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Novel Development From Concept to Query - Welcome to Algonkian Author Connect
Haste is a Writer's Second Worst Enemy, Hubris Being the First
AND BAD ADVICE IS SECONDS BEHIND THEM BOTH... Welcome to Algonkian Author Connect (AAC). This is a literary and novel development website dedicated to educating aspiring authors in all genres. A majority of the separate forum sites are non-commercial (i.e., no relation to courses or events) and they will provide you with the best and most comprehensive guidance available online. You might well ask, for starters, what is the best approach for utilizing this website as efficiently as possible? If you are new to AAC, best to begin with our "Novel Writing on Edge" forum. Peruse the novel development and editorial topics arrayed before you, and once done, proceed to the more exclusive NWOE guide broken into three major sections.
In tandem, you will also benefit by perusing the review and development forums found below. Each one contains valuable content to guide you on a path to publication. Let AAC be your primary and tie-breaker source for realistic novel writing advice.
Your Primary and Tie-Breaking Source
For the record, our novel writing direction in all its forms derives not from the slapdash Internet dartboard (where you'll find a very poor ratio of good advice to bad), but solely from the time-tested works of great genre and literary authors as well as the advice of select professionals with proven track records. Click on "About Author Connect" to learn more about the mission, and on the AAC Development and Pitch Sitemap for a more detailed layout.
Btw, it's also advisable to learn from a "negative" by paying close attention to the forum that focuses on bad novel writing advice. Don't neglect. It's worth a close look, i.e, if you're truly serious about writing a good novel.
There are no great writers, only great rewriters.
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Write to Pitch 2024 - June
Alexandra Hidalgo - Write to Pitch New York 2024 Grand Gestures Materials.docx -
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Write to Pitch 2024 - June
Janice Deaner Query Letter PS I only just received this assignment a few days ago. I will send my agent's list tomorrow. Query Letter.docx -
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Write to Pitch 2024 - June
Janice Deaner The Pitch Pitch.docx -
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Write to Pitch 2024 - June
Janice Deaner Assignment 6 Assignment 6.docx -
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Write to Pitch 2024 - June
Janice Deaner Assignment #5: Hook Line Assignment 5.docx -
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River of Immortal Souls - Adult Portal Fantasy (Chapter 1)
I have written a very rough first draft and have begun my first edit pass. OPENING SCENE - Introduces antagonist, setting, tone, and a foreshadows the primary conflict. CHAPTER 1 Some days the loss weighed more heavily on Eliana Richardson’s heart than others and she knew the minute she woke up that today was going to be a rough one. She sighed from her bed as she watched the overcast sky slowly darken and bright green maple leaves wave their greetings to the birds hungrily visiting the bird feeder through the slatted blinds. Josh, her twelve-year-old Golden Retriever and constant companion, rested his chin on the side of the bed and offered his usual morning bark. Eliana rubbed his head playfully, acknowledging that it was time to let Josh outside to do his business. Eliana rolled over and stared at the picture on her nightstand of her beautiful daughter, Deidre. Deidre would be turning seventeen in a few days – wherever she was. It had been almost ten years since her disappearance. As far as Paul was concerned, Diedre’s disappearance was all Eliana’s fault, and their daughter was dead. But Eliana knew Paul was wrong. Deidre was still alive. It was only a matter of time before her baby girl was back home where she belonged. And today marked a new beginning for Eliana. Today, though, she had to get up or she wasn’t going to make it to the lawyer’s office on time. Eliana sighed loudly and threw the covers back. “Enough of that, missy. We wouldn’t want to keep Paulson Saputo now, would we?” She forced herself to an upright position, swung her toned brown legs over the edge of the bed, and with determination planted her feet firmly on the carpet. She completed her morning routine in forty minutes. Checking her appearance in the full-length mirror in the bedroom, Eliana concluded that she was satisfactorily dressed to impress but decided to pull back some of the cornrows around her face and clipped them in place. She half tripped going downstairs, fed Josh, quickly filled her thermos with coffee, grabbed her keys and backpack, and ran out. Eliana drove down the pitted gravel road past the neighbor’s barn and turned onto the paved road at the stand of mailboxes. The drive to the divorce lawyer’s office took six minutes, and she had