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When a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. Bell

By Lauriej
When a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. Bell
When a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. Bell
When a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. BellWhen a Stranger Comes...by Karen S. BellGenre: Psychological Thriller
Readers' Favorite is proud to announce that "When a Stranger Comes..." by Karen S. Bell won the Bronze Medal in the Fiction - Thriller - Psychological category
A GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER FOR FANS OF KING AND KOONTZ!Would you be willing to make a deal with the devil to have your hopes and dreams come true?Witnessing a lightening bolt on a sunny day, author Alexa Wainwright doesn't realize she's been transported to an alternate universe. Here, she meets media mogul and publisher King Blakemore who offers her a lucrative book contract that will guarantee her comeback. 
This publisher seems odd. This book deal is too good. Suddenly, the contract's been signed. Now what can she do?
Desperate to get her life back, Alexa devises schemes to untether herself from this hellish existence but to no avail. Can Alexa find her way out of this nightmare?
Buy this book if you're a reader who loves a page-turning, heart-stopping, psychological thriller with some magical realism thrown in. 
"RIVETING"--Kirkus Reviews
  
Goodreads * Amazon



When a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. Bell
When a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. Bell
When a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. Bell
When a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. Bell
At least read the offer,” he says as he pulls a packet out of his briefcase and puts it on the coffee table before walking over to the door. Read the offer and then come out with me for dinner tonight. Make reservations at your favorite and most expensive restaurant. I’ll come back here at 8:00. Even if you’re still not interested in working on this project, I’d like to take you to dinner.” He leans in as if to kiss me and his alluring, strong, masculine scent, a mix of the freshness of a pine-tree forest, wood fires burning, worn leather, and the wind-whipped sea knocks me back and arouses me. My unexpected reaction confuses me, as he hands me his business card instead of a kiss.   Oh,” I say awkwardly after snapping my head back before realizing what he’s really doing. I look at his card. What? What is this? Your name is Wainwright? Alex Wainwright? This is a joke, right? And not funny at all, I might add.”   One of life’s strange coincidences,” he says playfully. Before I can say any more, he’s out the door and jumps in the elevator. I’m more than shocked. A coincidence? He being a ringer for Rick? Having the same name as me? Well, not really my name. Of course, Alexa Wainwright is a made-up perfect pen name that I changed legally.    Gladys Lipschitz, my real name, a major misstep on the part of my mother, was a name that belonged embroidered on the shirt of a pink waitress uniform. Gladys evokes an image of a woman who wears a hairnet and keeps a small lead pencil tucked behind her ear and an order pad shoved into her skirt pocket. She works the late shift serving greasy food at a dive luncheonette on the upper far West Side under the elevated trains. That Gladys personified my obsessive fear of being a failure as a writer. I wanted to get as far away from her as I could. Alexa connoted sexy and sophisticated. Wainwright sounded snooty, British, non-ethnic.   I also played with the idea of calling myself Alex instead of Alexa, but I really didn’t want any gender confusion. I was proud of being female and wrote mainly for a female audience. If I had done that, though, Alex Wainwright and I would have the exact same name. Odd, so odd. Also odd is his lingering scent. From that quick close encounter when he leaned in and his masculine aroma filled my nostrils, I now smell it everywhere. It has taken over my loft. I spray Pledge on my furniture and mop the floors. Pour my favorite perfume all over me after I take that bath. Spray it into the rooms. No good. His scent is in my nose. In my being. Leaves me restless and uneasy and doesn’t go away. I’m edgy, unsettled, fearful that I’m being marked for something. A spider web of intrigue is ensnaring me. Pulling me closer to its center where I can’t escape. First it’s his scent that I can’t get rid of.
When a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. BellWhen a Stranger Comes... by Karen S. BellI get so much satisfaction in the writing process. I take care to choose just the right word, to make sure each sentence has the right cadence. I appreciate other writers who respect the craft in this way, and I hope my readers do so with me. Writing is a need, a desire for expression, and springs from well within my subconscious mind. Thoughts rise up, scenes rise up and blend in with the over-arching story. These thoughts emerge whenever they want to and wherever I am and probably not when I am at the computer. The computer is for the craft, the technique. The thoughts come during walks, or while driving the car, or at the grocery store. I am the willing recipient of these thoughts and so they seek me out. It's a mystery this business and art of writing and it keeps me enthralled.


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