The Writer's Life 4/12 - Novel Excerpt

I shifted my schedule a bit because of the rain, opening the book shop almost two hours later than usual. Unfortunately, no one was interested in the fantastic wares that cover the most popular authors, an excellent selection of children's books, and an impressive array of non-fiction. If the forecast is correct, there will be a long stretch of great weather. I look forward to it.

Here's an excerpt from the novel I'm re-working. The protagonist is just back from Vietnam, where he suffered non-life-threatening injuries. It is the beginning of part two:

   “Hear ye not the hum of mighty workings?” – John Keats

   It was a cold, cloudy morning. A sprinkling of snow flurries brightened the otherwise bleak winter landscape. Tom shivered, teeth shattering, as he walked to Brown Hall, the site of the university’s school of literature. Despite the early hour and frigid temperature, the campus was rife with the activity of students parading to classes. Looking into the distance, he paused, suddenly overwhelmed, feeling out of place, the contrast between what he had experienced the past year and his current situation mind-boggling. He avoided eye contact, especially with women.

   Geez, get a hold of yourself, he thought; nobody’s shooting at you.

   His attitude toward school had changed completely. After the first semester of his freshman year, he’d rarely scheduled a class before ten. As an athlete he was allowed to register early. The idea of an eight o’clock class had been anathema. Now, a few years older and, hopefully, wiser, he planned to take advantage of this privilege.

   He trudged up the four flights of stairs, holding on to the railing lest he suffer a dizzy spell. Pride would not allow him to ride the elevator. His pulse quickened as he approached the classroom. As he entered, he noted an interesting cross section of students. Unlike the undergraduate school, where 99% of the students were of the same peer group, the graduate school consisted of people of various ages. There were a number of middle age women present. He assumed they were moms whose education had been interrupted by the rearing of children. He wondered if his classmates entertained fantasies of becoming a successful author. Would any, including himself, go further than teacher, composing poetry and prose that would disappoint them?

Vic's Short Works: http://tinyurl.com/jy55pzc

Vic's 5th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/okxkwh5Vic's 4th novel: tinyurl.com/bszwlxh

Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3

Vic's Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
Vic's Short Story Collection: http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tiny.cc/0iHLb Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kx3d3uf
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tinyurl.com/l84h63j

Website: http://vicfortezzaauthor.my-free.website/