# I'm working on a novel



## sargentodiaz (Dec 18, 2018)

and would like some input. I've worked and reworked this opening chapter a whole lot of times and this is my umteenth try and it. I would love your reactions to and comments about it.

Tsalagi Tales
A Warrior's Journey

Chapter One

The foreman awoke to the sounds of horses neighing and kicking in their stalls.
They were terrified.
“Is that pack of wolves sneaking around again?” Andy asked himself. Alarm filled him when he saw flickering lights of flames filling his room in the ranch bunkhouse.
He rose, stepped into his worn Levis and boots He ran to the door into the stables to discover the cause of their panic. He smelled smoke and yelled at three hands, “Fire! Get your butts up!” He wondered why the newly-installed smoke detectors had not warned them.
Andy gasped in horror when he saw the main house engulfed in flames. Hundred-year-old wood crackled, feeding the ravenous fire. The hands joined him and he shouted,  “George, let the horses out of their stalls and shoo them into the north pasture.” He then yelled at the other two, “Get the fire hoses. It’s too late for the house, so wet down the barn and stables.” He paused. “And don’t forget the haystacks.”
Andy ran to the house to see if there was anything he could do. His heart filled with hope as he saw Greg and Madge in an upstairs window. They had something wrapped in a blanket, swinging it back and forth, preparing to throw it away from the flames.
He ran to a spot beneath the window and shouted. “To me! Throw it to me!”
They appeared to not see or hear him, their eyes filled with smoke, the roaring of the flames drowning out his voice.
He did his best to judge the arc of the bundle but the toe of his boot caught the log siding of the horseshoe pit. He fell and saw the bundle hit the ground. He gazed up at the house. Both figures were gone.
Andy stumbled to the bundle and knelt, carefully unwrapping it. It was Rosy, the little Philippine girl who the Daniel’s had adopted.  
She did not stir.
She did not breathe.
Andy checked. There was no pulse.  
The horrid angle of her neck told him why.
_Tsi-sdu_, The Trickster, had once again done his worst.
Anger filled Red-Tailed Hawk’s Cherokee veins and he cursed the fates that had caused the death of the little girl.
A wet nose muzzled his hand away from the body as Lilly, the Golden Retriever, came to grieve over the little human she loved as one of her own. Andy gently stroked the dog’s head and rose, watching the animal settle next to Rosy, softly licking her face and hand.
 “She’s trying to bring her back.”
Lilly would stand guard.
The fiery structure gave out a mighty groan and the second floor buckled, crashing into the inferno below.
Andy thought he heard screams.
A moment later, the roof followed, sending a volcano of sparks into the night sky. The hundred-year-old Tulip Poplar on the north side of the house crackled and hissed as limbs and branches blackened. Many leaves sparkled with tonguelets of flame.
Sitting on his heels, the foreman gazed at the inferno through tear-stained eyes.
 “Jimmy? Where’s Jimmy?”
Andy couldn’t figure what had happened to the boy.  
 “Whatever did, he wouldn’t let himself get trapped in a fire like that. He didn’t spend all those years on the streets of Saigon without know how to survive.”
He silently chided himself for his dislike of the boy. The Daniels had adopted the boy and tried to treat him like a member of the family. That he was disobedient and rebellious made no difference to them. He was their responsibility.
Andy rose and trudged to the other farm hands trying to keep other structures from burning.  
Nobody said a word.
George had called nine-eleven. The Townsend volunteer fire department arrived and Bill Martin drove the pumper close enough to hook the two hoses to the pump house outlets. In seconds, the veteran firefighters saw there was little they could do. Bill signaled to his men. “We can only keep the fire limited to the house. Use one hose to douse the poplar and keep the garage from burning.”
The sun turned the tops of the Smokies’ golden browns and bright yellow greens.
A police car raced down the dirt road without his lights and siren. The sheriff pulled up beside the fire engine and struggled his six foot, five-inch frame out of the patrol car. He noticed the Marysville ambulance pulling in behind him. “What we got here, Bill?” His voice came out bleak and hopeless.
 “I don’t think it was an accident, Jeb.” The fire chief looked up into the dark face of the sheriff. “Burned too quick and appears the entire first floor burned pretty hot.”
 “Arson?”
 “That’s what I guess. Better get an investigator out here. You need to call your boys to mark it off as a crime scene.”
Sheriff Selkirk trusted his long-time friend and returned to his patrol car, leaning in to call his dispatcher.
A van from WTNZ, the Fox station in Knoxville, pulled up. The well-known local news babe leapt out and, followed by her cameraman, ran up to the sheriff towering over her. “Sheriff, is it true this is arson?”
