I've completed the initial manuscript for a new
projects: I am Everett. This novel will be published
sometime in 2024-2025.
I am looking for female beta
readers for Retribution. It's a dark romance
novel, and (I hope) a page-turning crime story. Since I'm a guy
writing a romance novel, I really need some early feedback from
women who typically read romance novels. If you're interested,
please go to my Contact page and give me your email address. This
is a manuscript, so it will be a pdf, meaning you'll have to read
it on your computer. It's not formatted yet for ebook or
Hope to hear from you soon!
I began writing I
am Everett in order to take a temporary break
from Retribution. This much lighter story is a very
unusual look at American history from 1901 to present time. It
takes place in Boston, New York City, Miami, Havana, a cruise ship,
Tampa, and New Port Richey. The story is told by a piano that
became sentient when it was first purchased from the Everett Piano
Company in Boston, Massachusetts.
The picture to the left was taken in my house. That's the actual,
122-year-old Everett featured in the story, except this one doesn't
really talk, although It does sound very good.
There are several surprises in this story, so I can't tell you much
about it, but I can guarantee you it will be one of the more
unusual books you'll ever read.
You can check out the excerpt below to get an idea of how it
so happy you’re here. I’ve been standing here admiring this
pillared lanai and the pool. I really love the view beyond the
pool; the verdant lawn bordered by that thick, lush forest. Do you
see how the morning sun is casting those mottled patches of bright
yellow light on the shadowed green of the trees? And it’s also
causing those playful reflections of the pool’s riffling water up
on the lanai’s ceiling? Can you see that? It’s very peaceful here
this time of day. Moments like these make me feel quite
content just to be alive."
looked all around the room trying to determine the source of the
voice. “Where are you?”
I’m new here,
just moved in. The house has been very quiet this morning, save for
the occasional sound of cooled air rushing through the vents. I
suppose most people don’t notice things like that. I’m grateful for
the conditioned air. I don’t take it for granted, I assure you.
At my age, the Florida summers can be more than just
uncomfortable, the humidity can be downright detrimental to my
health, as I’m sure you know.
shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, it’s already hot and humid outside,
but nice and cool in here.” He began to lay out the tools of his
"When I look
back on my life, it still seems odd to me that I ended up here in
Florida. You see, I was born in Boston, but I’m sure you already
knew that. My first home, though, was in New York City, a very
different environment than here in the sub-tropics of Florida. But
that was a very long time ago. By the way, I can tell that you’re
from New York. It’s your accent."
“Who the hell
am I talkin’ to?” The man was looking all around again, beginning
to feel a little spooked. The voice sounded like it was right there
next to him but there was nobody else in the room. He checked the
adjacent rooms but there was nobody to be found
"My name is
Everett, but I suppose that’s obvious to someone like you. I was
born in 1901, which makes me one-hundred-twenty-one years old. You
probably think I’m saying that as if it’s something to boast about.
I know there are others of my kind who are much older
— but not many. Don’t get me wrong, I do feel my
age, and I’m glad you’re here to check up on me. I’ve been lucky I
suppose. Despite some rather harrowing chapters in my life, I’d say
that I’ve come through the years in pretty good shape. I’m
interested in hearing your opinion."
name was Stephen Moriani, a piano technician of considerable repute
and a long-time member of the Piano Technicians Guild of New York.
He had several decades of experience. He’d been retained to tune a
piano which had been purchased a month earlier. The piano’s owner,
Jerry Yates, had texted Stephen to let him know that something had
come up and he wasn’t going to be at the house, but the door was
open so he should go ahead and begin the work. Jerry would return
before the job was finished.
scratched his bald head, toying with the possibility that he might
be going crazy. After a few minutes of quiet, however, he decided
he should just focus on the work at hand. He sat on the bench and
ran his fingers over the keys to get some sense of what he would be
obvious the piano needed to be tuned, which was typical for a piano
that had been moved, especially an older piano like this one. The
action on some of the keys felt loose and he notice a couple other
problems. Again, not unusual for an older piano. He opened the top
board of the old grand using the long prop stick and immediately
discovered that the bass key strings were corroded. “Oh, that’s too
bad,” he thought.
The name of
the piano, emblazoned in large letters on the sound board, caught
his attention: Everett Boston, model number 31930. He got up off
the bench and backed away a few steps, looking at the piano and
regarding it with suspicion.
what’s talking to me?” he asked, immediately feeling ridiculous.
There was no response and he chuckled nervously. “Crazy,” he said
reluctantly returned to the keyboard and proceeded to strike the A4
key, listening to its audio properties with his practiced ear, but
also using a digital device.
"I can tell
you’re very experienced. You’ve probably already noticed several
“Pianos can’t talk,”
Stephen said with conviction. He didn’t bother to look up or stop
what he was doing.