It's August and even the prolific Michelle Scott is struggling to put words to screen. I belong to a writers group on Linkedin where someone started this thread of 'tell me the first two lines of the book you're currently working on." Which sounds a whole lot easier than actually writing those two lines. But personally, I don't think two lines - even great ones - can sell a book, but a paragraph? That's another story. So, since I'm as stuck as Michelle, let's see if this already written opening paragraph does the trick. Just fill out the little comment thingie at the bottom of the post. And I hope you and your dog have a real nice August.
Nightfall in Neuilly
SYLVIE DELACOURT USED HER MOBILE PHONE five times the February night she was killed. France Telecom logged the calls at 2:17, 2:23, 2:29, 2:46 and 2:51 in the morning. The calls were placed from her car as she sped down the A-1 from Charles de Gaulle to her apartment in Neuilly-sur-Seine, the chichi suburb that abuts the 17th arrondissement, separated from Paris only by the Périphérique, the insanely clogged highway that circles the city. The first call was to her audit colleagues in Ciudad Juárez, the second to her office in La Defense, the third to the agency that handles her apartment, and the last two to Christopher Reardon, her lover. She told the auditors she was not returning to Mexico, her boss that she was resigning immédiatement, the agency that she would be out of town for an indefinite period, and she twice begged Reardon to take an earlier flight to Paris. All five calls rolled to voice mail. The auditors were at dinner, the boss asleep, the agency closed. And Reardon? He was in an outdoor hot tub on the snowy shores of Lake Michigan, making love to a tall blonde named Karen
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