Accidental Hiatus

I truly did not mean to just peace out the way I have, so I apologize. I think part of the reason I became so silent is because so much was going on and there is so much to say but not enough words to say them. So, this is my apology for that and thank you very much for sticking with me and by me.

The high points:

- I've been writing! As you know, I released Go with Your Heart back in August and the response for that has been wonderful. Beautiful Trouble Publishing is a supportive publisher and I appreciate them giving me the chance to tell that story and for trusting me to help format their books! I just finished this year's NaNo (still in the RJC universe, but this time it's about Henry's parents Lydia and Takeshiro Inoue!) and as exhausting as that experience was, I was grateful for the challenge. I really enjoy writing these two!

- I made a contact with an editor at Harlequin who was so giving of her time and dispensed very useful advice. The trick now is for me to follow it!

- Kwame Alexander has offered me wonderful opportunities this fall, including being part of his Kwame and Friends (including Marcus Amaker and Joanna Crowell) reading at the John. L. Dart Public Library at the beginning of October and being a panelist at the Capital BookFest in November, along with Heidi Durrow and Noni Carter. Both women are fantastic writers and wonderful people, so it was truly an honor to share the panel wtih them! I also met Carol Mackey, who was so gracious, and Ms. Dori Sanders, with whom I had a fangirl moment. She said I could write! Y'all, I was definitely beaming like a kid in a candy store (speaking of which, definitely need to read Clover again! I also met another writer, Nana Ekua Brew-Hammond who encouraged me to keep my chin up and don't give up on traditional publishing. I took a picture with Victoria Rowell (that didn't save to my phone! *cries*), who is as gorgeous and talented in real life as she is on screen and I watched her panel with AlTonya Washington. I started talking to a young student who was also presenting because she was part of Kwame Alexander's Book-in-a-Day Program, and that was one of the most worthwhile conversations I'd ever had. I have every confidence this young lady will go far! The final panel was with Ms. Tananarive Due and Tina McElroy Ansa, who were fantastic and spoke some serious truth about what it means to be a writer and a community of writers. It was the perfect way to begin NaNo and a recharge of why I wake up at five or earlier every morning and start writing.

- Please go support my girl BJ Thornton. She's awesome and I want to write like her when I grow up. And Karen Lord. She was reviewed in The New York Times. Holla!


The low point:

I lost a very dear friend to me, Ruthy Charlot, in mid-October, which just really threw me for a loop because it was so unexpected. But every writer has their go-to cheerleaders, and Lord knows she'd become one of mine. She challenged me to be better, not in terms of skill, but in terms of having the courage to tell the story I truly want to tell...or the story that truly needed to be told. She made me more discerning about what I say, how I say it, and to whom I listen. She was even editing a story for me that was to be published back in November (That's on indefinite hold right now, but it will be released at some point.). She was brilliant, encouraging, and one of the most beautiful people I knew. She's missed. Dearly.


So, in these last four weeks of 2010, I hope I continue being productive and that 2011 sees more of me on your bookshelves and this blog, quite frankly!

It's February?!

And I'm so behind with my life in general. What I have been doing, however, is writing commission fiction for people donating to Haiti Relief Efforts, which has shifted me back a bit. That's a good cause and I'm glad to be doing it. Also, I've signed myself up to attend the Savannah Book Festival on tomorrow, and I feel slightly unprepared, but that's not a new feeling. I need to do better, though. And it's Super Bowl weekend. I'm conflicted because I like the Colts and don't dislike the Saints, but slight edge goes to the Colts for me. Either way, though, I won't be sad about who wins this year so I reckon that's okay.

I see the end for the Reconstructing Jada Channing sequel, aka, Coming Home. However, I don't want to write it. I'm avoiding it because it's not going to be pleasant or pretty and I think my characters talk too dang much! I've also sat on a submission request, I think, for too long, which is either my fear standing in the way or my impatience with how long the entire process will take. If I'm honest, I know it's more of the the former than the latter. I should be used to rejection; that's generally all I get. Yet in this case, it's really a matter of will it genuinely fit with this particular publisher? I'm unsure, but I reckon I should let them tell me no, right?