 “Who told you that? We haven’t yet determined the cause.”  Sheriff Selkirk controlled his temper and added, “At the moment, we’re investigating this tragic fire. We’re asking the state to send an arson investigator and won’t know anything until he’s finished.”
The reporter continued to ply him with questions. How many died? Who reported the fire?  
All questions Selkirk fended off.
Two of his deputies arrived and he had them seal off the house with yellow crime scene tape. He then established a line to keep the arriving press and other lookie-loos away.
The house was now nothing but a pile of smoking rubble so Andy and the others stowed their hoses. The sheriff walked over to the group and addressed the foreman. “Well, Iron Eagle, what do you know about this?”
 “Damn it, Jeb, you know I hate that name. Call me Andy.”
 “No harm meant, Andy. You just sorta got that name ‘cause of your service in the air force.”
 “I hated that damned, phony movie.” He told the sheriff everything he’d seen, leading him over to where the little girl lay under a blanket the emergency medical techs had covered her with. Andy bent down and softly patted Lilly’s head, wondering if she was going to let anybody take Rosy away. “Isn’t a crime scene group coming for this?”
Jeb sharply looked at Andrew. “Why should they do that?”
 “It’s a crime scene ain’t it? That was no damned accident! Not the way the whole first floor burned that way.”
The sheriff nodded, calling over the emergency medical techs to stop the search. “We’ll let the crime lab boys and the coroner take care of it.” He turned back to Andy. “What happened to the girl?”
Andy groaned. “The boss and the missus, when he saw there was no escape, threw her out the bedroom window. I guess they figured a broken bone or two was better than burning to death.”
The foreman fought back tears. “I tried to catch her, Jeb. But, like an idiot, I didn’t watch where I was going and fell over the d…. edge of the horseshoe pit. By the time I made it to her, she was gone.
The horror swept over him and the foreman sank to his haunches, letting the tears flow down his weathered cheeks.  “Damned Chee-sdu played one of his tricks again.”
Sheriff Selkirk knew exactly what the Tsalagi farmhand meant by The Trickster. His ancestors had escaped slavery to be taken in and adopted by the Cherokee and his parents followed The Way. His blood carried African and Cherokee genes, but, he also followed the Christian ways and silently prayed for The Good Lord to look over the little girl – and her parents.
With their work done, Bill Martin and his men put away their hoses and gear, preparing to leave. “The arson guy ’ll be here in a couple of hours.”
The sheriff thanked him and watched the fire engine drive off, passing the “Daniels Horse Farm” sign at the entrance from Black Marsh Road. When he’d first learned of the fire, the sheriff wasn’t sure whether or not it was in his jurisdiction. The farm was located in Tuckaleechee Cove, which included his and another county. He’d called his counterpart and they’d agreed it was in Blount County.
The arson investigator and crime lab people soon arrived. As they passed through the line, Jeb noticed that most of the press crews were gone. The only van remaining belonged to the FoxNews crew.
Then, he noticed a young woman standing to one side in front of a small, white sedan. She wore a buckskin jacket intricately beaded and adorned with porcupine quills, matched by a pair of buckskin boots. To those who knew, it was clear she was from the tribal council of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee. Walking over to her, he stopped and introduced himself. “Can I help you?”
The young woman formed an apologetic smile. “Yes, Sheriff. Can you tell yet what happened?” She didn't appear upset when the sheriff explained the status of the investigation.
The young woman lowered her eyes. “I was on my way to visit Missus Daniels.” Her voice lowered. “I guess that won’t be possible now.”
In response to the sheriff’s question, she said, “My name is Janis Catsclaw. I am a representative of the Cherokee tribal council. Is there some way I can help? The family, except for the two adopted children, is registered with the band and we will do what we can to help.”
Sheriff Selkirk shook his head and walked away.
Janis stood there for several minutes, deep in thought. Madge Daniels had come to her to discuss her fears about her stepson Jimmy, but Janis had brushed them aside. Now, she agonized over whether or not there had been something she could’ve done. She pondered over what she might’ve missed. Janis Catsclaw turned and slowly walked to the area where the local news van was parked. “The sheriff say anything?” she asked the producer, knowing better than to ask the on-air reporter.  
The woman glanced at Janis’ press card from the tribe’s monthly newsletter and smiled. “You came all the way over here for this fire?” When Janis nodded, careful not to give out too much unnecessary information, the producer shrugged. “Just the usual about it being an ongoing investigation and he’s not able to release anything until it’s completed.”  
Sheriff deputies, helped by three of the hands, finished their search of the land around the buildings, reporting they’d found no signs of the boy.