ten minutes to spare. The full import of this meeting hit her like a ton of bricks as Eliana built up the courage to open the car door. This was it. The last day of her marriage. Eliana didn’t want to admit failure, but there was nothing left of the life and hopes for the future she and Paul had once shared. It had been seven months since Paul had moved out. She hadn’t laid eyes on him since then, even though he was still living on the island with his pregnant fiancé. At first, she thought they’d be able to get past the pain of losing Deidre, but living with Paul’s contempt slowly eroded any possibility of moving on. Then the silence started and after a few years they avoided each other altogether. What had been the pride and joy of her existence, a happy and loving family, simply evaporated. All that was left to do was for them to finalize the last details of the divorce and sign the papers. Eliana checked in with the young woman behind the desk. “Hello. I’m Eliana Richardson. I’m here to meet with Mr. Droit.” She was sure that the girl had attended the high school and was grateful that the normal reminiscing didn’t start. “Yes. Mr. Droit should be out in a few minutes. Please feel free to take a seat. Can I get you any coffee, tea, water?” “Water would be lovely. Thanks. I’ve already had two cups of coffee this morning and you might have to call the paramedics if I had anymore caffeine today.” The receptionist smiled broadly and bounced out of her chair with the energy that only a person without a care in the world could have. Eliana took a seat in a small reception room while the receptionist stepped away to grab a bottle of water for her. Within a few minutes, Paul walked in. He’d gotten a bit heavier in the gut and his thinning hair was prematurely gray. His suit was uncharacteristically rumpled, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His shoes, usually polished to military standards, were scuffed and caked with mud. The gorgeous athlete she’d married; the man who’d built a successful commercial real estate development company by the time he was thirty-eight, looked defeated and demoralized. Paul identified himself to the receptionist with a stutter that had never been there before. He seemed to shrink into himself a little when he finally made eye contact with Eliana and quickly looked away. He didn’t seem angry. He just looked empty. He took the chair furthest from Eliana and nodded his head nonchalantly in her direction like he was greeting a buddy at a football game. “Hey.” Eliana had wondered how she would react when she finally saw him after more than half a year. And she wasn’t sure what she expected. She felt a boxer in a ring circling the mat with the adversary, both trying to size up the opposition. They’d been married for almost two decades culminating in this sad set of circumstances, and she was furious that he’d thrown away everything they had worked to build. But she was determined, in spite of the anger, to maintain some level of civility. “Hey. How have you been?” “Okay” he said, not looking up. “Hmmm. And how’s… ah… Melissa, right?” The question sounded contrived even to her and she regretted asking the minute the question was out of her mouth even though she took a little pleasure when Paul flinched. “Yeah. Melissa’s okay, I guess.” There wasn’t much else to say so Eliana opted for an awkward silence and Paul followed suit. Eliana was very grateful when Frances Droit walked in the waiting area adding some relief to the pregnant moment. “Good morning, folks. Why don’t you come on back.” The attorney stood to the side holding the door into the ancillary conference room. Eliana was a little put off when Paul stepped in front of her and went through the door first. Mr. Droit seemed just as surprised as Eliana, offering a commiserating smile of apology. Paul plopped down into a chair on the opposite side of the room while Mr. Droit held the chair for Eliana before taking his own seat. “This shouldn’t take too long. I know Ms. Richardson needs to get over to the high school.” “We definitely wouldn’t want to keep anyone at the school waiting.” Mr. Droit raised his eyebrows but continued. “You both should have received the final divorce decree with the amendments we discussed in our last meeting. Unless there are any objections, we’ll get your signatures, and I’ll file the documents this afternoon.” Eliana looked at Paul sadly, once again taking in the full import of what was happening. When Paul didn’t respond, she took the lead. “I am satisfied with the terms indicated in the decree and I’m ready to sign. I’m also prepared to write Paul a check today to buy him out of the house as discussed.” “Paul, are you satisfied with the paperwork?” Paul shrugged noncommittally. “Yeah, sure.” Mr. Droit handed them both pens, called in the receptionist to serve as a witness and indicated where Eliana and Paul were to sign. The receptionist added her signature and Mr. Droit notarized the document. The receptionist made copies for everyone and within minutes Eliana followed her ex-husband