Nana ran the brush through Beauty’s hair and the familiar motion relaxed Beauty. The quiet moment engulfed her and she closed her eyes to set the memory firmly in her mind. The pull of the brush. The soft pressure of a hand on my forehead. The scent of fresh lavender from Nana’s hands. “I’ll miss this.”
Nana stopped at the wistful tone. “You’ll miss this? What do you mean?”
“Huh? Oh, I meant, when I am married. I’m engaged to Thaddeus, you know.”
Nana ran her gnarled fingers through Beauty’s long brown hair. “I’ll miss this, too. When you are married, you won’t need me any more.”
“Nana, can you keep a secret?”
“Of course, I can. It’s about Thaddeus, isn’t it? You don’t love him.”
“No. I mean, yes. I don’t love him, but that isn’t what I wanted to tell you.”
Nana sat down on the bed again. “I know all your secrets already. What more could you have to tell me about?”
“Nana, I’m going to take my father’s place.”
Showing posts with label Excerpts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Excerpts. Show all posts
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
An excerpt
This is from my first novel. It's basically the prologue. Enjoy!
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The last drops splashed musically into the puddle under the rainspout. Pristine pools dotted the walkway leading from the back door of the manor. The sun glinted like diamonds off the droplets still clinging to individual blades of grass. Water stained the good brown earth of the kitchen gardens an almost black color and the early spring blossoms stood at attention under the influence of abundant moisture. Only the clouds on the horizon, now stained bright pink and orange by the rising sun, bore testament of the previous night’s storm.
A small bundle, packed tightly in a wicker basket, lay nestled up against the threshold of the large black door that opened up into the kitchen of Moss Haven Manor. The soft cotton fabric rustled as the contents of the basket shifted slightly and a soft cry escaped the folds.
From inside the house, a mellow toned voice called out, “Camilla! Stop your woolgathering and get me the eggs!”
“Yes, Ma’am. Right away,” a young girl stammered in reply. As the door swung open to let the girl out into the yard the sounds of the kitchen filled the cool air. Pots and pans rattled against each other, followed by a loud crash as several items fell to the floor. In confusion, the girl turned back to the kitchen and tripped over the large basket, nearly dumping the bundle out onto the cobblestones.
An indignant wail came from inside the woven container, startling the girl as she tried to recover her balance. The girl tentatively nudged the basket with her toe, setting the basket to gently rocking. The wail died down to a soft whimper, then disappeared entirely under the movement of the basket.
“Cook, Ma’am,” the girl said, her voice nearly a whisper. “You’d better come look at this. I don’t know what it is or where it came from.”
“Camilla, I don’t have time for your games this morning,” the cook said in exasperation. “Speak up and tell me what is so wrong with the world that you haven’t gone to get me the eggs.”
Camilla carefully lifted the basket and carried it even more carefully through the kitchen door and to the big table in the center of the kitchen. She quickly pushed half-peeled carrots and potatoes out of the way to make room on the edge of the table. The cook wandered over, her agitation at Camilla showing on her face, when another heart-wrenching cry escaped from the wicker package.
"What in heaven’s name….” Her irritation with Camilla forgotten, the cook cautiously poked her fingers into the basket. Her hand brushed a sheet of paper, lying gently on the soft blanket. Camilla watched as the cook pulled the paper out and scanned its content. The cook’s face grew more and more disconcerted as her eyes traveled further down the page. “Oh my! What to do? Quick, fetch the Mistress!” the cook said when she reached the end. Her knees buckled and she sank into a nearby chair, letting the note fall to the tabletop, to await the arrival of the Mistress. Her hands plucked unnoticed at the folds of her yellow apron, her
head shaking slightly in time to the rise and fall of fabric on her lap.
Camilla ran to the far end of the kitchen and rang the bell to summon a pageboy. When the boy arrived, tugging on his scarlet tunic, she hurriedly said, “The Mistress’s presence is requested in the kitchen. It’s very urgent.” After he had left, Camilla went back to the table and peered, uncomprehending, at the neat writing on the small page. “What does it say, Ma’am?” she asked nervously.
“Let Mistress Olivia read through it first. She’ll know what to do,” the cook said confidently. She stared at the basket, almost willing it to disappear.
The cook and scullery maid sat in silence, interrupted occasionally by a rustling or muted whimper from the basket on the table. Neither made a move to exhume the contents, knowing the Mistress would be upset if they changed anything before she got there.