The coroner’s van arrived. It had been delayed by a traffic fatality that needed emergency crews to pry the bodies from the wreck. Their first task was to put the girl’s corpse in a body bag.
Andy held Lilly’s collar to prevent her from interfering.
Lily moved over and sat beside the van holding the girl’s body. Her head hung low and she whined.  
Andy and the sheriff made their way into the rubble in the basement. The crime scene people had located two bodies in an old-fashioned bathtub and the coroner only had to confirm what was already known; they’d died of asphyxiation before the fire consumed what it could.
 “Looks like they tried to save themselves,” Andy muttered.
The sheriff nodded as they watched the coroner and his assistant carefully pull the bodies out and place them in body bags.
Lilly followed the coroner’s van all the way out to the road, before stopping to sit and stare after it. When the vehicle disappeared, the dog slowly walked back to lie down, her muzzle on her paws, staring at the spot where her mistress had lain.
The sheriff left and Andy noticed that the television van had gone. He also observed the white car the young woman had driven was no longer there.
*****​ Andy tilted his straight-backed chair back against the wall with his work-worn boots up on the sometimes-hitching rail. He stared out over the pasture at the horses contentedly grazing. The animals were totally unaware of the tragedy.
Tires crunched on the gravel and Andy glanced over to see the Cherokee healer’s white Sentra drive up. He watched her get out and unabashedly smiled. “Nice legs,” he murmured. “And, the rest’s not bad either.”
 “May I talk to you, sir?”
 “Call me Andy, Missy” He pointed to the chair next to him.
 “Thank you, but no. I’m tired of sitting.” With that, she leaned against the rail. “Any sign of the boy, Jimmy Quang?”
That startled Andy. Just how much did she know? Why did she ask? “Uh, no.”
 “C’mon, Andy. Missus Daniels and I talked about him a number of times. His behavior worried her and she desperately sought help for him without the county or state knowing.”
Andy understood. He’d never talked to the boss or the missus about it, but everyone knew evil spirits possessed the boy.
Janis understood Andy’s reluctance to speak. He was, after all, one of The People. “It’s family business and not to be talked about with strangers.”
Andy took his feet off the rail and gazed longer at the young woman. Her jacket was a signpost to those who knew The Way. The beadwork had the seven-pointed star of the Tsalagi and another in white showing she was a member of the Aniwodi, or Paint Clan. Yet another showed she had earned the rank of Didanvwisgi, healer. That surprised him as such status was usually limited to elders – and she certainly wasn’t an elder.
“Come inside. I need some coffee.”
Janis followed. While meaning little to others, the invitation signified a great deal among The People, the meaning of Tsalagi, the name the Cherokee called themselves. Europeans had taken the word sounding Chalagi and turned it into Cher-o-kee.
After filling two mugs, putting cream and sugar on the table for Janis, Andy spent the next hour telling what he knew of how the boy had been adopted and his actions on the farm. “Heard he was put in detention at school several times before they expelled him.” He thought for a moment and added, “That was about three weeks ago. Although he was here, I almost never saw him.”
 “Any place where he went alone that you can think of?”
 “Sorry, miss. Jimmy Quang was a strange one. Rosy was an angel and not only helped in the house but loved being around the horses. She was a people and animal sort.” He then sighed. “You can tell by poor Lilly out there. She’s hurtin’ bad over Rosy and I wonder whether she’ll get over it.”
Janis nodded, patiently waiting for the lead hand to continue. “Most a the time when he snuck out, he went out to the road and towards town. I followed him once, but he somehow lost me. Searched everywhere and I couldn’t find any sign.” Andy shook his head. “Baffled me good. Spent mosta my life hereabouts and can track a butterfly. Have no idea how he did it.”
Janis thought a moment. “Perhaps he kept to the pavement.” She then added, “This is all so horrible. Raymond’s in a hospital somewhere and his family’s dead.”
 “Yeah, wish I could do something, but the army people said next of kin only.” He then added that he’d heard them say he was in Walter Reed.
Janis rose and held out her hand. “I can assure you, right now, that I’m going to do everything I can to find and help Ray deal with this. You have my promise.” Then before leaving, she asked, “Is there anything the Band can do? Until Ray comes back here.”
 “No thanks, Missy. Appreciate the offer. I’m sure Ray inherits and Wadsworth in Marysville, the family lawyer, will help me keep things runnin’ till he gets here.”
Andy followed the healer outside, watching as she went to the dog, squatting and consoling the animal. She then got into her car and waved at Andy before driving away.
 “Something tells me I haven’t seen the last of her,” he muttered.