out to the parking lot. Eliana took a deep breath and turned to face Paul who was already getting into his car. “That went much faster than I thought it would.” “Yeah. Guess so.” “I assume you’re planning on staying on the island.” “Probably.” “Well, I just want you to know that I’m moving on with my life and I have no interest in creating any drama.” “Appreciate that.” Paul started to get in his car and then changed his mind, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “So, uh, I’ve been thinking. You know the baby’s coming in about two months. I was thinking that maybe I could stop by and pick up some of Deidre’s stuff.” “Wow. Interesting day to ask.” “It’s not like I run into you these days and I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.” “Well, bird or no, I don’t think that’s going to work for me. Sorry.” “Passive aggressive as always.” “And what’s that supposed to mean?” “It means you’re still the self-serving bitch we’ve all come to know.” “Alrighty then. You take care, Paul.” He seemed to grow in stature as he menacingly approached sneering at her. “What? Can’t handle the truth?” This was a side of Paul that she’d only seen once before when a man sitting on a park bench threatened to harm Deidre for throwing a ball that hit his leg. Deidre was three years old. With a heaving chest, Paul pulled the man up by his collar and promised to kill him if he even thought about touching his little girl. Eliana had no doubt that Paul meant what he said, and it took almost two hours for her to calm him down afterwards. Eliana recognized that blank stare and wasn’t interested in trying to talk Paul back down to earth. She jumped in her car and slammed the door, quickly engaging the locks. She started the engine and backed up to leave. With unbelievable speed, Paul rushed to the front of her car and pounded on the hood glaring at her through the windshield. Eliana was so startled by the suddenness of the reverberation from the impact and the level of vitriol that she froze. Spittle flew out of his mouth as he snarled at her with a shaking voice. “This is all your fault! You’re the one who destroyed us!” Every ounce of her was shaking uncontrollably as she gripped the steering wheel and slowly pulled forward. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she also refused to take any more abuse. He eventually stepped out of the way as her bumper pressed into his thighs. Eliana kept looking forward as she drove past, only glancing in her rearview mirror as she got close to the exit. Even from this distance she saw the raw pent-up hatred that he’d barely managed to conceal for years seething through his eyes. And for the first time in years she wasn’t intimidated by this man felt standing in the pouring rain, his fists balled up and his nostril flaring. It was only when a car horn blared that she remembered she was behind the wheel. Eliana slammed on her brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision. She took a cleansing breath, smiled ruefully at the startled driver and after checking both ways this time, she pulled away. Never again was she going to allow Paul to manipulate her or cause her to doubt herself. And regardless of what Paul thought or said, she wouldn’t stop looking for Deidre. Nothing would ever change that. Not Paul or the searing pain that felt like a hot poker beginning to burn its way from the center of her skull out between her eyes. -
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The Humanitarian Cookbook - Post-apocalyptic sci-fi - First 4 pages
OPENING SCENE - Introduces the protagonist, setting and tone, and foreshadows the primary conflict Chapter One Iggy followed an insistent Keandra down the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard, until they finally reached the man being crucified. She pointed up at him and said, “Look.” But Iggy was distracted by the crowd taking in the mid-day action. “There must be thirty people here,” he said, disbelieving. “Not one of which has recognized me, by the way.” He cast a grumpy look around at the dusty assemblage. They gathered in front of the charred remains of an eatery that had been burned to the ground decades before, payback for serving up so many lethal patties, nuggets and milkshakes. All that remained were blackened walls and those soaring golden arches that were occasionally used for a crucifixion or to hang a piñata. Keandra squinted against the sun reflecting off the remaining windows over at Mandalay Bay. “A man’s getting nailed up, and you’re talking about the size of his crowd.” “Nailing him? Nah.” This came from one of the two centurions doling out the punishment. He balanced atop an aluminum ladder while his safety-conscious compatriot braced it for him. “We use zap straps when it’s just a misdemeanor crucifixion.” A teenager in the crowd with a sunburnt nose and a nail-studded baseball bat asked, “What’d he even do?” “Card counting,” snapped the centurion on the ground. “Stealing from Caesar.” Centurions were half soldier, half mascot, in bulky, ancient body armor and