Kellyn Roth's Blog: Kellyn Roth, Author, page 49

Beyond Her Calling Plot Reveal and the Final Q&A Vlog

Today I’m going to be telling you a little about one of my current WIPs, Beyond Her Calling (The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, Book 4). I haven’t been sharing very much information with you up until now … but I think it’s time.

Here’s my first attempt at a blurb:

After Alice’s marriage and subsequent move, Ivy feels lost and lonely, worried that she’ll be expected to take her sister’s place as eldest daughter of the family.

When her parents notice a change in Ivy from bright and self-entertaining to dull and needy, they decided what she needs is a visit to her friends in Scotland.

There, amongst old friends and new, Ivy seeks to find her calling in life … and to decide whether or not it’s really what she wants!

And that’s it for today. Hope you don’t mind the short –

Wait.

What am I saying? Of course you don’t! Less for you to read!

Before you go, the last Q&A vlog:

What do you think?

A Lot (and I mean a lot) of Blog Tags

January 2017 Blog Tag Catch-Up Day

Just so you know, I’ll be nominating a lot of people (or as many as I can think of) at the end of this post.

Thanks Abigail @ The Freckles Fashonista for nominating me! ❤

-Rules-

Thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
Write a post to show your award.
Give a brief story of how your blog started.
Give two pieces of advice to new bloggers.
Select 15 other bloggers you want to give this award to.

Okay, so … how did Reveries start? It was only a little over a year ago, so you’d think this would be easy, but it really isn’t!

So … I’d been editing The Dressmaker’s Secret for almost a year by then … well, actually it was more like rewriting. Like, there is practically nothing wasn’t changed but the names of the characters.

Anyway, I’d finally gotten the book to kinda resemble the great literary masterpiece it is today (hahahaha) and so I set a publishing date for January 10th 2016, and I started this blog to write about writing and myself and stuff. *nods*

I noticed that Abigail mentioned why she named her blog what she named it, and I feel like I should explain ‘Reveries’ to you … but I can’t. As you can see, my url is kellynroth.wordpress.com. I do know I came up with ‘Reveries’ after I’d created my blog … but other than that, my memory as to why it’s called what it’s called it very vague. I think I Googled random words or something like that.

January 2017 Spotlight: Yet Another Peek into the Workings of At Her Fingertips

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Another spotlight is upon us, and today I’m going to veer into uncharted waters with a discussion about The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, Book 3: At Her Fingertips.

What? you say. You’ve posted thousands of excerpts and quotes and made us read through post upon post about every stage of your outlining and writing process!

I know, I know! But I’ve been focusing on other projects throughout December and January, so it’s time to return to the book which critics (well, my friend Bay Ray) are calling “Kellyn Roth’s best work yet.” (though probably with more spelling errors and exclamation points, knowing Bay …)

Though I guess there technically aren’t any uncharted waters here.

Well. Let’s see if I can’t give you some new information without spoilers.

For At Her Fingertips, anyway; there will probably be spoilers for The Dressmaker’s Secret. After all, we’re talking the third book in the series and it would be almost impossible not to … so yep.

Beware of TDS spoilers! Even though there are spoilers for TDS in almost every post now. What can I say? You need to read it! ;)

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This is going to be a short spotlight as I’m sick and not in a particularly creative mood. I just want to get this over with, honestly! Which totally defies one of my blogging dares this month, ‘Have fun with it!’

Oh, well. We can’t always be happy bloggers.

Okay, so, technically we can. I could just refuse to do a post until I’m in a better mood. But, honestly, I’ve been super excited for this post for a long time (just because spotlights are usually great fun!), so I’m just going to do it.

Discipline is everything, men. Discipline and chocolate.

And Jesus.

But that’s all besides the point.

The point is that I want to do this post, therefore I’m doing this post.

Let’s get going!

I’m ridiculously proud of At Her Fingertips. It just seemed to flow from my pen … well, my keyboard … when I was writing it. Furthermore, I’m so antsy to start revising/editing it that I’ve already moved it to another document, formatted it, and got it all prepared for editing. (I’ve even selected Bible verses to go at the start of a few chapters, too, which is something I haven’t even done for Ivy Introspective yet!)

The current blurb (it changes every couple weeks) goes like this:

Alice Knight has always had definite plans for her life. Now that she’s eighteen and about to come out into society, her plans seem to be at her fingertips: she’s on her way to becoming a debutante and then, she hopes, a bride.

However, for the first time in her life, Alice’s emotions and common sense prod her in different directions.

What does God lead us to follow? Our heads or our hearts?

So yeah. I need to work on it, but that’s the basic idea.

I’ve almost decided to start revisions in May, although waiting that long is going to be something of a trial. At that point, I may ask a few people to take a look at and critique it, if anyone’s willing. But, on the other hand, maybe not, as I really should be focusing on Ivy Introspective, even at that point, and I shouldn’t let finding alpha readers distract me!

In Which I Humiliate Myself

Since you all seem to like me, I decided that should change.

How am I going to go about changing that? Well, I’m going to post a lot of random excerpts from books I wrote … years ago.

For this, I have to go here:

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Yep. The file folder “No Longer in Use.” *lightning, thunder, scary music*

And a peak inside the file folder, as if you weren’t scared (or scarred) enough already:

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I know. Scary, right?

So, I’m going to click on a random folder and give you an excerpt from one of my works-in-progress. None of these were actually finished. So. Let the games begin.

From The Everyday Observations of Gem Farjon 2

(Note: I actually think this bit is kinda clever …)

“Gem, where are you?”

“Coming, mama.”

“Right now or next year?”

“Right now. Just a minute.”

“Why not say ‘just an hour?’”

“I’ve gotta brush my hair.”

“I’ll do it. You never get out the tangles.”

Gem did not want to get out the tangles. It often hurt. But if she didn’t, Mama would. Usually Mama did it better, so Gem gave her the comb and allowed her to work with her hair until it was tangle-free.

