Just in time for Christmas, I have published my latest story on Smashwords.
Home in Indiana is about a small, rural Indiana town grappling with the specter of progress imposed from outside: a gaming company proposes to build a riverboat casino in the town. The townsfolk choose up sides and prepare for political battle. The town doctor recruits the head librarian to help lead the anti-gaming faction, and sparks fly in all directions.
You can read a sample chapter here.
Get it for only $0.99. Use this coupon code: VD86L.
Showing posts with label my novels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my novels. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
New Book: "Mountain People"
My latest novel, Mountain People, is now available on Smashwords and various other vendors, including Barnes & Noble, Sony and Kobo (but not Amazon).
This is a contemporary love story. For me it was a happy return to the Southern women's fiction that I love to write (and read).
Loretta Russell is an MIT-educated computer nerd who has lived far away from her tiny North Carolina home town for a couple of decades. Both she and her neighbors are fine with that, because Loretta had always been something of a misfit in the community. After encountering complications due to hip surgery, her mother asks Loretta to come home to help run the bed and breakfast she operates in the family home. Despite a prickly relationship, Loretta loves her mother, so she closes up her apartment in Silicon Valley, scales down her business, and immediately (before she can chicken out) she heads for the hills.
After settling into her new life in her old home, Loretta discovers many things about living in the Smokey Mountains that she loves. The two most important are hiking in the forest and cooking with her mother, especially her newly discovered love of baking pies. She enjoys baking so much, she starts an online business selling "Miss Loretta's Pies."
Jackson Shepherd is an emergency room physician in Asheville, North Carolina, who has sort of drifted through life with no particular goals. He is estranged from his family, and trying to get accustomed to living in the South again after attending medical school, and doing both his internship and residency, in Ohio. Dr. Shepherd is Loretta's best pie customer, buying two a month to serve at ER staff meetings. When he finds himself free for an entire weekend, Jackson checks into the Russell Inn. He hikes in the woods and hangs out in the kitchen with Loretta and her mother. Sparks fly between Jackson and Loretta, and they race down the path toward love.
But, there's a the stalker in the woods who would deny them their happily-ever-after.
The e-book is available here at Smashwords. By way of thanks to you for visiting my blog, use this coupon code for a free copy: EN48J.
This is a contemporary love story. For me it was a happy return to the Southern women's fiction that I love to write (and read).
Loretta Russell is an MIT-educated computer nerd who has lived far away from her tiny North Carolina home town for a couple of decades. Both she and her neighbors are fine with that, because Loretta had always been something of a misfit in the community. After encountering complications due to hip surgery, her mother asks Loretta to come home to help run the bed and breakfast she operates in the family home. Despite a prickly relationship, Loretta loves her mother, so she closes up her apartment in Silicon Valley, scales down her business, and immediately (before she can chicken out) she heads for the hills.
After settling into her new life in her old home, Loretta discovers many things about living in the Smokey Mountains that she loves. The two most important are hiking in the forest and cooking with her mother, especially her newly discovered love of baking pies. She enjoys baking so much, she starts an online business selling "Miss Loretta's Pies."
Jackson Shepherd is an emergency room physician in Asheville, North Carolina, who has sort of drifted through life with no particular goals. He is estranged from his family, and trying to get accustomed to living in the South again after attending medical school, and doing both his internship and residency, in Ohio. Dr. Shepherd is Loretta's best pie customer, buying two a month to serve at ER staff meetings. When he finds himself free for an entire weekend, Jackson checks into the Russell Inn. He hikes in the woods and hangs out in the kitchen with Loretta and her mother. Sparks fly between Jackson and Loretta, and they race down the path toward love.
But, there's a the stalker in the woods who would deny them their happily-ever-after.
The e-book is available here at Smashwords. By way of thanks to you for visiting my blog, use this coupon code for a free copy: EN48J.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
New ebook: "Sisters"
My newest novel, Sisters, is now available for purchase on Smashwords and in the Kindle Store. It will soon be available from other distributors as well.
Here is a sample from the first Chapter:
This story about a group of nuns who undertake the absolutely unthinkable, under the courageous leadership of their remarkable Mother Superior.
Here is a sample from the first Chapter:
Charlotte Rose
Jefferson was born at home on her family's farm near Gallipolis,
Ohio. She never knew her exact birth date, but she believed she was
born in 1938. She had three older brothers and one younger one. Her
father worked on a river barge on the Ohio River and was gone for
long periods of time, leaving her mother to care for the family,
alone, on a farm that was approximately six miles from the nearest
town. Their old truck broke down frequently, and, even more
frequently, they couldn't afford to put gas in it. The children often
had to walk to the store to buy supplies and then lug the groceries
home. More often than not, they did not have the money to pay for
what they needed, in which case they begged the store owner to give
them credit or made such a pitiful scene that one of the other
customers would give them some money. Frequently, one or two of the
kids would create a distraction and the others would simply steal
what they needed.
Charlotte never
remembered her mother leaving the farm for any reason.
None of the
children attended school. Occasionally truant officers nosed around,
but the children hid and their parents denied they had any children,
although they did occasionally admit to having some nieces and
nephews “visiting for a while.” Since all of the children had
been born at home and none of the births had been recorded, the
school had little information to go on in order to enforce the
mandatory school attendance laws. As a consequence, all of the
children were illiterate and almost completely ignorant of the world
outside of the farm.
The boys worked the
tobacco fields while their mother and Charlotte tended the vegetable
garden and took care of the house. The children were not allowed to
play with other kids. Other than their excursions to the grocery
store, they were not allowed to leave the property. Their mother was
a dour woman who rarely said anything to them other than to give
them orders. They had no telephone and no TV. Their parents had a
radio, but it was in the bedroom and the children were not allowed to
listen to it. There were no books in the house. Later, Charlotte
remembered her childhood as a dark and mean existence.
Their sole
potential source of entertainment was a battered and hopelessly
out-of-tune piano that had gathered dust in the parlor since
Charlotte's grandmother died when Charlotte was a baby. Charlotte was
fascinated by the piano and knew that somehow it could give great
pleasure if she could figure out what to do with it. She was not
allowed to touch it, but she spent hours every week contemplating the
wonderful things it might be able to do. For Charlotte, the mysteries
of the piano made it an almost an object of worship, which was the
closest thing she knew to religious faith in a family that had no
religion.
Charlotte's passion
was baking bread and pastries. She learned to cook at a very young
age, and she loved to bake. By the time she was ten or so, she had
taken over full responsibility for providing bread, biscuits, pies
and, occasionally (when they had eggs), cakes for the family. Baking
was the one thing that gave her pleasure as a child. It made her feel
she was contributing something valuable to her family, and that gave
her a sense of purpose. Moreover, the kinesthetic experience of the
touch, feel and smell of baked goods – particularly bread –
nurtured her sensuous nature, perhaps more than her mother would have
permitted had she known about Charlotte's feelings.
Life alone with her
mother and the boys on the farm when their father was away was grim
and hard. Life on the farm when Papa was home was hell on earth.
Charlotte described him as a mean, hateful drunk who terrorized the
household. He was physically abusive to the boys, and emotionally and
verbally abusive to his wife and Charlotte. Charlotte could not
recall her father ever hitting her or her mother, although her mother
occasionally turned up with bruises on her arms. He beat the boys
with whatever was handy whenever he lost his temper, but the worst
beatings were conducted in the barn – with a belt.
The entire family
lived in fear when their father was at home. Fortunately, during
Charlotte's early years, he was rarely home more than a few days at a
time.
At intervals the
oldest two boys left home. One day her oldest brother was gone when
the family got up. They never heard from him again. Two years later,
the next brother disappeared in the same way. Neither of the parents
ever mentioned either of the boys again. Charlotte missed them
terribly. For a while. Until they were reduced to vague sore spots in
her memory.
When Charlotte was
about fifteen, her father was seriously hurt on his job. He spent
several weeks in bed recovering from his injuries, and the children
came to understand (from eavesdropping on conversations between their
parents) that he would not be able to return to his job on the river.
