suddenly merge in to two for no discernible reason.  Then miles further along, would suddenly become three lanes again.  And the roadworks, she was tired of seeing orange and white barrels standing idly along long stretches of the road.  Signs telling her to slow down, and to be wary of the workers, when there was actually no work going on. No workers in sight for miles.  Huge piles of scooped up sand deposited next to heavy equipment, standing unused, along the side of the road as if abandoned.  She paid no heed to these signs, just plowed on regardless.  No time for courtesy.  No time for the law today.

---

For the first time since leaving Tampa, Angela allowed herself to relax just a little.  She was now well over half way, and the amount of traffic ahead of her was easing up slightly.  She allowed her thoughts to drift back to David, excited about the future.

He came to Tampa every month or so on business, and would contact her beforehand to let her know his schedule, and to see if they could meet up.  Sometimes it was possible, other times, sadly, it wasn’t.  When they did manage to meet up they would stay in the same hotel they had first met in.  It had only been eight months since they’d first met, but to Angela it seemed like a lifetime ago.  David loved to wine and dine her at any number of ritzy restaurants that he picked out beforehand.  Always a reservation in the name of Mr. And Mrs. Carlton.  Carlton was the name chosen, together, off a store front sign they had passed walking back to the hotel on one of their first nights together.

It had seemed very illicit and exciting at the time.  They dined decadently on lobster, gulf shrimp or the best steak.  Whatever she was in the mood for that night.  Food she would never have even dreamt of splashing out on if she hadn’t been out with her man.  He picked up the tab every time and money seemed to be of no concern to him.  Anyone who owned a fifty-foot yacht, should realistically have plenty of money.  The mere acronym of boat"Bring On Another Thousand"said it all really.

After dinner they would wander back to the hotel hand in hand, taking their time in anticipation of the night ahead.  Drinking in the night life of Tampa.  Back in their room, they would hungrily attack each other.  Clothes ripped off; left wherever they fell. Their lust for each other leading to the abandonment of restraint, both of them seeking and reaching the pinnacle of pleasure and desire.  Afterwards, when their thirst for each other was quenched they would fall asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

---

The question that led to this hectic day occurred just four weeks ago.  Lying together, entwined, after their most recent bout of lovemaking�"though lust would be more apt�"Angela could sense he had something on his mind.  Her head resting on his stomach.  Her hands doing a little exploring.  His fingers, alternating between stroking her hair, and running up and down her naked back: lost in his thoughts.

David, all of a sudden propped himself up on his elbow; startled a little by this sudden move she looked up at him.

“Angie, sweetheart, I’ve got an idea.”

She normally hated being called Angie.  Anyone who dared call her by that name would often feel her wrath, and they would never make the same mistake twice.  Coming from his lips, though, made it somehow ok.  It sounded even better when he called her by that name while in the midst of passion.               

“Sweetie, I have a business trip planned in four weeks.  I have to take a run over to Freeport, on Grand Bahama.  I’ve got a few things to do.  It won’t take long to get there and just a couple of days to do what I have to do.  I’d like you to come with me, it’ll be a blast.  Would you come with me, please?”

“Dave, you know I don’t like boats.  I can’t even stand being out on Tampa bay, never mind a trip to the Bahamas”

“Oh come on Angie it’ll be great.”  This time she did give him a look.  He was starting to sound whiny.

“It’s not a long trip and I know the crossing, I’ve done it before.  I promise I won’t go fast, and we can pick a calm day.  We’ll go really slow, and still be there in less than a day.”

“What about work, and my other problem?”

“Well, like I told you.  This is a business trip for me, and I’m sure you can get some time off work, can’t you?  And your big problem.  Well there’s always a solution to that.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I’m…. I’m not sure Dave.  I don’t know if I can.”

David, in love with the slim figured, auburn haired woman currently lying next to him wasn’t going to let this chance slip by.

“Angela, you can’t turn this down.  A free, all expenses paid trip to the Bahamas with a handsome guy.  What girl could refuse that?” Winking at her.

“Oh yeah, where would I find a good looking guy around here?” Smirking back at him.  Making them both laugh.

“It’s not that easy Dave.  You know that.  I can’t just drop everything and go.”

“But if you could, would you?”

The more she thought about it the more it appealed to her.  This was the chance of a lifetime.  She had never been to the Bahamas.  Hell, she had never even left the country before.  It would certainly mean she’d have to make major changes in her life.  Could she even make those changes?  But if she could!  What if she went along and the trip was a success?  Was he planning on some sort of a future with her?

“Yes, Angie, I am.”

She hadn’t even realized that she was speaking aloud.

