Last week I abruptly came to the end of writing another section of this saga, which means time to release yet another piece of this novel. The way this tale is evolving is like no other I’ve written, which keeps me on my toes as well as providing necessary breaks in the work. But the end is finally in sight, which also feels good. One of these days I will complete this behemoth!
I had planned to release this later in the week, but realized that today being Leap Day, what a fabulous opportunity to publish a novel! Or a slice of a saga; Part Seven of The Hawk is a little shorter than the rest, but plenty is packed into this fifty thousand-plus installment, which is available in all formats on Smashwords.
Happy Leap Day to all!
Sometimes plans go awry, but in this case, it means an additional entry to this series. Originally I had slated for Part Five to be released early next year, but…. But I changed my mind, and here it is, available on Smashwords in all formats.
As the end of 2015 approaches, I also want to note a few meanderings in how my life has altered; compared to years past, the writing has slowed considerably, but then previously babies and quilts weren’t considered. Life without my dad around has changed me, pointing out how fleeting is our presence within this world, and how suddenly we climb the ladder of distinguished familial members. Perhaps becoming a grandmother hastened that ascendance, although other than a few minor aches, I don’t feel much older. I feel like….
Like another part of my life has begun. But it’s not quite like releasing yet another piece of a serialized novel, although they do share one distinct trait; I have no idea when The Hawk will be completed, just like I’m clueless as to when my corporeal presence will cease. And thankfully I’m so busy with words and fabrics and caring for adorable infants I have little time to mull over such details. The Burrito is ten months old and walking, while Little Miss is six months and sitting like a pro. She loves Buttercup, of course, who is very good with both babies, and extremely pleased when food falls from their high chairs into her waiting mouth. The above shot was taken the day after Thanksgiving, at which time The Burrito was merely experimenting with steps. Now he toddles all over, while Little Miss lunges for Buttercup, a first Christmas for both just around the corner.
As this year comes to an end, I wish to acknowledge how good is this life, how changes that might outwardly appear unfortunate season who we are becoming, whether it’s a grandmother or improv quilter or someone on the cusp of turning a year old. Ten years ago I participated in my first NaNoWriMo, and while the words aren’t as plentiful as before, I’d like to think they have become more meaningful. And I must release expectations as to how they will continue to flow, permitting that all things are beyond my control. But that is fine, it truly is. My father died this year, two grandchildren were born. I’ve started hand-quilting, a process that while slower than using my machine, proffers more time to study the fabrics pieced together. Maybe the output will be lessened, but the love that goes into comforters only increases.
And that is my lesson for 2015, to live in this moment as much as is feasible. Memories are welcome, but so much is happening that I have little time to reminisce. Which for me is good, because even though Dad is gone, he’s here in my toddling grandchildren, in the quilts, and the words. And of course, within my heart, a muscle that performs miracles by keeping everything in working order via beats and love. This Christmastime, I am reminded of the tender but powerful gift of love, which I always hope to relay within my novels, through quilts, and to gently instill within those little ones. I share that love with you today, wishing a most peaceful Advent season, followed by a very happy Christmas!
Today I released a short story: “50 Years Waiting” is my foray into the world of smaller tales, although it is a pleasant eleven thousand words. Originally I was going to flesh it out as a novel-length manuscript, but last summer I was encouraged by Suzy Stewart Dubot to try writing a short story. This novella, if you will, is affectionately dedicated to Suzy, for her gentle arm-twisting, and was first released within the Why Me? collection by Top Writers Block.
So, why a short story? Well, for one thing, I have more plots than I could shake a stick at. This idea seemed suited to a more compact delivery, and once I started writing, the saga tumbled forth over several evenings last summer, when my husband was away on business. What better way to kill time than by spinning a yarn?
Not that Andrea is bored; on her seventy-second birthday, she celebrates with family, worming her way out of joining her daughters on errands by saying she’s going fishing. She has no plans to do anything of the sort, yet, an even bigger surprise awaits. Andrea’s party is broken up by an old flame, yet that man, previously ten years her senior, has not aged a day since she last saw him, five decades in the past. Thom Sugerman is still thirty-two, baffling himself, Andrea, and her grandchildren, who are just a bit younger than Thom. How Thom managed to stay so young is one query. The other causes Andrea great consternation; how could he still be in love with her with so many years passed in the interim?
Writing this tale, I pondered just how love remains, not for Thom, but a woman who suffered his disappearance, then married, raising a family. A widow for ten years, now Andrea faces a lover never forgotten, also unchanged from when she last saw him. How Thom slipped through time isn’t half of Andrea’s problems; her eldest grandson Justin harbors deep suspicions, as does his sister Laurel, who is a ringer for her grandmother as Thom remembers Andrea. Yet, Thom only has eyes for one woman; he doesn’t see Andrea’s age spots and wrinkles, but her memorable smile and familiar hands. Thom sees Andrea, or Andy, as he always called her, as the woman he loved, then somehow lost. Andrea is baffled by that far more than how in the world he has shown up at her door.
Next week I’ll be taking off some time, and hopefully not losing any of it; a belated anniversary holiday is in the works that will see no writing, but probably some plotting. And perhaps a wee bit of blogging, if something intriguing occurs. I am in need of some days with just the hubby in warm climes amid our second favourite sport; football is long over, but baseball season looms. If I happen to snag a moment with Angel Pagan, Marco Scutaro, or any other San Francisco Giant, I’ll post the evidence here. In the meantime if “50 Years Waiting” catches your fancy, head over to Smashwords and download your free copy. This short story won’t be distributed via other online retailers, but is available in all ebook formats, so no matter what ereader tickles your fancy, “50 Years Waiting” is waiting for you.