First Chapters #firstchapters refers to the first chapter in this book.
Blurb: Lincoln McLaren is an eccentric mystery author who lives in a big house on the hill. Known to his neighbors as the creepy recluse, he keeps his distance from the public and relies on his long-time housekeeper and his latest assistant. His world is turned upside down when a serial killer starts using his novels, as a murder map. Not everyone understands his ways, especially his comfortableness with his own nudity. One woman, who desperately wants to get close to him, is willing to do take him as he is, if only he’d let her.
Link reevaluates his life and his relationships as more bodies are dropping, close to home. Will he revert to his old self and have a nervous breakdown or will he be able to keep his sanity, as he becomes their number one suspect?
Chapter One
It was a day like any other day … that was the problem. Damn! He stared at the words that he just typed. What the hell am I doing? He wearily rubbed his eyes and positioned his fingers over the worn keys of the manual typewriter. It was a day like any other day … at least that’s what she thought when she opened the shades and stared out the window. Damn! He pulled the paper out of the typewriter. It zipped loudly as it rolled out of the machine. “I’ll never get this!” he screamed. “Mr. Wyatt,” Owen ran into the room. “What’s the problem?” He turned and looked at his assistant. “I am in the middle of a work of … crap! Why do you call me Mr. Wyatt?” “That’s what you told me to call you when you are working on your novels, sir,” he said. “Am I doing something wrong?” “Owen, I apologize,” he said. “Yes, when I am in the middle of working on something, call me Mr. Wyatt or Tristan, but I am not in the middle. I am trying to get started.” “Mr. Link,” he said, as he looked around at the cluttered walls of the cold, drafty room. “It’s either Link or Mr. McLaren. Not Mr. Link,” he cried. “Makes me sound like a chain or something. I am not in the best of moods right now, Owen. Did you interrupt my yelling for a reason?” “Yes, a package came for you,” he said. “I am sure it’s your latest, Cries of a River.” “Ah, yes, one of my favorites,” he said, as Owen handed him the brown box addressed to Mr. Tristan Wyatt. He opened the box and pulled out four copies of the book. “One for you, one for Tyler, one for Sally, and one for Purdy.” “Sir? Purdy?” “Yes,” he said. “Never you mind who she is. Confused?” “Um, no, I guess not. I never heard you mention her before,” Owen said. “Don’t you keep a copy for yourself?” he pointed to the large bookshelf that was filled with novels written by Tristan Wyatt. “Yes, there is a fifth one in the box,” he said. “It’ll just collect dust like the other ones. Oh, on your way out, please grab me three more ribbons for my typewriter.” “Won’t you ever go electronic?” “I have that dusty old computer that never wants to turn on when I press the button, but I like my typewriter. It speaks to me, and allows my mind to speak to it,” he smiled. “Now, if it would just listen to what I have to say. Owen, I will see you tomorrow. Please, put Purdy’s copy of my book on the desk in the living room. I have much work to do. My mind does not rest until I complete the first chapter. Right now, I cannot finish the first paragraph.” “Yes, sir,” he said. “Shall I tell Sally that you want to have dinner in here?” “Tell her that I’ll eat in the dining room later.” “Yes, sir,” Owen carried the two books out of the room. Link, or Lincoln, proudly penned the name Tristan Wyatt, the author of ten best-selling murder mystery novels. He was a proud man who was particular about everything in his life. He did not like change and was set in his ways … but only when he was in the middle of writing. Lincoln McLaren inherited the large, dank house from his late wife, who died 10 years prior. He still speaks with Purdy and misses her dearly. The room at the top of the stairs is her sewing room. When he is finished with the first draft, he sits in her sewing room with her for three days. Link hired Owen Stamos three months ago when he realized that he needed an assistant, again. With his mind running rapidly with the great mysteries of death, he could not always remember what to do in his daily life, such as eating, sleeping, or even getting dressed. Link believes that on some days clothes inhibit his thinking process, however, Sally, his housekeeper and cook, does not believe that.
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Hope you enjoyed chapter one of "Shattered Pages." You can purchase the book to finish by clicking on the book cover.