Captive Truth
by Karen Stary
Genre: Contemporary Fiction
BLURB
A mercenary, a gambler, and a warlord are drawn together for a high stakes poker game. The trophy: a woman, Christine. They are men of unquestionable wealth, indomitable power, and overwhelming guilt; each is enchanted by Christine’s alluring beauty and each relentlessly desires to have her for himself.
A mercenary, a gambler, and a warlord are drawn together for a high stakes poker game. The trophy: a woman, Christine. They are men of unquestionable wealth, indomitable power, and overwhelming guilt; each is enchanted by Christine’s alluring beauty and each relentlessly desires to have her for himself.
Life has left Christine unable to form meaningful emotional relationships. However, without the ability to appeal emotionally to her male captors she is not only jeopardizing her own fate, but also the fate of other women as well. Alone, with only the three men who have come to mean so much to her, Christine must use not only her wits but her compassion to extricate herself. Will she become one man’s prized possession, or can she regain her sense of self?
Stary’s complex plot keeps the reader guessing as she explores some of today’s most controversial issues for women.
Excerpt
He clears his
throat again. I look up. His head gives a slight tilt as if to suggest, “Why
not?” His eyes squint, inviting me to have faith in the unknown. Charmed by the
smile in those eyes, I relax and take a sip of coffee. He speaks. “So…let me,
at least, introduce myself…my name is Cameron Dawson…and your name is…?” His
pause leaves the question dangling over a precipice of foreboding. I retrieve
the answer before I plummet.
“Christine…Christine
Ledge.”
“Now, that
wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
He seems to know
me too well. I cannot release the shadow of familiarity about this Mr. Dawson.
I had this same sensation the moment I first pressed against his arm at the
concert. I had ignored that feeling because I had thought that I probably would
never see him again. But like a relentless itch, it is a thought that aches to
be scratched. So, I take a breath and scratch.
“Have we met
before?”
“Last night at
the concert and then later in the hall!” a bit too quick and a bit too tidy. I
am not satisfied.
“No, before last
night. I feel that we had met before last night.”
No response. He
sips his coffee. I sip my coffee and allow its warmth to appease his
evasiveness. Obviously, I had just trespassed over some line. Because there is
no need to ruin this moment, I allow his hesitancy to pass. After a moment he
stirs in his seat.
“Did you enjoy
the concert?” It is obvious that he wants to change the subject. But, I am a
female. And his abrupt shifting is troubling. I disconnect from my unfounded
hunches.
“Oh, the
concert…well…yes…of course, I enjoyed the concert.”
Last night’s
images block any coherent reply. Fractured conversations interfere…caressing
words serenaded by the music opened wounds as I recall pressing up against him.
And so, I stare at him now and think about how it would be to lie naked next to
this man, to physically be touched by him. I harangue myself over my intimate
urges. I flip my head back trying to shake off the irrational desire. However,
I cannot let go of last night’s encounter between this Mr. Dawson and some young
man in a questionable financial exchange to obtain the seat next to mine.
Suddenly, I am wary of how much I should trust this man seated across from me.
Watching me carefully, he tilts his head as if
to pardon any past indiscretions. He seems able to read my misgivings. This
veil of deception must dissipate to have more clarity. And for that to happen,
I must be more forthright, too.
“No, Mr. Dawson,
to be quite frank, I did not enjoy the concert last night. I really struggled
to sit through it.” Then to continue this openness, “Was that obvious?”
“I did sense you
were a bit uncomfortable.” His polite delivery seems sincere enough.
Trying to inject
some humor to lift the heavy tone: “You mean since each time I banged into your
arm, you got a new ‘black and blue’?”
“Actually, I
rather liked the banging in spite of all those black and blues.”
“You did, did
you?” There is a pause; I am more comfortable with this exchange. “I’m really
sorry; I didn’t mean to be so abusive.”
“No, no…no
apology needed. What I meant by the banging was not because of that… but, yes,
because of that, too…More because I found you quite intriguing as you squirmed
about like you had hemorrhoids or some serious itch in the seat of your pants.”