After what seemed an eternity, the Mistress of the house swooped into the kitchen, trailing her two daughters behind her like toys on a string. The Mistress walked purposefully to the table, the skirts of her mud colored dress communicating her irritation with each swishing step. Her daughters followed so closely on her heels that they almost ran into her when she stopped, standing almost knee high to their mother in matching muslin dresses behind her. The orange-brown hair of the oldest girl, the same shade as her mother’s, sat piled in tight curls at the top of her head. The younger girl pulled nervously at strands of her moss green hair; too short to be pulled up, it hung limply around her face. Both wore looks of pampered boredom as they crossed the kitchen floor to the table in the center of the room.
The Mistress picked up the page and read it briefly before turning her attention to the basket resting delicately on the table. “Well, it says her name is Ella,” she said, succinctly. “I don’t know why someone would choose our doorstep to leave a baby, but there you have it.”
She reached into the basket to move the blanket away and look at the small bundle that had caused so much disruption to her household. Camilla and the cook leaned in for a better view while the two girls struggled with each other to see who could catch the first glimpse of the new addition to their home. The mistress grasped the tiny thing in her large gray hands and drew it out where everyone could see. A soft, pink face surrounded by pale gold tufts of hair looked up at her.
“She’s so ugly!” exclaimed the Mistress. She held the smiling baby out at arms length and quickly deposited her in the unprepared arms of the cook. She grabbed each of her daughters by one hand and pushed them behind her, as if to shield them from further exposure to the monstrous sight.
“Don’t let that thing any where near my precious girls. I don’t want it
to contaminate them.” She hurried off, herding her girls in front of her,
already trying to forget the ragged little child left to her unwilling care.
________________________________________________________________
The last drops splashed musically into the puddle under the rainspout. Pristine pools dotted the walkway leading from the back door of the manor. The sun glinted like diamonds off the droplets still clinging to individual blades of grass. Water stained the good brown earth of the kitchen gardens an almost black color and the early spring blossoms stood at attention under the influence of abundant moisture. Only the clouds on the horizon, now stained bright pink and orange by the rising sun, bore testament of the previous night’s storm.
A small bundle, packed tightly in a wicker basket, lay nestled up against the threshold of the large black door that opened up into the kitchen of Moss Haven Manor. The soft cotton fabric rustled as the contents of the basket shifted slightly and a soft cry escaped the folds.
From inside the house, a mellow toned voice called out, “Camilla! Stop your woolgathering and get me the eggs!”
“Yes, Ma’am. Right away,” a young girl stammered in reply. As the door swung open to let the girl out into the yard the sounds of the kitchen filled the cool air. Pots and pans rattled against each other, followed by a loud crash as several items fell to the floor. In confusion, the girl turned back to the kitchen and tripped over the large basket, nearly dumping the bundle out onto the cobblestones.
An indignant wail came from inside the woven container, startling the girl as she tried to recover her balance. The girl tentatively nudged the basket with her toe, setting the basket to gently rocking. The wail died down to a soft whimper, then disappeared entirely under the movement of the basket.
“Cook, Ma’am,” the girl said, her voice nearly a whisper. “You’d better come look at this. I don’t know what it is or where it came from.”
“Camilla, I don’t have time for your games this morning,” the cook said in exasperation. “Speak up and tell me what is so wrong with the world that you haven’t gone to get me the eggs.”
Camilla carefully lifted the basket and carried it even more carefully through the kitchen door and to the big table in the center of the kitchen. She quickly pushed half-peeled carrots and potatoes out of the way to make room on the edge of the table. The cook wandered over, her agitation at Camilla showing on her face, when another heart-wrenching cry escaped from the wicker package.
"What in heaven’s name….” Her irritation with Camilla forgotten, the cook cautiously poked her fingers into the basket. Her hand brushed a sheet of paper, lying gently on the soft blanket. Camilla watched as the cook pulled the paper out and scanned its content. The cook’s face grew more and more disconcerted as her eyes traveled further down the page. “Oh my! What to do? Quick, fetch the Mistress!” the cook said when she reached the end. Her knees buckled and she sank into a nearby chair, letting the note fall to the tabletop, to await the arrival of the Mistress. Her hands plucked unnoticed at the folds of her yellow apron, her
head shaking slightly in time to the rise and fall of fabric on her lap.
