The club Alice had chosen, Dashabout, was higher scale than many of the dives they’d visited, or in a few cases, were working at. It was frequented not just by lowly college students out to score cheap drinks and get laid, but also by an older, more sophisticated crowd of graduates… who were looking to score cheap drinks and get laid. The fake ID’s Nick had proved the previous year came in handy, as the bouncers actually looked at the identification presented to them, rather than merely making sure it was plastic and rectangular.
“I’m not coming out,” Chad said, his voice echoing through the Melbrook common room despite speaking through the closed door to boy’s lounge. “I was misled on my costume and I feel it is inappropriate to walk around in.”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport,” Angela called. Her own costume was a mystery, as she was wearing a long blue robe over the length of her body. The only clue the others had was that her blonde hair was teased up in a messy bundle. Otherwise, she was totally concealed.
So, as many of you know, for the last 6 months or so I’ve been spending all my time working full-time on books, meaning I’ve been effectively working from home for half a year. Despite what many people, myself included, think about this situation, it actually turns out to be a lot different than I anticipated. How? Well, for starters:I still set an alarm clock
The bar was full for a late-October weekday, but not so packed that empty seats were unobtainable. Some were unoccupied only for a moment, while others seemed to have a cloud of danger wafting over them, driving away all but the most determined of souls. One such table held the strongest of these auras. Though it was, ostensibly, designed to accommodate four people, only one woman was currently seated there. She sipped slowly on a glass of white wine as she flipped idly through the pages in her book.
“Okay, so far confirmed we have Thomas, Violet, Jill, Will, Camille, Adam, Alex, Angela, and Shane, while Sasha, Britney, and Amber are all maybes,” Alice surmised, running down the small list jotted on the yellow legal pad in her hand.
Alright guys, I won’t mince words or do a long opener before getting to the meat of this announcement, because it is big, possibly the biggest I’ve ever done.
The site is moving. As of February 17, 2014, drewhayes.digitalnovelists.com will no longer host new content or updates, it will only be a redirect page. The new site, www.drewhayesnovels.com, is already live, and will henceforth be the home of all my writings and books.
So, let’s hit this in order of most likely questions
Why the move?
Every now and then, I get asked is for general advice about writing. Not how to set up sentence structure or how to spot typos (obviously), but just how to be a better writer overall. Anyone who read my last post on writing here knows that if I could say one thing it would be this: Write. Write all the damn time. Improve by doing, that’s the most honest advice anyone can give you about anything.
“Vince, can we talk?”
Vince was surprised to see Thomas waiting for him, the caramel-skinned fellow student patiently positioned outside of the gym. Despite his claims that he held no ill-will toward Vince from their earlier encounters, the two hadn’t spoken as much during the semester’s first weeks. It could have been time constraints, with training and a new job Vince certainly had less available, but something told him there was more to it.
“Sure,” Vince said.
Mr. Transport had the fork, laden with pasta and sauce, halfway to his mouth when his phone rang. This was not the ringtone he used for his general calls, nor the flippant one he’d assigned Mr. Numbers, nor even the festive one he had rigged to ring when Sally Daniels called him. This was a ringtone associated with a single number, a line only used in very certain circumstances. His fork clattered to the plate as Mr. Transport grabbed his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear.
“Transport,” he said quickly.