motorcycle helmets. Their gear, even the rifles, was covered in faded, flaking gold paint. And a stencil of Caesar’s face smirked out from their chest plates. Of all the casino bosses in Vegas, Caesar had the worst reputation and the best branding. The one up the ladder clunked down to the ground. He left behind a painted cardboard sign hanging around the crucified man’s neck, with tidy painted lettering in, yes, gold. Keandra pointed it out for Iggy. “That’s why I came to get you.” The (alleged) card counter saw Iggy and Keandra peering up at him. He spoke with a voice that sounded thirsty and resigned, even more thirsty and resigned than people in Vegas usually sounded. “What’s it say?” Iggy read the sign aloud. “This Sunday. July 4th BBQ. Caesar’s Palace. Free food. Free booze… Special appearance by celebrity chef Iggy Wiggins.” He turned to the centurions and said, “I don’t understand. Why’s my name on it?” From their expressions, it was clear the centurions numbered among those who didn’t recognize Iggy. “Because I’m absolutely not working for Caesar.” Iggy Wiggins looked to Keandra, maybe for reassurance, or maybe to reassure her. “Never even met the man. For sure, he never asked me to cook at some barbecue for him.” “Caesar doesn’t ask,” said one of the centurions. “I would never…” Iggy shook his head at Keandra. Then read the sign again. “How many people you figure’d come out for something like that?” # Out there somewhere, it was a relentlessly sunny Las Vegas morning. But down here in Treasure Island’s nether regions, the only light came from the occasional LED bulb, powered by a trickle of electricity from geriatric solar panels on the hotel’s roof. Most of the resort’s juice went to what was really important, a quartet of Wheel of Fortune slot machines in the casino, but a few lights got the leftovers. Iggy was near the front of an early-morning lineup of his fellow Islanders. They collectively waited, chatting and bored, in the broad, echoing corridor outside the Nassau Conference Room. His next-door neighbor was right behind him in line. Reginald wasn’t a young man, but he still boasted those lean, muscled arms that everyone except Iggy seemed to have. “Next,” called a voice from inside the conference room. The person at the front of the line hurried in, and everyone shuffled forward a step. Reginald said, “Hope we didn’t keep you up last night.” Iggy thought about denying it, but only for a moment. “Yeah, isn’t she pregnant enough?” “Yvette’s birthday’s coming up fast,” Reginald said. “Wants a party. Like being old and married to me is something to celebrate.” “I heard that.” Yvette eased into line beside her husband. Her red onesie pajamas stretched nervously over her hugely pregnant belly, looking like they might burst a button with every teetering step. “Peeing in this thing is no joke.” “Next!” The voice beckoned again from inside, luring in another from the waiting line. Iggy would be up next. He mouthed his usual silent prayer he wouldn’t pick elevator. Reginald said, “So this party. Can we ask you something?” Iggy lit up. “For my neighbors? Of course. How many invited? And I always suggest finger food, so you don’t have to bring up all that water to wash dishes.” Yvette and Reginald shared a glance, and she said, “We just need to borrow your chairs. You have four of them, doncha?” “Oh. You don’t want me to cook,” Iggy said. “Most of our people haven’t been in Vegas too long,” Reginald said. “You’re not really a thing to them.” “Of course not,” Iggy said tightly. “Next!” Iggy’s turn. He left the hallway to pace across the cavernous, almost empty conference room. A folding table holding a wire bingo cage full of numbered balls waited for him, along with the Scrum Master. She perched behind the table, a well-preserved older woman in a billowy, white silk shirt. Pirate-style. Rumors were rife she had a thing going with the boss of Treasure Island, Captain Stubing. And that’s why she got to be in here every morning doling out grueling tasks to the other residents, while she sat in a comfortable chair with ample lumbar support. With eyes shut, Iggy poked a hand into the metal basket and pulled out a ball. ‘Casino bartender – day shift’. It would be a tedious twelve hours, but at least he wouldn’t be in the basement, tug-o-warring an elevator up and down all day. The Scrum Master inspected the ball then scribbled his job for the day on a sticker, right under where it said, ‘Hello my name is’. She gave it to him and said, “Bell desk. One hour.” The neighbor couple got on the same elevator to head back upstairs. Reginald couldn’t hide his grin. “Croupier! Something that isn’t garbage-related…” Yvette was pleased, too. “She says I’m too pregnant for Service, finally. She said she doesn’t want my water breaking all over the customers.” Yvette put both hands on the stretched flannel. “And once the baby comes, I get to roll to see how many weeks of mat leave I get!” They arrived back to their floor after an unusually jaunty elevator ride. A young kid, flush-faced and out of breath, waited