Camilla ran to the far end of the kitchen and rang the bell to summon a pageboy. When the boy arrived, tugging on his scarlet tunic, she hurriedly said, “The Mistress’s presence is requested in the kitchen. It’s very urgent.” After he had left, Camilla went back to the table and peered, uncomprehending, at the neat writing on the small page. “What does it say, Ma’am?” she asked nervously.
“Let Mistress Olivia read through it first. She’ll know what to do,” the cook said confidently. She stared at the basket, almost willing it to disappear.
The cook and scullery maid sat in silence, interrupted occasionally by a rustling or muted whimper from the basket on the table. Neither made a move to exhume the contents, knowing the Mistress would be upset if they changed anything before she got there.
After what seemed an eternity, the Mistress of the house swooped into the kitchen, trailing her two daughters behind her like toys on a string. The Mistress walked purposefully to the table, the skirts of her mud colored dress communicating her irritation with each swishing step. Her daughters followed so closely on her heels that they almost ran into her when she stopped, standing almost knee high to their mother in matching muslin dresses behind her. The orange-brown hair of the oldest girl, the same shade as her mother’s, sat piled in tight curls at the top of her head. The younger girl pulled nervously at strands of her moss green hair; too short to be pulled up, it hung limply around her face. Both wore looks of pampered boredom as they crossed the kitchen floor to the table in the center of the room.
The Mistress picked up the page and read it briefly before turning her attention to the basket resting delicately on the table. “Well, it says her name is Ella,” she said, succinctly. “I don’t know why someone would choose our doorstep to leave a baby, but there you have it.”
She reached into the basket to move the blanket away and look at the small bundle that had caused so much disruption to her household. Camilla and the cook leaned in for a better view while the two girls struggled with each other to see who could catch the first glimpse of the new addition to their home. The mistress grasped the tiny thing in her large gray hands and drew it out where everyone could see. A soft, pink face surrounded by pale gold tufts of hair looked up at her.
“She’s so ugly!” exclaimed the Mistress. She held the smiling baby out at arms length and quickly deposited her in the unprepared arms of the cook. She grabbed each of her daughters by one hand and pushed them behind her, as if to shield them from further exposure to the monstrous sight.
“Don’t let that thing any where near my precious girls. I don’t want it
to contaminate them.” She hurried off, herding her girls in front of her,
already trying to forget the ragged little child left to her unwilling care.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Still working
Yesterday, I sat down and outlined the changes I want to make to the current manuscript. At least for the first couple of chapters. I'm starting to feel really excited, with a new direction and new ideas popping into my head. I don't want to go much further than the chapters I've outlined right now because I want to keep myself open to something unexpected.
In the meantime, I jotted down the first scene of a new idea. I don't have any idea where it's going to go, but I wanted to put it out there. So here it is. Happy reading!
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I’ve lost track of the days. They all blur together. I sit here on this bed, with the stiff, white linen sheets, and stare at the small, barred window in the wall of this little room. I used to make marks on the wall, but they found the knife I slipped into my pocket in the dining room. They said I could hurt myself with it and they took it away. Now, I only see when the sun rises and sets, so I know that days are happening somewhere, even if they aren’t happening for me.
Once, I asked one of the staff members what day it was. Before he could answer, I started to think, “You obnoxious little waste. You don’t need to figure that out.” And I knew I was right. As soon as I thought it, I didn’t need to know any more. I told the man that and he seemed relieved. I felt relieved too. Glad that I hadn’t upset him by asking awkward questions. Of course, after he left, I wanted to know again. That always happens. They leave and I’m back to myself. I never realize what happened until they are gone.
I remember the day they brought me here. I couldn’t stop crying. Mom sat next to me on the back seat of the car while Dad drove. She stroked my hair and tried to hide the tears that poured down her own cheeks by burying my face in her shoulder. I kept hearing the words running through my mind, “Please let them help her. Please figure this out.” And I felt immensely sad, discouraged almost to the point of hopelessness.
They walked with me to the front door where Mr. Carmichael waited. The building seemed so oppressive, all gray like the wall of clouds that hovered in the sky. Everything looked gray and the tears washed over my face. I didn’t think it would ever stop. Mr. Carmichael took my hand gently and said, “We’ll take good care of you. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” Before I could even think about it, the tears dried up and I felt calm again. Mom and Dad walked quickly away without looking back at me, as if the sight might bring them pain. Their shoulders hunched over and they clung to each other like two puzzle pieces, fingers intertwined and steps matching rhythm. “You’ll never see them again,” I thought and knew it was true, just as I knew everything I thought was true, at least for that moment. I still hope I will see them again, but I can’t live on hope.