“I want to be with you.  I want you totally and forever, Angela Wiggins.”

“You do realize that I’m not much to look at, don’t you?  it’s not going to be as easy as you seem to think, and I don’t have a lot of money and"”

“Shush, Angie, we’ll be fine.  I don’t want you for money, I want you for your body.” They both laughed at this.

“I can look after us, and if you do want to work, well, I’m sure you could find a job in Naples.  We’ll figure everything else out.”

Questions and doubts began swirling around in her mind.  Each one vying, simultaneously, for her full attention, eventually being pushed away by thoughts about the possibilities. 
In one way, she wanted to hit him right now for doing this to her.  But in another way, hell no!  Her questions, one after another, were answered by his slick answers.  He seemed to have some version of this already planned out in his mind.  She finally came to a decision.  In his own inimitable fashion, it seemed he had just made a proposal to her.  It could be done!  She would do whatever needed to be done, to be with this man.  They had lain awake the rest of the night; calling room service for coffee, and making their plans.

---

Four weeks later, back in the here and now, Angela allowed herself a smile.  So she was going to be a little late, they had the rest of their lives together.   It wasn’t as if David was going anywhere without her.  She turned on the radio, already preset to a country & western station she liked.  One of her favorite songs was playing, an oldie but goodie.  She hummed along, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music.  All the while racing down the highway at ninety.  Fighting to keep control of the fast moving vehicle.

Crossing the Caloosahatchee River now, just north of Fort Myers.  With about forty-five miles left of her journey.  About fifty minutes left before she and David would be leaving for his yacht, so aptly named Adventurer.  Angela did indeed feel like an adventurer.  Embarking on a journey full of endless new chances and opportunities.  She glanced to her right and saw dark, angry storm clouds appearing on the horizon, broiling together and charging menacingly in her direction.

“S**t! please hold off till I get there,” she muttered to herself.  As was normal in Florida, in June, a bright sunny day could instantly change; could suddenly become black as night.  As if somebody had flicked a switch and turned off the sun.

Storms that formed out in the Gulf, would roll in, bringing rain that was often stinging and torrential.  High winds could drive that rain so it hit you almost diagonally.  The angry clouds that accompanied the storm could produce thunder, so loud that it seemed the apocalypse was upon us.  The rain, at the height of the storm, blinded and cut vision to as little as a few feet.  Roads could flood as quickly as a snap of the fingers.  Then just as suddenly as it started it would come to an end.  The sun would peep back out of the clouds, as if asking if it was safe to come out again now.  The storm would just continue its fast moving journey inland.  Angela pressed down harder on the gas pedal hoping to outrun the coming storm.  The accelerator hit ninety-five again.

A blue Toyota came up on her left side, racing by her Durango as if it was standing still.  The driver, busy chatting on his cell phone, cut right in front of her without signaling, and leaving her hardly any space.

“A*****e,” she muttered as she stamped on the brakes.

To her concern the brakes took a while to respond, and with the braking action the car veered sharply to the right.  She came close to a vehicle in the right lane.  The Toyota sped on ahead, the businessman in the driver’s seat, in his own little world.  Busy on the phone.  Flirting with his secretary, Angela imagined.

Her nerves, already frazzled by the events of the day, took another hit.  She was suddenly tired and wanting this journey over with.  Wanting with all her heart to be on the yacht with David; sipping a cold beer, or something stronger.  Angela Looked over at the incoming storm; the clouds were definitely closing in.  Bolts of lightning lit the sky in the distance.  No way was she going to outrun this, and it looked like it was going to be a bad one.

---

The first drops of rain fell with about twenty miles left to go.  The sky had turned as black as night.  Headlights came on all around her, as did hers.  A peal of thunder, so loud it seemed to shake the entire earth.  Followed, soon after, by a dazzling bolt of lightning announcing the storm’s arrival.  And then the clouds just opened up, letting loose a torrent of rain that seemed to be a solid force of water.  Angela switched her windscreen wipers on as fast as they could go, but with no effect.  She could see nothing past the front of her car.  The thunder and lightning, seemingly right above her, produced constant noise and dazzling light.  It seemed as if there was a battle being fought in the heavens above her.  Her foot eased off the accelerator; she had no other choice.  She felt like screaming. In fact, she did scream.  A loud, angry one; at life, and at everything else that had conspired against her today.  She banged her hands against the steering wheel in a mixture of fury and despair.

“Twenty bloody miles!  What the hell else are you going to throw at me?”

As if in answer to that question, two things happened simultaneously.  A flash of lightning struck right next to her car.  So bright that it momentarily blinded her.  And at the same time, her phone, laying on the passenger seat, played a short little tune announcing a text message!

