A warm welcome to author Gene Gant joining us today to talk about new release “Borrowed Boy”.
My stories and the characters within have a way of surprising me in the process of writing. Plots turn in unplanned directions, often driven by characters who assert themselves and insist on saying or doing things out of the blue. Sometimes these explosions of independence box me into a corner that I can’t write my way out of. The story grinds to a halt, and I’m forced to snap things back on track through extensive of the Delete key.
In most cases, however, these are welcome and pleasant occurrences. When they work, it actually makes the writing easier. I’m not hunched over the keyboard, scratching my head as I trying to figure out how exactly to bring a particular scene to life. I just sit back and let the characters be themselves and pull me along.
I experienced a few instances of this in writing Borrowed Boy. I usually start with a general outline of the plot, a bare bones structure meant to act as a guide that gets fleshed out as I go. In the second chapter of the novel, Zavier’s father makes his first appearance. Here’s what that moment looked like in the outline.
Intro – Dad – Charles Beckham. Fireman. Devoted husband and father. Great relationship between father and son. Charles and Zay talk as Zay arrives home from Cole’s place.
That was all the outline gave me. When I sat down to write the scene, I thought I’d start with the dad in the living room going through the day’s mail when Zavier opens the door and bops in. Charles and Zavier had other ideas. Below is how the scene actually played out once I began writing and allowed the two characters free rein. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a far better depiction than the one I’d planned.
Thanks for reading!
When I swooped around from the street into my own driveway, I saw Dad was there, washing his car. That was all I saw before a blast of water smacked me dead in the face, forcing me to stumble backward off my skateboard.
“Direct hit!” Dad shouted.
I stood there like a tree that had sprouted up through the driveway, holding my arms out to either side. Soaked from head to waist, I wiped water from my eyes. Dad waited beside his sudsy sedan in jeans and T-shirt, holding the nozzle of the water hose in his hand like some kind of gun. He was smiling—evilly, I might add.
“Okay, it’s on.” I tried to say that with a snarl, but too much grin crept into it. Screaming out a battle cry, I charged.
Dad brought the nozzle up and fired.
I ducked, and the spray caught me in the shoulder. Shifting from a head-on assault, I ran off to my left and started to circle around Dad, trying to get behind him. He turned with me, keeping the jet of water on target much of the way, drenching me completely. But I was too fast for him. With a yell, I leaped and latched on to his back, wrapping my arms and legs around him like an octopus.
Dad was a firefighter. In the downtime between calls at the station, he worked out a lot, so in addition to being well over six feet tall, he was muscular and strong as heck. I struggled, trying to pull him backward, hoping my weight would throw him off-balance and bring him down on the lawn. It was like trying to topple a tree.
“Come on, kid,” Dad teased. “You can do better than that.”
“Yeah! I can!” Well, no, actually I couldn’t. Gritting my teeth, growling deep in my throat, I tried again and again with all my strength to jerk him backward. All my strength wasn’t worth much. I could no more move the man than I could move his car.
And then Dad casually raised the nozzle, aimed it over his shoulder, and blasted me smack in the face.
I held on for maybe another five seconds before the strong, stinging spray forced me to let go and drop. On the ground I scrambled to get away. Again Dad stayed on target, blasting me with water, and it was only when I reached the other side of the yard that I got beyond the range of that stupid nozzle.
“Okay! Okay! I give!” Laughing, I threw up both hands.
“Not so fast, son,” Dad said. “There are terms to your surrender.”
“Aw, come on! You killed me here already.”
Dad raised the nozzle and started marching toward me.
“All right! Okay, Dad! What’re your terms?”
He stopped. “You help me finish washing my car, then your mom’s.”
“That’s blackmail… or something.”
“Well, do you want to go for the best two out of three?” He raised the nozzle again.
“And get drowned? No thanks.”
Dad laughed. “Such a smart kid.”
Blurb:
An entire life can be snatched away in an instant.
Thirteen-year-old Zavier Beckham is an average teen living in Memphis. He has great parents and a quirky best friend named Cole. He’s happy, and he thinks his life is totally normal… until an FBI agent shows up and informs Zavier he was stolen as an infant and sold to an adoption agency.
Now his biological parents want him back.
Forced to confront his distant past, Zavier faces an uncertain future. He may be taken from the only home he’s known by parents who are strangers living in Chicago. He may have to deal with a brother who hates and torments him. He meets Brendan, an older boy who offers him friendship and wakens a strong, unsettling attraction in Zavier. Brendan has secrets of his own, and he’ll either be the one ray of light in Zavier’s tense situation or the last straw that breaks Zavier under the pressure.
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Gene Gant grew up in Memphis, Tennessee. After living for a time in Missouri and Illinois, he now makes his home on a quiet country lane outside Memphis.