Snippet from a New WIP

It's way past time for me to post here. I've had a long run of health adventures the last four months or so, and I'm still trying--unsuccessfully--to limit the usage of my left arm so it will heal from an injury. Good luck to me on that!

The short excerpt below is from a novel I began in the eighties and never finished. It's on my list of goals to be published in 2015, so I've been using my new Dragon NaturallySpeaking software to enter the typescript into my writing software. I've come to the end of the previously typed out work, so I have to start creating new stuff. However, I thought you might like a look at this scene fragment from The Zion Trail, for which I revealed the cover on this post. Warning: the tidbit includes mild swearing.

By the way, the narrator is Elijah Marshall, the younger brother of Sarah; and the name of the character called Henry will be changed before the novel is published. I only need to decide what I want to call him!
~~~

I was slopping our sow and her brood when I first became aware of the voices. The pigpen was built up next to the hen house, and Sarah must've come out to check for any late-laid eggs. But somebody had joined her in there, and from the words that wiggled through the cracks, that somebody's hands weren't gathering eggs.

Curious, I found a knot hole in the side of the coop, and took a sight around the interior.

Henry Stiles, the brawny blonde farmer from down the road a piece, had his arms around my sister, and she wasn't struggling any. In fact, from the look on her face, I figured she was mighty content.

"Then they started in telling Pa about their religion," she told Henry. "He's still sitting there, listening to every word they say."

"But they are not from around here?"

"They come from Illinois. Some place called Nauvoo."

"Ah hell!" Henry dropped his hands from Sarah's shoulders. "It's those damned Mormons!"
 ~~~

Yes, my friends of other faiths, this book is going to explore Elijah Marshall's trials and tribulations in getting to his Zion, that is, Deseret--more commonly known today as Utah--to join the other Saints. I hope I can count on you to be along for the journey.

Rulon Owen is a sentimental fellow

I wrote a paragraph on Monday that might find its way into Gone for A Soldier. As you can tell, it's part of a letter:

My heart hangs heavy in my bosom today. As I listened to the meloncholy music of a comrade playin’ the tune "Lorena" on his banjo, another fellow started in singin’ the words. My dear Mary, I about fell to weepin’. These days have been long and burdensome, and many of our comrades have fallen. I long for the day when I can return to your sweet embrace.

Rulon

It will have more to it, of course, but has possibilities. I'm just excited that it came to me and I wrote it down.

Something more to enjoy from Spinster's Folly

The course of writing a novel doesn't always progress on one continuous, straight path. Sometimes, you might be running along, working on Chapter 14, and a character speaks up with a tidbit of information that has to go into Chapter 2. That means a detour is in order, so you must jog over to a trail that takes you back to that place in the story so you can put it in. Then, while you're returning to the place where you left off, you might notice a character waving his arms at you to get your attention for a scene that has to be written in Chapter 9.

It doesn't always happen this way, even to the same author writing another novel, but it happens often enough that one has to be prepared to accept the delay, instead of being dismayed when such a thing does occur.

