Our novels take us to the most interesting places...

So this morning writing at Starbucks I had a stroke of genius as I once again painted Marcus into a corner. I realized a fatal flaw in my novel. My novel is about my character being able to solve simple puzzles that he should have the skill to possess. But for whatever reason I am making solving the puzzles as difficult task as possible for poor Marcus. And for this he procrastinates.

Four months have passed in my novel and he only has solved one mystery and unfortunately he got sidetracked whenn trying to solve the next puzzle.

The second puzzle I wanted to have in my book is a crossword. For Marcus he has been able to get two words fill in so far because all he knows are hockey clues. So he needs help. What type of people are good at crosswords...well in my world, my grandparents so I wanted them to enter the novel somehow. Perfect right they could be in some peaceful retirement home and solve his crossword in with out blinking and then Marcus could make his way to the Boo-bie mansion in Montreal with MIke Richards and Co.

But ohhh no it can't be that simple because my character has the habit of running into Gordon the Vampyre a little too often. Another Gordon in my book and what does he do but direct Marcus into a funeral home. Guess who he meets there. Best part Marcus thinks he's in a retirement home. Sorry thats its a bit long but enjoy!

Marcus heard a soft organ melody playing the back ground. What depressing music in a retirement home and where are all the old people? Marcus had a point as he did a better scan of the room he realized that there was only two elderly couples at the front and three or so people young sitting at the side. These people looked like they were up to something. They had mischief in their eyes, that’s for sure.
Marcus went up to the front to see his grandparents. What he saw instead would have horrified many a person. Marcus was simply mortified and disgusted at the same time.
Marcus peered over the elderly couples to see what they were looking at. He saw to large maghoney coffins in place of the table where he pictured his grandparents playing bridge.
Marcus gasped, how had his grandparents died without his knowledge and why were there so few people at their apparent funeral.
Marcus wanted to yell in fury at the creepy guy was taking care of grandparents, best work indeed. MArcus was going to punch the man very hard. He yelled out loud, “What kind of retirement home is this anyway?” he began to hobble his the double doors.
The two couples turned around mortified. “Retirement home? What are you talking about young man, this is Fischer and Sons Funeral home.” The woman looked like she would smack him with her umbrella.
Marcus jaw dropped so much that it almost appeared comical. “Why did my grandparents die and no one told me then? This is a poor excuse of a funeral home.”
The two elderly couples gasped. Some were upset at Marcus’ criticism of their choice of funeral home while some were upset with the revelation Marcus had dropped on them.
“Enid and George Jorge didn’t have children. How can you be their grandchild.” The abrasive woman came forward.
Marcus smiled at the name George Jorge which is essentially calling someone George George before recovering from the shock of who had died and whose funeral he was now crashing. “You mean to say that this isn’t the funeral of Moses and Rumer Rockacha?”
“No who are those foolishly named people.” This woman was very rude.
“My grandparents, who the people who run this establishment told me were here.” Marcus said.
The scene was becoming more ludicrous by the minute. The three younger people sitting off to the side were giggling. Marcus guessed that they, like him may have been funeral crashers.
“You were misinformed. Clearly!” The woman looked like she would break out of her wrinkled skin. Marcus feeling completely hopeless and awkward about the entire situation became to edge his way back to the door.
He had mumbled an apology and was about to turn around and leave and find the real retirement home when a man came bursting through with a candle in his hand. Enter Jack Connolly.
“The power is about to die, brace yourself!” he yelled as he rolled through the double doors. He was crouched, covering his head like he was prepared for an explosion. The candle still perfectly upright the wax had barely moved from his roll. The guy looked like a professional roller.