In the meantime, I jotted down the first scene of a new idea. I don't have any idea where it's going to go, but I wanted to put it out there. So here it is. Happy reading!
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I’ve lost track of the days. They all blur together. I sit here on this bed, with the stiff, white linen sheets, and stare at the small, barred window in the wall of this little room. I used to make marks on the wall, but they found the knife I slipped into my pocket in the dining room. They said I could hurt myself with it and they took it away. Now, I only see when the sun rises and sets, so I know that days are happening somewhere, even if they aren’t happening for me.
Once, I asked one of the staff members what day it was. Before he could answer, I started to think, “You obnoxious little waste. You don’t need to figure that out.” And I knew I was right. As soon as I thought it, I didn’t need to know any more. I told the man that and he seemed relieved. I felt relieved too. Glad that I hadn’t upset him by asking awkward questions. Of course, after he left, I wanted to know again. That always happens. They leave and I’m back to myself. I never realize what happened until they are gone.
I remember the day they brought me here. I couldn’t stop crying. Mom sat next to me on the back seat of the car while Dad drove. She stroked my hair and tried to hide the tears that poured down her own cheeks by burying my face in her shoulder. I kept hearing the words running through my mind, “Please let them help her. Please figure this out.” And I felt immensely sad, discouraged almost to the point of hopelessness.
They walked with me to the front door where Mr. Carmichael waited. The building seemed so oppressive, all gray like the wall of clouds that hovered in the sky. Everything looked gray and the tears washed over my face. I didn’t think it would ever stop. Mr. Carmichael took my hand gently and said, “We’ll take good care of you. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” Before I could even think about it, the tears dried up and I felt calm again. Mom and Dad walked quickly away without looking back at me, as if the sight might bring them pain. Their shoulders hunched over and they clung to each other like two puzzle pieces, fingers intertwined and steps matching rhythm. “You’ll never see them again,” I thought and knew it was true, just as I knew everything I thought was true, at least for that moment. I still hope I will see them again, but I can’t live on hope.
Monday, February 1, 2010
An excerpt
Well, here's some of the work I've been doing. This scene is somewhere in the early chapters of the current manuscript. I am still trying to decide if it should be the opening scene or not.
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Her hand rested against the rough, lumpy bark of one of the tall trees in front of her. In the quiet guise of the neighboring forest, the gateway to forbidden adventure beckoned only a few steps away. Trying to muster the courage to push forward, She stared hard at the shadowy undergrowth. She glanced back over her shoulder for the fifth time. He’s still asleep. Now’s my chance. I’ve got to go now, or he’ll stop me. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and put one foot forward, crossing the line between the known and the unknown.
A breeze wafted through the shade and chilled her bare arms. Her eyes opened, expecting to see some kind of miraculous transformation, but it looked exactly as it had when she stood on the other side of the tree. Her shoulders slumped. Silence pounded at her ears. The crack of a branch as she stepped on it seemed deafening.
Each step stirred up the musty aroma of decaying leaves on the perpetually damp ground. The hem of her skirts clung damply to her legs as she pushed her way further into the deepening shadows, passing bushes and roots that grabbed at her hands and feet. A skittering sound in the bushes made her stop in her tracks. A small gray squirrel broke from the cover, surprised to no longer be alone in the woods. She heaved a sigh of relief at the retreating back of the little animal and laughed at herself before setting off into the gloom again.
Her footsteps echoed against the gnarled trunks of the enormous oak trees as she weaved between them. She kept her eyes on the ground to avoid tripping over the roots and deadfall that hid beneath the bushes. She was so intent on her own progress that the sound of her passage masked the approaching footfalls behind her. A hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around, and she stifled a scream.
“Dawn! What are you doing in here? Do you realize how much trouble you’ll be in if I tell your parents?” Her eyes met the glowering face of her tutor, Master Thaddeus. His grip on her shoulder relaxed slightly. “What in heaven’s name made you sneak off like that?”
“Oh, Master Thaddeus. It’s you.” Her features betrayed the disappointment she felt at being caught out in the woods. “I was just doing some exploring.”