“I was going to have Mrs. O’Brien over, this afternoon, so-”

“Aunt Emmy?”

“If that suits you better, yes. As I was saying, I was going to have your Aunt Emmy over, so if you would go and play by yourself ….”

“But I’ve nothing to do. And you promised,” she had promised nothing, but Gem used to word often.

“What did I promise?”

“Well, you did.”

“I don’t remember promising anything.”

“You’re getting old.”

“Gem Farjon, you must be blind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Me, old? Then Empire State Building, short. Ocean, shallow!”

“What do you mean?” Mama did not always make sense.

“I mean, you need to go play by yourself today. I promised nothing; I remember that.”

“Or maybe you don’t.”

“Gem Ellen, march outside,” she insisted.

Mrs. O’Brien – or rather Aunt Emmy – did come over, and talked and talked with Gem’s Mama. Grownups must have a lot to talk about. Gem was sure she couldn’t talk that long.

When she went into the kitchen to get a cookie, they were sitting there talking. A few seconds of listening told Gem that they were talking of Fantasies. Fantasies was an estate that had used to be a plantation. It was located in Virginia, just below Roanoke. It was owned by Gem’s daddy, as he had inherited from his father who had inherited it from his father.

“Gem, no cookies today. Remember, you were naughty yesterday.”

“What did I do?”

“You threw Ellie’s record out the window.”

“But mama! She was playing it over and over and over and over and over and over again, and I was so, so, so tired of it!”

“I was, too,” Mama admitted, “But it was still wrong of you.”

Gem’s family would be moving to Fantasies soon. The plantation grounds had mostly been leased out to families, and the rest became woodland or pasture-land for wild animals.

When the family came home that evening, they began a siege of packing. It would take weeks, naturally, but the packing for the children, who would be departing for the beach in a few days, would only take that short length of time.

From The Heirs of the Trunk (Version 2)

(Note: cheesy, corny, stupid …)

Ruby Farjon tiptoed out of the bedroom where her daughter was sleeping. She smoothed her coppery-red hair out of her green-blue eyes.

“She is asleep . . . finally. That felt like an hour!” she whispered to Gretchen Tappet, her friend and adopted sister, who was waiting just outside the door.

“Less,” Gretchen replied, “Fifty-eight minutes, by the clock.”

Ruby almost laughed, “I don’t know if I can handle this motherhood business. It’s only been a month, and I am exhausted! And only one little girl!”

“So was I . . . I still am!” Gretchen smiled, “I made coffee. Come on.”

“I don’t like coffee.” Ruby remarked.

“I know,” Gretchen admitted, “Well, then I will have some coffee, and you’ll just sit there and play around with yours.”

They linked arms and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. Gretchen’s straight, black hair contrasted with Ruby’s own, and Ruby’s light eyes were quite opposite from Gretchen’s dark ones.

Ruby’s house was small. It had only a small yard in the back, which adjoined Gretchen’s. Both houses were side-by-side, in Shady Oaks, their hometown.

“How do you ever get Jessica asleep?” Ruby wondered.

“Jessica goes to sleep easily.”

“Well, Ellie doesn’t!” Ruby exclaimed.

“Gretchen, you mean!” Gretchen didn’t mind Ruby’s nickname for her little namesake, but she teased Ruby occasionally, just for the fun of it.

“Ellie is more her name now . . . it’s less confusing.”

“It’s not her real name!” Gretchen exclaimed.

“It’s not her real name but it’s . . . it’s her pretend name!” They both laughed out loud at that, and quickly hushed each other. Nevertheless, it was too late, for little Gretchen Helena, hearing the noise, woke up and began fussing again.

“Oh, why did you have to laugh?” Ruby moaned.

“And you?” Gretchen cried.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m her mother! I can do whatever I want!” She exclaimed.

“Well, I’ll go get her.” Gretchen hurried up the stairs. She was back in a minute with the red-haired baby who was still crying at having been woken.

“She’s a loud little girl, and her scream will pierce any ear,” Gretchen complained, but then her gaze softening into fondness and she remarked, “However, I would be mad too if I was woken from my nap of a few minutes, still tired!”

“You laughed too! However, I can do nothing to quiet her.” Ruby said, laughingly, “Can you put her back to the sleep she needs?”

Gretchen smiled, rocking the baby back and forth, “She just needs quiet, and she’s not going to get any if you keep talking!”

Ruby opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly the door opened and shut in the other room.

“Alan, why aren’t you with Jessica? You can’t leave her alone in the house!” Gretchen said with an annoyed tone to her voice.

Someone laughed in the next room, “I’m sure Alan is with Jessica,” responded a deep, well-known voice.

“Colin!” Ruby exclaimed. She ran out of the kitchen, where Colin awaited her with open arms. Ruby allowed him to kiss her, but then an annoyed look crossed her face.

“What about Law School?” she asked.

“It’s basically spring break . . . if there was a spring break in that exasperating college. It’s the weekend, and I wanted to see you!”

“Colin! It has only been a month! Less, actually! You’re going to get in trouble!”

“Take it easy on me!” Colin exclaimed, “Gretchen, a man comes home to see his wife, and she’s furious for no good reason whatsoever. I won’t miss anything . . . no lectures on subjects I’ve already well-studied, or anything or the sort. Can I see my little girl?” Gretchen obligingly handed him the screaming Ellie.

“Look at how she’s grown!” Colin exclaimed, “And so . . . loud,” he rocked her gently, and her screams diminished. “See, she just needs a gentle touch!”

“Why, she’s been screaming for two hours . . . almost continually!” Ruby looked mystified.

“She missed her father!” Colin explained.

“Well, she hasn’t gotten bigger. She’s the same size.” Ruby looked exasperated. It seemed like everyone else had a way with her child but herself!

“She’s prettier.” Colin put in.

Ruby narrowed her eyes, “She’s not prettier! And she was never ugly!”

