| General Fiction posted September 28, 2025 | Chapters: |
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The Girls of FS are at it again!
A chapter in the book Detour: Hurricane Road
Nerves of Steel (Rachelle)
by Rachelle Allen
It is an another absolutely gorgeous day in Upstate New York. After a summer of having to stay in bed 24/7, I can't get enough of being out in the picture-perfect weather.
First, I'd had painful eye surgery, just two weeks after Recital Day, and then I'd had a failed kidney stone removal surgery. This was followed by three weeks of excruciating pain while I medicated the infection, and, after that, there was a second surgery, though, thankfully, this time, a successful one.
So now, with the arrival of September, I am in the throes of year number thirty-four of teaching voice, flute and piano lessons to sixty-five beloved students and thoroughly savoring every moment of this post-summer-debacle "re-set."
With just twenty minutes before I need to leave to begin Week Two of lessons, my phone rings. Caller ID reads: "Low-Class Dixie Chick," and I smile.
A year ago, I'd carpooled to the FanStory International Convention in Atlantic City, New Jersey, with the fabulous Gretchen "GW" Hargis. She lives in the Outer Banks and picked me up in Baltimore, where I'd been visiting my cousin, Tova. It was Gretchen's and my first-ever in-person meeting, though we had formed a tight, fun friendship on FanStory.
In Pennsylvania's Amish Country, we'd gotten way-laid when Gretchen's clunker of a car - ironically named "Old Reliable" - had stranded us, and Tova and her husband Manny had come to our rescue. A bizarre friend of Tova's, named Jane Babies, had tagged along, and she had hated Gretchen almost on sight. In no time, she'd even had the chutzpah to call her a "low class Dixie chick" right to her face.
All this is evoked just by seeing that reference on my Caller ID.
"Gretchen!" I exclaim without preamble. "I've been thinking about you all day because I'm wearing those gorgeous music-themed earrings you made me to buoy my spirits this summer!"
"I've been thinking about you, too," she sort of stammers, and immediately my Jewish Mommie hackles raise up.
"Why? What's wrong?" I demand.
"Nothing," she assures me, then goes on to explain about having been approached by a woman named Diane Lennon who's high on the food chain at Random House Publishing. Apparently, Diane had overheard Gretchen telling her lunch date about all the ridiculousness we'd experienced both to and from the FanStory Convention and was interested in selling it as a book!
I am flabbergasted. This is like a dream sequence in a really Old Timey musical or something.
The rub, Gretchen tells me, is that we have to get three chapters to Diane Lennon by the end of the month...and it's already the sixteenth.
An "Ah-OOOOO-guh" blast of Back to Reality reverberates in my head, and my dream sequence is squelched at once.
When I remind Gretchen about mere technicalities that might interfere with our creating such a work product - things like our families, our jobs and everything associated with our everyday lives - she counters with, "Diane suggests we rent a house on the Outer Banks for a week, where we can work undisturbed."
The Old Timey dream sequence returns.
"Well, I did miss out on absolutely every ounce of fun this summer," I say, beginning to process my justifications aloud. "My birthday, my annual trip to Lake George with my college roommate, my twenty-sixth anniversary with Bobby." In the next breath, I further these justifications with, "And Bobby will be ensconced in eighteen-hour days until October fifteenth, preparing tax returns for the remainder of his clients on extensions."
I pause as visions of possibilities flash through my mind.
"I'll just load up all my sweeties with extra songs to learn this week and meet you in the Outer Banks next Monday!"
Gretchen gasps. It sounds like part relief and part incredulity.
"And this time," I tell her, "this time our getaway will be FABULOUS! No Amish corn cob curlers, no runaway horses, no FanStory convention food fights and certainly no Jane Babies! Nothing but writing and collaborating, laughing, schmoozing and soaking up the warmth on a sun-drenched beach. I'll even make you meatballs, and you can eat them under the table like you did at the convention when all hell broke loose and you had that infamous moment with 'The Tom' of FanStory and requested he give us more than six stars to use each week."
"Sounds perfect," says Gretchen, "though I do wish you'd let me forget that 'The Tom' vignette."
"Yeah; as if!" I snort. "I'm going to pack the minute I return home from lessons this evening," I tell her. "Can't wait for this HAPPY, FUN-FILLED time with you. No complications, no unexpected traumas. Just joy from start to finish. We've EARNED it!"
"We HAVE earned it," she agrees. "We have a deal!"
We disconnect, and just as I'm pulling out of my garage, smiling like a child who's just been told she's going to Disneyland, a strand of lightning inflames the horizon. Thunder thrums beneath my tires, and for the first time in six weeks, a ferocious onslaught of rain pelts my car.