Early one morning
Charlotte's remaining older brother cornered her in the barn. He said
he thought it was time to discuss what the kids should do now that
their father would be staying home for good. He told her that, as bad
as he had been before, he reckoned that things would get much worse
if Pa was going to be home all the time – and in pain, to boot.
Charlotte's older brother was about seventeen; Charlotte was a year
or two younger; the baby was seven. Charlotte and her brother decided
to run away and take their little brother with them, to keep him out
of harm's way.
The children had
never been further from home than the grocery. They were totally
illiterate. They didn't even know the name of their home town. They
had been taught to fear and mistrust outsiders. Still, they felt they
had to risk venturing out in the world to avoid the abuse at home,
and – most importantly – to keep their little brother safe.
That night each of
the older children packed a change of underwear and socks in a sack.
Charlotte packed some clothes for little Jerry and stripped the
blankets from both their beds. Then she stole some bread and a jar of
jelly from the pantry. Before dawn, they roused Jerry, and the three
of them sneaked off into the woods. They got far enough away from the
house to feel safe until dawn, but not so far as to get too close to
the river and risk falling in. There, they huddled against a tree
until the sun came up.
The children stayed
in the woods for fear their parents would come after them. (That
didn't happen.) They walked a whole day in the woods, venturing near
the highway only a couple of times in order to get water and allow
Charlotte to use the bathroom at gas stations. The next morning they
were out of food and it threatened to rain. They were near a town, so
remote hiding places were becoming harder to find.
They came across a
house with a detached garage, so they sneaked into the garage and hid
just before the storm broke. To their delight they discovered the
owners of the house had a spare refrigerator in the garage as well as
a storage pantry filled with dry goods and canned food. The
refrigerator contained such magnificent treats as soft drinks (the
kids had heard their father talk about “pop” but they had never
tasted it) and grapefruit. They loaded up on soda, grapefruit and
canned peaches. Then, after the sugar high wore off, they all
collapsed into an exhausted sleep, curled up in a heap like puppies,
in the far corner of the garage.
That is how the
woman who owned the home found them late in the afternoon, after the
storm passed and she went to the garage to check for leaks.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
New Book: Hell In Texas
This is the third book in the Bev Deller series. Bev is an insurance adjuster from Ohio who does not like change. She has worked for the same company for nearly thirty years, doing largely the same work the entire time. She lives in the house where she was born, with her daughter, Emily, a high school junior. Bev's well-ordered life is about to be turned upside down.
Her immediate assignment is to investigate a suspicious fire that destroyed the home of a country music star. Her investigation takes her to East Texas and the Smokey Mountains, peeking behind the scenes into the private life of one of country music's iconic figures (a person she'd never heard of, because Bev's a blues snob). It seems that almost everyone in Texas and Nashville could potentially have motive and/or opportunity to set the fire, except for the kid who confesses to the crime.
Bev's personal life life takes her to Florida, when daughter Emily decides she want to attend the University of Florida instead of Shawnee State. After that they spend a few days in Sarasota with Bev's flaky mother and her rich sister, where Bev falls in love with the Florida Gulf Coast.
Bev's smoldering romance with Ed Casey seems about to heat up, just as Cameron Andrews, the PI from the Cayman Islands, makes her a job offer she'd be a fool to refuse. (Of course, as Casey points out, Bev's been known to be a fool especially when risk-taking of any kind is involved.)
The Ebook is available here.
Her immediate assignment is to investigate a suspicious fire that destroyed the home of a country music star. Her investigation takes her to East Texas and the Smokey Mountains, peeking behind the scenes into the private life of one of country music's iconic figures (a person she'd never heard of, because Bev's a blues snob). It seems that almost everyone in Texas and Nashville could potentially have motive and/or opportunity to set the fire, except for the kid who confesses to the crime.
Bev's personal life life takes her to Florida, when daughter Emily decides she want to attend the University of Florida instead of Shawnee State. After that they spend a few days in Sarasota with Bev's flaky mother and her rich sister, where Bev falls in love with the Florida Gulf Coast.
Bev's smoldering romance with Ed Casey seems about to heat up, just as Cameron Andrews, the PI from the Cayman Islands, makes her a job offer she'd be a fool to refuse. (Of course, as Casey points out, Bev's been known to be a fool especially when risk-taking of any kind is involved.)
The Ebook is available here.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
"Marathon Nightmare" is now available
Bev's back! I found Bev Deller, the main character in After the Fire, so interesting, I've written two more novels with her as the protagonist. The second in the series, Marathon Nightmare, is now available on Smashwords.
Following her success settling the restaurant fire in After the Fire, Bev is assigned to investigate a suspicious fire in a crummy motel in Marathon, Florida. The owner is a rich businessman who operates restaurants and casinos all around the Caribbean, but who lives a secret life of luxury and crime. He admits under oath that he set the fire, but did he really do it? Everyone Bev encounters in the Keys appears to have secrets, and no one tells her the whole truth about anything. The investigation takes Bev from the Florida Keys, to Miami, the Cayman Islands and Jamaica, in her efforts to pierce the impenetrable wall of secrets and lies hiding the truth of the fire's origin.
Simultaneously, Bev helps her daughter, Emily, through a life crisis; her relationship with Fire Chief Ed Casey takes an interesting turn; and, a mysterious private investigator in the Cayman Islands offers her a job. Will she leave Midwestern Indemnity after almost thirty years?
Following her success settling the restaurant fire in After the Fire, Bev is assigned to investigate a suspicious fire in a crummy motel in Marathon, Florida. The owner is a rich businessman who operates restaurants and casinos all around the Caribbean, but who lives a secret life of luxury and crime. He admits under oath that he set the fire, but did he really do it? Everyone Bev encounters in the Keys appears to have secrets, and no one tells her the whole truth about anything. The investigation takes Bev from the Florida Keys, to Miami, the Cayman Islands and Jamaica, in her efforts to pierce the impenetrable wall of secrets and lies hiding the truth of the fire's origin.
Simultaneously, Bev helps her daughter, Emily, through a life crisis; her relationship with Fire Chief Ed Casey takes an interesting turn; and, a mysterious private investigator in the Cayman Islands offers her a job. Will she leave Midwestern Indemnity after almost thirty years?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Spoleto
I've written quite a few novels in the last five years. I have loved none of them more than Spoleto. I'm sure it's all but unpublishable for a variety of reasons. The story emerged from my unconscious without any planning: it was already a whole story with a beginning, middle and ending. All I had to do was write it down. I didn't make any effort to make it reflect accurately the manner in which the Spoleto Music Festival is actually run. I made it accurate according to my heart's calling to write a story about how a culture that clings to an imaginary past glory can still manage to produce people who are able to grab love's brass ring when it comes by, no matter what the consequences may be.
Rochelle Hammond-Jones returns to Charleston, South Carolina, after more than two decades of living in New York. Divorced and with her children all launched, she returns to her home town ostensibly to care for her aged father, but in actuality she's home to make a new life for herself. She arrives at the beginning of the Spoleto Music Festival, Charleston's signature arts event.
She meets her father's landlord on her first day home, and soon realizes she has found her soul's true mate. Obstacles to their relationship are legion, including his unresolved relationship with another man, her post-divorce determination never to fall in love again and the opposition her children. One by one, the obstacles fall, and Rochelle and Guinyard embark on a happily-ever-after-life in support of the local arts community.
The e-book is available on Smashwords here.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Baiting & Fishing
I recently published an ebook version of my story Baiting & Fishing on Smashwords. It is available here.
Ray Bailey is a newspaper reporter whose world is falling apart: the Florida he loves is being buried under the weight of development and “progress”; his ex-wife (the love of his life) is dying; the independent newspaper in Sarasota to which he has devoted his talents for thirty years has sold to a conglomerate that is only interested in profits, preferably without spending any money on actually investigating real news stories.
