No, really: Immortality. And I got it on the cheap. Guess the market’s a little soft.
Any writer can offer immortality by printed word (mwa-ha-ha!), but this time it’s from friend Jodi MacArthur. I adore her spooky stories. And for a nice donation to the EPLF, she wrote me into one. I’m so excited to read it! My foray into fictional characterhood apparently involves being a librarian. (I’m good with that.)
Here’s a teaser, to whet thine appetite:
There is you. Then there’s the promise of who you could be. But what if you aren’t who you think you are? Margo Gremmler bends the rules to get by. The only way to make an honest living is to be criminal. The drawback?
Guilt can be a bitch.
And a quick excerpt:
“We received some information last night-”
Phillips cocked his head to the side. “That someone was dealing drugs out of this house.”
The silence was thick. She could hear the grandfather clock tick, tick, tick.
“Oh,” Margo smiled and shrugged. “I’m just a librarian.”