A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

a day over twenty-one. Boyishly handsome, he had ginger hair, an angular chin, rose red lips, and a playful laugh. He reminded Olivia of Peter Pan. Harris was more bashful than the leader of the Lost Boys, however, due to a chronic case of rosacea. As a result, he spent too much time alone with only cyber friends as company.
    Over the summer Olivia had convinced Harris to try a new laser treatment offered by her aesthetician, with excellent results. The skin on Harris’s face now resembled a blush instead of an angry crimson. He’d already attended a few social functions with coworkers from the computer software company where he worked developing background graphics for video games. Harris had another treatment scheduled in two weeks and Olivia hoped he’d continue to fall for the aesthetician’s assurances that his treatments were free because she was conducting a clinical trial.
    “Should I strap on my suit of armor?” Harris asked the other writers nervously and opened a notebook featuring UFOs on the cover.
    As soon as Olivia set a platter of desserts on the coffee table, Harris lurched forward and loaded up on chocolate mousse served in white chocolate cups, miniature key lime pies, and homemade shortbread.
    “I’ll go first,” Olivia began. “As you know, I am not a fan of science fiction. But it doesn’t matter that this story is set in the future. What matters is that I am invested in Zenobia. In the beginning of chapter one I found her a little cold—a sheltered and spoiled child. At this point in the narrative, however, I empathize with this young woman and hope she can find a way to grieve while having to represent the calm and controlled face of the nobility. I think you’ve done a good job illustrating the difficulty she’s having managing both her anger and her sorrow. Her loneliness is almost tangible and I think readers will root for her to find genuine companionship in the next few chapters.” She paused, scanning over her written comments. “I’m curious about the tattoo on her palm as well. I wonder if the Hunter is based on the Orion constellation.”
    Harris grinned. “It is. There’s a connection to the Chosen Ones and Earth. Of course, Earth has been depleted of all it natural resources, but Zenobia’s people have the technology to completely restore the planet. But they won’t search for our galaxy in this book. This one concentrates on Zenobia coming into her own and figuring out how to make Zulton the new home of her people.”
    Millay studied Harris. “I like that your heroine’s not some prissy princess type. The martial arts training scene was way cool.” Harris flushed a deeper shade of red at the praise. Olivia sensed the young man would do anything to gain the favor of the beautiful barkeep. “But you have got to change some of Zenobia’s dialogue.” Millay traced her hand down a page, looking for the right notation. “For example, Zenobia says she’s going to squash her simulation opponent ‘flat as a pancake . ’ I don’t see pancakes as a futuristic food and it’s a total cliché anyway. You do it again later on. Zenobia’s ‘seeing red’ when she notices the Regent on her father’s throne and she tells her advisor not to ‘pull her leg.’ Those terms don’t mesh with your genre at all.”
    Harris looked horrified. Sticking his hands into his wavy, ginger hair, he moaned. “Ugh, those clichés really stand out now that I’m hearing them aloud.”
    Laurel gave Harris a kind smile. “You know what you do wonderfully in this chapter?” She held out his pages. “You make me view things through Zenobia’s eyes. That scene where she walks into the throne room and looks up at the seven moons and the starry sky through that enormous glass ceiling . . .” She glanced out the cottage window where daytime was fading into twilight. The horizon over the ocean was blurred by the humidity, and the sky was a nearly colorless yellow. “I could see those moons and the star clusters and the nebulae as if they were right out that window. Whenever you described the setting using terms I understood, I was able to get completely lost in the scene.” She hesitated. Laurel did her best to deliver criticism with a gentle touch. “But whenever you used too many futuristic terms, I couldn’t visualize what you were writing about any longer. For example, I got the description of the fighting simulator, but when you started talking about Zenobia’s weapons I