Oh, this game, this game. It would probably go much smoother if an agent actually liked me, but alas.

Finally met Kwame Alexander. Good people! Did I mention I really like working where I do? Because I do. My boss told him about me and I'm excited about the Capital BookFest coming to Charleston. If y'all don't know about Charleston, y'all about to!

Also, had a meeting with Dianne Johnson a few weeks ago. She's good people too! I really appreciated her taking the time out to talk to me (even got me to start seriously considering young adult genre...again). Apparently she knows my people quite well so that was a bit surreal! Nevertheless, connections are good. I have to remember that because being a writer makes it too easy to be in isolation, at least for me, anyway. I have to constantly remind myself there are people who want me to do well and succeed and are willing to help me do so. I can do bad all by myself to be sure; but everyone has help to do good.

Okay, so, hopefully I'll see some of you tomorrow. And then, hopefully, y'all will see a new release from me before the year ends!

Happy Holidays!

I've been quiet because NaNo was in November and then I've been deep in finishing it up. If you go to my Google Group, you can see what I've been working on (which is a continuation of Reconstructing Jada Channing). Also, I'm also a diva! Thank you! Anyway, I hope everyone is having a safe holiday season and I hope you have a new year! See you then!

Savannah

More Than a Summer Love (Formerly NaNo '08)

I decided to turn my NaNo from last year into my free read for this year. You can go to my Google Group and check out subsequent chapters. I try to update every Sunday. This story is more than just about a summer love, and that fact snuck up on me with a quickness. It's very organic and it's hitting on things I never thought I'd tackle. I won't give it all away, but hopefully you'll want to check it out and enjoy.