“She’s less . . . red and wrinkled.” Colin said, playfully, “She’s beautiful now. Like her mother,” he kissed Ruby again, though Ruby pushed him away and took the baby.

Gretchen got a strong sense of ‘three is a crowd’, and excused herself. She walked quickly to her own home.

Also from The Heirs of the Trunk (Version 2)

(Note: and secrets are practically revealed … in the cheesiest way possible …)

After a time, all the guests left, including Ruby. Mr. Hilton, eventually, gained courage to bring up the subject to his wife.

“Did you see her, Cassidy? Did you, darling?”

“Yes,” quietly replied she.

“She is the mirror image of Gem. I do not know how it is possible, but she is related to her, somehow.”

“Likely,” was the answer.

“Darling, how is it possible? That girl is not that much younger than Cathie.”

“August, Colin said, 1888. It is very possible,” Mrs. Hilton responded, softly.

“Perhaps, but unlikely. Why have not we heard from her? It has been twenty-two years,” said Mr. Hilton, ponderingly.

“Should we ask Cathie a little about this girl before we jump to conclusions? They are good friends, I’ve heard.”

“Darling, I could not take another disappointment – another dead end. If you want to, we can try. I, for one, am sure that it is impossible,” then he raised his voice, “Cathie?” After a few moments, Cathie walked into the bedroom.

“You wanted me?”

“Sweetheart, something has come up, and we need to know what you know about Ruby,” said her mother, softly, “What do you know about her past?”

“She is an orphan,” was the prompt answer, “Her mother died the day after she was born. Her father died . . . oh, months before that. She does not have any known living relatives, but she was adopted.”

“Hmm . . . ,” Cassidy Hilton’s gaze traveled out the window. She was trying to puzzle this out, then something came to her, “Cathie, what was Ruby’s last name before she got married?”

“Err . . . let me think. Could it be Strauss? Yes, Ruby Lynne Strauss.”

“But her father’s name?”

“Jerry Smith was what she said,” Cathie replied.

“You . . . you are sure?” Mr. Hilton asked, going rather pale.

“Yes,” Cathie replied, very confused, “What is it?”

“Did she tell you anything that she knew of her parents? Other than what you’ve said already?”

“She said her parents were poor, but crazily in love, from what she knows. Her father was a farm boy, and her mother a city girl. They eloped, and came to Shady Oaks to live.”

“Shady Oaks,” Mrs. Hilton breathed, excitedly, “Of course!”

“As you said, let us not jump to any conclusions. Cathie, does Ruby know of any relatives that might be living?” Mr. Hilton asked.

“Yes, but she does not want to find them. Not at all. Her parents were rejected. Her grandmother hated her mother. She does not care about them, and has not even thought about looking. She does not think they would care about her.”

Mr. Hilton frowned at this.

“Is it possible . . . there could be a lot of Smiths around . . . ,” Mrs. Hilton looked at her husband, unsure.

“I hope it is not the way it is. I am believing with all my heart that it is not,” Mr. Hilton was trying to keep his voice from shaking, “I … I couldn’t bare it to have spent all this time missing her when she had been dead all along. I loved her next to you, Cassie.”

“I did as well,” Mrs. Hilton replied, “Cathie, go to bed, now. We will explain in the morning.”

A curious Cathie left, closing the door behind her. Immediately, Cassidy Hilton turned to her husband.

“If . . . ,” she thought aloud, “If she is Gem’s, how I shall love that girl! I would anyway – she is so like her. I wish . . . what will you mother say?”

“She is regretting what she said and did now. She would give anything to hear a word of forgiveness from Gem. She would be willing to die the instant afterwards if only to see her again. I will bet she is sick with worry, and scared that she will never see her daughter again.”

They turned out the light and both tried to sleep, but how could they? They both lay staring into the dark thinking the whole event out. What would happen in the morning?

From The Heirs of the Trunk, Version 1

(Note: I miss this book (even though it’s awful), which is why there is so much of it!)

Susan ’phoned Ruby every once and awhile, always sounding cheerful and enthusiastic, and all she wanted to talk about was Josh Bailey. Madeline also telephoned, but only to complain about Susan.

“She’s to nice. This is unnatural. I don’t like it. Did you know she can play the piano? Very well? I didn’t. She’s strange, just now. Just the other day she bothered me into letting her take me out for lunch. Go figure!”

But even her sisters’ hesitations to accept the new her didn’t seem to dampen Susan’s spirits. The only thing that did was a day when she didn’t see Josh Bailey.

By November, Ruby was demanded to come to Minneapolis. Susan wanted her there for her wedding, and the Hiltons wanted her to spend Thanksgiving at their house, which was accepted, after a lot of discussion with Colin, who was beginning to wish he had never heard the name ‘Hilton’. It was difficult enough with both Strauss’s and Farjons.

When Ruby and Colin got to the Farjon household, Susan was in her room. Ruby was allowed to walk in without hesitation, as the door was wide open, strangely enough. Susan was staring out of the window, absently tugging at her own hair.

“Hey, Suzie! It was so nice of you to greet me.” Ruby teased. Susan started and turned around.

“Oh … hi, Ruby. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I called you yesterday and told you I was!” Ruby laughed, “Are you becoming forgetful?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m just a little bit fidgety, and my mind is elsewhere. But I’m glad you’re here. You don’t act wary around me. All my sisters are, except Polly. I’m not such an awful person, am I?”

“I never thought you were.” Ruby said, shrugging, “I liked you alright. Hey, you’re not to smart, but you’re pretty.” Susan rolled her eyes.

“Thanks a lot. That makes me feel much better.”

“Well, all the Farjon girls, except you, Susan, have a bad habit of under-estimating themselves – even your mother. Your habit is over-rating yourself! You could use some de-grading, really, though not from me.” Ruby commented, laughingly, though her words were truer than she knew.

