tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72934027148321773612024-03-13T21:57:34.075-07:00Mirror, Mirror, Who's the Next to Die?A novel set in the present day Chicago and Chicago in the year 1923. A serial killer is on the lose now and the case is eerily similar to a cold case from 1923.Cher'leyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135360082307967914noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293402714832177361.post-75112716038343139542011-03-10T13:51:00.000-08:002011-03-10T13:51:32.464-08:00Mirror Prologue-1st 3 Paragraphs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Mirror, Mirror--Who's the Next to Die</div><div style="text-align: center;">Prologue</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> The nose that pressed against the glass at O'Hare International belonged to an normal looking man who kept his eyes glued to the plane as it landed smoothly and taxied up to the terminal.<br />
<br />
He looked like any professional commuting from city to city, nothing remarkable stood out. Nothing remarkable, except for his intense stare, the way he lowered his chin, and the pucker of his mouth as he pressed his upper lip over his lower lip. He did this when he was concentrating hard, like some people stick their tongue out the side of their mouth when performing a difficult task. His lip action forced the flesh of his lower lip between his teeth. He ignored the pain as he bit the inside of his lip and his concentration remained unbroken as his clenched fist caused his fingernails to dig into his soft, smooth palms.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> His heart quickened as he waited for Maria Gonzales to file out with the other<br />
passengers. They looked like cattle going to slaughter. He could be watching for any of<br />
them. She deserved the title of Miss New Mexico, and she deserved more. He'd give her<br />
more. If she would accept it, he'd give her more.<br />
</div>Cher'leyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135360082307967914noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293402714832177361.post-3613157148116842392011-03-06T06:42:00.000-08:002011-03-06T06:42:06.740-08:00Ist Paragraph of Mirror, Mirror--Who's the Next to Die<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 32px;">Mirror, Mirror--Who's the Next to Die</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">Prologue</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The plane landed smoothly and taxied up to the terminal at O'Hare International. The medium height-medium sized man blended in with the crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked like any professional man commuting from city to city, nothing remarkable stood out.<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> N</span></span><span class="modif"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">othing remarkable, e</span></span><span class="punctuation"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">xcept</span></span><span class="punctuation"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";"> for his intense stare, the way</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";">he lowered his chin, and the way he pulled his upper lip over his lower lip. He didn't notice the slight pain as he bit the inside of his lip or the pain from his clenched fist as his fingernails dug into his soft, smooth palms. His concentration remained unbroken.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div>Cher'leyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135360082307967914noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293402714832177361.post-62796099940966078082010-04-07T18:58:00.000-07:002010-04-07T18:58:28.001-07:00Pick Which Novel Beginning You Like the Best<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jill is more business than frill. She can joke and carry on with the best of them, but she usually chooses not to, unless she is trying to get information from someone or she's trying to get someone to do something for her. She was raised with four brothers and learned quickly that sugar worked better than vinegar. </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have three possible starts on Jill's story. Which one do you like the best?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#1<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;">I'm not a big fan of task forces. Grimes, my SAC, should have left me at headquarters, but instead I'm sharing a break room with the uniforms. He promised we wouldn't be here long, just until we got this case solved. Cops from every department want these murders to stop. I probably want the murderer caught more than anyone, but still I long to work from my own office. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A petite, dark haired uniform interrupted my train of thought with her clamorous giggle. With a poignant look at her, I held my head high, turned the corner and exited the room. My heart clutched when I hit a wet spot and skidded. I recovered and looked around, no one in sight. The door had slammed behind me. </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#2<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I turned, twisted and tucked my thick, unruly hair under the blond wig. The band snapped when I pulled the fake hair forward. I growled under my breath. It's a bad habit to stick your tongue out when performing a difficult task, but I always have. Mom would say, "Jill McKeel, someday you're going to bite that tongue off." Ignoring my inner mother, I stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth and with one last pull, whammo, the wig slid into place, almost. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">#3<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The plane landed at O'Hara and the beautiful Maria Gonzales looked in awe at the collection of people rushing from one place to another. Zuzak, New Mexico seemed far away. She spotted a woman who looked<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>like her mother, short and round, straight dark hair, rich cocoa colored skin<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and an eternal smile. Maria smiled at her and she nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Maria said, "Buenos Diaz."