For a refresher, here's an excerpt from Chapter 1.

~~~~
More Than a Summer Love (c) 2009, 2008 by Savannah J. Frierson

Charleston, SC—Summer 2000

The bass from the music and the laughter of the partying crowd was muted as the sounds trickled outside to the silent quad where two teenagers, a boy and a girl, sat on the high, oversized bench in their dance attire. They didn’t look at each other, but at the silver light of the lamp in the distance mixing with the strobe lights dotting the path and grass from the revelry inside. The girl sat with her knees to her chest, the skirt of her burgundy dress long enough to allow the position while he sat hunched over his knees, his tie undone and hanging limply around his broad neck. A slight breeze fell upon them, and it made her shudder. Sensing her brief discomfort, the boy sat up and finally glanced in her direction. She kept her eyes forward, though both knew she was aware of his gaze; and when he draped his high-school letterman jacket around her shoulders, both knew she blushed even though the light was dim and she’d ducked her head.

He hadn’t removed his arm from around her after giving her his jacket. Instead, he’d sidled up to her, making sure she’d be good and warm by sharing his body heat with her. She still didn’t look at him, but both gave internal, relieved sighs when she snuggled into his body. This was the first time all summer they didn’t care what other people thought of them being together like this, showing more affection than mere friends ever should. Maybe because tomorrow everyone would go home.

She hid her face into his shoulder and let out a shaky breath. His other hand came up to smooth down her soft, thick hair.

“Ebony,” he whispered, his lips against her temple.

She closed her eyes and clutched his white dress shirt, feeling his chest muscles bunch underneath her hand. He’d never said her name with such reverence . . . such wistfulness. The lump in her throat made it impossible to say his name in return.

Liam.

“Ebony,” he said again, this time pulling back so his index finger could tuck underneath her chin and raise her head so their eyes would meet for the first time since escaping the dance. Ebony wished there were more light so she could fully see his brandy eyes and the freckles that lightly dotted the bridge of his pale nose.

“Come with me.”

She knew it was a question even though he’d said it as a statement. The lump grew larger in her throat, so she could only nod her assent.

The majority of the people were downstairs at the dance, and the counselor who was manning the residential halls was snoring up a storm at his reception desk. They stopped on her floor, the fourth floor; the boys’ floor was a level below. Ebony pulled the key out the clutch of the purse dangling on her wrist, and soon they were in her room. The way the dorm was set up was there was a common area with a single on either side. Ebony was staying with a girl from Florence—she’d been really nice—and she’d also had many male visitors after hours. This was the first time Ebony would have one, but she doubted it’d be the same type of host her roommate had been.

Liam pulled off the jacket, leaving her arms and shoulders exposed once more. She saw him drape it on the back of her chair from the corner of her eye, and Ebony slipped out of her shoes as she made her way to sit on the bed. Liam didn’t come any closer to her, just stood by her chair, his large, brawny body taking up so much space and making the tiny room feel even smaller. His hands were in the pockets of his khakis. She knew he was clenching them because the muscles of his forearms tensed and relaxed.

“Why are you nervous?” she asked, though the question sounded much sillier out in the universe than it ever had in her head. The question was painfully rhetorical—this was the first time they’d been alone alone. There weren’t any friends or books or teachers or dinners or adoring fangirls to distract them from the thing that had been building since he’d helped her carry her trunk of desk lamps, books, iron, pillows, and linens up to her room their first day here at SSGSC—Summer School for the Gifted of South Carolina.

It was Ebony’s turn to fidget, breaking eye contact with him and looking at her butter-pecan hands. They trembled, and she mimicked Liam’s nervous tick and clutched them tightly in her lap.

“Why are you?”

She wouldn’t tell him because she felt as buzzed as a lit-up neon sign by his presence, always had, but now was forced to confront it. Her dress was suddenly itchy, restricting, and she wanted to change, but she didn’t want him to leave.

She heard him approach and the bed dipped under his substantial mass. Ebony tensed at his nearness, especially when his breath brushed her bare shoulder seconds before his lips did. She sighed and closed her eyes, her head automatically tilting away from him to expose her neck to his traveling mouth. A hand slid to her stomach, and her fingers uncurled so she could touch his knuckles.

“You smell good,” Liam murmured against her flushed skin. She jumped when moisture touched her. “Taste good too.”

Ebony couldn’t believe what was happening. Of all the scenarios that had run through her mind, none of them included actually acting out on . . . whatever had been brewing between them. Even now she was thinking of ways to minimize the meaning of his mouth on her body, but when his lips drifted up her jaw to her cheek, her brain shorted.

Liam’s forehead rested against her temple, their fingers now intertwined against her stomach. Ebony couldn’t remember when that had happened, but his thumb caressing hers gave her just enough sanity so she could breathe.