With that explanation, let me offer part of a scene that Julia Owen demanded that I write for Chapter 2.
~~~

Feeling the overwhelming fatigue brought on by two days of mourning, Julia Owen only half listened to her husband tell her his plan to leave early Thursday morning on a three-day journey to sell beeves. Getting to sleep was of higher importance than staying awake until Rod ran out of steam, turned on his side, and began to snore. She hoped this was not a night when Rod felt amorous. She had barely been able to go through the motions of her chores today, and had no strength left to spare for her husband's needs.

Then a question worked its way into the forefront of her mind. She opened one eye, waited for Rod to take a breath, and asked, "Why are you herding cows down to Chester Bates this week? I recall his letter made an offer to trade them for wheat. He won't be harvestin' for a month or more."

"I have a pressing matter to take up in that country, and I reckon it won't wait until then." Rod scratched his chest above the neck of his nightshirt. "I figure I may as well make one trip as two. Chester will bring us the wheat."

She whispered, "If you're goin' after James, that's entirely the wrong direction." Pain at the unexpected loss of her son made her body quiver.

"I know that, woman." Rod's voice had taken on the soft gruff tone he used in tender moments when he felt vulnerable.

Annoyance that he didn't expand his answer drove Julia to shift her weight, rise on her elbow, and open both eyes to stare down at him. "What aren't you tellin' me?"

After a long moment, Rod turned his eyes away and said, "I have an errand."

"Roderick Owen, don't you be speakin' nonsense to me. What errand takes you away from work at this season?"

When his hand flew to his head, she barked at him, "Don't be a-worryin' that scab or it won't never heal. What's the truth?"

"It's a little errand for Marie," he admitted, tucking his hand under the covers.

"Marie?" Surprised, Julia almost missed Rod's failure to explain himself further. When she had gathered her wits sufficiently to notice his silence, she poked him in the ribs. "What business does the girl have in the Cuchara country?"

Rod sighed. "She accused me of neglecting her welfare. She wants a husband."

"No!" Julia sat up.

"She made it plain she's woman-grown and expects me to get her one."

She looked at Rod. "You're not--"

Rod cut her off. "She said young Tom is twenty. I had no notion he'd got to that age."

Julia shook her head and sighed in turn. "Your matchmaking has an ill reputation." She sank back onto the bed. "Does she have her cap set for Tom Morgan?"

Rod shifted one of his legs. "I've had him in mind for years."

"I asked does Marie want him?"

He shifted the other leg. "She didn't say me nay." After another long pause, he continued, "I'll know more when I get the two in the same room."

"What?" Julia sat up again, her back stiff.

"Julie, shh."

"You're takin' my daughter down country with a passel of cows?"
~~~

Copyright 2012 Marsha Ward

I hope you enjoyed this little digression. The novel is coming along well, with over 75% written. I'm lining up "beta readers," who will each give the finished manuscript the once over, and offer me suggestions for places that need beefing up, or toning down, or deleting altogether. In the meantime, I have a cover designer working with me on the novel's cover, which is going to be spectacular. When it's all put together, I'll launch Spinster's Folly with a Book Blog Tour and other fun stuff.

Thank you for visiting. If you wish, please leave me a comment. Every writer needs feedback!

A New Bit from Spinster's Folly

He stared at the paper until the lines of script began to wiggle before his eyes, pain surging from the part of his hair to his toenails. He knew he looked a fool with his mouth open, but if he was going to breathe again, the happenstance of his jaw having gone slack might help him drag in some air, if he could remember how that was done.

~~~

Do you suppose Bill Henry's had some bad news?

I wrote a new scene today

No, I'm not going to post this one or I'll lose my flow. I just wanted to let y'all know I'm writing and not sluffing off.

First draft scene from Spinster's Folly

I can always use advice, if you think there's too much of this or a scene needs a little bit more of that. Comments always welcome!

Here's something that needs more polish, so I'm offering it up for your emery compound and buffing wheel (and I might do a little editing of my own as I put this in).
~~~

Bill awoke with an uneasy feeling. As he sat on the edge of his bunk, he paused before pulling on his second shoe. What was bothering him? It didn't take much pondering to know that the path he had planned for his life had gone terribly wrong: Marie Owen was promised to that wretched farm boy, Tom Morgan. That was enough to bother any man anyone.

"Tom," he growled, yanking on his shoe. "What a puny excuse for a man!"

He tied the brogan, rose, and slammed his hat onto his head. Why did she choose Tom Morgan? Doesn't she know how I feel about her? Anger battled grief in his body, his heart pounding like galloping hooves on a hardpan road. He took several deep breaths, trying to get the emotions under control so he could get about his day, but the sense of wrong, the sense of foreboding wouldn't leave him. Maybe something else was gnawing at him.

Try as he might would to shake off the feeling of disaster that lingered like a bitter aftertaste in the mouth, Bill went to breakfast without any relief from the sensation. Even three spoonsful of sugar mixed into his coffee didn't take away the dread.

A heavy hand came down on his shoulder from behind, and immediately the hoarse sound of Chico Henderson's morning voice cut through a bit of his reflective fog.

"Sorry I was a porcupine last evenin'," Chico said. "You don't usually take my money so handily."

Bill attempted to add a light tone to his reply. "You're a sore loser, Henderson." He failed. His voice grated in his ears as though he were drawing a rasp over a tin washboard. He clamped his jaw shut.

"I ain't so much, old son. You were on a winning streak the likes of which I ain't seen before." Chico sat in the chair next to Bill's and lifted his mug toward his mouth. "It took me by surprise, I got to say." After a slurp or two, he cut his eyes toward Bill. "What's tuggin' on your brainpan?"