‘David?’

Shaking her head, and blinking furiously to clear her vision, she instinctively turned to the phone.  Too late realizing her mistake, she glanced back up at the road ahead and, to her horror, all she could see was a solid wall of brake lights.  A very, very, short distance ahead.

The traffic was at a standstill.  Angela stomped on her brakes.  The Durango slowed a little, but didn’t stop.  She never stood a chance�"the heavy rain had made the road slick.  Hydroplaning, the Durango hit the car in front of it at thirty miles per hour with the noise of an explosion going off.  There was a horrible grinding sound of metal impacting metal, causing a chain reaction ahead of her; cars shunting in to other cars.  Angela did not know any of this.  The impact shot her straight forward in her seat, into the exploding air bag.  She lost consciousness, as her car left the road and started its descent down an embankment.  Rolling over and over on its descent to its final resting place.

Time seemed to stand still as the Durango collapsed in on itself.  As it rolled, everything inside the car flew haphazardly around.  The noise of screeching and buckling metal was horrendous.  It came to a final stop with a resounding, screeching, jolt.  Total silence finally, apart from the ticking of the cooling engine.  Angela was not aware of any of this.  The heap of twisted metal that had once been a Dodge Durango lying silently at the bottom of the embankment.  Now getting its good long rest as promised.

The storm moved on, its damage done.  Southbound I-75 was at a complete standstill, traffic backing up for about a mile.  Drivers, in their cars further back, unaware of what had happened just shook their heads.  They made their phone calls to change or cancel their plans, and cursed their luck.  They were going to be here for a while.  The northbound traffic slowed as curious drivers had to have a good look at the aftermath, thankful that it wasn’t them involved.

---

The emergency services, alerted by numerous calls, were quick to arrive.  The scene of the accident was soon awash with flashing lights.  The police got to work securing the area, and taking statements.  Paramedics darted amongst the cars assessing any injuries.  Luckily there was nothing major, just a few cuts and bruises, and people complaining of whiplash.  They hoped fervently that they would be called upon to provide assistance to the person, or persons, in the wrecked car.  Praying that it wasn’t too late for their help.  Firemen scrambled and slid down the embankment to assess the situation, and to see what equipment would be needed.

John Doyle, a veteran of twelve years with the fire service, was the first to reach the Durango.  He peeked in to the upside-down, twisted piece of metal through the smashed in passenger window.  Quickly evaluating the situation, he radioed in his report to his commander on the highway above him. “Sir, one passenger, alive but unconscious and strapped in upside down.  I can smell gas, but there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger of fire.  All front doors are buckled; they’re not going to open on their own, better get the ‘jaws’ ready, we’re gonna need them.”

Doyle had seen plenty of traffic accidents in his time on the force.  This one was minor compared to others he’d seen.  Hopefully, this poor woman would survive and live to tell the tale.  The other firemen joined him as he started securing the scene.  His commander relayed the information to the police and paramedics.

The whining, grinding sound that the jaws of life made as they got to work on the car brought Angela, temporarily, back to a sense of consciousness.  Dazed, she struggled against the seat belt unsure of where she was.  What was all the noise?  People outside yelling orders.  Angela was unsure of what they were shouting.  Her body was awash with pain from head to toe.  Every move she made hurt like hell.  Confused as to what was happening, she slipped back, thankfully, in to the safety of oblivion.

Angela was eventually extricated from the wreckage.  She was strapped on to a stretcher, and carefully carried back up the embankment where she was loaded into a waiting ambulance.  Once secure, the paramedics began their jobs.  They buzzed around her, trying to make her comfortable, keeping a close watch on her vital signs.  Getting her prepared for her trip to the hospital.  The ambulance eventually sped away; leaving the police to begin their initial accident investigation.

It didn’t look like Angela was going to be going on her trip with David today.  Two hours later a tow truck arrived.  The Durango was loaded on to the back of the flat bed, beginning a final trip to the police impound yard.

---

Arriving at Lee County hospital in Fort Myers, Angela was rushed immediately into an operating room.  She underwent an operation to release pressure on her brain that had occurred as a result of the violent motion of her car’s final moments.  She also had an emergency operation to remove her spleen, which had ruptured and was starting to bleed internally.  Angela’s other injuries were less life threatening than the trauma that had occurred inside her skull, and to her spleen.  After, seemingly, endless hours on the operating table, she was released to the intensive care unit.