“I wish you lived in Charleston.”

Ebony sighed and leaned her temple into Liam’s forehead even more. He moved and pressed his lips against her skin. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

She would, though. Her mother had said she’d be down bright and early tomorrow morning so they could get the van back to the church on time. In fact, her room now looked just as bare as it had when Liam had first helped her with her belongings, save for her linens still on her bed. Her mother had thought him a nice white boy at the time, though Ebony hadn’t understood then why her mother had even mentioned his color.

Now she thought she did.

“Who’s gonna keep me in line when you’re gone?”

Ebony laughed at that, that uncomfortable tension broken by their failsafe use of humor. She turned her forehead to his and they smiled at each other, his hand drifting atop her head to the bun at her nape. They stared into each other’s eyes, but then tears sprang into hers, so she closed them.

His lips were barely discernable as he kissed each slip of moisture from her cheek. Ebony was glad she sobbed with dignity, even if what she really wanted to do was howl into his chest and never let him go.

Squeezing It In!

First off, Happy Holidays. I hope they have been and will continue to be safe and enjoyable!

Yes, it's been a month and ten days since I've last made a post, but I have a very good reason.

1.) I'm moving from Boston to Charleston, so I've been putting my ducks in a row for that--including writing ducks. This means I'm amping up the editing side of my writing life, although I will admit this is coming at a slight expense for my authorship. I hope things will settle down once the move finally happens, but because my contract in Boston is ending, I figure I need to make a break for it now or else I never will!

2.) I am now a member of Badazz Authors Group. Again. I'd left because I didn't think my style of writing would fit very well, but then I got over myself because the ladies of the group are fantastical and variety is a lovely spice of life, so, onward!

3.) Expect a new release in the next few weeks. What release, you ask? Oh, just the one that's been on the Upcoming Releases page for almost two years. Reconstructing Jada Channing, people! Yes, it's coming, and I hope you will all enjoy it! This is my baby, the first original fic I ever started with any seriousness (because that "original" story I started when I was 12 so doesn't count!). This is the thesis that let me graduate college, thank you, Jesus! Hopefully, it'll translate to a bona fide novel just as well.

4.) NaNo '08 is on a brief hiatus. Thank you sticking with me so far, but that's put on the backburner for a bit, but it'll come back!

5.) Tell your friends and family about me! Don't be a stranger! Join the Google Group or send me some e-mails. Also check back here because I have some serious plans for all of you.

6.) And thank you all so much for making 2008 wonderful for me. Yes, the year had its ups and downs, but I learned more about myself this year than I ever thought I could. And it's all your fault! ;) Have a wonderful New Year, everyone!

Contests and Me across the Web

First: Y'all be dears and vote for me in the Endless Romance Writing Contest held by Midnight Seductions! You can read the excerpt here and vote here. I chose a scene from The Beauty Within, but you have to read it to know which one ;).

Second: EDC Creations has listed The Beauty Within as a Literary Hallmark for 2008--Shoulders of Giants! This is fantastic news and I'm very appreciative!

Third: I've updated my NaNo 2008 to Chapter to on the Google Group. Those who've been reading--y'all are awesome and continue to surprise me and humble me with your support. Every new effort, an author wonders how it will be received, and I'm thankful that y'all are sticking with me!

Fourth: Not really on the Web, but as of late, I've gotten really nice e-mails about my work. I really, really, really appreciate them! I just do. I'm still trying to crack through, but every e-mail I get is so great and a reminder to keep on keeping on. I might not have industry love yet, but I have reader love, and in the end, that's the main thing that a writer wants. Y'all trust me to tell the story that comes, even if it's not your cup of tea upon first glance. I thank you for giving me a shot! *hugs readers* And to fellow authors (y'all know who you are) this is a community, a family. I am so grateful to y'all. Truly.

Fifth: Y'all pray, because I'm also entering other contests other than the one mentioned in #1, and I have to write synopses. *shudders* Pray I can write them and do my novels justice! Shoot, they're harder than the actual stories!

National Novel Writing Month 2008

It's that time of year again, where many of us writers of all levels try to write 50K words in 30 days. I know some people who have already blown past that mark. I am not one of those people, but I am on a very good pace. In a spirit of good faith (and my incessant need for feedback!) I'm posting the chapters up on my Google Group. Leave a comment or several!

This year's NaNo is untitled, but it's about reunions (apparently I love that theme) and it's actually set in my hometown of Columbia, SC. I figure I've been avoiding it enough, so I might as well give it a shout out! I'm pulling on many things that have happened in the past few months--not to mention a certain election. An excerpt is below, and I hope you enjoy!

