A Literary Trailer
Sarah Cunningham Upon Arrival
Something happened during the pandemic that drastically altered the speed of my body clock. Anyone else feel that way? Time is going by so fast that I completely missed blogging on July 19, 2021, about my character Sarah Cunningham who arrives in Carmel-by-the-Sea on the same date, but in 1924.
This loss-of-time puts me way behind because my novel takes place at such a fast clip that by today's date, July 24, Sarah is deeply involved in pursuing the mystery behind her sister's death.
But let’s give it a Hollywood go-around anyway.
I am a movie buff, even tried my hand at a few screenplays, so I love scene-making in my novels. And because films use trailers to draw you in to buying a theater ticket, I decided to show you a literary trailer (excerpt) in the hopes you will be intrigued and buy The Artist Colony when it’s published on September 7 or even pre-order it today!
So here, though five days late, is The Artist Colony's trailer.
INTRO: July 19, 1924. Sarah Cunningham steps off a dusty bus in Carmel-by-the Sea. She has spent the last two weeks traveling by cruise liner from France to New York and then an intercontinental train to San Francisco. She has come to bury her sister Ada Belle who drowned in the Pacific.
Certainly an exhausting trip in 1924, as it would be by plane under our current circumstances. So picture her shock when above the din of blasting train whistles, a newsboy holds up the morning paper in his hand and yells, “Read all about it! ‘Inquest Verdict: Famous Artist Commits Suicide.’” Ada Belle's photograph splashed below the headline.
CUT TO TRAILER (Carmel-by-the-Sea):
Sarah steps onto a wooden boardwalk and scans the deep blue waters that spread out beyond the end of the road. Is that where they found you? Under the cobalt blue sky? The cypresses? The waves crashing against jagged rocks? That white pristine beach?
The brilliant colors fade to black when she lowers her head and whispers, I’m so sorry, Ada. I’ve come too late. Will you ever forgive me?
Her sister's silence is deafening.
José puts her valise on the boardwalk and is climbing back onto the bus when she cries out, “Stop. Please don’t go!”
He turns around and pushes back his wide-brimmed sombrero. “Is something wrong, Señorita?”
“I have lodgings, but I don’t have an address.”
“People living here don’t want to be found. There aren’t any street addresses in Carmel, Señorita. Does it have a name?”
“McCann’s Lodge.”
“Oh.” He smiles. “That’s easy.” He points toward the sea. “Head straight down. Turn left on Camino Real. Three blocks up from the ocean. Big white house with green shutters. If you step onto the beach, you’ve gone too far.”
She looks down the deserted street. On a Saturday afternoon in Paris there would be a dozen taxicabs competing for fares. She feels ridiculous but asks, hopefully, “Taxi service?”
“Nope. Just Critter,” José replies, motioning toward a two-story wooden building. A lanky young cowboy leans against one of the porch posts underneath a rustic sign: Carmel Hotel - Stage and Transfer Autos For Hire to All Points.
“Hey, Critter,” yells José. “Can’t you see this fine lady needs your help? Show her the way to that boarding house. You know, where all those pretty paintin’ gals live.” Critter pinches the lit end of his cigarette and drops it in his shirt pocket. The spurs on his muddy boots jingle as he strolls over to Sarah.
“Howdy, ma’am,” he says, tipping his broad-brimmed hat. “This way.”
Without another word, he picks up her valise with ease and strides down the hill. Sarah slings her sketch box over her shoulder, grips her satchel, and does her best to keep up with him. Her Parisian pumps—often silenced by the crowded, noisy boulevards in Paris—bang loudly against the hollow, wood-planked boardwalk. The few passersby glance suspiciously at the new arrival in a red Chanel suit.