He learns that the widow of the CEO of a corporation that collapsed in an Enron-like way has moved to Sarasota and taken up residence in an expensive gated community, riding around town in a chauffeur-driven car. He finds that interesting behavior for a woman who is supposed to be broke, so he takes a closer look.
Marcella Wilson turns out to be Ray's idea of the “perfect woman” -- i. e., a really smart person who loves to fish-- and he falls for her, heart, mind, body and soul. After he's already fallen in love with her, he learns that she might be either a murderess or a person in mortal danger.
When the "whole truth” is ultimately explained to him, even Ray doesn't believe it.
This is what I call a "beach book". It makes no pretense for being great literature, but it has great scenery, quirky characters, romance, a little sex and violence, and a mystery. If it were a hard copy book, it would be the kind of book you can pack in your suitcase and then leave in the hotel without feeling guilty.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
New Character - A Series in the Making??
I think I have encountered a character who can stand up to at least one more novel.
Bev Deller is an insurance adjuster who specializes in fire investigations. Typically she works on large losses such as hotels, restaurants and factories. She routinely deals with cops, lawyers, injured people and business people with many different agendas.
There's conflict galore! And she travels, so there can be all kinds of interesting settings.
She's divorced with a teen-aged daughter. They live in the small college town in Ohio, where Bev grew up and to which she returned to live with her father after her divorce. Her father is now dead. Her mother is an aging Chicago socialite who left her father when Bev was very small. Her father's family disowned him from the time he left home for college, and they never acknowledged Bev. That family estrangement has left her daughter feeling disconnected, rootless and curious. The primary sub-plot in After the Fire involves the process of connecting with Bev's father's family.
Sub-plots can go in lots of directions: dad's family; weird mom; teen angst.
Bev is tough but fair, and very tender-hearted (although she keeps that to herself for her own protection). She's smart and no-nonsense whether she'd dealing with investigators, lawyers or claimants. She's compassionate and gentle when dealing with victims of tragedy. She's ruthless and uncompromising when dealing with people who commit insurance fraud and/or who intentionally destroy property and injure people.
She's multi-dimensional.
I think I might follow After the Fire with another Bev Deller story and see if I can market them as a potential series.
Meredith
Sunday, March 21, 2010
After the Fire - Update
I started working on After the Fire in mid-January. I finished the first draft at more than 70,000 words a little after 5:00 AM on February 22. ( For the record, I took a week off in the middle to deal with personal issues, and I have a full-time job.) Over the weekend of Feb 19-21, I cranked out more than 14,000 words. I think my previous weekend high output was about 10,000 during NaNoWriMo.
This story came out whole. I knew where I was going with it from the beginning, although (happily) enough plot twists emerged in the writing to surprise me and keep me engaged. Having an outline and road map helped in writing the first part. Once I figured out exactly how the climax and denouement would play out, it was just a matter of pounding out the words.
I'm exhausted and also a little sad. Writing a novel in this speed-demon fashion is kind of like giving birth. It's scary and exciting, and very emotional. After you've finished with the birthing, you are faced with the knowledge that you have a whole hell of a lot of work ahead of you to bring this new creature to maturity.
Enter postpartum depression. (But, I don't have time for that.)
Meredith
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
A Home For Two
As I previously announced, I'm publishing my early, abandoned stories as E-books on Smashwords. This is my latest offering. It was supposed to to be a romance, but I think it turned into what is probably more accurately categorized as a love story. I'm not sure I really understand the distinction between the two genres.
In any case, it was loads of fun to write and I think it might make a fun vacation "beach read". Enjoy!
Meredith
Mia Thomas works as an event planner for an international hotel chain. In the two years since her husband died in a freak accident at a construction site, Mia buried herself in her work. Against her better judgment Mia lets her daughter talk her into going on a European cruise. On their first night at sea, Mia meets an attorney who is also recently widowed. The shipboard romance that ensues doesn't fizzle on the dock as vacation flirtations are supposed to do.
Mia and Jeremy Waters soon discover that they are soul-mates. After overcoming the obstacles of incompatible careers requiring each of them to travel almost constantly (mostly in opposite directions) and the disapproval of their children, they embark upon a new life together.
The e-book is available here.
Meredith
Sunday, February 7, 2010
New WIP: After the Fire
Recently I read somewhere that it's not a bad idea to write your pitch before you write the novel. That struck me as a brilliant idea, so I wrote a pitch at the most preliminary planning stages of my new story. I'm still outlining and creating characters, but here's the crux of my pitch (at least for now):
Meredith
When a suspicious fire destroys a local restaurant killing more than three dozen people, including two entire families attending a wedding rehearsal dinner, insurance adjuster, Bev Deller, arrives on the scene right behind the fire truck. First, she helps the firefighters pull survivors from the smoldering building, and then she seeks answers.
Who set the fire? Why?I am enjoying the thrill of drafting this one now.
In the aftermath of the tragedy, the horrified community looks to Bev and the fire chief for answers as it mourns its dead -- and looks for someone to blame.
Meredith
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Marianne's Vacation
As I mentioned in my last post, I have decided to "abandon" a few of my genre stories. As much as I loved writing my two romance novels, I really don't see myself as a romance writer. By the same token, while I enjoy reading fantasy occasionally, writing it was not as much fun as I expected.
Instead of querying stories that, while they could potentially be worthy of publication within their genres, are not the kind of stories I want to devote my life to writing, I'm going to put these stories "aside".
Instead of just abandoning them in my writing folder, I plan to make them available as free E-books on Smashwords. Perhaps someone might enjoy reading them, which will make me feel as though all the work that went into them was not a waste of time.
This past weekend, I started with Marianne's Vacation. I queried it a few times and didn't get any bites. It was a blast to write, but I think it's too old-fashioned and formulaic to be commercial. Frankly, that was by design. I'd never written a Romance, so I stuck to the formula. I think I'm over my "Romantic" period now.
Marianne's Vacation is now available for free on Smashwords, here.
Instead of querying stories that, while they could potentially be worthy of publication within their genres, are not the kind of stories I want to devote my life to writing, I'm going to put these stories "aside".
Instead of just abandoning them in my writing folder, I plan to make them available as free E-books on Smashwords. Perhaps someone might enjoy reading them, which will make me feel as though all the work that went into them was not a waste of time.
This past weekend, I started with Marianne's Vacation. I queried it a few times and didn't get any bites. It was a blast to write, but I think it's too old-fashioned and formulaic to be commercial. Frankly, that was by design. I'd never written a Romance, so I stuck to the formula. I think I'm over my "Romantic" period now.
Marianne's Vacation is now available for free on Smashwords, here.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Fiction - Kisses & Lies - Sample Chapter
Kisses and Lies is a story about friendship or, more specifically, the betrayal of friendship. The two female protagonists have been inseparable friends since junior high and and are still like sisters. Mary Jo is happily married and a rising star in a large law firm where she is up for a partnership. Her friend is trapped in a loveless marriage to a man who treats her like the maid. When Mary Jo and her friend's husband are set up to compete for the same partnership position, it sets off a chain of events that torpedoes one career, one marriage, and the women's friendship.
The story is narrated by each of characters, the two women and their husbands.
Sample it (or buy it) here. I'd welcome comments.
Meredith
The story is narrated by each of characters, the two women and their husbands.
Sample it (or buy it) here. I'd welcome comments.
Meredith
Sunday, October 25, 2009
A Character Who is a Writer
The new novel I am drafting (Working title: In All of Creation) features a protagonist who is either insane or uniquely gifted. One thing is for certain: she is a writer (as well as a painter and matchless artist in many other media).
I have previously written about characters who wrote books. In Always Faithful Connie Rydell (who is tax attorney) writes a book on on taxes and estate planning. A character in another story (who works for the Charleston, South Carolina chamber of commerce) writes a book about the local history and culture. In The Adventures of Miss Maybelle, Maybelle (who is a photographer) writes a memoir. In each of those cases, writing a book is incidental to the person's profession. They write books to share what they know or what they have experienced. In writing their stories they narrate, but do not create.