~~~~

“Why are you nervous?” she asked, though the question sounded much sillier out in the universe than it ever had in her head. The question was painfully rhetorical—this was the first time they’d been alone alone. There weren’t any friends or books or teachers or dinners or adoring fangirls to distract them from the thing that had been building since he’d helped her carry her trunk of desk lamps, books, iron, pillows, and linens up to her room their first day here at SSGSC—Summer School for the Gifted of South Carolina.

It was Ebony’s turn to fidget, breaking eye contact with him and looking at her butter-pecan hands. They trembled, and she mimicked Liam’s nervous tick and clutched them tightly in her lap.

“Why are you?”

She wouldn’t tell him because she felt as buzzed as a lit-up neon sign by his presence, always had, but now was forced to confront it. Her dress was suddenly itchy, restricting, and she wanted to change, but she didn’t want him to leave.

She heard him approach and the bed dipped under his substantial mass. Ebony tensed at his nearness, especially when his breath brushed her bare shoulder seconds before his lips did. She sighed and closed her eyes, her head automatically tilting away from him to expose her neck to his traveling mouth. A hand slid to her stomach, and her fingers uncurled so she could touch his knuckles.

“You smell good,” Liam murmured against her flushed skin. She jumped when moisture touched her. “Taste good too.”

Ebony couldn’t believe what was happening. Of all the scenarios that had run through her mind, none of them included actually acting out on . . . whatever had been brewing between them. Even now she was thinking of ways to minimize the meaning of his mouth on her body, but when his lips drifted up her jaw to her cheek, her brain shorted.

Liam’s forehead rested against her temple, their fingers now intertwined against her stomach. Ebony couldn’t remember when that had happened, but his thumb caressing hers gave her just enough sanity so she could breathe.

“I wish you lived in Charleston.”

Ebony sighed and leaned her temple into Liam’s forehead even more. He moved and pressed his lips against her skin. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

She would, though. Her mother had said she’d be down bright and early tomorrow morning so they could get the van back to the church on time. In fact, her room now looked just as bare as it had when Liam had first helped her with her belongings, save for her linens still on her bed. Her mother had thought him a nice white boy at the time, though Ebony hadn’t understood then why her mother had even mentioned his color.

Now she thought she did.

“Who’s gonna keep me in line when you’re gone?”

Ebony laughed at that, that uncomfortable tension broken by their failsafe use of humor. She turned her forehead to his and they smiled at each other, his hand drifting atop her head to the bun at her nape. They stared into each other’s eyes, but then tears sprang into hers, so she closed them.

His lips were barely discernable as he kissed each slip of moisture from her cheek. Ebony was glad she sobbed with dignity, even if what she really wanted to do was howl into his chest and never let him go.

“We’ll write to each other, yeah?” Liam promised against her well-rounded cheeks. “E-mails and IMs . . . And we’ll call . . .”

His mouth was so close to hers that Ebony opened her eyes. She didn’t pull away, however. She smelled fruit punch and Chex Trail mix on his breath, but the combination didn’t bother her. In fact, her tongue tingled to taste it, but she didn’t have the guts to do so. She’d never kissed another soul in the romantic sense in her life, and there was something achingly sweet about the anticipation. Besides, for all her supposed sassiness and independence streak, at the heart of her she was a lady—a Southern one at that. She would never make the first move.

“You look like you want me to kiss you.”

Ebony stiffened and her eyes widened. Heat flooded her face, and the ever-present irritation of not inheriting her mother’s inky sable hue filled her since she knew Liam could see her cheeks redden. But he wouldn’t let her flee, his hand moving below her bun to cup the bare skin of the back of her neck.

“Do you?”

Ebony glared at him. “You must be crazy if you think I’m gonna answer that!”

“I just need to make sure,” Liam said seriously, even though his brandy eyes sparkled and his full, pink lips lifted wryly.

Ebony huffed and would’ve put her hand on her hip if he weren’t so close to her, damn near surrounding her. “And why is that?”

The sparkle left his eyes and he licked his lips, his demeanor finally matching his tone. “So I know you won’t slap me when I do this . . .”

Her brain played catch up; and by the time it did, she registered Liam Malloy’s mouth gently pressed against hers. He puckered his lips to intensify the kiss briefly before pulling back. There was uncertainty in his gaze, and Ebony didn’t know how to decipher it.

“You’re frowning,” Liam noted, drifting his finger down the furrow between her brows. “Was that all right?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Is your heart supposed to beat this fast after a kiss?”

Winna!

I have to say something about yesterday before I move on to the main topic of this post. My mother, Adrenee Gwenell Glover Freeman, died on November 28, 1992 at the age of 42. That's fifteen years ago. Yesterday was definitely one of those "some days are harder than others" days, but I thought I should say something here in commemoration.

So . . . segue, anyone?

50,234. Yeah, I won NaNo 2007. So I'm four for four. This one is still yet untitled, but I'm proud of it. I think I actually see my growth as a writer with this one, so hopefully now that the pressure's off I can still write on it and find more excitement for all the other writer I let drift (hello, Vietnam Story and Gym Story and Trust Fall and The Blueprint and I'm going to stop now before I depress myself lol). Anyway, I posted chapters 1-3 on the Google group, but here's a nice excerpt of chapter 3 to entice.

