He was a lizard in a phone salesman’s clothes. She was a pure barracuda. Little did they know, they were both packing heat. They smacked lips, grabbed their order to go and zipped west in her candy-colored Camry, looking for the next big thing and – if time – a Crates & Curtains.

I’m always coming up with ideas for novels that I have no time to write. If you are the same, join me. Submit an excerpt of 100 words or less from your unfinished novel.

In those days, sports columnists were treated like rock stars. Frankie Jaye scooped up every bit of it: The games, the wine, the women. Then, one night, he was on deadline. He had the yips. He couldn’t find a slant. And there was Dick Vitale – two seats down – running that damn yapper.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” Don Satano said, wiping a dab of sauce from his jowl. Norman felt fear stab his gut. Satano folded his napkin. “When you need to cut those pretty locks of yours, you see the barber, right? Well, from now on, when you need your prices slashed, you see me.”

An acclaimed Doctor of Antiquities, people once gossiped about him in five tongues. Now, he was just some fat guy in a djellaba with a big wallet and ugly mug. He gripped the dusty satchel of relics at his side. “Forty quid gets a spot in the back,” the smuggler snorted. “But no bags, mate.”

Wrenny was a guy who knew all of the angles – save for one. He couldn’t get in good graces with Jill’s mom. Things got out of hand — really fast. “You’re such a sweet boy,” she said, giving the vise an extra crank. “So, I won’t ask again: Where did you bury it?”

The “Bulldog of Butler County,” they called him – the nastiest Metro reporter this side of the Onatonkwa River. He sniffed out the big story about the library scandal. Then, he vanished. They all figured he got a job on the Internet or something … until … one day, Bulldog came back.

For years, Timothy kept the rare Scottish berm fowl in a smart, iron cage in his den. One day, the fowl escaped through an open hatch, stole two credit cards and bought a ticket to Santa Fe. To his horror, Timothy realized he had been living with a bad bird – a very bad bird.

At age 10, Martin learned that his superb taste was a gift, not a curse, a special power he could use to help mankind and bring peace and balance to the universe. His mother was right: He was no ordinary lad. “Enough!” Doctor Lexor sneered. “Activate the lasers!”

“And so when you hear thunder, it’s just the angels rolling a strike,” Father Gallagher said, grinning through his red mustache. Sally felt sad. She knew he meant well and loved him for it. But a heaven full of gutters and bowling balls gave her little comfort.