The following excerpt has been used with the permission of a former client and/or the publisher. Please note that I can adjust my prose style for a particular genre, and the following is not intended to represent my full range of styles or the number of genres I consider. For nonfiction, the level of complexity can be adjusted depending on client preference.
As parents, we convince ourselves that cell phones make teens safer when away from the nest. With the advent of cell technology, mothers and fathers thought they would always know where their children were on mysterious nightly forays with friends. The reality, in many cases, has tragically turned out to be very different.
My son Alex, a straight-A student and captain of his high school basketball team, went out on a Friday night with a teammate, John. Alex called at eleven, reassuring me that he was watching a movie at John's house – "It's The Empire Strikes Back, Mom" – and would be home by midnight, twelve-thirty at the latest.
The hospital called at eleven-thirty. Alex was in then ER with a concussion and three broken ribs. His blood alcohol level had revealed that he was legally drunk when the car he'd been driving had slammed into the side of an eighteen-wheeler. My husband and I rushed to St. Clement's Hospital and stayed with Alex until he was given further tests and admitted.
Alex recovered in the following months, but two days after the accident I put my son's cell in the middle of our driveway. Lifting my right leg, I brought the heel of my shoe down hard on the iPhone, reducing it to a dozen shards of metal and plastic.