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The smile broadened and she replied, "Buenos Diaz, Senorita." <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_riFSlLgIMok/S702epyIUdI/AAAAAAAAADM/rkMaTo7wadk/s1600/Mexican+woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_riFSlLgIMok/S702epyIUdI/AAAAAAAAADM/rkMaTo7wadk/s200/Mexican+woman.jpg" width="96" /></a><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At first glance the tall, slim, light-comple</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">xioned</span><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"> Maria didn't look like a Spanish-American, and even though she was born and raised in America she still had a faint Spanish accent. She looked for the shuttle that would be taking her to her hotel. She had never been this far from home, she bit her lip as she tried to decide which way to go. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She thought she heard her name being called and turned toward the person. A flash went off in her face and people were running towards her with microphones, cam-corders and cameras. She raised her arm over her eyes to ward off the bright bursts of light. She had become popular in New Mexico and had done several interviews, but she hadn't dreamed that people would know who she was in Chicago. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Maria, my beauty, look my way. If it is possible to will someone to look in a certain direction I will you to look at me. Please, just give me some kind of acknowledgement. Surely you remember me." <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No one hears me. They probably think I'm talking into one of those tiny Bluetooth cell phone headsets. "Do you hear me, my lovely?"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Please leave me a comment and I'd love for you to follow me. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="X-NONE" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: X-NONE;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
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</div>Cher'leyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135360082307967914noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293402714832177361.post-78293957119700812822010-03-07T08:08:00.000-08:002010-03-07T08:10:41.455-08:00Heroine in Mirror, Mirror--Who's the Nest to Die<b>Questions answered about Jill's life </b><br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_riFSlLgIMok/S5PN-ap4ZNI/AAAAAAAAADE/OnUypqZf1C4/s1600-h/Mirror+Jack%27s+daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_riFSlLgIMok/S5PN-ap4ZNI/AAAAAAAAADE/OnUypqZf1C4/s200/Mirror+Jack%27s+daughter.jpg" width="122" /></a>Hi, my name's Jill (Jillian) McKeel and I'm tough. That is I'm tough in a physical sort of way. Five foot two, eyes of blue—my mom used to sing that song, but my eyes are brown. I'm thin and thin skinned, but I get over it quickly. Don't hurt my feelings; I'll get even. Other than that, I'm a pretty good person. Not real good, but pretty good. I love children, well most children, some children I don't love, but I love Vicky. Vicky is my partner's daughter; she is an adorable five-year-old. Vicky loves me. <br />
<br />
I work for the FBI, but not in the normal sense. I'm on a special team. I actually work undercover and my cover is being an FBI agent. I can turn on the charm when it's necessary, but in my opinion, it's not usually necessary. One of those makeover shows on TV would have a blast with me. Challenge is my middle name. <br />
<br />
I'm out of here. I have killers to catch.<br />
<br />
You check back later to find out more about my life, you hear. Did I mention, I like to be funny.Cher'leyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135360082307967914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293402714832177361.post-82605000138671577002009-10-27T18:18:00.000-07:002009-10-27T20:48:09.899-07:00Mirror, Mirror, Who's the Next to Die?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_riFSlLgIMok/Sueci0zsmKI/AAAAAAAAACo/I24zzLcF0rc/s1600-h/Cher%27ley+1923+Flapper+Style.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 143px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_riFSlLgIMok/Sueci0zsmKI/AAAAAAAAACo/I24zzLcF0rc/s200/Cher%27ley+1923+Flapper+Style.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397454800531789986" /></a><br />
<br />
The Novel "Mirror, Mirror, Who's the Next to Die?" begins each chapter with a 1923 definition. This is such a fun era. Here's a couple of clips from chapter one. <br />
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Flapper: A stylish, brash, hedonistic young woman with short skirts and shorter hair. <br />
<br />
I liked the way this red dress fit me. I turned quickly, the fringe wrapped around my body. Giggling I turned the other way and the fringe followed. I looked at my backside in the mirror, not bad, certainly nothing like a guy's rear end.<br />
<br />
"You're the bee's knees, girlie." A voice came out of nowhere and scared me nearly to death.<br />
<br />
My first thought was of my Glock, which was never far from me. <br />
<br />
Now a few questions for you. What do you think of my Flapper's Costume? I love to wear it, listen to Jazz, dance the Charleston and be surrounded by fun things from this era. My husband, Del, buys me little trinkets that remind him of 1923.<br />
<br />
Do you have a Flapper hair cut? Don't think you do. You may be surprised. A little hair gel and tadda!<br />
What is your favorite song from that time? <br />
How about your favorite saying? <br />
<br />
Jill McKeel jumps back into 1923 and back into the present. She does get a little frightened, but she overcomes it. She'll do anything, well, almost anything to solve a crime. <br />
<br />
This blog is basically under construction and I'd love to have some feedback from you. What would you like to see here? Stop by often and don't forget to click follow.Cher'leyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135360082307967914noreply@blogger.com14