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## sargentodiaz (Dec 21, 2018)

C'mon folks. I would really like some feedback on this, Positive or negative, either way is fine by me.


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## Keesha (Dec 21, 2018)

You are a good writer, no doubt. I enjoyed your writing very much. 

I wonder why there are no paragraphs. I think it would be easier to read with some spaces between the paragraphs but that’s maybe just my personal preference. 

I did see an edit mistake in the sentence:

He didn’t spend all those nights in Saigon without know ( ing ) how to fight. 

Note: it seems to be missing the ‘ing’ on the end of know. 

I didn’t go over it with a fine tooth comb, but  the story itself, reads very well.


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## Gary O' (Dec 21, 2018)

sargentodiaz said:


> C'mon folks. I would really like some feedback on this, Positive or negative, either way is fine by me.



I too write a bit
Years back, I solicited critiques 
What I got, was pissed off


Came to the conclusion, I write, mainly because I like to write…sorta…I get driven…keystrokes can’t keep up

and

I’m my own critic
Others be damned

If I enjoy reading my own fractured prose, more than a couple times, I give it a thumbs up


What do y_*ou *_think of it, sarge?


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## sargentodiaz (Dec 22, 2018)

Keesha said:


> You are a good writer, no doubt. I enjoyed your writing very much.
> 
> I wonder why there are no paragraphs. I think it would be easier to read with some spaces between the paragraphs but that’s maybe just my personal preference.
> 
> ...




Thank you.
No paragraphs to copy what the book would look like.


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## sargentodiaz (Dec 22, 2018)

Gary O' said:


> I too write a bit
> Years back, I solicited critiques
> What I got, was pissed off
> 
> ...



I write because the words are inside of me and need to come out.

I have no specific genre as I've written just about everything there is.

I seekcricism/comments because I want others to enjoy what I'm telling them.

I can callmysef an author or a writer. But, what I really am is a story teller.

If you like what you write, that's all that counts.


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## Gary O' (Dec 22, 2018)

sargentodiaz said:


> If you like what you write, that's all that counts.


Amen, brother


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## oldman (Dec 30, 2018)

Not bad. I could read on.


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## sargentodiaz (Dec 31, 2018)

oldman said:


> Not bad. I could read on.



Thank you.
I could use a reviewer who can give me an unbiased reaction to the story. Tell me where it's interesting and where it lacks something.
Offer open to all.
All I ask is that you actually read and respond. Far too often, I've had people volunteer who then disappeared into the mist.