“Running away is more likely the case. What were hoping to accomplish?” Thaddeus asked.
“I thought I might meet the fairy,” Beauty said. She folded her arms across her chest, instantly defiant at his protective grasp on her shoulder. “Why does it matter to you?”
“You know I would be devastated if you left. Who would listen to the lessons I so painstakingly prepare? And your parents would be absolutely furious with me if I didn’t stop you. Let’s go back to the house now. I just can’t trust you out of my sight.”
“But, the fairy! I know I could have met her if you hadn’t stopped me just now. She’s just around the corner and I could finally know how to break this curse!” She pushed against the firm grip of his hand as he steered her back toward the open field she had walked through.
“Dawn, the fairy has been gone for years now. Every since that monster showed up in the woods.”
“Monster? What monster? There’s a monster in here?” A sudden, delicious fear filled her. “Do you think I would have seen him instead?”
“I forgot that your parents have forbidden us from talking about that. Forgive me. Let’s go, Dawn.” He dropped his hand to her waist and pushed her in front of him. “We need to go back to the study and finish your lessons for the day.”
“Do you have to call me Dawn? Nana calls me Beauty and I love it.”
“Your name is Dawn. That is what your parents call you. I will continue to call you Dawn, as well. Now, go!”
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Her hand rested against the rough, lumpy bark of one of the tall trees in front of her. In the quiet guise of the neighboring forest, the gateway to forbidden adventure beckoned only a few steps away. Trying to muster the courage to push forward, She stared hard at the shadowy undergrowth. She glanced back over her shoulder for the fifth time. He’s still asleep. Now’s my chance. I’ve got to go now, or he’ll stop me. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and put one foot forward, crossing the line between the known and the unknown.
A breeze wafted through the shade and chilled her bare arms. Her eyes opened, expecting to see some kind of miraculous transformation, but it looked exactly as it had when she stood on the other side of the tree. Her shoulders slumped. Silence pounded at her ears. The crack of a branch as she stepped on it seemed deafening.
Each step stirred up the musty aroma of decaying leaves on the perpetually damp ground. The hem of her skirts clung damply to her legs as she pushed her way further into the deepening shadows, passing bushes and roots that grabbed at her hands and feet. A skittering sound in the bushes made her stop in her tracks. A small gray squirrel broke from the cover, surprised to no longer be alone in the woods. She heaved a sigh of relief at the retreating back of the little animal and laughed at herself before setting off into the gloom again.
Her footsteps echoed against the gnarled trunks of the enormous oak trees as she weaved between them. She kept her eyes on the ground to avoid tripping over the roots and deadfall that hid beneath the bushes. She was so intent on her own progress that the sound of her passage masked the approaching footfalls behind her. A hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around, and she stifled a scream.
“Dawn! What are you doing in here? Do you realize how much trouble you’ll be in if I tell your parents?” Her eyes met the glowering face of her tutor, Master Thaddeus. His grip on her shoulder relaxed slightly. “What in heaven’s name made you sneak off like that?”
“Oh, Master Thaddeus. It’s you.” Her features betrayed the disappointment she felt at being caught out in the woods. “I was just doing some exploring.”
“Running away is more likely the case. What were hoping to accomplish?” Thaddeus asked.
“I thought I might meet the fairy,” Beauty said. She folded her arms across her chest, instantly defiant at his protective grasp on her shoulder. “Why does it matter to you?”
“You know I would be devastated if you left. Who would listen to the lessons I so painstakingly prepare? And your parents would be absolutely furious with me if I didn’t stop you. Let’s go back to the house now. I just can’t trust you out of my sight.”
“But, the fairy! I know I could have met her if you hadn’t stopped me just now. She’s just around the corner and I could finally know how to break this curse!” She pushed against the firm grip of his hand as he steered her back toward the open field she had walked through.
“Dawn, the fairy has been gone for years now. Every since that monster showed up in the woods.”
“Monster? What monster? There’s a monster in here?” A sudden, delicious fear filled her. “Do you think I would have seen him instead?”
“I forgot that your parents have forbidden us from talking about that. Forgive me. Let’s go, Dawn.” He dropped his hand to her waist and pushed her in front of him. “We need to go back to the study and finish your lessons for the day.”
“Do you have to call me Dawn? Nana calls me Beauty and I love it.”
“Your name is Dawn. That is what your parents call you. I will continue to call you Dawn, as well. Now, go!”
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