Why Read Fiction?

Why read fiction . . . it has no redeeming value. It has no basis of truth. So why read something that never happened?

Fiction is considered imaginary and made-up whereas non-fiction is supposed to be factual and indisputable. I am a writer of fiction. The ideas for my stories come from real life, so that element has to be realistic.

My story, ADDICTION, is made of truth and fiction. The heroine is being stalked by a serial killer, she has low self-esteem and is an alcoholic. All of these things are real, they happen. The difference is in how they play out, but even in real life the heroine can survive the killer and gain self-esteem. She would always be an alcoholic but she can conquer the disease by staying away from those beverages.

The hero in ADDICTION is handsome, Irish and a FBI agent. He understands women because he has younger sisters, and he wants to protect the heroine. Do you think this is stretching the truth? Maybe, but haven't you known men like this? I have.

Many people like to escape real life and others want to see real life turn out differently from the one they live. It's all the matter of the choices we make and this holds true of the hero and heroine in my story.

I'm going to throw down the gauntlet here and suggest non-fiction readers pick up a fiction book to read and vice versa. I have read both and enjoyed both.

I am posting a blurb and a excerpt from ADDICTION below.

Blurb for Addiction

Two men are after the same woman but for very different reasons.

Dark-haired beauty, Jolene Dubois has a serious problem, and it's not just battling alcoholism. Late at night, she receives whispered calls. "Jolene, I want you. I'm coming for you." Shivers climb up her spine and ice flowed in her veins. What does he want? Who is it? She must figure it out before she trusts the wrong person.

Jake Farrell, the handsome rogue is an operator with women, but is he hiding something dark and sinister under his cheery facade. The detective, Andy Martin, who investigated her father's murder, continues to ask her out. Les Voodré, an alcoholic she met at AA follows her everywhere, and Ron Keisler, her AA sponsor is always there when she needs him. Could her caller be one of these men?

To further complicate her life, she fights a host of addictions, alcoholism, smoking, gambling and sex. Jolene is determined to beat the alcohol and to stay out of the clutches of the fiend who phones her.

Excerpt:

Ring. Ring.
Her heart pounded frantically. Jolene pushed her covers off and jumped out of bed, her gaze on the clock. Four o’clock in the morning. She had a caller. Horror pulsed through her veins, and then she grabbed her purse.
It can’t possibly be him.
Come on, Jolene, answer it.
Her hands shaking, she dug in her purse pulling out the cell phone and flipping it open. “Hello.” He’d blocked the caller ID.
“What took you so long, Jolene?” a muffled voice asked.
She tightened her grip on the cell. No. How did he get this number?
“Come on, speak to me. I know you’re there,” the whisperer said in a low raspy voice. “Don’t make me come in there.”
“What do you want?” He knew where she was. How could he? “How did you get this number?” she demanded, rubbing her palm on the pale floral bed cover. Was he outside? She wanted to hang up, but that never worked. He’d call all night then.
“Jolene, I’m disappointed in you. You were around too many people tonight for me to get to you.”
She rose and walked to the window, feeling cold in spite of her olive green cotton pajamas. If only he’d talk in a normal tone, she might recognize the voice. “Why are you harassing me?” she asked, sliding the light green curtain aside so she could peek out. There weren’t any new cars parked on the street, but he could’ve parked anywhere and be outside the house.
“I thought we were friends. Don’t you like it when I tell you all the things I’m going to do to you?” He cackled loud and long.
His maniacal laughter sent shivers up her body, and she wrapped her free arm around her waist. Did she know this person? Surely, she didn’t know anyone like this except for Les. That guy was just downright crazy. Quiet.
She held her breath and listened. Was he still there? No sound. He must’ve hung up. Softly, she started to close her cell.
“Don’t hang up on me, Jolene.”
Startled, the phone slipped out of her grasp, but she scrambled to catch it. The darn thing hit the thick beige carpeted floor. Down on her knees, she grabbed the cell, putting it to her ear.
“Hello.” The buzzing told her she’d lost him. What would he do now? Call her back. She stared at the phone, her shoulders hunched, and the tendons in her neck tightening.
After a few moments, she rose, went to her bed and climbed in pulling the covers around her. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but she didn’t want to wake her sister or call her brother to talk to him. This was her problem to take care of. She would call the police later this morning and make a report.
Ring. Ring.
Jolene grabbed the phone; she knew it was him again. She’d made him mad by hanging up on him even though it had happened accidentally. Without saying anything, she listened, hoping it wasn’t him.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
The loud click told her he was finally gone. Her hand shook so badly she could hardly reach the oak end table to lay her cell on it. She’d never sleep the rest of the night. She had to figure out who this person could be.
The only person she knew this crazy was Les, but she didn’t know how he could’ve gotten her numbers. She’d never met him before tonight.
Pulling the covers over her head, she burrowed deeper into the bed. She’d always been afraid of the boogie man, and now he was really after her.

ADDICTION will be in print July 1st at Eirelander Publishing, http://www.eirelander-publishing.com/addiction.htm

To learn more about me you may visit these sites: http://www.skaymarshall.com
http://www.sandramarshallblog.blogspot.com http://www.myspace.com/s_zinn_marshall

I'll be waiting eagerly to hear why you read or don't read fiction.

See you next month.

Sandra K. Marshall, Author of Addiction
http://www.skaymarshall.com