Cory’s Way, An Excerpt

Good evening Faithful Readers.

I am ashamed to admit something. It’s not something like a crime or an addiction or even something as simple as a desire to eat all the donuts at the donut shop (though that part is true, and would probably be considered an addiction). It’s something I can’t believe I haven’t actually done here on Type AJ Negative. So often I talk of writing and life here. So often I promote other writers’ works. So often I do interviews for other writers here. But, not so often, I promote my own work. And, as far as I can tell, I’ve never actually posted a passage from my novel here.





I have some great work out there. Two short story collections and a novel, and over the last year or so, I have done very little promoting of my own work. I’m sitting here shaking my head as I think about this.

Well, that changes right now with an excerpt from Cory’s Way, my novel. Are you ready for this? Good. Hop in the car with me. It’s okay. Just open the door, get in and strap on your seatbelt (it is the law, after all) and we’ll go for a ride. We’ll take a short journey into the world of Corey Maddox. If you’re ready, let’s ride:


On the day Cory Maddox met George Washington—not the first president, but a black man whose skin was as dark as tomorrow night—he was running for his life. Or so it seemed. Behind him, followed the Burnette brothers, their feet thumping on the blacktop like a couple of galloping horses. They yelled for him to stop running, that sooner or later they would catch him and when they did he would regret making them chase him. Obscenities followed. His Sanity screamed, begging for Cory to heed his warning.

(Run! Run! Run! They’re going to kill you!)

Cory’s side burned; a stitch stabbed straight through from front to back. His legs ached and threatened to send him to the ground if he didn’t, at least, stop for a second and catch his wind. His breaths came out in labored gasps through an open mouth. His book bag jostled on his back, bouncing from side to side, occasionally knocking him off balance. It wasn’t enough to really slow him down, but he held onto the straps tighter, making the running more awkward. At one point, Cory thought of tossing it to the ground, just let the Burnette brothers have it. He could run faster and it might appease them long enough for him to make it home alive.

His mind scrambled to make sense of everything, tried to figure out why they were chasing him. Just what had he done to anger them?

Snippets of thoughts danced in his mind. ‘Hey, new kid…What do yah have for lunch…’ Someone shoved him. His lunch tray clattered on the cafeteria floor, his hands out in front to try and break the fall. There were bruises on his palms. He was certain there were bruises on his knees as well. A teacher, tall and lanky, hair the color of a storm cloud, eyes full with lightning, appeared. Her voice silenced the laughter of the other kids. An ‘oh shit,’ was trailed by a ‘we’ll get you later, new kid.’

Cory’s legs screamed, his calves joining his thighs in protests. The stitch in his left side was united with the one in his right. Tears seeped from his eyes, partially from fear, but more from the ache of his weakening body. It was only a matter of time before it finally gave up and dropped him to the concrete.

“Look out,” Cory yelled just before passing an old man, his cane out in front of him, thick-lensed glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose. Somehow he managed not to crash into the old man. That would have been bad. If anything, it would have slowed him down enough for the Burnette brothers to catch up to him. They didn’t seem like the type that would worry about an old man who had fallen and probably had no way of getting up. If, by a very small chance, they did stop and head the other way, the old man would have probably been hurt, and that may have been worse than a beating.

Neither of those things came to pass. Cory skirted by the old man, stumbled, righted himself, and ran on.

(Almost took the Nestea plunge, there, Cory.)

He darted across the street, barely looking both ways before doing so. Cory tripped as he hopped onto the sidewalk, planted his hand in front of him and almost ended up sprawled out on the concrete. Instead, he caught himself and ran on.

A stone zipped overhead, landing a few feet in front of him.

Rocks?! his mind screamed.

(What else could it be, dimwit?)

Fear pushed him harder.

They gained ground, their voices louder. They were laughing.

Home was four blocks away along the street. It was less than two if he went beneath the underpass just ahead.

(Yeah, that’s what we want to do. Run into the darkness where rats and spiders and other creepy crawlies are, and maybe even a mad man or two…)


I hope you enjoyed the short ride around the block and the little peek into Cory’s world. If you enjoyed it, you can pick up a digital copy at that well-known Kindle book provider, Amazon, HERE.

As always, I thank you, Faithful Readers, for sticking with me through my travels in the world of writing and publishing. Until we meet again my friends, be kind to one another…