Her list of injuries was long.  Blunt force trauma to the head, which had caused pressure on her brain.  A ruptured spleen, causing internal bleeding.  Two fractured ribs.  A fractured left shoulder, and also a fracture to her left wrist.  Finally, lacerations to her face, caused by the air bag exploding at almost two hundred miles per hour.  She was in a very bad way!  Monitored and sedated twenty-four-seven, Angela’s life hung in the balance for days.  It was only due to the diligence and care of her medical team that she continued to live.

No one came to see her during this time.  Her only visitors were an endless stream of doctors and nurses; and two detectives who were waiting for their chance to talk to her.  Andrew Potter and Stephen Marsh of the Fort Myers police department stopped in every other day, always with the same questions.

“How’s the patient today, and when can we talk to her?”

And always the same answer. “She’s doing a little better.  Still heavily sedated, and you won’t be able to talk with her today.  We’ll let you know when you can interview her.”

Potter and Marsh had done some digging in to Angela’s background, and were now keenly interested in talking to her.  As were the Tampa police, who now had jurisdiction on the case. They had spoken in depth with David Hancock, whom they had traced after finding numerous text messages between the two of them on Angela’s phone.  David had come in to speak with them, and filled the detectives in on his and Angela’s story.  He told them he’d be available if they had any more questions.

---

On July the twentieth, eight days after her fateful journey along I-75.  Detective Potter from Fort Myers, and Detective Russell from Tampa, finally got their chance to talk to Angela Wiggins.

She still looked in a very bad way.  The lacerations on her face were starting to heal slightly.  The purple bruising around her eyes was still evident, though fading a little.  Her shoulder and wrist were covered with plaster casts, aiding in their healing.  Dr. Foster, the doctor in charge of Angela’s care, had called Potter earlier in the day.  He told him that Angela was now awake enough for an interview, and would allow them thirty minutes with her.  Although still groggy from the effects of her pain medication, Foster felt that she was finally aware enough to talk to the police.

Her bed raised just slightly, she acknowledged the detectives as they pulled up chairs and sat down.

“Good afternoon Angela, I’m Detective Potter from Fort Myers, and this is Detective Russell from Tampa,”

Russell gave a slight nod in her direction as he sat down.

“How are you feeling today?” Russell asked.

“I’ve been better.  Could you pour me a glass of water please?”

Potter stood, and poured her a glass of water from the jug on the table next to her bed.  He handed it to her.  She took a couple of sips, then handed it back to Potter for him to put back on the table.

She nodded her thanks to him as he sat down again.

“We’re here today to ask you a few questions about what transpired on the twelfth of July Angela.” Russell continued. “And why you were on your way to Naples when the accident happened.” She understood then.  She might still have been a little groggy, but she knew at that moment that it was over.  They knew she was on her way to Naples.  They must have spoken to David.

“Would you be up to answering a few questions Angela?” Potter asked.

“Yes!”

Russell pulled a small tape recorder out of a bag he had next to him.  He placed it on her bedside table, and turned it on.

“Angela, I’m Detective Russell from Tampa police.  With me is Detective Potter, from Fort Myers.  This recorded interview is being conducted on July the twentieth, at one fifteen pm.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Can you tell us what happened on July the twelfth please?”

As a great weight finally lifted off her chest, she opened up

“He shouldn’t have come home.  My husband, Jeff.  He came home early from his business trip.  One of his frequent business trips.  I didn’t expect him.  He walked in just as I was packing my things. I was just going to leave him.  We had it all planned out.  He asked what I was doing, and I told him that I was bored with him.  That I’d met someone else.  Someone I wanted to be with, someone who made me happy.  I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen.  He got so angry and said I wasn’t going anywhere.  He actually slapped me! He’d never hit me before!  It hurt!  We argued for a long time.”

“Please continue, Mrs. Wiggins.” Russell prompted. “We have a gun that was recovered from your car.  The ballistics recovered from the homicide scene match that gun.  Please continue.”

“He wasn’t going to stop me from being with David.  So, as he turned his back to me, to empty my suitcase on the bed I grabbed the gun that he kept in his nightstand.  I shot him, twice.  I grabbed my suitcases, jumped in my car and ran.  All I could think about was getting to David.  I was so late.  When can I see him?”

THE END

 

 

Author's Note

This is my first ever short story; just a little over 5000 words. I've edited, edited and edited it again. I think this is the best it's going to get. I would like some honest critique please. I'm currently working on a much longer story.