Libby Pohlman is an altogether different kind of character from any other I have written about. She is an artist in every possible respect. She writes. She paints. She makes quilts, pottery, furniture, and who knows what else (I have only written 30,000 words so far, so she may have a lot of skills I don't even know about yet). Libby's art is incidental to nothing. Creating beauty is the animating purpose for her life. She sells the results of her creativity to make money (a lot of money), but the money is incidental to the art.
It is far too early in the process to know where this story is headed, but I already have the sense that it is going to cut a whole lot closer to the core of my own creativity than anything I have written before. The cowardly part of me thinks I should be afraid. I am not. I am excited to think I must be growing as a writer if I have the courage to face such elemental themes as the nature and source of creativity.
I may or may not be capable of doing justice to this phenomenal character. Time will tell about that. Whether or not the novel ends up to be a publishable work, it is already guaranteed I will learn something valuable from grappling with Libby's Story.
And I will be a better writer for having made the effort.
Meredith
I have previously written about characters who wrote books. In Always Faithful Connie Rydell (who is tax attorney) writes a book on on taxes and estate planning. A character in another story (who works for the Charleston, South Carolina chamber of commerce) writes a book about the local history and culture. In The Adventures of Miss Maybelle, Maybelle (who is a photographer) writes a memoir. In each of those cases, writing a book is incidental to the person's profession. They write books to share what they know or what they have experienced. In writing their stories they narrate, but do not create.
Libby Pohlman is an altogether different kind of character from any other I have written about. She is an artist in every possible respect. She writes. She paints. She makes quilts, pottery, furniture, and who knows what else (I have only written 30,000 words so far, so she may have a lot of skills I don't even know about yet). Libby's art is incidental to nothing. Creating beauty is the animating purpose for her life. She sells the results of her creativity to make money (a lot of money), but the money is incidental to the art.
It is far too early in the process to know where this story is headed, but I already have the sense that it is going to cut a whole lot closer to the core of my own creativity than anything I have written before. The cowardly part of me thinks I should be afraid. I am not. I am excited to think I must be growing as a writer if I have the courage to face such elemental themes as the nature and source of creativity.
I may or may not be capable of doing justice to this phenomenal character. Time will tell about that. Whether or not the novel ends up to be a publishable work, it is already guaranteed I will learn something valuable from grappling with Libby's Story.
And I will be a better writer for having made the effort.
Meredith
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Excerpt - "The Adventures of Miss Maybelle"
From Chapter 2 The Adventures of Miss Maybelle
Maybelle watched the sunrise on that quiet Sunday morning and the tranquil beauty of the mountains began to seep into her soul. Eventually, her coffee cup empty and the sunrise show over, she went inside and got dressed for her morning walk.
The Old Lady kept telling her that she had a big day yesterday and she should take it easy. Maybelle told the Old Lady to shut the hell up. She tied her hiking boots, slung a backpack containing several bottles of water and some snacks across one shoulder and a camera bag across the other, clipped her GPS on her waistband, picked up her walking stick and headed across the field in back of the house toward the hills.
Felicia came running out after her, shouting, “Miss Maybelle, where are you going? Don't go that way!”
Maybelle stopped and walked back to Felicia, “I won't get lost. I have my GPS with me. See, I've got the coordinates of your house, and so I can always get back here.”
“But what if you fall?”
She pointed at a red button on the GPS, “That's my super-high-tech, bad-ass mother of all medic-alerts. It bounces an SOS off the satellite and alerts the authorities to the fact that I need help and also tells them where I am, to within a few yards. Cool, huh?” She patted Felicia's hand and added, “I'll be fine, dear. You go to church and say a little prayer for me, if it'll make you feel better.”
Meredith
Maybelle watched the sunrise on that quiet Sunday morning and the tranquil beauty of the mountains began to seep into her soul. Eventually, her coffee cup empty and the sunrise show over, she went inside and got dressed for her morning walk.
The Old Lady kept telling her that she had a big day yesterday and she should take it easy. Maybelle told the Old Lady to shut the hell up. She tied her hiking boots, slung a backpack containing several bottles of water and some snacks across one shoulder and a camera bag across the other, clipped her GPS on her waistband, picked up her walking stick and headed across the field in back of the house toward the hills.
Felicia came running out after her, shouting, “Miss Maybelle, where are you going? Don't go that way!”
Maybelle stopped and walked back to Felicia, “I won't get lost. I have my GPS with me. See, I've got the coordinates of your house, and so I can always get back here.”
“But what if you fall?”
She pointed at a red button on the GPS, “That's my super-high-tech, bad-ass mother of all medic-alerts. It bounces an SOS off the satellite and alerts the authorities to the fact that I need help and also tells them where I am, to within a few yards. Cool, huh?” She patted Felicia's hand and added, “I'll be fine, dear. You go to church and say a little prayer for me, if it'll make you feel better.”
Meredith
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Introducing - "The Way Home"
After I finished writing the first draft of Alway Faithful, I was so jazzed about the idea of creating a story from scratch and becoming the novelist I had always dreamed of being, I immediately started writing a new story. While I remember the precise moment Always Faithful was born, I don't really remember how The Way Home came about. I think I started out with only a vague idea about someone coming home to a small town after being away for a long time.
I started writing with no particular end in mind. I didn't even have an outline or character sketches for my main characters. I simply sat down at my computer one morning about 4:30 a. m. and started writing. The opening scene, with Bessie and Pete sitting at the kitchen table the evening of their mother's funeral, played out in my head almost like watching a movie. The rest of the story emerged over the following weeks as though it already existed and was revealing itself to me scene by scene. All I did was write it down.
Writing the story was kind of a thrill ride because I was just following along as the story told itself to me. I love the result, but I can't take much credit for it.
For more info and sample chapters, see here.
Meredith
I started writing with no particular end in mind. I didn't even have an outline or character sketches for my main characters. I simply sat down at my computer one morning about 4:30 a. m. and started writing. The opening scene, with Bessie and Pete sitting at the kitchen table the evening of their mother's funeral, played out in my head almost like watching a movie. The rest of the story emerged over the following weeks as though it already existed and was revealing itself to me scene by scene. All I did was write it down.
Writing the story was kind of a thrill ride because I was just following along as the story told itself to me. I love the result, but I can't take much credit for it.
For more info and sample chapters, see here.
Meredith
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Serial Fiction - "Road Trip" - Day 3
Chapter 3
She Said
The last few days have been a blur of packing, shopping, trolling the Internet for travel information, and long discussions about the places we want to visit. Now, we are ready. The car is packed. Joe took the dogs to the kennel for boarding. That was a difficult decision. We love our dogs and we thought about taking them with us but decided against it. The dogs do not exactly love car trips and their presence would limit the places we could visit. But, they sleep with us every night, and I am used to them keeping my feet warm. I worried out loud about that and Joe grumbled something about wearing socks to bed. The fact is, he'll miss them as much as I will and he knows it.
I went for two long walks on the beach today and I brought home some shells. Ostensibly I brought them to take to Travis, who has never seen the ocean. Actually, I'm taking them along as something like a talisman, sort of my little piece of the beach to get me through several weeks in dry places.
Since we cleaned out the fridge already, we stopped for a bite at a joint near our house. The food was so-so and the service was slow and inefficient. How can a waitress screw up an order for sixteen chicken wings, fries and two pints of beer? Joe and I kept looking at one another to see which one of us was going to blow up first. We found that so hysterical, we ended up having a mutual giggle-fit. We are like two little kids when we get like that. The harder we tried to stop laughing, the more hilarious we thought the whole thing was. Before we regained control, we were both in tears and I had to make a dash for the bathroom. The older I get, the more those mad dashes worry me. One of these days, between the middle-aged lady urinary incontinence and arthritic knees, I'm afraid I'm not going to make it. As embarrassing as that will be, I am still thrilled that after thirty five years of marriage Joe can still make me laugh like that ... at least in between the times I want to clobber him.