outside Iggy’s door. He was a newspaper delivery orphan, dressed in yellow neon from head to toe. The paper had adopted the recognizable, high-visibility gear after a few accidental shootings during early morning deliveries. These incidents had been a problem ever since ‘Stand your ground’ was officially adopted as one of the church’s 19 Commandamendments. When the neon-clad boy spotted them, he spoke up. “Message for Iggy Wiggins. You’re him, right?” Iggy nodded. He could see Reginald and Yvette pause outside their next-door room to eavesdrop. “Manali wants to see you down at The Tribune right away.” Iggy’s brain lurched forward an excited gear or two. “What about? Did she say?” “Nope.” The kid turned and hurried away down the hall, calling out every few yards, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Right away. Iggy turned to Reginald and Yvette, moved towards them. “Of course, you can borrow my chairs. I just need a tiny favor. Just until I get back from this meeting. I have to go right away, you heard.” Yvette looked down at the sticker as Iggy stuck it on her pregnant stomach: ‘Hello my name is Casino bartender.’ She started to say, “But what if my water-“ Iggy called back over his shoulder as he hurried away. “And I’ll cater your party, too. No charge.” Reginald said, “We don’t need-” “No charge!” -
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Write to Pitch 2024 - June
FIRST ASSIGNMENT: Write your story statement. “Join an order of mythical warriors just in time to meet the reason why the world believes they are only a legend.” SECOND ASSIGNMENT: In 200 words or less, sketch the antagonist or antagonistic force in your story. Keep in mind their goals, their background, and the ways they react to the world about them. Alizar comes from the oldest bloodline in the world of Dais. His kind was gifted with unending life… if they chose to live peacefully. Now he seeks to counterfeit the longevity he lost through any means necessary. There are several things that could stand in his way. He’s destroyed most of them. His greatest threat is an order of warriors that is almost extinct. So he’s sending an army to make it so. THIRD ASSIGNMENT: Create a breakout title (list several options, not more than three, and revisit to edit as needed). A LIGHT INTO DARKNESS THE PALLADIUM FOURTH ASSIGNMENT: Develop two smart comparables for your novel. This is a good opportunity to immerse yourself in your chosen genre. Who compares to you? And why? Comps: “Uprooted” - Naomi Novik BECAUSE: Genre, Hero’s Journey, Setting, Demographic Readers, Ease of read, Character dynamics, Character growth “The Demon Awakens” - RA Salvatore BECAUSE: Genre, Hero’s Journey, Setting, Epic Quest, Worldbuilding, Cliffhanger (sequels) X and Y: “Uprooted by Naomi Novik, only it’s a boy becoming a fantasy-jedi-monk instead of a witch.” FIFTH ASSIGNMENT: Write your own hook line (logline) with conflict and core wound following the format above. Though you may not have one now, keep in mind this is a great developmental tool. In other words, you best begin focusing on this if you're serious about commercial publication. Hook line: “A boy sets out to become one of the legendary warriors the world believes are myth just in time to meet the forces pursuing their extinction.” SIXTH ASSIGNMENT: sketch out the conditions for the inner conflict your protagonist will have. Why will they feel in turmoil? Conflicted? Anxious? Sketch out one hypothetical scenario in the story wherein this would be the case--consider the trigger and the reaction. Next, likewise sketch a hypothetical scenario for the "secondary conflict" involving the social environment. Will this involve family? Friends? Associates? What is the nature of it? Elias is just a boy from a fishing village. All his life his favorite thing has been collecting the stories and legends from all over the world from the fishermen that come to port in his village. He loves them all, but especially the ones about the warriors called “Palladium”. They say the greatest Palladium acolytes only take three years to be forged into one of the legendary warriors. When Elias goes to become a palladium the villains from the same legends he loves arrive in one. The master Palladium who train the acolytes are affected by a malaise. The world believes the Palladium are either extinct or just a legend. The masters have begun to resign to that fate. Elias must navigate the treacherous life of a student learning from masters who believe they are already defeated. Luckily Elias isn’t the only acolyte seeking to become a Palladium. Suva has been there already for several years, slowly reinvigorating the light inside the Palladium masters. Just when Suva and Elias are able to express their feelings for one another Suva finishes her training and must return home to tend to the reason she became a Palladium in the first place. SEVENTH ASSIGNMENT: sketch out your setting in detail. What makes it interesting enough, scene by scene, to allow for uniqueness and cinema in your narrative and story? Please don't