“Hey! I’ve been throwing a lot of pride and habit away recently! I’ve been faithful to one man, I’ve treated my mother like a human been, I’ve tried to convince my sisters that I’m sane, and haven’t worn any violet perfume, or any at all, in ages. Josh wanted me not to – he says the smell was killing his nose.

You know, I would even mind having a baby, now. With Josh, I couldn’t possibly raise It wrong. I feel like I’ve just met the girls’ children for the first time. Especially Polly’s. Isabelle is an angel, and Henry and Alexander are pretty smart kids. I like them a lot.”

Ruby began laughing then. This was Susan, still, but the way she ought to be, and the way she really was. She was very fun. Her words bounced off her tongue in a way that made you love to hear them, and her eyes sparked with anticipation. Susan joined in Ruby’s laugh, a little. She had a laugh very like her mother’s – pleasant and happy. It was a laugh off delight, not amusement.

“Well, sounds like you’ve been a really good girl.” Ruby said, still giggling. She reached over and patted Susan’s head, “When my dog performs a feat like that, I give him a biscuit. Do you want one?”

“No thanks.” said Susan, making a face, “I’m fine without.”

“Alright, good. The wedding on the 20th, correct?”

“Yes.” Susan said, beginning to twist her hands together.

“That’s nine days. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“No. Not exactly. I mean, what is there to be nervous about?” Susan said, sounding rather nervous.

“Oh, I don’t know. Say I didn’t mention it. What kind of flowers are you going to have? What do the dresses look like? What about a honeymoon?”

“Well, as far as flowers, lilies. They are sort of a thing in our family. My father called my mother his ‘lily’, and he called Ellen his ‘Easter lily’ because she was born on Easter. In fact, the truth is, he called all of the girls ‘lily’ at one point or another, except me. Which is funny, because Ellen had lavender … all right, now I’m way off subject. But the dress in beautiful, and we’re going to spend several weeks in Italy. You do not know how much begging that took. He thinks this is all a waste of time.”

“Huh! Well, your wedding is something you’re supposed to remember.” said Ruby.

“That’s what I told him. Did you bring your dog?” Susan was not trying to change the subject. She simply wished to know.

“What? You can’t bring a dog on a train, Susan. But I hope you’ll meet her someday. She’s a great dog, and so smart. She must know two dozen tricks. Alan is taking care of her.”

“Who’s Alan?” Susan asked.

“Gretchen’s husband.”

“Oh.” Susan still looked confused, but she didn’t really want to know who Gretchen was, terribly, and she had a general idea.

They ran down the stairs. Mrs. Farjon had taken Gretch from Colin, and exclaimed over how much she’d grown.

“She’s almost nine months old, isn’t she?” Mrs. Farjon marveled.

“Yes.” Ruby said, smiling, “Jessica walks now, you know, very well. And she says several words.”

“Jessica, Jessica, Jessica.” Colin complained, “You talk more about her than about Gretch.”

“Who is … ” Susan began, then, “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Mrs. Farjon laughed.

“She’s Gretchen Tappet’s daughter. You know Gretchen – she’s Peter Strauss’s daughter.”

“Peter Strauss is married?” Susan asked, looking surprised.

“You weren’t born when he wasn’t.” Mrs. Farjon said, plainly amused, “Let me see … he was married in 1880. That’s what – three years before you were born?”

“Two.” Susan said, “Everyone thinks I’m younger than I am because I was born in June.”

“In time, you’ll be happy if people think you’re younger than you are.” Mrs. Farjon said, grinning, before exiting the room. She had a tendency to always have something to do.

From A House Divided, book

(Note: this is the one that embarrasses me the most. I was quite pleased with it at the time, but now I look at it and grimace. Thank goodness I only wrote five pages! Anyway, it involves an arranged marriage and a mention of a (married) couple sharing  a bed, so be warned.)

It rained on their wedding day. If Clarence or Lynne had been superstitious, it would have been taken for a bad omen. Lynne proclaimed to herself that even if she didn’t believe in ‘that silliness’ she was sure it was some sort of a message from God, trying to hint that they were most definitely not meant for each other.

When it came to the ‘speak now or forever hold you peace,’ Lynne could not restrain herself. She would not be pronounced man and wife. She may have spoken those silly vows, but she could still escape.

“I object to this union,” she said, suddenly, taking a few steps back from Clarence. The veil had been hiding her tears for some time, now, and she quickly removed it to wipe her eyes.

Her father stood up from where he had sat, giving her looks, “Lynne!”

“No! I will not be forced into this!”

The entire audience gasped. Clarence stared at her in disbelief.

“Lynne McCullough, you will marry him,” Mr. McCullough told her, “You be quiet.”

“I will not! This is my life, and I am not even a woman yet. I will not have my life ruined. Besides what you seem to think, I’m not something you can bargain and trade with as you would a piece of goods. I am a person.”

“Lynne,” it was her mother now, standing next to her, “Don’t make such a fuss. You’ll only embarrass yourself. Just go on, reverend, sir. She’s not entirely sane.”

The reverend tried to object to this, but Mrs. McCullough helped Lynne put her veil back on. Clarence continued to stare in amazement, until he blinked and looked up towards the ceiling as if to say, “Why me?”

Clarence decided, after the scene, that it was best to skip the rest of the wedding, and after the reverend hastily said, “I pronounce you man and wife,” he didn’t even bother to kiss the bride. He simply took her hand, led her down the isle, got her into a carriage which he directed should go to his house. He did not get into that carriage, however, but lingered behind to talk to his mother and father.

“Just be patient with her,” her mother advised, “Oh, what a scene! I would do anything to get you out of this. Poor girl! Her parents must have forced her into it.”

“You mean ‘poor Clarence,’ I’m sure, dear,” said Clarence’s father, “I wouldn’t be caught dead with that girl.”

“Well, I’m just going have to be caught,” said Clarence, grinning, “Ah, well, I’d better go follow her. She’s not in the best of moods.”

“Follow her?”

“I sent the carriage ahead of me. I’m not ready for that confined a space yet.”