Tomorrow morning we will be off.
He Said
We are ready to go, thank God. Hannah has driven me absolutely nuts for the last two weeks, what with shopping and organizing and re-organizing and re-re-reorganizing our suitcases, the cooler, the food and our itinerary! One more day of her craziness and I think I would either brain her or leave without her. The preparations are now complete and she is at least quieter, if not calm. The car is packed. I let her do that by herself because she can cram more stuff into a small space than anyone would ever believe, and I learned decades ago she works better alone.
I took the dogs to the kennel for boarding. That was very hard. I knew we couldn't take them with us, but I hate to board them. They will be maniacs for weeks when we get back, following me around the house and freaking out if I get out of their sight. Hannah was worried about how she'll sleep with out them; I told her to wear socks to bed, but I'll miss them too. The little bastards are a pain in the neck, but they are a lot of company. I feel bad we have to leave them in a kennel.
Hannah went for two long walks on the beach today and she brought home some shells she says she plans to take to Travis. She's not fooling me. She brought those shells home so she won't miss the beach so much. I don't know how she's going to tolerate this trip. She wants to be there for the birth of our grand-daughter, but I'm having second thoughts about us being gone so long. Hannah is not happy anywhere but at home. I feel selfish because it's on account of my fear of flying that we're taking such a long road trip.
Before we go on a trip, my dear wife completely empties the house of food. She seems to think we are going to either have a lengthy power outage or an invasion of vermin – either of which are entirely possible in our neck of the woods, I have to admit. Then again, maybe she's just nuts. Anyway, since there absolutely nothing to eat in the house, we went down the street to a local restaurant. We ordered chicken wings and beer. How the hell hard is that? Apparently it must be pretty complicated because the waitress couldn't get it right. I was just about to blow my stack when I glanced at Hannah. She looked like a feral cat about to pounce, and I knew that the waitress was just about to get it. I made eye contact with Hannah, and I guess I looked just about as evil as she did. I saw her mouth twitch, and I lost it. No matter what I laugh at, Hannah will join in. In a minute we were both pounding on the table and wiping our eyes. It is always fun to do that. Hannah usually ends up feeling embarrassed. I guess I don't embarrass easily. I thought it was fun, and I didn't even care that the staff of the restaurant looked at us like we were crazy people. I didn't care what they thought of us; it's doubtful we'll go there again, anyway.
Tomorrow morning we will be off.
© 2009 by Meredith Morgan
She Said
The last few days have been a blur of packing, shopping, trolling the Internet for travel information, and long discussions about the places we want to visit. Now, we are ready. The car is packed. Joe took the dogs to the kennel for boarding. That was a difficult decision. We love our dogs and we thought about taking them with us but decided against it. The dogs do not exactly love car trips and their presence would limit the places we could visit. But, they sleep with us every night, and I am used to them keeping my feet warm. I worried out loud about that and Joe grumbled something about wearing socks to bed. The fact is, he'll miss them as much as I will and he knows it.
I went for two long walks on the beach today and I brought home some shells. Ostensibly I brought them to take to Travis, who has never seen the ocean. Actually, I'm taking them along as something like a talisman, sort of my little piece of the beach to get me through several weeks in dry places.
Since we cleaned out the fridge already, we stopped for a bite at a joint near our house. The food was so-so and the service was slow and inefficient. How can a waitress screw up an order for sixteen chicken wings, fries and two pints of beer? Joe and I kept looking at one another to see which one of us was going to blow up first. We found that so hysterical, we ended up having a mutual giggle-fit. We are like two little kids when we get like that. The harder we tried to stop laughing, the more hilarious we thought the whole thing was. Before we regained control, we were both in tears and I had to make a dash for the bathroom. The older I get, the more those mad dashes worry me. One of these days, between the middle-aged lady urinary incontinence and arthritic knees, I'm afraid I'm not going to make it. As embarrassing as that will be, I am still thrilled that after thirty five years of marriage Joe can still make me laugh like that ... at least in between the times I want to clobber him.
Tomorrow morning we will be off.
He Said
We are ready to go, thank God. Hannah has driven me absolutely nuts for the last two weeks, what with shopping and organizing and re-organizing and re-re-reorganizing our suitcases, the cooler, the food and our itinerary! One more day of her craziness and I think I would either brain her or leave without her. The preparations are now complete and she is at least quieter, if not calm. The car is packed. I let her do that by herself because she can cram more stuff into a small space than anyone would ever believe, and I learned decades ago she works better alone.
I took the dogs to the kennel for boarding. That was very hard. I knew we couldn't take them with us, but I hate to board them. They will be maniacs for weeks when we get back, following me around the house and freaking out if I get out of their sight. Hannah was worried about how she'll sleep with out them; I told her to wear socks to bed, but I'll miss them too. The little bastards are a pain in the neck, but they are a lot of company. I feel bad we have to leave them in a kennel.
Hannah went for two long walks on the beach today and she brought home some shells she says she plans to take to Travis. She's not fooling me. She brought those shells home so she won't miss the beach so much. I don't know how she's going to tolerate this trip. She wants to be there for the birth of our grand-daughter, but I'm having second thoughts about us being gone so long. Hannah is not happy anywhere but at home. I feel selfish because it's on account of my fear of flying that we're taking such a long road trip.
Before we go on a trip, my dear wife completely empties the house of food. She seems to think we are going to either have a lengthy power outage or an invasion of vermin – either of which are entirely possible in our neck of the woods, I have to admit. Then again, maybe she's just nuts. Anyway, since there absolutely nothing to eat in the house, we went down the street to a local restaurant. We ordered chicken wings and beer. How the hell hard is that? Apparently it must be pretty complicated because the waitress couldn't get it right. I was just about to blow my stack when I glanced at Hannah. She looked like a feral cat about to pounce, and I knew that the waitress was just about to get it. I made eye contact with Hannah, and I guess I looked just about as evil as she did. I saw her mouth twitch, and I lost it. No matter what I laugh at, Hannah will join in. In a minute we were both pounding on the table and wiping our eyes. It is always fun to do that. Hannah usually ends up feeling embarrassed. I guess I don't embarrass easily. I thought it was fun, and I didn't even care that the staff of the restaurant looked at us like we were crazy people. I didn't care what they thought of us; it's doubtful we'll go there again, anyway.
Tomorrow morning we will be off.
© 2009 by Meredith Morgan
Thursday, August 6, 2009
"Always Faithful" - Excerpt Chapter 1
Here's an excerpt from Chapter 1 of Always Faithful
Chapter 1 - Detour
As the car sped south, the industrial wasteland advertisers call “Chicagoland” gave way to the green farmland of rural Indiana. Connie Rydell felt herself begin to relax for the first time in several days. She felt emotionally bruised, not to mention physically sore from lugging boxes up the stairs to her daughter's new apartment in Chicago. It occurred to her that launching an adult child was a lot like giving birth in the first place. It left her with a jumble of contradictory feelings: exhausted, joyful, and afraid. She suspected that something like postpartum blues would follow shortly.
Connie was certain that her daughter would be happy in Chicago. Jessica had worked for the most prestigious law firm in Indianapolis, but Connie knew Jessie had always dreamed of moving away from her home town and practicing law in with a national firm in a major city. When the Chicago firm, Pickering & Hart, came calling, Jessica seized the opportunity. Connie was very proud of and happy for her daughter, but she was sorry to see her move so far away.
Connie smiled to herself. She knew it was selfish, but she hoped Jessie would visit Indy often, so Connie would not have to make the trek to Chicago with any frequency. Connie did not care for big cities or long car trips, for that matter. Right now, she wanted to go home, take a bath and stretch out on the couch with the dog and a book. It was no wonder Jessie and Rick both thought she was a boring old poop!
“A penny for your thoughts.”
The sound of his voice brought Connie out of her reverie. Even after thirty years of marriage, when he spoke her heart still skipped a beat. She turned to look at him and smiled, “I was thinking about how happy Jess will be in Chicago and how terrified and miserable I would be if I were in her shoes.”