Reviews

[Kathy Van Kurin]

"Murphy's Law"
Christoper J. Bailey,
I really enjoyed all of the wonderful details of your main character's trip. Then the ending was totally unexpected. It will be interesting to see if you decide to do any more with this story or write a another chapter.
Blessings,
Kathy

[Coyote Poetry]

You did very well Christopher. Create situation and strong characters. The flow of the story was very good. You made the reader feel the thoughts and the places. I did like the ending. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[barleygirl]

I agree with JayG, another reviewer, in that the sentence fragments at the beginning & a few fragments later on, are not my favorite things, but some people use this on purpose for effect. I do not agree with JayG that reading this feels flat. I think you do a fine job of injecting an interesting stream of action, all along, interspersed with realistic dialogue, & your flashback to reveal the relationship is smoothly entered & exited to continue the present moment. I think what JayG might've been referring to is the way you tend to describe things in a technical way, rather than a sensory way. You might describe exacting details about the surroundings, but another way to do that would be to use more sensory observations, like -- how does it smell? how did it taste? how does it sound? You do this to a certain extent, but it could be amplified for a more lyrical read, rather than a technically complete description. But maybe your style is technical & that's OK too.

I felt that there was a little imbalance in the amount of time you spend describing things. There's abundant description of the area & the drive, but it seemed so brief when you describe things about the relationship as you flash-backed to show us how these two came together. I think most readers like to spend more time on human or creature connections, more than physical descriptions of the surroundings. But there are some famous writers that load on the description heavily & lots of readers love that too.

This piece is about as long as you would want to post on this website & still be getting some reviews. Most people in this day & age have a short attention span for reading. I can do longer stories, but I have learned to be more brief for online readers. If you want to post a longer story than this, then I recommend you break it up into bitesize pieces & post it as chapters in a book (even if you don't mean for it to be chapters in a book). This is mainly for the purpose of getting more online readers on this website -- not that it would serve your personal writing goals, whatever they may be, being published, or whatever.

All in all, your writing is very strong & well-crafted to keep the action compelling & to package a complete idea into a story. I like a "twist" at the end of any good story & I do like the direction you are going with your ending twist, but I'm afraid it was hard for me to follow. I think you might need to spend a little more time on that ending, let it unfold more gradually, with a little more explanation so we can understand it better. If you have another posting, feel free to read request me, as I would be happy to read more of you, Margie

[JayG]

One of the first problems is that only you know how you would read this. A reader, unlike the author, doesn’t start with knowledge of who is in the scene, where we are, and what’s going on. So while you hear emotion in the voice of the narrator as you read and edit, the reader hears a monotone, modified only by what punctuation and the emotion inherent to the individual words. So what the reader hears is you hear when you have your computer read it aloud—something you should do, get a feel for the reader’s viewpoint.

What I have to say isn’t about a failing in you, though, or good/bad writing. It’s that our schooldays prepare us to write as our future employers need: nonfiction. We’re taught to inform clearly and concisely, by explaining the situation.

But fiction’s goal is to entertain, which takes tricks and techniques we’re not even told exists, in our school days. So without them, you’ll fall into traps you’re not aware exist. As Mark Twain observed, “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

Look at the opening not as the author, but as a reader, who knows only what the words suggest to them:

• Racing down I-75 just south of Sarasota, Florida.

This is what’s called a sentence fragment, because there’s a chunk missing. Look at the questions it raises in a reader’s mind:
1. Who’s racing down that road?
2. Are they actually in a race or just hurrying?
3. Why are they doing this?
4. Where are they bound?

You might argue that the reader will soon learn this if they go on. But that matters not at all, because you can’t retroactively erase confusion. And a confused reader doesn’t know if you will clarify, so they stop reading.

• Weaving around slower moving traffic, moving from lane to lane erratically.

Another fragment, one that answers none of the questions above, but instead, raised more:

Is this person drunk? In a hurry? Bleeding? Angry? What in the hell is going on?

• The needle of her speedometer staying steadily around ninety-five, twenty miles per hour over the legal speed limit.

Yup, another fragment. And now, an unknown “she” is erratically driving at a steady speed?

My point is that for you, who have context, this makes perfect sense. And the emotion in your voice adds interest. But the reader can’t hear that and has no context. And given that they are the one the piece was written for, shouldn’t they?

Again, it’s not a failing in you, because pretty much all hopeful writers come to recording their stories unaware that the writing skills we leave school with are inappropriate to writing fiction. So you have lots of company. And, the problem is fixable.

So hit your local library’s fiction writing section and devour a few books on how to manage and construct a story. It will be time well spent. And if you are meant to be a writer, you’ll find the learning fun.

You might want to dig around in my writing articles, for an overview of the issues involved, for a feel for what you need to focus on.

Not what you were hoping to hear, I know. But it is what we all face on the way to publication. So hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[Christopher J Bailey]

I appreciate your honesty JayG. Thats what i was looking for...critique. I will take everything you said and act on it. Thank you