William Hammett, Independent Ghostwriter and Editor

Fiction (Romance 2)




The following excerpt has been used with the permission of a former client and/or the publisher. Please note that I can adjust my prose style for a particular genre, and the following is not intended to represent my full range of styles or the number of genres I consider. For nonfiction, the level of complexity can be adjusted depending on client preference.



Lane Nelson had been worried for the past week, and for good reason. Her ex-husband was coming to town on a business trip and wanted to get together for coffee. Wasn't meeting at Starbucks what singles did when they wished to test the waters and see if the man or woman sitting across the table was relationship material? Helen and Brad had no children, so why was her ex so intent on seeing her?

The marriage had lasted three years and had dissolved because Brad was often away on business – he sold copy machines, a rather mundane occupation according to Lane's way of thinking. She'd always dreamt of marrying an artist who would, over a glass of wine, propose that they run away and live on the Left Bank of Paris. At heart, Helen was a bohemian, while Brad was a company man with a Blackberry full of schedules and corporate obligations. The two had drifted apart until neither could offer the slightest bit of conversation over dinner.

The Fed Ex package arrived three days before Brad's plane was due to land at LAX in Los Angeles. Its contents? A manuscript titled Hidden Passions by Bradley Nelson. Paging through the story, Lane read prose that was totally out of character with her former mate. He kissed her softly on the shoulder before moving to her perfumed neck, his hand caressing her blushing cheek like a feather.

Lane now knew why Brad wanted to meet. He was looking for a second chance. The dedication was typed on the second page of the manuscript: To Lane, My Eternal Love.

Lane dropped the manuscript on the coffee table, exhaled, and leaned back against the deep cushion of her living room couch. Only three days before, she'd received an engagement ring from Mitch, a poet who wanted Lane to move into his Greenwich Village apartment.

©2004