simply repeat what you already have which may well be too quiet. You can change it. That's why you're here! Start now. Imagination is your best friend, and be aggressive with it. The world of Dais exists under a great firmament – an invisible wall that separates the world from the heavens. The people have discovered a magic where they sublimate precious metal, turning it into a gas that rises to the firmament where it reforms as the precious metal, clinging to the invisible wall. While precious metals can still be mined, it’s now more practical for prospectors to predict when and where the metal will fall from the heavens back to the earth. The sublimation magic may seem available to everyone – but in practice it’s available to the wealthy. Kings now use their armies to roam abroad, fighting for territory they predict the precious metals will land in. This cataclysmic shift in priorities for rulers has changed the world dramatically. Before the sublimation magic there were four ancient kingdoms. Now there are just tenuous alliances between bellicose warlords. The protagonist loves the stories now considered just legends from the times before the sublimation magic. Stories of the Virtu kings: the Lions of the West. Or the slate-black monsters called “salari”, avarice incarnate. But most of all – the warriors who wield the light of god in their crystalline daggers – the Palladium. The Palladium are forged on a secret island in the greatest ocean. Only one man on one boat can make it to the Shining Isle. In old times he would travel the coast, stopping at guarded shrines where the prospective acolytes would gather hoping to prove their mettle and be granted passage to the island. The Shining Isle is a utopia for warriors, craftsmen, and monks. A volcanic atoll formed the grounds to train the greatest warriors in the world. The island is singularly abundant with the best resources and facilities to make artifacts fit for legends. And beneath it all is a secret very few have ever seen. -
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The Cruise Diaries: A memoir of a cruise ship videographer; New Adult Fiction, romance
I have my whole book written and edited, but I'm excited to work on it more during the conference. First two pages of book: Part 1 October 30th, 2019: Fort Lauderdale My eyes trail around the crew bar as I take another swig of my Johnny Walker scotch. Who is going to be the chosen boy tonight? On my final night of my contract? Tyla has been throwing “thirsty eyes” at me all night. He probably expects it since we've been seeing each other on and off for three months and it's our last night on this ship. He's headed for London and I'm going home to Virginia. But... no. Tyla's not exciting enough. This is my last night. I take another sloppy swig out of the bottle in my hand as my eyes continue to scan. Where is Justin? He doesn’t even show up for my leaver’s night? My last night on ships? We’d had a couple nights together and I was hopeful this would be our last… …That little flirt is probably on his next conquest. He is such a charming Dutch boy… and those dimples… “Hey.” I turn around. Dani. Lena’s boyfriend. A forbidden “no-no.” The photography power couple on our ship are notorious for their corridor fights where Lena yells Ukrainian profanity at him, as he bellows back defensively in his deep Zimbabwean vibrato. But she went home for vacation, and I don’t even know their relationship status. I look into his deep, preying eyes. I knew this was going to happen. I could feel it ever since he came onboard to join her on the ship; touching my hand in the photo gallery as she turned her head, whispering in my ear in the back of the gallery in a predatory manner. He grabs the bottle of Johnny Walker from my hand and takes a sip, his eyes still on me. I hold his gaze. I’m too tipsy to look and see who is around, too tired from my six month contract to feel emotions of right or wrong. I’m just following this euphoric feeling of intense attention. The bar is a blur to me now. “Follow me,” he says, darkly. He walks out the bar and I smoothly follow behind him. I leave all my friends, the party they threw me, the piñata I still had to hit, all the normal fun that should satisfy me, everything; because this is “ship-life” and I can always up the stakes. He snakes me through the corridors to his cabin and I follow in search of forbidden fruit. Even though I know it might be rotten, I feel like I need to taste it to find out. The last night of my last contract keeps replaying in my head as I find myself walking the ship gangway with my luggage for the fourth time, expecting this to be my home for the next six months. I look up at the vessel, noticing the Bermuda flag perched in the back, a lofty reminder of the amount of money the company saves each year on paying taxes and proper employee wages that would be required if they were flagged in the USA. The sinking feeling in my stomach erupts with hardening nausea. I can’t believe I am here again.
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