“Takes ours,” his mother offered, “I’ll do my best to explain. Really, this is quite an embarrassing situation.”

“Do your best, mother, for my sake,” and he hurried out the door.

Lynne cried all the way to the house, then hurried out of the carriage and inside. Her things were already in his bedroom. The room was neat and tidy, which meant he had likely not slept in it yet, she reflected, knowing her brother.

“All men are the same!” she ranted, “My father, my brother, and this Hilton man. They think they’re in control of the world and women were designed as their personal slaves. Well, I don’t think that’s how it is; not at all. If he thinks he has his little wife now, he will have a rude awakening! Ah, but no awakening, as I shan’t let him go to sleep!”

Lynne noticed that there were two pillows on that bed. She rolled her eyes, picked up one, opened the window, and threw it out. It landed at Clarence’s feet. He glanced up, then glanced down, picked up the pillow, muddy in the street by now, and set it on the front step. Then he hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom.

“Hello,” he said, awkwardly, “Um, what do you think of the place? I wasn’t quite sure, but my mother said it was all right.”

“I suppose it is all right. There was one adjustment; I just made it.”

“Ah, the pillow?”

“Mm-hmm, and don’t think it’s because I want to share mine!”

“I guessed that,” said Clarence.

“You’re not all that stupid, then,” responded Lynne, “Will you leave my bedroom now?”

“Your bedroom? All right, then. No, I will not leave ‘your bedroom,’ I will sleep on the sofa in here.”

“No, you will not,” responded Lynne, “There are sofas in other rooms. You may sleep on these.”

Clarence sighed, “As you like it, my love,” he responded, “But you know we were going to take a honeymoon? I told you of that cabin; I thought we were going to go there. I suppose that is off?”

“No,” said Lynne, after a moment, “To save face, we will travel to that cabin in a few moments. My things, I believe, are in suitcases downstairs. I will just change into my traveling clothes, now.”

“As you like it,” he murmured before leaving.

“Hateful man!” Lynne thought, locking the door behind him and going into the adjoining boudoir, “Well, we won’t be staying here tonight. Cabin! Yes, he spoke of it; it’s somewhere in the country. Very secluded, that is what he said! Oh, how shall I bear this!”

From Midnight and Twilight, first draft

(Note: this is the first ‘book’ I ever wrote. This is the last ‘chapter.’ There is a lot of violence – horses killing each other, basically – in this section.)

Twilight walked around the rim of the valley, and around the mountain plains above the valley. His band followed, sometimes stopping to graze, or rest under a shade tree. Usually, they would rest, and then run to catch up with Twilight and rest again. Twilight took no breaks, but all the same, it took him all that day to come to a jagged cliff, that once climbed, showed a sheltered pass were Midnight and his band were. Twilight at once hurried back into the valley. He checked to make sure his entire band was there, and then walked up the side of the valley, into the pass. Midnight was expecting him. He was no longer scared once he saw Twilight. He knew that if he was going to die, he was going to die. Twilight paused, savoring the moment. He stared his brother straight in the eyes for a second, and waited his on-coming rush. Twilight glinted his evil eyes. He rolled his eyes back and tilted his head so, at the same time watching Midnight; he could watch his mares trudging up towards him. Discord topped the valley, and stood proud and tall behind him. Flame nodded their little heads up after her, and so followed the rest of the band. Twilight stood, for perhaps fifteen minutes, or perhaps fifteen seconds until a few more of his mares arrived behind him. This worked extremely well, for the biggest, strongest mares arrived at the top first, and created a beautiful spectacle. Twilight was in the middle, holding his head high, baring his teeth as if to pounce in a second, his eyes going red again, as if a sudden evil had possessed him which took all traces of mercy and good from his system, if any had ever existed. Discord stood on his right. Her eyes glinted almost like Twilight’s, her head tilted to gain the best view of Midnight and his mares. Flame pranced at Twilight’s right. He did not wish to fight, but merely to get his extra energy out. He had followed the mares around, resting often, and had not had a chance to get rid of his excess energy, which is often possessed by young colts. Midnight let out a weak neigh, and Celilo and the rest of his mares stood around him, and behind him. They did their own bad impressions of brave-ness, acting as if they were not the least bit scared, but they were truly so far beyond terrified that they were frozen where they were. Terror, on the other hand, was showing no signs of pain, or suffering. She looked as if she would accept nothing but victory. She had learned to harness her feelings, and show only hate, but not love, pain, or even react to torture. She had learned, by living with Twilight, to hold her head and body so that her mane and tail whipped in the wind. Her eyes burned with a million flames, a wild fire, focused at Twilight. Her eyes flashed of the terrible things she had seen, death, murder, destruction; horrors which haunted her dreams. Other than that, she might have been made of stone. She stood still, with her burning eyes on Twilight. He glanced at her, and wished he hadn’t taught her to look at horses like that. She had stone eyes with flames in them, or were they flamed eyes with stones in them. He couldn’t tell, but if he had been human, he would have winced, and shivered, but he was Twilight. He had his own flamed eyes, and he put them to her. She remained defiant. In the end, he looked away, and turned his attention back to Midnight.

Midnight was also defiant of Twilight. He took a step forward. Twilight lifted his head higher, stamped the ground, and let out his war cry. Midnight let out a weaker cry, and galloped toward Twilight. Midnight’s band pulled back, and ran a little ways up the pass. They stood, watching the battle, terrified and ready to run. Terror, too, turned, and galloped away, but only for a better view. She was not scared, or at least she didn’t show it.

