|Posted by Kaylim on November 2, 2014 at 10:00 AM|
Newest to my novella family is "Hands of the Deep", a mystery/thriller thing I've been trying to write for probably the past like...five years. I recently got fired up about the novella again and did some serious plotting, so I decided it's going to be my 2014 Nanowrimo novel.
The novel is pretty freaking awesome in my opinion (obviously I'm biased, but hey) because it features characters who deal with some physical, mental and emotional challenges. They've got issues to work through, both on a personal level and on a solve-the-murder-mystery level. There's also some action (like boat crashes and cliff diving), a sprinkle of romance, a seance or two, and a pretty heavy focus on history and the way it shapes a town and the people who live in it.
Summary: Alexander, a man recovering from a vicious attack, seeks peace and relaxation in a historic resort; but when he saves the life of a fellow guest, he’s pulled into a dangerous, desperate search for a fabled treasure. As he uncovers the mysteries of murders and loot, he must be careful who he trusts, or his own dark secrets will come to light.
The night his life changes forever, he’s walking near the bay and the bright, gritty lights of street clubs blind him. He’s stumbling down the street, lost among the secondhand smoke and honk of car horns, and doesn’t even realize trouble is coming his way until a fist runs into his mouth. He can’t fight through his alcohol induced haze, and so the demons lurking on shadowy street corners easily pull him into the darkness with them.
It was supposed to be a night of celebration.
After they’re through with him, they drag him down chipped concrete sidewalks to the churning sea. He’s tossed overboard, rolling in the waves as easily as a grain of sand on the beach. The blood in his mouth doesn’t allow him to breathe and the burning in his hands doesn’t allow him to swim.
He remembers everything from that night.
He knows how much he drank and what brand; he can recall the name of the street; he can still feel ghostly sensations of boots and broken bottles; the smell of gasoline haunts his nightmares. Most of all, he remembers the sea, the sting of salt and the crushing darkness, the sound of his own heartbeat above the sound of waves, the weight and pull of the force of the tides.
There is only one thing he cannot remember from that night, something nobody has been able to tell him, something he doesn’t remember even in his most vivid of nightmares or pleasant of dreams.
Whose hands pulled him from the deep?