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## Ruth n Jersey (Dec 31, 2018)

It held my interest and I certainly would like to read the book. I would hope you don't add to many characters along the way. This is just my personal preference. When a book becomes cluttered with so many characters and the author has to keep refreshing the readers mind as to who they all are I lose interest quickly.


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## Keesha (Dec 31, 2018)

I would read more of this. You already have your own style of writing which can be more difficult than the writing itself.


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## AZ Jim (Dec 31, 2018)

I too enjoy writing.  I did write a novel which is in the library of congress.  "Shadows of the past".  I tried to get an agent or publisher but was told to self publish as there was no market for first time authors.  I enjoyed the writing though.  I am too old and impatient  to continue to fight for an audience for my stories.


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## sargentodiaz (Jan 1, 2019)

AZ Jim said:


> I too enjoy writing. I did write a novel which is in the library of congress. "Shadows of the past". I tried to get an agent or publisher but was told to self publish as there was no market for first time authors. I enjoyed the writing though. I am too old and impatient to continue to fight for an audience for my stories.



You're never too old to try! You can join writing forums and seek reviewers for your works.
Publishers are only interested in money. They pay ungodly amounts of money to big names regardless of the quality of their works. And, most big names don't even bother to write what they sell! They have "co-authors" or ghost writers.; And then, the media hypes it because of the names.
If nothing else, write for yourself and enjoy what you write.


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## Keesha (Jan 1, 2019)

sargentodiaz said:


> You're never too old to try! You can join writing forums and seek reviewers for your works.
> Publishers are only interested in money. They pay ungodly amounts of money to big names regardless of the quality of their works. And, most big names don't even bother to write what they sell! They have "co-authors" or ghost writers.; And then, the media hypes it because of the names.
> If nothing else, write for yourself and enjoy what you write.




I agree. These days there are many places where you can publish your book for free 
Here’s one of them; Smashwords. At the moment I’m reading a story written by a woman I met online. She has written about 8 or 9 books so far and is quite good and this is what she uses.


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## sargentodiaz (Jan 2, 2019)

Keesha said:


> I agree. These days there are many places where you can publish your book for free
> Here’s one of them; Smashwords. At the moment I’m reading a story written by a woman I met online. She has written about 8 or 9 books so far and is quite good and this is what she uses.



Thanks. I forgot all about that.
Another is Barnes & Nobel


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## Miss Mae (Jan 5, 2019)

If you should publish with Smashwords, they get your book(s) to Barnes & Nobel, Apple, Kobo, a whole host of other retail stores. It's not so much about "getting published" as it's the self-promotion that's involved, especially if you wish to sell or to be read. Finding other authors, or author sites/groups, etc. is no problem either. It's getting READERS. If one truly writes for their own enjoyment and isn't concerned about gaining a reader following, that can be satisfying as well.


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## sargentodiaz (Jan 6, 2019)

Miss Mae said:


> If you should publish with Smashwords, they get your book(s) to Barnes & Nobel, Apple, Kobo, a whole host of other retail stores. It's not so much about "getting published" as it's the self-promotion that's involved, especially if you wish to sell or to be read. Finding other authors, or author sites/groups, etc. is no problem either. It's getting READERS. If one truly writes for their own enjoyment and isn't concerned about gaining a reader following, that can be satisfying as well.



You are correct.
Publishing is not the problem. It's getting readers and that requires spending money to advertise.


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## mrmaxwalker (Jan 10, 2019)

Hi, that was a fun read. Living at home by myself i've found the time for many hobbies, including writing. If you're up for it. feel free to shoot me a text and i can share some of my ideas too! Maybe we can collaborate. - MAX


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## sargentodiaz (Jan 11, 2019)

mrmaxwalker said:


> Hi, that was a fun read. Living at home by myself i've found the time for many hobbies, including writing. If you're up for it. feel free to shoot me a text and i can share some of my ideas too! Maybe we can collaborate. - MAX



Send me a private message with your email and we'll discuss it.


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