The Compost Pile isn’t about gardening
October 2, 2013
Sunday I pulled the trigger on my eighth novel, a legal/psychological thriller called The Compost Pile,
The product description on Amazon puts it like this:
In this multi-layered legal/psychological thriller, the discovery of the body of a fifteen-year-old girl in a compost pile in a posh coastal neighborhood spurs an investigation that challenges traditional notions of guilt and innocence.
When a politically-motivated district attorney brings capital murder charges against a man-child, an aging uncle of the accused takes up his defense, recruiting a recovering alcoholic detective and another lawyer with his own demons to find out what really happened at the compost pile. They come to suspect a conspiracy among members of the small community, a conspiracy not to railroad the accused, but to substitute in his place a prominent local personality, one whose past makes him deserving of a finding of guilt.
The Compost Pile is a tale of the blinding power of love,which motivates those in its grip to do whatever is necessary to make things right, even if justice be damned.
I didn’t really intend the book to be a legal/psychological thriller or a work of literary fiction, or whatever it is. It just turned out that way.
The lesson I learned from The Compost Pile is that if a person keeps writing, he can never tell where it may lead.
And just so you know why the book has such a strange title, even though it has nothing to do with gardening, here are the first two paragraphs.
On the twenty-third day of April, about twenty minutes before one o’clock in the afternoon, the yellow fabric of Mariska Hawthorne’s blouse caught the eye of a man walking his dog on a residential street on the far northeast corner of Seaside, Florida. It caught his eye because it was draped around Mariska’s still warm fifteen-year-old body in a waste area of the posh neighborhood, an area known in news reports forever after as the compost pile.
That same day, six hundred miles to the west, a category F4 tornado descended from a boiling Texas sky, setting in motion a collision of the most unlikely souls, souls united by the brutal slaying of a tender young girl visiting a coastal village with her mother on spring break.
By the way, that’s a National Honor Society pin in the lower left hand corner of the cover image.
Although I understand the release of a new book is supposed to be accompanied by a certain amount of pomp and circumstance, I have let The Compost Pile sneak out into the open with hardly a whiff of ceremony.
To remedy this unceremonious launch, I would be glad to send an advanced review copy to anyone who would accept one in return for an honest review. If you would like to participate in that process, please drop me a note on the “Contact Us” button at the top of this page.
Or if you want to visit the book on its Amazon Kindle page, just click here.