Twilight and Midnight clashed together. Rearing, kicking, nipping; anything to gain the upper hand. They circled each other, again and again, trying to land a blow. Finally, Twilight made a quick move, and bit Midnight’s neck. Midnight staggered back, overwhelmed momentarily by the pain. Blood steamed from his neck. Luckily, Twilight had not severed any major veins, and Midnight recovered, and managed to kick Twilight’s leg. Twilight began to bleed. It was just a minor cut, but blood gushed forth, throbbing from the wound. Twilight reared, and screamed. His heart was bounding around in his chest, his leg hurt terribly. They clashed together again and again, every time one landing some blow on the other. Drenched with blood and sweat, Midnight took a step backward, coughing and gasping. Twilight took the opportunity, and crashed down, almost on top of Midnight, and landed a death-dealing blow, with a hard latching bite near to Midnight’s jugular vein. Blood gushed out, and Midnight fell to his knees. Celilo screamed, and called for Midnight to get back up, to run, to hide, to recompense the blows. But Midnight rolled onto his side. He tried desperately to raise his head. He failed miserably, and lay back down, panting and terrified. Horses know when the end is near. He glanced about, moving only his eyes. Twilight stood above him, triumphant. He stared down at him, contemplating his next move, then, turning to his band, let out his war cry again, but this time, he was calling out ‘Victory! I have won!’. Then Twilight galloped off. He would take the best of Midnight’s mares, killing their offspring. Celilo hid behind a tree for a second until Twilight passed, heading toward a group of Midnight’s mares, and ran to Midnight. She looked down at him, a weak look came into her eyes, and then she began to panic. Terror managed to make it there as well, and gave Celilo a look, which quickly brought all traces of panic out of her system. Celilo’s colt could not understand death yet, and looked at his father, not understanding why he didn’t get up. Moon-Dance also stood near by. She rubbed against her mother’s legs, and then pranced off. She didn’t understand the danger, or death. She usually acted how her mother acted, but right now her mother was acting solemn, which was not a thing Moon-Dance did well. Midnight looked up at Celilo’s colt, and without saying a word or making a noise, he named him.

Sudden Death. Sudden Death for Twilight, when the little colt grew older. Celilo understood, and nodded that, yes, she would call the colt that. Midnight, then, let out his last call, a scream which conveyed this message:

“Run, and take all the mares you can save with you. Save yourself, and save your foals.”

The mares did run, with all their strength. Celilo did not want to leave, but Terror gave her a quick shove, and she left with backwards looks. Midnight lived long enough to see his lead-mare, son, Terror, Moon-Dance, and three other mares with their foals escape. Then he fell in a silent sleep, a sleep with no dreams, no breath, no life.

Twilight finished off or took all the other mares and their foals. But the five mares, the five foals, and their foals that would arrive next year would be enough to restart the band in a couple years when Sudden Death was old enough. Twilight would take over the valley. He would live in it for a time, but not forever. Someday, perhaps years later, but someday, Midnight’s descendents, be it his son or his great grandson, would rule the valley in peace.

From Dolly of the World

(Note: this is part of an outline. I don’t know if I’ll ever write this … but if I do, I’ll likely change the novel 100%)

Dolly Splitzen has lived the first thirteen years of her life at the Atlantic seaside town of Meerseite, Virginia, USA. The population is mostly German-American immigrants. There is a lot of fishing and tourism. She always feels very different from the rest of the village who seem somehow prejudiced against her; they call her the devil’s daughter and exclude her. Even her own family seems to reject her. ((She doesn’t fit in because she has socialized with the tourists and become somewhat modernized and etc. Everyone in the village is really old-fashioned and hate change and things like that.))

In the summer after her fourteenth birthday (1930), two things happen: she meets the Farjon family who teach her that there is more to life than constant work and that she’s not as different as she seems to be.

Also, a strange woman comes to live in the outskirts town. Dolly slowly gets to know the lady, who seems to like Dolly in a motherly way. However, Dolly’s father is unwilling to let Dolly hang out with the Farjon children … and when he finds out about the lady (Belle de Lebeau) at the end of the summer (after the Farjons have gone) he becomes fanatic and confines her to her room.

So, basically, Dolly runs away. She goes first to Miss Lebeau who agrees to take her back with her to the city where she works (WELCOME TO NEW YORK! IT’S BEEN WAITING FOR YOU! WELCOME TO NEW YORK WELCOME TO NEW YORK … haha, Taylor Swift reference …) and have her properly educated for some “great work in the world” which Dolly has not decided on yet.

From The Misadventures of Dr. Kelly and Her Assistant James (earlier writings)

(Note: I decided to include the first short story in the collection as a whole … so read on!)

The Elastic Cord

“Kelly, look at this!” shouted James Garrett, Dr. Kelly’s assistant, and brother. Dr. Kelly rushed over to James.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Look at this picture! It was taken yesterday!” shouted James.

“WHAT IS THAT?” Dr. Kelly shouted, not to be left behind.

“It’s a Elasmosaurus.”

“A Elasticourus?”

“A Elasmosaurus,” corrected James, patiently.

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place!” said Dr. Kelly, “It’s just a . . . WHAT! A ELASMOSAURUS! A Swimming DINOSAUR! You ARE crazy! You ARE kidding! Right?”

“Nope.”

“Ok, if there is a swimming dinosaur, where is it?”

“In Loch Ness.”

“Ok, James. DO YOU HAVE ANY PROOF!”

“Nope.”

“Would you like to investigate.”

“Are you kidding?”

“YES.”

“Why?”

“Because I am not going to journey several thousand miles to prove a myth is a real!”

“Oh.”

… a week or two later …

“There it is, Loch Ness. Aren’t you excited Kelly?”

“Uh-huh.”

“When we bag that monster we will be famous.”

“Sure.”

“And so will Nessie.”

“You brought your girlfriend?”

“Not Nellie, Nessie.”

“Nessie? The Loch Ness monster?”

“Yep, that’s what we’re after.”

“You said a Elasticrorror.”

“An Elasmosaurus.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No you said…”

“Forget it.”

“Okay.”

… about an hour later, at their hotel …

“James, were is my camera.”

“I don’t know. Where are my swimming shorts?”

“You brought swimming shorts?”

“Yes, I want to go swimming with Nessie.”

“WHAT? ARE YOU CRAZY?”

“I hope not.”