Bill shrugged.

"Somethin' has you befogged. Out with it."

"I can't say." He shrugged again. "I don't know." He bit his lip. "How could she up and get herself promised to that lump?"

Chico wiped his the last sip of coffee from his moustache. "Was you makin' plans with her?"

Bill hesitated. Then, realizing Chico was the closest thing to a good friend that he had in this country, he blurted out, "It didn't get that far along. I was hoping, but--" He stopped short when the cook, Sourdough Smith, slapped a plate of eggs and beans onto the table before him.

Chico waited until Sourdough stepped back to the stove. "Uh-huh?"

"I had no chance to speak to the girl."

"Why's that?"

"She went on that little expedition with her pa and the boys."

"She come back."

"Maybe so, but she was she's mighty changed. She'd She's put up a wall the size of the Guadalupes."

"You sayin' you ain't much of a mountain climber?"

Bill snorted derisively. "Chico, you trying to make me smile? I'm not in a smiling mood."

"I'll say you ain't!" Chico took a plate from Sourdough's hand and shoveled a mouthful of eggs beneath his moustache. Then he mumbled through the food, "You oughta talk to her. Speak your mind."

"You think Rod Owen would stand for that?"

"The ol' man don't got to know."

"Humph."
~~~
 
Yes, I've got Bill pulling on shoes instead of boots, because not all cowhands of the period wore boots. However, I'll have to check for consistency. If he wore boots in The Man from Shenandoah, he'll have to wear boots in Spinster's Folly, as well. Maybe someone can look that up for me. I'll give you a shout-out in the acknowledgements. :-) 

Copyright 2012 Marsha Ward

41 Words

Yesterday I was able to tinker with a scene and write 41 words. Unfortunately, I didn't notice the word count at that time. Probably because I don't have a proper place for writing it down. I used to, then the year changed, and the darling little writer's calender I was using is no longer available. I must find something else, really soon! I have the beginnings of a new scene written in a notebook, which I didn't have time to locate and grab the other day as I left the house.

And how is YOUR New Year coming along?

A Big Brother's Role

I'm skipping back to Chapter 3 of Spinster's Folly to explore the role of a big brother in a girl's life. Here's a fragment where Marie's oldest brother, Rulon, fills his role perfectly:

After she had eaten and cleaned up, Marie prepared her bed at the foot of a tree, and then sat on her quilt for a while, her back against the trunk. Rulon strolled over and squatted beside her.

"You all set here?" He picked at his teeth with a flayed willow twig.

"Yes sir. Almost as comfy as my bed at home." She hugged herself. "I reckon I'll sleep after a bit. I can't bring myself to close my eyes yet."

"It's a pretty night," he said, looking at the stars. When he looked at Marie again, he tilted his head to one side. "Are you sore, Sis? You've been in the saddle for a long stretch, and you're not used to the sort of work you've been doin' today."

Marie smiled wryly. "You caught me out, didn't you? I'm also burned and windblown and flybitten. I'll make a handsome prize for Tom Morgan."

"No, Sis," Rulon said, drawing out the initial vowel as he shook his head. "You're a beauty despite a tad bit of sunburn. Tom Morgan's a fool if he won't see that tomorrow."

Marie rolled her eyes. "Big brothers always say such dainty things."

"The truth ain't a dainty thing." Rulon smiled. "Granted I'm your big brother, and I might be a mite partial to you, but there's no denyin' you're a gem of a woman, Marie. You stand the competition on their noses, girl."

Marie couldn't help but laugh.

"There now." He patted her hand. "That's what I like to hear."

"Rulon, who do you reckon is my competition?"

"Just a figure of speech, Sis. There is no competition that stands up to you."

"There is no competition at all. I'm the only girl left single hereabouts." Marie ducked her head so Rulon wouldn't see hopelessness in her eyes.

He put two fingers under her chin, raised her face, and looked at her for a long time. "Marie. That is an unfortunate circumstance. You are worth more than any three girls back home. Don't forget that. Not ever."

Marie hoped the deepening darkness prevented Rulon from seeing the tears that suddenly caused her vision to swim. "That's sweet of you to say," she whispered, catching his hand. "No wonder Mary thinks the sun rises and sets on you."

Now Rulon ducked his head. "Go on!"

