WIP Wednesday

WIP-Chapter 4

This has been a tough week writing-wise, but when Tuesday morning came around, I wrote, instead of tending to the mass of grading that should’ve been done and returned days ago. I found I couldn’t let the writing go, a good thing, and the 52–week challenge is a big reason for my butt-in-chair, get something written accomplishment. (Not to say they were good words, but at least they were words. Revision will take place at a later date.)

Synopsis-thus far

This chapter flips back to 1806, six years after Joshua and his then-pregnant wife arrive in the backwater village of Buck’s Eye. Joshua, a Revolutionary War veteran, plans to settle on the land grant he’s received as payment for his service.

Snippet-Chapter Four

(This is still fairly rough and needs more work. The goal with the challenge is to get this book done.)

“Have you seen my girls?” he asked a few people on the fringes of the crowd. When they shook their heads, he dropped to the ground and pulled on his boots. As he stood, a dog shambled up to the crowd, from the path that led to the Sweet Water river.

The girls had been after him to get them a puppy; the shopkeeper’s mutt had given birth and he was giving away the puppies to anyone who would take them. Joshua had refused, not wanting another responsibility in his life when he struggled to meet the ones he had.

Joshua slapped his leg. “Come here, boy,” he said. A bit of red tangled in the dog’s matted fur had caught his eye. He worked it free and his legs began to shake as he held it up.

“What is it?” Joshua heard someone ask. His tight throat held his words captive.

“It’s a ribbon,” one of the women said, coming forward to take it from Joshua. He held it tight, refusing to give it to her. “It belongs to Mary,” she said. Mary was well-known in the village for her love of red, and several of the women had parted with their own scraps, forgoing the color red in their rugs and quilts, to make the motherless girl with a drunk for a father, happy. “But it was tangled in the dog’s fur.”

“The dog that just came up from the river,” said a man. “Speech needs to wait.”

Joshua, jolted into sobriety, struck out for the river, gripping the ribbon. “Mary!”

WIP Wednesday Chapter 3

WIP-Chapter 3

It was hard motivating myself to sit at my desk and write another chapter this morning (I’m several chapters ahead of the snippets I post. I wrote chapter 4 this morning and maybe I will get some of chapter 5 done today too. Bonus!). I reserve Tuesday mornings, and possibly afternoons, for my writing. I teach writing classes at a local university and by the time I’m done talking in class and/or reading student work, I’ve got nothing left for my own work. So Tuesday mornings are sacred and all mine.

Synopsis

This chapter shifts back to 1975 and Terri’ s point of view. Terri is a widow and must move back, with her daughter, to Terri’s childhood home, a move she loathes to make, but must.

Chapter 3 Snippet

I laughed. “No. I lived in a house. We just can’t see it from here.” I climbed back into the car, wincing as I bumped my ankle. I drove a bit farther, stopping just before the road dips and begins to slip down into a small valley.

Below was the land that had been in my family for generations. A land grant as payment for fighting in the Revolutionary War, the farm had remained in family hands through the generations, tied to the land in ways many in Buck’s Eye were tied to their property — through family that never really seemed to leave.

“It looks like our other house,” Chelsea said, and in many ways it similar to the one we’d left — white farmhouse with wraparound porch, a barn not far from the house, a small shed. This farm had some differences — a small fishing pond where I and my grandfather spent hours with fishing line dangling into the water, not too concerned with whether or not we caught anything. When he passed, he was buried in the small family plot set back into a stand of birch trees a short distance from the house.

The faint slam of a door reached us up on the knoll and a small figure stepped out of the shadows of the porch, shading her eyes as she looked up the road. One oak tree stood beside the steps; not two. The missing tree reminded me things had changed while I was gone. My grandmother’s beds of irises, daylilies and morning glories were covered in grass. The farm pond’s bank was bare — only four grey, splintered posts remained of Grandpa’s small fishing dock.

“There’s Grandma D,” Chelsea said.

“Yes, it is.”
“She has horses!” Chelsea said, clapping her hands. “Look Charlotte!” She snatched the small rag doll off the seat. “Horses!”

“Where?” I asked. I didn’t see any horses; never had, even though the phantom herd I’d heard my mother talk about was an intricate part of my childhood.