I hope everyone had a good week.

~~~

Three

It was as if the sun had decided to rise inside the cabin, it was so hot and bright to Deborah. She groaned and burrowed underneath the covers, knowing that would do little to muffle Aunt Flora’s calls for her to rise or to stop the sun from shining, until Deborah realized no one was yelling at her and she was so warm. Normally she was shivering as she awoke.

She pushed the covers from over her head and sat up slightly, a little confused why her body shook from such effort. Her chest ached. Nothing looked familiar. She wasn’t in the kitchen as she normally would be. There was no Aunt Flora bustling about getting mush ready and complaining about how Deborah would sleep the day away if her aunt didn’t wake her up. She looked down and recognized nothing she wore, other than the fact it was too large for her frame. She clutched the fabric and breathed slowly, knowing it wouldn’t do to lose her wits. She was certain she hadn’t been sold off, so why—?

She spied her original clothes to her left, neatly folded with a brown glass bottle lying atop them. She remembered her errand, the storm.

Owen.

She didn’t see him anywhere. The space next to her was empty and cold. In fact, she didn’t even remember him sleeping next to her. As soon as he had pulled the covers over her form, her eyes had closed and sleep had claimed her. Truth be told, it was one of the best sleeps she’d had in months and one of the most comfortable.

She really didn’t want to get up . . .

“Mister Owen,” she called, knowing she would have to anyway. She should earn her keep; she wasn’t anyone’s mistress, after all.

Silence answered back, and Deborah eased into a sitting position. She breathed heavily, slightly winded, but at least she could hold her body up, but she did scoot her way to the sofa to help brace herself. She let out a long sigh and pressed her hand to her head. It ached mildly, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Thank goodness it stopped snowing, too. Maybe she could find her way back to the farm.

She heard tree branches pop under the weight of the ice, and a faint crack pierced through the air. Deborah hoped Owen was all right. Even at her usual strength, she knew she didn’t have the ability to bring him to safety as he had with her—at least without a mule and some rope.

A burst of winter suddenly invaded the room and she shuddered, grabbing the blankets and wrapping herself tighter.

“Deborah?” he called out.

“I’m awake,” she told him, shifting so she could look behind her. He was closing the door and holding something in his hands.

When he met her eyes his smile widened, and he held up his hands. “Rabbit!”

Her stomach growled. “Rabbit?”

“You look better,” he said, going into the kitchen. “Do you feel better?”

“I do,” she assured him.

He returned with a tin cup filled with water. “Drink.”

She took the cup with a bemused smile. “Normally it’s me tellin’ Miss Luella to drink. She likes tea with syrup in it. Aunt Flora’s in the kitchen makin’ mush and then I go feed the animals—”

Owen tipped the rim of the cup to her mouth, and she parted her lips just in time to let the water slide through them. After a few swallows, she pulled the cup away and glared at him. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“You weren’t drinking!” he said, giving her a wink.

“I was talkin’,” she muttered, and took another drink so she could hide the smile that was trying to emerge. When she finished drinking all the water, Owen took the cup from her with one hand and squeezed her elbow with the other.

“There’s a whole heap o’ snow out there,” he said, his eyes looking gray in the sunlight. “Not nearly so cold, but it’s hard to walk. Good thing it’s also hard to run or else we would be eating those beans again.”

“That rabbit big enough to feed both o’ us?” she asked skeptically. It didn’t even look like enough to feed him, let alone both of them!

Owen looked toward the ceiling and gave an exasperated shrug. “If we do it right—”

“One meal, at most,” Deborah said. “But I’ll be fine on the beans—”

His fingers were cool as they touched her lips. The contact felt nice, especially since her skin was still a bit chapped, though they didn’t hurt like before.

“I found the witch hazel,” he mumbled, pressing his thumb against a corner of her mouth. That explained why her lips felt better; he must’ve tended to them while she slept. She blushed at the realization, and harder when he smiled at her. “Among other things. I figure we might be here for a while.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “A while?”

He nodded. “Like I said, a lot of snow. Everything is white. No markers to let us know if we were going the right way anyway. Do you have any idea where we are?” Deborah shook her head. “Well,” he sighed, his fingers now drifting over her jaw and heading toward her scarred cheek. “One day at a time.”

“One day . . .”

Oh, hello.

It's been a month. Heh. Things have been full of me spiritually regrouping, so to speak. Now it's National Novel Writing Month, so I'm currently working on that right now. 50K words in a month sounds pretty daunting, except I've done it for the past for years, starting in 2004 with Being Plumville. That worked out fairly well, didn't it? ;). I've won every year I've done it. 2005 was The Blueprint, although that novel isn't done, and last year it was Manna Tree, which is. This year's NaNo is called NaNo07. It has no title, but I'm thinking that I tend to like historical settings for NaNo, except for last year's of course. This one is set in the mid 1850s, surrounding the events of Bleeding Kansas. That's all I'll say about it at the moment, but I got the idea during my day job as I was proofreading an American history textbook. Go figure. Anyway, right now I'm currently ahead of pace, and hopefully it'll stay that way.

At any rate, this is just a note to tell everyone I am still alive and writing my own original fic. Want proof? Here's the first single-spaced page of NaNo07. It's not beta'ed or spell-checked or anything, as one of the rules not to edit (yes, I do fudge it a little, sue me!) I hope you enjoy!

Sav