He laughed out loud. There it was! That face- splitting smile and the laugh that came from the bottom of his soul. When she heard him laugh , Connie usually found herself verging on happily weepy. This time, she joined in the laughter, “Well, I'm just being honest.”
He nodded, “I know. The problem is, I have a hard time getting my mind around the thought of you being terrified of anything.”
Connie noticed that he was concentrating on the road, much more than was strictly necessary, given that it was ruler-straight, perfectly dry and there was not another car in sight. Connie could tell there was something on his mind that he didn't think she was going to like. She started to make a smart remark in response to his comment, but decided to respond to what he didn't say instead, “Spill it.”
He looked startled, “Huh?”
“I said 'spill it.' Something's on your mind. Something I'm probably going to hate. Go ahead and lay it on me.”
He laughed again, and retorted, “I wish you wouldn't read my mind like that.”
She pursed her lips and shook her head, “I can't read your mind or I'd know what you have to tell me. I read your face, which is so transparent you might as well carry a sign. It's a good thing you don't play poker. You'd suck at it.
“Don't try to change the subject on me. What's up?”
He grinned, and cleared his throat a couple of times. Finally, he said, “Okay. Here's the deal. Now that Jess is gone, I'm afraid that I am going to have a bad case of Empty Nest syndrome. You're still working – harder than ever, I might add. I'm retired. I'm afraid I'll be lost.
“I know Jess has had her own place for the last two years, but I managed to come up with a reason to go over to her apartment almost every day, either to fix something, deliver something or otherwise just make a pest of myself. I can't tell you how grateful I am that the kid humored me with such patience. Now that she isn't there anymore, I'm afraid I might get depressed and become one of those miserable, bitter old men I've always loathed. ”
Connie shared her husband's feelings. She certainly shared his heavy heart at Jessie's departure , but she knew that the loss was worse for him. She and Jessie would probably continue to talk on the phone every day and they would certainly continue to e-mail each other several times a day. They would continue to share both girl-talk and lawyer-talk. Connie would still have both her Darling Daughter and her Legal Colleague. He, on the other hand, was losing his irreplaceable Little Girl. Connie's heart ached for him.
Connie knew her husband well enough to know that he would not take his fears lying down. She knew he had a plan. She suspected that plan included her (they were a team in every possible way), and she could tell that he was pretty sure she wouldn't like it.
“So what do you have planned to combat the onset of Old Codger-dom?”
He pulled a face. “Long-term, I don't know. I guess we'll have to work together on that. Short-term, I have a request, but, I don't think you're going to like it.”
“I've already figured that out. Spit it out and get it over with. I want to know exactly how bad it's going to be.”
“First of all, instead of going straight back to Indianapolis, I'd like to take a detour. Maybe I've already become an Old Codger, as you so kindly and delicately put it, but I want to go to a reunion of my Marine unit in Columbus, Ohio, this weekend. The WWII and some of the Korean vets at the VFW positively live for their reunions. I've never been to one.”
He was animated and excited, and the words tumbled out, one on top of the other, “I recently learned that several of my old Buddies are going to attend this one. In fact, I've been emailing and catching up with a couple of them, in particular Pete Raudebush who was my radio operator for almost one whole tour....”
“You're babbling.” She smiled at him.
He stopped talking and concentrated on his driving for a minute, then he went on, “Well, anyway. The reunion is this weekend in Columbus. I made reservations but I haven't paid anything yet. We've got plenty of clothes with us. Instead of going home, I propose we go to Ohio. What do you say?” He looked at her with a combination of nervousness, pleading and expectation that made her almost laugh. He was a very young 64, but at that moment he reminded her of a little kid begging his mom for a huge favor. She stifled the laugh that threatened to bubbled up, in order to avoid hurting his feelings.
Connie leaned back against the headrest, closed her eyes and considered his proposal. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to laugh or to cry. For one thing, his idea wasn't as bad as she had feared, but the prospect of going to a Vietnam Veterans reunion was about on a par with root canal work as far as she was concerned. Rick was an active member of the VVA and the VFW. She attended their functions as infrequently as possible.
Connie would have preferred to put Vietnam in the past. She didn't understand why her husband and his friends had such an obsessive need to dredge it up. But, then, she hadn't been in combat for 36 months under conditions so appalling he still couldn't discuss them nor had she spent months in a hospital recovering from physical wounds that left horrible scars on both his body and soul. The invisible emotional wounds still festered and occasionally still gave him nightmares, that caused him to wake screaming and crying.
Perhaps the most important reason she wanted to put his Vietnam experience in the past was that she had not been his wife at the time. That probably had more to do with her aversion to dealing with his Vietnam years than everything else.
She imagined for a moment what the coming weekend would be like. She would be thrown together with a bunch of women she didn't know while their husbands swapped stories, got drunk, and laughed until they all ended up hanging all over each other and crying in their beer. She looked at his profile as he stared at the road. She recalled how close her dad had been with his Buddies from WWII and Korea and how much he had enjoyed his unit reunions over the years. The bond of soldiers was something that wives and daughters could never understand. For the most part, soldiers did not talk about their combat experiences with their wives. Connie believed that was a blessing for the wives. She believed that the soldiers needed to talk about their experiences with the only people who could truly understand: other soldiers.
Even though she personally did not look forward to it, she thought this weekend could be a very healing experience for her husband. She believed wives should encourage and support their veteran-husbands' healing process whenever possible. She smiled inwardly because she knew she got that attitude from her mother, whom she always thought of as the 'Ultimate Officer's Wife'. She knew in her heart that this was an opportunity which was long overdue for Rick. It seemed a small enough sacrifice for her to make, but she knew she wasn't going to enjoy it.
She reached out and patted his leg. “OK. Let's go.”
Meredith
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Serial Fiction - "Road Trip" - Day 2 (contd)
Chapter 2 - Preliminary Plans
He Said
We spent the next couple of hours poring over maps, and plotting out possible itineraries. Planning trips is my very favorite thing in the world. I could have happily spent the entire day at it. After a while, Hannah suggested we take a break and go for our walk. I was irritated by the interruption, but I guess the exercise is good for us and Lord knows the woman is impossible to be around unless she gets her regular dose of salt air every day.
We decided to avoid the Bike Week noise and traffic in Daytona Beach and go to our usual week-day walking spot at Smyrna Dunes Park.
We pulled into the parking lot and Rita greeted us, commenting that she didn't usually see us on Sunday. The parking lot was full. That meant either it was high tide or a lot of other folks were avoiding Daytona. Hannah and I both like the park better during the week when we often have the place to ourselves, particularly in the winter time.
I pulled into a parking space between two SUV's. After it was too late, I realized it was kind of a tight squeeze. I waited for a second, expecting Hannah to bitch me out about that. She didn't say anything. I guess she was cutting me slack because I didn't give her a hard time about the trip. I chuckled, wondering what other concessions I might be able to extract from her while she was in such a good mood. I decided not to push my luck.
It was a nice day for a walk. There were lots of families with pets and kids in tow, dragging an unbelievable amount of shit along the boardwalks toward the beach. It never fails to amaze me how much crap people bring with them to the beach. It seems to me that packing up and lugging all that crap to the beach is not worth the effort. When we go to the beach, Hannah and I take our car keys and cell phones. On really, really hot days Hannah takes a bottle of water with her. That is all.
We walked around the boardwalk and went our separate ways at the first dune walkover. We don't walk together. Hannah walks for the exercise, so she charges off down the beach like she's being chased by the Banshee. I doubt she even looks at the scenery. I play tennis and run for exercise. I go to the beach for relaxation and entertainment. I like to pick up shells and other stuff I find on the beach. I talk to fishermen and chat with tourists. By the time Hannah comes back from her high speed walk, we are both relaxed, happy and ready for lunch.