First, I'd had painful eye surgery, just two weeks after Recital Day, and then I'd had a failed kidney stone removal surgery. This was followed by three weeks of excruciating pain while I medicated the infection, and, after that, there was a second surgery, though, thankfully, this time, a successful one.
So now, with the arrival of September, I am in the throes of year number thirty-four of teaching voice, flute and piano lessons to sixty-five beloved students and thoroughly savoring every moment of this post-summer-debacle "re-set."
With just twenty minutes before I need to leave to begin Week Two of lessons, my phone rings. Caller ID reads: "Low-Class Dixie Chick," and I smile.
A year ago, I'd carpooled to the FanStory International Convention in Atlantic City, New Jersey, with the fabulous Gretchen "GW" Hargis. She lives in the Outer Banks and picked me up in Baltimore, where I'd been visiting my cousin, Tova. It was Gretchen's and my first-ever in-person meeting, though we had formed a tight, fun friendship on FanStory.
In Pennsylvania's Amish Country, we'd gotten way-laid when Gretchen's clunker of a car - ironically named "Old Reliable" - had stranded us, and Tova and her husband Manny had come to our rescue. A bizarre friend of Tova's, named Jane Babies, had tagged along, and she had hated Gretchen almost on sight. In no time, she'd even had the chutzpah to call her a "low class Dixie chick" right to her face.
All this is evoked just by seeing that reference on my Caller ID.
"Gretchen!" I exclaim without preamble. "I've been thinking about you all day because I'm wearing those gorgeous music-themed earrings you made me to buoy my spirits this summer!"
"I've been thinking about you, too," she sort of stammers, and immediately my Jewish Mommie hackles raise up.
"Why? What's wrong?" I demand.
"Nothing," she assures me, then goes on to explain about having been approached by a woman named Diane Lennon who's high on the food chain at Random House Publishing. Apparently, Diane had overheard Gretchen telling her lunch date about all the ridiculousness we'd experienced both to and from the FanStory Convention and was interested in selling it as a book!
I am flabbergasted. This is like a dream sequence in a really Old Timey musical or something.
The rub, Gretchen tells me, is that we have to get three chapters to Diane Lennon by the end of the month...and it's already the sixteenth.
An "Ah-OOOOO-guh" blast of Back to Reality reverberates in my head, and my dream sequence is squelched at once.
When I remind Gretchen about mere technicalities that might interfere with our creating such a work product - things like our families, our jobs and everything associated with our everyday lives - she counters with, "Diane suggests we rent a house on the Outer Banks for a week, where we can work undisturbed."
The Old Timey dream sequence returns.
"Well, I did miss out on absolutely every ounce of fun this summer," I say, beginning to process my justifications aloud. "My birthday, my annual trip to Lake George with my college roommate, my twenty-sixth anniversary with Bobby." In the next breath, I further these justifications with, "And Bobby will be ensconced in eighteen-hour days until October fifteenth, preparing tax returns for the remainder of his clients on extensions."
I pause as visions of possibilities flash through my mind.
"I'll just load up all my sweeties with extra songs to learn this week and meet you in the Outer Banks next Monday!"
Gretchen gasps. It sounds like part relief and part incredulity.
"And this time," I tell her, "this time our getaway will be FABULOUS! No Amish corn cob curlers, no runaway horses, no FanStory convention food fights and certainly no Jane Babies! Nothing but writing and collaborating, laughing, schmoozing and soaking up the warmth on a sun-drenched beach. I'll even make you meatballs, and you can eat them under the table like you did at the convention when all hell broke loose and you had that infamous moment with 'The Tom' of FanStory and requested he give us more than six stars to use each week."
"Sounds perfect," says Gretchen, "though I do wish you'd let me forget that 'The Tom' vignette."
"Yeah; as if!" I snort. "I'm going to pack the minute I return home from lessons this evening," I tell her. "Can't wait for this HAPPY, FUN-FILLED time with you. No complications, no unexpected traumas. Just joy from start to finish. We've EARNED it!"
"We HAVE earned it," she agrees. "We have a deal!"
We disconnect, and just as I'm pulling out of my garage, smiling like a child who's just been told she's going to Disneyland, a strand of lightning inflames the horizon. Thunder thrums beneath my tires, and for the first time in six weeks, a ferocious onslaught of rain pelts my car.
 Recognized |
This is a co-authored book - Gretchen's and my second in the Detour series - so, in order to get the full effect of the story, be sure to read her chapters (GW Hargis) as well, each week. We're so happy to have you along for another adventure!! xoxo
And, for some added fun (and a little history), you can also check out our original book, Detour, which is in both of our portfolios!
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and 2 member cents. And, for some added fun (and a little history), you can also check out our original book, Detour, which is in both of our portfolios!
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© Copyright 2025. Rachelle Allen All rights reserved.
Rachelle Allen has granted FanStory, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