~~~~~~

One

The heavy dark clouds had besieged the sky like an invading army, and its cavalry of freezing rain, sleet, and snow attacked with merciless precision. Deborah thought she’d left the farm early enough to beat the storm, but Mrs. Fogg had started talking so, asking how Miss Luella was getting on; and if Mister Grayson was going to try for Kansas City and a proper doctor now that he had gotten that wheel on his wagon fixed; and she how couldn’t wait for another one of Aunt Flora’s buttermilk pies. She’d bounced on the balls of her feet, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she gave wary glances to the sky through the window just above Mrs. Fogg’s head. Nevertheless, she had nodded and given appropriate mews of agreement when Mrs. Fogg had poured the brewed remedy in the brown glass bottle and promised to pray for Miss Luella’s cough to go away. The illness had gripped poor Miss Luella since before Thanksgiving, and the remedy had been the only thing that had managed to ease it. Though the remedy hadn’t been low, Mister Grayson had wanted to get more before the storm arrived. It had smelled like a big mean one; yesterday, the air had been so still and silent even Miss Luella’s coughs had whimpered out her body as if afraid to hurry tempest along. Deborah would’ve fetched the remedy yesterday, but Mister Grayson had to go into town to pick up supplies for the oncoming storm, and Mrs. Fogg lived three miles in the other direction. Mister Grayson didn’t feel comfortable leaving his wife with only Aunt Flora to look after her, the woman older and not as mobile as Deborah was, and since the ground was already snow-dusted from an earlier, yet gentler snowfall, Deborah would be much more able and quicker to retrieve help. Had Mister Grayson not sold off her husband Isaiah a few months before they had moved here year ago, he would’ve stayed with Aunt Flora and Miss Luella while she went off to Mrs. Fogg.

At the rate she was currently going, however, Deborah doubted she was making any better progress than Aunt Flora would have. It felt as if she was sinking into snow and earth and not moving forward at all, instead just marching futilely in place. Cold speared its way through her threadbare wool coat. The snow melted and pooled in her too-big brown pegged brogans, saturating her holey socks and making water squish between her toes with each step she made. The remedy bottle tinged from each pelt of freezing rain, but the squalling winds soon drowned out the sound, joining the snowy brigade and conspiring against her quest home. They lanced frigid precipitation against her naked face, though she’d gratefully her nose and ears had lost sensation early in her trek. Though she’d tried to hide her hands in the sleeves of her coat, they still tingled with the retreat of feeling. She had to get back, though. Miss Luella still needed the remedy, and with this storm going like it was, it would be a long time before Mrs. Fogg could gather more ingredients for another brew, or for anyone to go to Mrs. Fogg’s cabin to get more should she make more. Not only that, Miss Luella had always been so kind to her and Aunt Flora, and Deborah didn’t even want to think about what Mister Grayson would do should his wife become worse. He loved Miss Luella dearly . . .