We are opposites in almost every way and we disagree about nearly everything except for the really important stuff. One thing we agree on is that generally we do not like to eat out in restaurants. Hannah doesn't care for fancy food and she is an unbelievable cheapskate who hates the thought of spending the money on restaurant meals. I love to eat out, but in my experience restaurants in Florida are for the most part too crowded, too noisy, and the service (if you can call it that) stinks. My friends marvel that I never take Hannah out for nice dinners. They think I'm lucky to avoid the ordeal of dining out. Actually, I would take her out for a nice meal once in a while, but it wouldn't be worth it. She'd bitch about the food and the cost. I'd get pissed off at the poor service. We'd end up arguing with each other out of frustration. It's just not worth it.
Hannah and I have found a couple of places that are not too crowded at certain times on the weekend. We alternate between the two of them for lunch on Sundays, depending on if we want bar-food or seafood. After our walk today, we stopped for lunch at the seafood place. We ate at a picnic table on the dock. I love to watch the boats on the intra-coastal waterway. Today we watched both a couple of dolphins and a manatee pass by. That was a special treat.
When we finished eating, Hannah called Laura and Tim to tell them our plans. After a few minutes she handed me the phone. She took her shoes off and tilted her face to the sun, the picture of contentment. I have never seen anybody who loves the sunshine more than she does. She is like a sunflower, always seeking the sun. It occurred to me that taking her away from the ocean for a few weeks might not be such a good idea. On the rare occasions I have been able to get her to go back to Ohio to visit she has been an absolute bitch the entire time. She starts talking about going "home" to Florida almost from the minute we arrive in Ohio.
I still think of Ohio as "home", since we were both born there and lived there for more than fifty years. I don't think Hannah ever thought of Ohio as her "home" even though she was born there and lived there for half a century. I was amazed to discover that, from the first day we moved into our house in New Smyrna Beach, she was "at home" in a way she never had been before. I honestly think that the woman would be happy if she never left our house other than to go to the beach.
After a while, I handed the phone back to Hannah and she talked to Laura for a few more minutes. When she hung up I asked her if she wanted another beer. "No. Let's go. I want to look through my closet. Some of the places we talked about visiting may be cold this time of the year. I think I may have to go shopping."
"That's a better excuse than you usually have for buying new clothes you don't really need."
©2009 by Meredith Morgan
He Said
We spent the next couple of hours poring over maps, and plotting out possible itineraries. Planning trips is my very favorite thing in the world. I could have happily spent the entire day at it. After a while, Hannah suggested we take a break and go for our walk. I was irritated by the interruption, but I guess the exercise is good for us and Lord knows the woman is impossible to be around unless she gets her regular dose of salt air every day.
We decided to avoid the Bike Week noise and traffic in Daytona Beach and go to our usual week-day walking spot at Smyrna Dunes Park.
We pulled into the parking lot and Rita greeted us, commenting that she didn't usually see us on Sunday. The parking lot was full. That meant either it was high tide or a lot of other folks were avoiding Daytona. Hannah and I both like the park better during the week when we often have the place to ourselves, particularly in the winter time.
I pulled into a parking space between two SUV's. After it was too late, I realized it was kind of a tight squeeze. I waited for a second, expecting Hannah to bitch me out about that. She didn't say anything. I guess she was cutting me slack because I didn't give her a hard time about the trip. I chuckled, wondering what other concessions I might be able to extract from her while she was in such a good mood. I decided not to push my luck.
It was a nice day for a walk. There were lots of families with pets and kids in tow, dragging an unbelievable amount of shit along the boardwalks toward the beach. It never fails to amaze me how much crap people bring with them to the beach. It seems to me that packing up and lugging all that crap to the beach is not worth the effort. When we go to the beach, Hannah and I take our car keys and cell phones. On really, really hot days Hannah takes a bottle of water with her. That is all.
We walked around the boardwalk and went our separate ways at the first dune walkover. We don't walk together. Hannah walks for the exercise, so she charges off down the beach like she's being chased by the Banshee. I doubt she even looks at the scenery. I play tennis and run for exercise. I go to the beach for relaxation and entertainment. I like to pick up shells and other stuff I find on the beach. I talk to fishermen and chat with tourists. By the time Hannah comes back from her high speed walk, we are both relaxed, happy and ready for lunch.
We are opposites in almost every way and we disagree about nearly everything except for the really important stuff. One thing we agree on is that generally we do not like to eat out in restaurants. Hannah doesn't care for fancy food and she is an unbelievable cheapskate who hates the thought of spending the money on restaurant meals. I love to eat out, but in my experience restaurants in Florida are for the most part too crowded, too noisy, and the service (if you can call it that) stinks. My friends marvel that I never take Hannah out for nice dinners. They think I'm lucky to avoid the ordeal of dining out. Actually, I would take her out for a nice meal once in a while, but it wouldn't be worth it. She'd bitch about the food and the cost. I'd get pissed off at the poor service. We'd end up arguing with each other out of frustration. It's just not worth it.
Hannah and I have found a couple of places that are not too crowded at certain times on the weekend. We alternate between the two of them for lunch on Sundays, depending on if we want bar-food or seafood. After our walk today, we stopped for lunch at the seafood place. We ate at a picnic table on the dock. I love to watch the boats on the intra-coastal waterway. Today we watched both a couple of dolphins and a manatee pass by. That was a special treat.
When we finished eating, Hannah called Laura and Tim to tell them our plans. After a few minutes she handed me the phone. She took her shoes off and tilted her face to the sun, the picture of contentment. I have never seen anybody who loves the sunshine more than she does. She is like a sunflower, always seeking the sun. It occurred to me that taking her away from the ocean for a few weeks might not be such a good idea. On the rare occasions I have been able to get her to go back to Ohio to visit she has been an absolute bitch the entire time. She starts talking about going "home" to Florida almost from the minute we arrive in Ohio.
I still think of Ohio as "home", since we were both born there and lived there for more than fifty years. I don't think Hannah ever thought of Ohio as her "home" even though she was born there and lived there for half a century. I was amazed to discover that, from the first day we moved into our house in New Smyrna Beach, she was "at home" in a way she never had been before. I honestly think that the woman would be happy if she never left our house other than to go to the beach.
After a while, I handed the phone back to Hannah and she talked to Laura for a few more minutes. When she hung up I asked her if she wanted another beer. "No. Let's go. I want to look through my closet. Some of the places we talked about visiting may be cold this time of the year. I think I may have to go shopping."
"That's a better excuse than you usually have for buying new clothes you don't really need."
©2009 by Meredith Morgan
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Serial Fiction - "Road Trip" - Day 2
Chapter 2 - Preliminary Plans
She Said
We spent the next couple of hours poring over maps, and plotting out possible itineraries. After a while, we decided to take a break and go for our walk. Usually on Sunday mornings we go to the beach at Ponce Inlet and eat lunch at a bar in Port Orange that serves fabulous chicken wings. Since it is Bike Week in Daytona Beach, we decided to steer clear of there. Instead, we headed off to our regular week-day beach-walking spot, Smyrna Dunes State Park.
We moved to New Smyrna Beach ten years ago, having retired early after twenty five years teaching in the Columbus public schools. Moving from Columbus, Ohio, to Florida has been a huge adjustment for both Joe and me. There are many things about living in Florida we both find troublesome, but our proximity to the ocean makes it worth putting up with the irritations, at least as far as I am concerned. We live a few miles inland, but we go to the beach every day, weather permitting. Often we go even in the rain because Joe is weird for rain.
We pulled into the parking lot and the regular attendant greeted us. The parking lot was full. I like it better during the week when we often have the place to ourselves, especially in the winter time. Joe squeezed into a space between two SUV's that was really too small. Ordinarily I would have yelled at him for that, but I decided to cut him some slack because I appreciated the fact that he didn't give me a hard time about the trip to Santa Fe. He paused for a minute before he got out of the car. I know he was waiting for me to kick up a fuss about his parking. I tried not to let my smile show. I heard him chuckle and then I winked at him. We are the only people I know who can have an entire argument and make up, all without saying a word.
