November 19, 2016

Jane Eyre Giveaway at Hamlette's blog!

This is why I always dance when I hear a favorite song playing in the grocery store or Old Navy. :: print by Emily McDowell:
Hey friends! This is just a quick announcement (and shameless way of gaining three more entries. Hush.) that Hamlette over at The Edge of the Precipice is holding a Jane Eyre giveaway, and it ends today! Don't miss out; she's got some really great prizes lined up. :)

Here's the link. Good luck!!

November 7, 2016

NaNo Week 1 (with story snippets)

Heeeeyyyy all! *group hug* I haven't been gone long at all, have I? I mean, considering I've been participating in NaNoWriMo and I didn't think I'd blog till December. :P
Day 1 of NaNo. I was all ready to go with my cup of tea, pumpkin spice candle, and writing buddy, Keenan, a little purple bunny. :P
Well, NaNo is still happening and so I should be writing rather than working on this blog post! But, as I've been writing Rose and Isaac (working title) this past week, I knew I was going to want to share some snippets with you all. I've been having a LOT of fun writing this book. It's the first story in a long time that I've written in first person POV, and I'm so glad I am. I had toyed with the idea of third-person POV, but I now I shudder at the thought. This particular story needs first person POV. "Being" my character, for a change, has been such fun and I feel as if it's stretching my writing abilities.

But enough about all that. You're here for snippets, right? Well, here you go. (I trust all of my blogging friends, of course, but for any of you random internet plagiarists out there, please do not share or steal my work. Write something yourself. :P)

~We lived on a quiet road. Most people in our small town of  {town's name}, {state} (I haven't yet decided where they live. :P), lived somewhere scattered on the outskirts of town. Well, our house was on the outskirts of the outskirts. I didn't mind. We weren't bothered by salesmen, or vehicles determined to break the speed limit. I liked nothing better than to step out onto our front porch in summer, take a deep breath of the warm air, and gaze about at our trees and fields and land—and see nothing but beauty for miles about.

~Freddie had smiled. He had dropped his napkin onto the table, and his strong arms hung at his sides, swinging back and forth a little from his nervous energy. I suppose I should have known what was coming. We had always been able to read each other's minds. We hadn't had secrets from each other.
Notice I use the past tense, "had."

"Mother....Dad," he had said, "I know this is going to be hard, but...." His blue eyes had traveled around the table, meeting each of our expectant gazes and apologetically pleading to be understood. He let his gaze fall to the tabletop before he said his next words. I suppose men brave enough to go to war couldn't be expected to have enough to courage to meet their family's gaze while telling them, too. "I've decided I want to sign up."

The words had been simple. Vague, even. Someone could easily ask, "sign up for what, Freddie, dear?" But no one did. Even eleven-year-old Pete knew what he meant, and Pete was notorious for not understanding the simplest things sometimes like, wipe your boots on the rug when you come inside. 
~Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Cold air whistled in, but the man didn't move. I stepped out into the ankle deep snow. Pete would be shoveling the porch tomorrow.
Snow whipped around me like shooting stars in the darkness. There were indeed dark splotches in the snow. The reality of the moment hit me. This man was bleeding. Bleeding to death, probably.  I didn't know what was the worse, the thought of a strange man in the house, or a dead one on the porch.

Scratch that. I knew.

Search results for: country living - Fresh Farmhouse:

~The light was on under the boys’ door. Late as it was, they wouldn’t go to bed till someone told them. I cracked open the door. Pete looked up with a guilty expression. He was building some sort of ridiculous tent with his sheets and pillows. Archie was sprawled on his bed, reading a comic book. Probably a new one, since they went into town.
I arched a brow at Pete. “Did you brush your teeth yet?”
He visibly shrunk into his pillow fort. “No.”
“Well, you’d better get to it,” I sighed. What was it with boys and teeth brushing? I liked having a mouth that felt clean. Didn’t boys have taste buds, too?

~Pete’s anxious face above mine was the first thing that woke me that morning. “Rose, Rose, wake up, wake up!”
I shoved his little hands off my shoulder and rolled over. Goodness, it was freezing, even in bed. “What is it?” I mumbled.
“There’s a burglar sleeping in the pantry!”
Isaac. I rolled out of bed, wide awake now that I remembered the events of last night. The room was a dim, dark gray. If I hadn’t seen the time on my clock, I’d swear it was still the middle of the night. My feet hit the floor and even though I had a pair of socks on—not the ones from last night—my feet cringed at the impact. I pulled them back into the bed.
“Pete, grab my slippers, please.”
Pete grabbed them and flung them before me. He moved to leave the room, but I lunged for his sleeve. “Wait a minute.”
“But the man—”
“I know about the man,” I said. “His name is Isaac and he’s not a burglar.”
“How do you know about him?” Pete seemed personally offended that I met this intruder before he did, rather than being thankful he wasn’t a burglar.


~Grandpa was coming up the stairs now. I continued my climb and waited for him at the top.
He smiled at me when he reached the last step. “You sure had an exciting night, Rose.”
I rubbed my arms. It was chilly upstairs. “I confess it was the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced.”
He touched my arm sympathetically. “You handled it well. He seems like a nice boy.”
“You think so?” My tone held more happiness than I meant to reveal.
Grandpa chuckled. “Surrre.” He drew the word out slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I’m not in the habit of misjudgin’ a person, now, am I?”
“No...not usually,” I teased.
He put on an offended look. “Rosie, you gotta learn to accept the judgment of your elders.”
I smiled and kissed his cheek. “I never argue with you, Grandpa. You always know best.”



(Of course, all of that was rough draft, so I apologize for any mistakes. )

I'd love to talk more about my story, but it's four in the afternoon, and I haven't touched my novel all day. I better go. -sigh- Those 50,000 words aren't going to write themselves, you know. ;)