First-Page Post! (#1)

I've written a lot of novels over the years, but only a handful of them have been published (so far). Therefore, I've decided to occasionally post a first page of something unpublished and maybe somewhere down the road you'll have access to the pages that come after it! What do you think of that?

Here are the rules:

1. You don't get to know which book it's from.

2. You have to understand that it may change between now and publication.

And now that we've covered the basics, here's a snippet of Hannah Rae writing for your reading enjoyment:

“When you turn eighteen, your body will truly belong to you, but until then, it’s technically mine.”

For years, this had been Emory Kincaid’s response every time his son Jameson begged for a tattoo. No matter what the size (“Just a tiny star on the inside of my wrist, Da!”) or where the location (“How about a tribute to Ireland, between my shoulderblades?”), Emory had never waivered, and so that is why he now perches on a stool in his studio, with Jameson seated before him, narrowing his eyes at the hourglass stenciled on the young man’s palm. The ink is purple; sand spills from one orb into another.

Grimacing, Emory shakes his head and lifts his dark eyes to meet those of his son. “You’re sure, are you? Because this’ll hurt like hell, Jamie. And you know how I feel about—”

“Tattooing a hand?” Jameson finishes. “Yeah, I do. But you’re not exactly one to talk, are you?”

The words contain a hint of snark, but the young man’s expression indicates nothing short of good humor, and despite Emory’s best efforts, he can’t help offering a wry smile. He’s not one to talk, after all, seeing as his first tattoo had been added to his body at the meager age of eleven. A simplistic triangle on his right forearm, the shape commemorates the obsession he’d once had with Amelia Earhart and her possible disappearance in the Bermuda Triangle.

The shape has since been covered up.

Emory’s obsession hadn’t lasted beyond junior high.

Alrighty, that's all you get!