It was a beautiful March day in Central Florida. There wasn't even a hint of a cloud in the sky. On a clear day, the sky at the seashore never fails to cause me to marvel, as Mr. Rogers would say. I never recall it being that shade of blue or that clear in the Midwest. The temperature was in the high seventies, with winds out of the southeast, meaning that it would be warm enough to walk on the beach without a jacket. It also meant there was the potential for having to navigate around seaweed and jelly-fish.
We walked around the boardwalk and went our separate ways at the first dune walkover. Joe and I hardly ever walk together. We have different walking styles. Hell, we have different styles in everything we do. Joe walks like a puppy. He stops every five seconds to pick up shells or other stuff he finds. He stops to talk to everyone he meets. He can take an hour or more to walk a mile. I like to walk at the edge of the water and I go strictly for distance. I rarely pick up shells or other flotsam or jetsam, unless I spy something really unusual. Our house is full of the crap Joe drags home. I don't need to add to it. What is more, I don't talk to people. I don't stop for anything other than to help lost children or tourists who ask me to take their picture (which happens quite often).
When we reach the first dune walkover, I go one way and Joe goes the other. We meet back at the car at an appointed time, usually allowing about two hours, sometimes longer on really nice days. During the week, we go home to, as Joe says, 'have lunch with the dogs.' On the weekends, we usually go out for lunch. We always go to one of two or three places and we always order the same things. We are such boring and predictable old farts already, I shudder to think what we will be like when we get really old. We'll undoubtedly be just like the crotchety old people we currently bitch about. I hope so, because there is delicious poetic justice in that!
After our walk, we stopped for lunch at our favorite seafood restaurant. We ate at a picnic table on the dock, watching the boats on the intra-coastal waterway. By the time we finished eating, it was late enough to call Laura and Tim regarding our plans. I took my shoes off and tilted my face to the sun, only half listening to Joe and Laura talking. The whole trip sounded wonderful except for one thing: the thought of being away from the ocean for more than a day or two at a time makes me sad. I can't say exactly why it is, but I have some kind of soul-felt need to be near the seashore.
When I was a kid, my parents loved to fish so we spent virtually all our vacations in Destin, Florida. I used to cry when it was time to go back to Ohio. Every time we visited the ocean after Joe and I got married, I cried when we left. In the ten years we have lived in Florida, I have tried to avoid traveling very far inland for more than a day or so. I am precisely where I want to be. I don't want to go any place else. Joe likes to travel, so I humor him as long as we take our vacations to places where there is a beach, or at least a large lake or a big river. If it were up to me I would never leave Volusia County other than perhaps for an occasional trip to Cocoa Beach or St. Augustine for a change of scenery.
I have everything I ever wanted in life right here. I guess I must be the luckiest and happiest person on the planet. The problem with being that contented is that the inertia is so strong, it's a huge effort for me to do anything beyond my regular routine. That drives Joe bonkers.
Joe handed the phone to me and I spoke with Laura for a few minutes. After I hung up Joe asked me if I wanted another beer. I said, "No. Let's go. I want to look through my closet. Some of the places we talked about visiting may still be cold this time of the year. I think I may have to go shopping."
He laughed and said, "That's a better excuse than you usually have for buying new clothes you don't really need."
>©2009 by Meredith Morgan
She Said
We spent the next couple of hours poring over maps, and plotting out possible itineraries. After a while, we decided to take a break and go for our walk. Usually on Sunday mornings we go to the beach at Ponce Inlet and eat lunch at a bar in Port Orange that serves fabulous chicken wings. Since it is Bike Week in Daytona Beach, we decided to steer clear of there. Instead, we headed off to our regular week-day beach-walking spot, Smyrna Dunes State Park.
We moved to New Smyrna Beach ten years ago, having retired early after twenty five years teaching in the Columbus public schools. Moving from Columbus, Ohio, to Florida has been a huge adjustment for both Joe and me. There are many things about living in Florida we both find troublesome, but our proximity to the ocean makes it worth putting up with the irritations, at least as far as I am concerned. We live a few miles inland, but we go to the beach every day, weather permitting. Often we go even in the rain because Joe is weird for rain.
We pulled into the parking lot and the regular attendant greeted us. The parking lot was full. I like it better during the week when we often have the place to ourselves, especially in the winter time. Joe squeezed into a space between two SUV's that was really too small. Ordinarily I would have yelled at him for that, but I decided to cut him some slack because I appreciated the fact that he didn't give me a hard time about the trip to Santa Fe. He paused for a minute before he got out of the car. I know he was waiting for me to kick up a fuss about his parking. I tried not to let my smile show. I heard him chuckle and then I winked at him. We are the only people I know who can have an entire argument and make up, all without saying a word.
It was a beautiful March day in Central Florida. There wasn't even a hint of a cloud in the sky. On a clear day, the sky at the seashore never fails to cause me to marvel, as Mr. Rogers would say. I never recall it being that shade of blue or that clear in the Midwest. The temperature was in the high seventies, with winds out of the southeast, meaning that it would be warm enough to walk on the beach without a jacket. It also meant there was the potential for having to navigate around seaweed and jelly-fish.
We walked around the boardwalk and went our separate ways at the first dune walkover. Joe and I hardly ever walk together. We have different walking styles. Hell, we have different styles in everything we do. Joe walks like a puppy. He stops every five seconds to pick up shells or other stuff he finds. He stops to talk to everyone he meets. He can take an hour or more to walk a mile. I like to walk at the edge of the water and I go strictly for distance. I rarely pick up shells or other flotsam or jetsam, unless I spy something really unusual. Our house is full of the crap Joe drags home. I don't need to add to it. What is more, I don't talk to people. I don't stop for anything other than to help lost children or tourists who ask me to take their picture (which happens quite often).
When we reach the first dune walkover, I go one way and Joe goes the other. We meet back at the car at an appointed time, usually allowing about two hours, sometimes longer on really nice days. During the week, we go home to, as Joe says, 'have lunch with the dogs.' On the weekends, we usually go out for lunch. We always go to one of two or three places and we always order the same things. We are such boring and predictable old farts already, I shudder to think what we will be like when we get really old. We'll undoubtedly be just like the crotchety old people we currently bitch about. I hope so, because there is delicious poetic justice in that!
After our walk, we stopped for lunch at our favorite seafood restaurant. We ate at a picnic table on the dock, watching the boats on the intra-coastal waterway. By the time we finished eating, it was late enough to call Laura and Tim regarding our plans. I took my shoes off and tilted my face to the sun, only half listening to Joe and Laura talking. The whole trip sounded wonderful except for one thing: the thought of being away from the ocean for more than a day or two at a time makes me sad. I can't say exactly why it is, but I have some kind of soul-felt need to be near the seashore.
When I was a kid, my parents loved to fish so we spent virtually all our vacations in Destin, Florida. I used to cry when it was time to go back to Ohio. Every time we visited the ocean after Joe and I got married, I cried when we left. In the ten years we have lived in Florida, I have tried to avoid traveling very far inland for more than a day or so. I am precisely where I want to be. I don't want to go any place else. Joe likes to travel, so I humor him as long as we take our vacations to places where there is a beach, or at least a large lake or a big river. If it were up to me I would never leave Volusia County other than perhaps for an occasional trip to Cocoa Beach or St. Augustine for a change of scenery.
I have everything I ever wanted in life right here. I guess I must be the luckiest and happiest person on the planet. The problem with being that contented is that the inertia is so strong, it's a huge effort for me to do anything beyond my regular routine. That drives Joe bonkers.
Joe handed the phone to me and I spoke with Laura for a few minutes. After I hung up Joe asked me if I wanted another beer. I said, "No. Let's go. I want to look through my closet. Some of the places we talked about visiting may still be cold this time of the year. I think I may have to go shopping."
He laughed and said, "That's a better excuse than you usually have for buying new clothes you don't really need."
>©2009 by Meredith Morgan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)