Deborah’s calves and thighs burned, growing leaden, as if the muscles swelling and constricting simultaneously against the fierceness of the storm. Her head ached, frozen raindrops and snowflakes falling upon her head like mallets. Another squall and an unseen ground hazard sent Deborah stumbling into the snow. Icy shock seized her body, and though her brain demanded her arms to lift her body, she was too exhausted to heed the command.

“Oh, Lord, help me,” she whispered, forcing her panic into a tight ball deep in her belly. She prayed the bottle didn’t break, though she wouldn’t be able to tell because her entire body was soaked and she could no longer feel her hands. A traitorous sob stole from her mouth, but she clamped her chapped lips close together so that more wouldn’t follow. She was stuck outside an unforgiving tempest and had no idea where she was. She didn’t know if she’d past the point of no return . . . didn’t even know where that point would be. Everything around her was gray, white, and dull. She recognized nothing.

The Blueprint

This was my NaNo for 2005, and I don't even think it's halfway done. This is a particularly hard story for me to write, much like Trust Fall but for very different reasons. The Blueprint is my prequel to Reconstructing Jada Channing, which essentially lays out all the foundations, motivations, and histories for Jada and by extension, Candace (and to lesser degreees Lucille and Harry) about why things were the way they are in RJC. It's a hard tale, one in which I have to be brutally honest, and one in which I find myself getting frustrated and sometimes even disliking my characters. Yet, they all have a point, they all have hurts and they all have complicated lives. The fact this is not a romance also leads to the possibility of unresolved points or even negatively resolved points. Clearly Candace still has issues over things that happened in her past in RJC, and yet I find it easy (if frustrating on a personality level) to write her. Dorcas is also easy to write. It is Calliope who is so difficult, but considering who she is, that is to be expected. I don't know. I have to do this one in spurts, because I guess the heaviness leaves me daunted and overwhelmed at times. I just want to do their story justice, and make them people with one could empathize. I'm doing my best, Ames Women. I'm doing my best.

bana

Manna Tree nee Lemonade nee NaNo '06

lol, I's a dork!

Today I sent poor Stephanie multiple e-mails asking her about a new title I'd thought of for the story. I liked what she was going for with Lemonade, and as I was writing this current chapter I realized what was probably going on. It's really sad that it takes my readers to enlighten me on things, or I'll have to read something over and over again before I get it. I know some people think I plot this stuff out and outline all the "deep" things I find. Y'all really give me too much credit! If it's deep it's real deep--subconscious deep! But anyway, after running the title by Stephanie (and hitting another pit stop along the journey!), I think I've decided on the title that'll stick farreal.

Manna Tree

I won't explain too much because the story's not even done yet, but I think y'all can figure out why it's called what it's called.

Let me know what y'all think!

bana

Lemonade

My sis called me tonight and told me she thought Lemonade (NaNo '06) was a very good story. That really meant a lot to hear her say it. She's read just about everything I've written, so for her to single that out like that was a pleasant surprise. It's not done yet, but I guess you never know how a story will be received/affect people until you put it out there.

Just a little encouragement from an unexpected source. Not that my sis wouldn't support me, but for her to go out of her way and say something like that really meant a lot.

Thanks sis!

Lemonade nee NaNo'06

Thanks to Stephanie, a RICH Writer, I now have a title for the NaNo I had been working on in November '06. She suggested Lemonade because the characters in this story, Margot and Cole, have certainly come upon some hard, sour times, and yet they come together and forge a relationship that turns those sour times into something very sweet.

She gets mad props for that one! I thank her, too.

Speaking of which, I'm surprised by the feedback I'm getting for the story. It's different from my others, and Trust Fall . . . sigh . . . I still am not quite sure about that one yet. I do love Margot and Cole, though. There's something so pure about them, so bittersweet and beautiful. This isn't to say I don't love my other characters. They all have special places in my heart, but this is the first I feel I'm watching the story unfold as I write instead of the other way around. In my other stories I always had a vague idea what would happen and how things would be resolved (notable exception is Trust Fall. Rosalyn *sigh* help me help you!) , but with Lemonade, I'm enjoying their journey. I need to get a vague resolution in my head, however. I don't have the stamina (and neither do readers!) to turn this into a soap opera saga. That would be awkward trying to get it published!