“You are NOT going swimming with Nessie.”

“I even brought my beach ball. Why can’t I go swimming with Nessie.”

“Because he’s an important scientific discovery. And he might HURT you.”

“A little feller like him?”

“He’s 43 feet long!”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“You didn’t ask, did you?”

… silence …

“No.”

… A hour later, in the speedboat…

“James, where are you?”

“Over here.”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“Talking to this interesting animal.”

“Show me.”

… a second later …

“James, leave that fish alone.”

“It’s not a fish, it’s a sturgeon.”

“A surgeon? A person who operates on people?”

“No, a sturgeon. It’s a kind of fish native to the waters of Lake Loch Ness!”

“It’s not ‘Lake Loch Ness.’ It’s just ‘Loch Ness.’ ‘Loch’ means ‘lake’ in Scottish.”

“I thought Scottish people spoke English.”

“Not whenever Loch Ness was named, apparently. Stop fooling around!”

“I’m not fooling around. I’m fooling in one place!”

“Just get over here!”

“Ok.”

… a few minutes later …

“Calling Dr. Kelly. Are you there?” blared the radio.

“Dr. Kelly, reading you loud and clear.”

“O.K., we have a large animal on our sonar take, Approx. 40 feet, give or take a little. It is a very fast swimmer and seems to be coming to surface near you boat.”

“NEAR OUR BOAT!”

“Yes, near your boat. Please get you cameras ready. OVER AND OUT!”

“James, grab your camera!”

“Why?”

“Because your Nessie is surfacing!”

“No she is not! I told you, I did not bring Nellie.”

“NESSIE!”

“Help! Save me! Nessie’s surfacing! Where’s my camera?”

“Calm down! Here’s your camera. QUIET!”

“Look over there Kelly!”

“I am!!!”

… a second later after a tranquilizer dart was injected into Nessie …

“Secure that Dinosaur!”

“Help! It’s trying to eat me.”

“James, it’s asleep.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want make you flood Loch Ness with your tears, so I am not going to tell you.”

“But why is he sleeping?”

“Forget it. He is taking a quick nap.”

“Oh.”

“Just take pictures or something.”

“Ok.”

… after Nessie was set free and proven to be a Elasmosaurus…

“Home again, home again, Rickety Rig. I found Nessie and I dancing a jig!”

“No, you didn’t find Nessie, you found a Elasticourer.”

“Elasmosaurus.”

“That thing.”

“But that doesn’t go well.”

“Forget it, you, um, WE found Nessie.”

“And me to.”

“Shut up.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“I’ll give you a punch in the nose.”

“Oh.”

The End (or is it?)

And … I refuse to explain any of that.

Unless you ask, in which case I might.

What? This is my extra day! On my extra days, I can do whatever I want whenever I want. I mean, as long as it’s actually on the extra day … but otherwise, there are no rules. And today I chose to shatter all your childish illusions of me maybe being a good writer someday.

So there.

~Kellyn Roth

Ten Things You Need to do to Survive as an Author (and the Q&A Vlog Part 2)

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Okay, let’s just start with a disclaimer: I’m not being serious. This is a fun, silly post. However, there are grains of truth in it, too. At least, I think so.

Now, today I’m going to tell you of ten things you need to do to survive as an author. Now, in this case, I primarily mean a published author such as myself, but some of the ten things also apply to you who have written a book/are writing a book but haven’t actually published because, unlike me, you’re patient enough to wait for a nice acceptance letter from a prestigious company.

January 2017 Dares (and New Year’s Resolutions)

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Wow. Can you believe that it’s 2017? I sure can’t. I mean, I can believe that it’s 2017 … I’m not, like, doubting its existence or anything, but … wow! 2016 was such an amazing year! Almost nothing went wrong. Almost everything went right.

But now we’ve got to move on to a new year. It isn’t 2016 any more. It’s 2017. Again, wow.

Time for a quick recap of what I accomplished in December.

Yeah, I know, I just said we have to move on … but whatever. I’m a girl. Girls aren’t necessarily consistent; it’s a well-known fact.

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Reading

Read five books. Check! I think I read something like ten … though I can’t be sure because I’m running late and the internet is bad (SNOWED IN!), so I’m not going to open a new tab and check Goodreads to find out.
But one of those has to be Ivy Introspective. Check! Read it through twice. So there.
Finish A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Check! Wow … such a good book … but the content. *sigh* VidAngel for books, guys. Someone’s gotta invent it …
Read at least two books for enjoyment purposes only. Check!
Write a reading update post. Failed. However, I chose to fail this one (because I decided not to do reading update posts), so does it really count?

Writing

Outline Interpreting Callie James. Failed. Sorry, but there just wasn’t time. Okay, you’re right; I’m never busy and there was plenty of time.
Finish writing Flowers. Failed. Uh … I wrote a little more, but …
Don’t even look at At Her Fingertips. Failed. I think I’m in love with this book. I literally downloaded it to my Kindle and read it for fun … and I wrote it. I am so creepy and narcissistic and … eesh.
Read through Ivy Introspective, doing some serious revising. Check! Twice, actually. I’m really pleased with the progress I made this last month.

Blogging
For Reveries:

Get back on schedule. Failed! Uh … I changed the schedule … so …

Flowers, Parts One and Two

The moment you’ve all been waiting for, my darlings, is at hand! That’s right! Parts One and Two of Flowers, my short story sequel to The Lady of the Vineyard, is coming to you … right here … right now!

Okay, so maybe none of you actually want to read this story. Whatever. Comment and say you liked it anyway!

[image error] Part One

 Judy Kee was sitting at the top of the stairs, watching the door attentively. She wasn’t allowed to go outside and potentially muss up her clothes, as Granny was sure she would (despite her love for her granddaughter, she didn’t think her perfect), but Judy was quite ready to jump up at any second, her ears perked, alert for the slightest sound of her father’s car.