"I reckon I think that, too, Big Brother." She pushed him on the shoulder. "I'm sleepy now. You needn't watch over me tonight."

He touched her on the tip of her nose. "That's what big brothers are for." He got to his feet. "Good night, Sis."

"Good night, Rulon."

If you have a big brother or big brother surrogate who has always protected you in a pinch, what have you done to pay back his affection and concern? If you haven't made that overture yet, isn't it time to do so?

Sneek Peek at a new scene

I just wrote this scene last night, and thought I'd throw it out there to see if I get any comments.

Marie finished washing the dishes with the water she had heated. Ma still had not returned, and Marie became curious and a bit concerned. After she had worked herself into a fret, she set off to find her.

That task wasn't hard. Hearing a wail that could only have come from her mother's throat, Marie broke into a run. The continuing anguished sound came from the meadow, and as soon as she could, Marie arrived and found the source.

Ma would have crumpled in a heap, save that Pa was holding her up, his arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. Mr. and Mrs. Hilbrands from Pueblo Town were standing nearby, Mrs. Hilbrands wringing her hands, and Mr. Hilbrands stroking his chin and muttering, "I didn't think she'd take it so hard," over and over.

Pa caught sight of Marie and motioned her over with his head.

Does he think I won't come near because she's crying? Marie thought, still regarding her father poorly. She looked a question at Mr. Hilbrands, and patted her mother's cheeks, saying, "There now, Ma. It can't be that bad."

Ma answered in a high, thin voice, "He's been shot, daughter."

"Who, Ma?" she asked, as a chill passed through her body. She knew full well the commotion must have something to do with James.

"It's James."

"What about him, Ma?"

"He left the Hilbrands, but he's shot up."

Marie looked at the Hilbrands, gauging which of them would tell the clearer story, and decided to query the missus.

"Ma'am, is it all that bad?"

Mrs. Hilbrands quit the hand-wringing and seemed to pull herself together. "He was some bad, with two wounds, but is not in danger of death. He refused to let Mr. Hilbrands write a note to your Ma and Pa. He left a few days ago, and I do not know for sure where he went."

"I reckon he was much improved when he left after some weeks with us," Mr. Hilbrands chimed in. "He sat the saddle fine."

"Julie," Pa murmured. "You hear that? He could ride when he left Pueblo Town."

"Mandy said the daughter told her he could stretch his arms above his head when he decided he'd had enough of bed rest. He drove a mule team for me before he took out. I reckon he's on the mend, Miz Owen."

Ma wiped her eyes and straightened in Pa's arms. Marie stepped back.

"I regret fussing so much," Ma said, her voice still thin and whispery. "It came as a great shock," she took a gulp of air and continued, "to learn he was doin' so poorly and I didn't know of it. I should have felt his wounds in my gut."

"Julie, you can't sense everything," Pa protested.

"I should have known," she insisted.

"Ma, Mr. Hilbrands says he's on the mend now," Marie said. "Take comfort in that."

Ma stood still, breathing deeply. "It appears he's not going to come home soon as I'd hoped."

"He did ask about a job with Angus Campbell," Mr. Hilbrands said. "He didn't stop in to give you greetings on his way south?"

Ma shook her head. "He did not," she said, with a return to a moaning sound.

"There now, Ma," Marie said, stepping up to stroke her cheek. "He'll come back when he's calmed down some. A body must be a tad bit angry when he's been shot up."

"It was a drunk Irish did it, I was told," Mr. Hilbrands put forth.

No one had anything to say in reply to that, and Mr. Hilbrands continued, "I think the worst of it was over when young James left town."

"The worst of what?" asked Marie.

Mr Hilbrands shook his head. "There's still some sentiment against those of us who, ahem, who took sides against the Union," he said with a shake of his head. "There are saloons who cater to Unionists, and other who serve the Southerners in town. They don't mix freely."

"Oh dear," Marie said, mostly to herself. Then she spoke up in a firm voice. "Ma, he's out of the town, and it's a good and proper that he left. We will hear from him by and by, I know it."

Ma gave a moaning sigh, then shook off Pa's arms. "We will pray fervently for that," she said, then turned to Mrs. Hilbrands. "Amanda, despite the news you bring, you're mighty welcome to our homestead. Rod, help Mr. Hilbrands unload the wagon."