His humor releases any lingering veiled suppositions.
“Oh, I hope it
wasn’t that annoying…I should have gotten up and left so that you would have
enjoyed the show better.”
“No, no, really
don’t feel put off…because…to tell the truth… I rather enjoyed watching you
watching the singer.”
Author Info
Author Karen Stary is a resident of San Diego, California, and a native of New Jersey who spent her summers on the Jersey Shore. She writes about the fragile relationships between women and men in today’s world. Stary asserts that women have yet to realize their true potential: to achieve something greater than any woman who came before them.
The Book Junkie Reads . . . Interview with Karen Stary . . .
How would you describe your style of writing to someone that has never read your work?
I use sensory images to convey the inner life of my characters. My settings are developed through vivid language and carefully selected words, sometimes becoming another personality in the plot. These settings are repeated throughout the story as reminders of character struggle. The settings also pit the natural world from manufactured ones, thus underlining themes of good and evil. The story addresses moral and, perhaps, uncomfortable boundaries in our world.
Although setting is instrumental in character development, perspective from first person narration moves the overall plot design. Events unfold as the main character sees the present or recalls past events. When the main character is too limited in her understanding, I move to third person narration for commentary. I do bring in second person narration for other characters to present relevant background. By interweaving time sequencing, I use flashbacks to elaborate on the choices of the characters.
The five-chapter plot model is standard: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, final understanding. However, I stretch the climax into the ending sequences so that the reader can reflex on my intent for writing the story. It is not a cliffhanger, just an open-ended challenge I want to imprint.
First, Captive Truth is simply a story of four individuals who had lived long enough to face who they have become. But it is also a novel like a diamond of many facets. The plot is cut into five chapters which coincide with the hands in a poker game with the inner motivations of the characters. The shards within the chapters are broken down further as smaller splinters of time and space of character struggles. The intent of using this metaphor is to deliberate on the possibility of capturing the jewel of our humanity in a world which often denies the truth in a probability of ever finding it.
What are some of your writing/publishing goals for this year?
I have published a short story, “The Red Queen of Spades”, to be released at the same time as my novel, Captive Truth. The short story, although fictional, was written from my fascination of the Wild West era. I had wanted to twist a historical legend through the eyes of a female. Would her perspective be relevant to that of a contemporary female? That story became the raison d'être for my contemporary novel.
Do you feel that writing is an ingrained process or just something that flows naturally for you?
I had been known as a quiet child. Adults had often commended me as a good, quiet child. My parents would praise my good behavior. What they did not realize was that I found it much easier to go through life quietly listening and observing to catch the subtleties about me. Childhood was a series of deshelled thoughts. Writing allowed me to gather those thoughts and save them to paper for a second look. A different understanding emerged; I no longer remained quiet. Does that suggest writing was a natural process in my upbringing? I’m not quite convinced. There were other influential factors, inspiring teachers, novels read and reread, the encouragement of family and friends, and other small significant moments, lying quietly, but still sustaining. And then there was a childhood of climbing trees and looking at the world from different heights.
The mind of a child is akin to the mind of a writer. Because like children, writers must not be afraid to climb different trees. A fearless child ventures up a tree from natural curiosity. So too, a writer must be curious in unraveling a disheveled world by prying into forbidden lands in order to disseminate understanding. For me, it has not been a natural undertaking, and at times, a painful one, one that demands me to hone my craft through hours of floundering. This process begins with scattering ideas in snippets of loose leaf, often initially unreadable. If I struggle with the senselessness, I physically would remove myself from the gibberish, long enough to take a breath. Of course, I would revisit the mishmash, attempting to salvage written morsels of possibilities. Then, I would play with the ideas and language, becoming lost in suspended time. However, the serious process of writing happens when I finally recognize that what I had written is important because it must be read. To have that clarity, a writer needs courage to overcome the irrelevant, the trite, or the self-absorbing. Not an easy process, for sure, but, certainly a necessary one.
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Thank you for posting my novel, Captive Truth. I hope you enjoy the read.
ReplyDeleteKaren Stary