draft excerpt from SADIE

draft excerpt from the new novel temporarily titled SADIE Starlings—a mad whirling rush—move as one and peck, peck, peck at the last of the brown apples frozen on the tree. They are a blast of black. Out of nowhere. And leave as suddenly as they appeared. Chickadees and blue jays scratch for sunflower seeds. Kick and scatter the cheap stuff to the ground. But the pigeons bobbing and weaving through the snow don’t care. They’re after anything. Gobbling it up. And their size shows it. I think of them plucked. Gutted. Sautéed with mushrooms and onions and butter in a big, cast iron pan. Not because I’m hungry, but because it is ten minutes to noon on a Thursday and I’ve been drinking. Dewar’s on the rocks. And I’m trying my damndest to strike some balance. Keep me on track. I haven’t seen my daughter in two weeks. My agent, Greta has spent the last two nights with me on the island. And in three days the divorce is final. There is too much going on to write. There is too much going on not to write. All I want to do is grab the shotgun, bundle up, and walk the woods. Follow rabbit tracks. Spook birds. But getting out and about only gets me farther away from the words. I don’t know of any place on the island to hunt. And I have a deadline to meet. The book must be completed by the end of the month. In fifteen days. And even though I can see the ending, I’m not sure how to get there. And when a writer is so set on making it to where he needs to be, there is nothing he can do or not do that will help him or stop him from getting there. And so, he drinks. Fucks his agent. And drinks. And buys a house on Mackinac Island and tells himself that he will not leave the island until the house is paid for or someone dies. And the worst part about it is that he knows the next book will be good and because of that it will not sell. Be widely read. Or pay for the house. And so he will have to write another and another and he is sure that dying is something he will not see for years—no matter how hard he tries—and so leaving the island will be the result of learning that someone he has known and possibly loved has died. ~ copyright 2013 by K.J. Stevens