She ran her hand through her strawberry-blonde hair, bumping the blue ribbon to the side. She had managed to keep her dress relatively unwrinkled, though, and her shoes weren’t scuffed, so Granny’s campaign for a nice-looking little girl was succeeding at least partially.

“How much longer will they be?” Judy called up the stairs to her grandmother, who was doing some unpacking to prepare the nursery.

“I don’t know. It’s a long drive to the hospital, darling. Why don’t you come help me set up this room? Come see the toys your father bought, spoiling his baby already,” she ‘tsked.

“No. I’ll stay here,” said Judy quietly.

She was going on seven in a month or so, and a seven-year-old really should help her grandmother, but … she looked longingly at the door. Even if this was as close as she could get, she wouldn’t get any farther away.

Finally, Judy heard the longed-for roar of the silver sports car. She rushed down to stand at the foot of the stairs, bouncing on her toes. “Granny! Granny, they’re here!”

Granny came down the stairs sedately, laughter in her eyes. “Then you may greet them.”

Judy opened the door and rushed out.

Troy opened the door for her and helped her to her feet despite the fact that she didn’t need his assistance.

“I’ll never be as much of a lady as you are a gentlemen,” Adele commented merrily.

“I know,” Troy replied with a smile. “Let me take her for you.”

“No. I want to carry her home,” she said. “Just get my suitcase, please.”

Troy frowned. “You’re sure.”

“Oh, dear, I don’t know. I might faint halfway up the walk,” Adele laughed, rolling her eyes.

“Daddy! Mother!”

They turned; Judy ran up and barreled into Troy’s legs. Troy picked her up and swung her around. Then he set her down and picked up the suitcase. “Let’s get inside.”

“Yes. The wind might blow me away,” said Adele, pretending to stagger.

“Careful, Della! And you know that’s not it. Though you probably shouldn’t -”

“Shush, Troy.”

Judy stood on tiptoes and tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Mother, can I see? Can I hold her?”

“Not yet, Judy,” Adele replied. She walked towards the house quickly. Troy reached around her to open the door as Adele adjusted her hold on her child to do so, Adele pretended to scowl at him and then smiled, and they entered their house.

“Mother, now?” Judy asked eagerly.

“Patience, Judy.”

“But -”

“Don’t bother your mother,” Troy said almost sharply.

Judy glanced up at him in surprise. “But Daddy.”

“Judy.” His look was a warning.

Tearful, Judy examined her shoes. She’d scuffed the very tip of the left toe as she ran outside to meet her parents. This brought more tears. What a bad girl she was!

Granny came down the stairs then. She was let to hold the baby, and look at it, and smile at it, and ask why they’d named her what they’d named her – Camilla Estelle Kee, quite a title for a little baby like that.

Judy turned away and walked through the dining room and kitchen and out the back door. She rubbed the tears away and scowled. Didn’t they know that sisters were more important than grandmothers?

* * * * *

He carried her suitcase up the stairs to their bedroom and set it on the floor to be unpacked later. Glancing around, he took in the many unpacked boxes which contained their belongings. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t leave now. He couldn’t leave until they were settled in their new home.

Calm down, calm down. They’ll be fine. Granny is here, remember? She’ll take care of the cleaning and cooking. Lola will be here later … Lola is splendid emotional support. But … I sure hope You know what You’re doing, God.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and left the room. As he walked down the hall, he ducked his head into the nursery. Granny had done a good job – and a loving job – preparing that room. He had managed to get a few coats of pale blue paint on the walls while Adele was staying at the hospital, but that was all he’d had time for, as leaving Adele’s side had been somewhat of a trial. They had kept him away from her during the hard part; he should be with her while she recovered. It made sense, and no air-headed blonde nurse was going to tell him otherwise.

Hurrying down the stairs, he found that Adele and Granny had wandered into the living room. Granny had Camilla. Troy bit his lip. Would Adele’s first excitement fade? That would hurt. It would hurt almost too much, and goodness knows he was sick of hurting.

“Where’s Judy?” he asked, trying not to look worried.

“She’s … oh, she probably went upstairs. You know how she loves that little attic room,” Adele replied, lounging on a sofa rescued from her apartment.

“Oh.” Troy sat on her legs.

“Troy!”

“Gosh, you’re bony.” He stood.

Adele tucked her legs under her. “You’re unbelievable. One moment I can’t carry seven pounds of baby; the next you sit on me. Unbelievable.”

“You’re the one who said I was too … what was the word you used? Predictable?”

“You see what I’m up against?” Adele demanded of her mother.

“I don’t see anything,” Granny replied, giving her daughter a reproving look. No matter what, it was a matter of fact with Granny that Adele was to blame.

“I told you she’d always be on my side,” Troy whispered to his wife. “I’m ever so glad. Your side is already armed with yourself! I don’t stand a chance without some backup.”

Adele sighed dramatically, pretending greater irritation than she felt. A moment of silence was followed by a comment from her. “It’s strange that Judy would wander of, especially since she was so eager to see Camilla.”

“It’s definitely strange. I’ll go see if I can’t find her. Oh, Mrs. Collier, my sister is coming in from London next week. She doesn’t want to be alone at her house. Is that fine?”

“Yes, it is. And you needn’t call me Mrs. Collier.”

“Thanks, and I prefer it.”

“How come I don’t get to decide whether your sister can come tomorrow or not?” Adele pouted.

“Because you don’t care as long as it doesn’t cause you any work.”

“True,” Adele replied. “Bring Judy back here, won’t you? She can help me give Camilla her bottle. Won’t that please her?” she asked almost anxiously.

Troy nodded encouragingly. “It will.”

“Or will she think I’m trying to pass Camilla off to her? Because Judy can take responsibility over any little thing you let her take care of. I remember Millie brought a kitten in from the alley one day, and Judy took care of her so carefully. She was so heartbroken that we couldn’t keep her. You know how I feel about animals in the house.”

Troy laughed. “Don’t Holt and I both know it! But Camilla is hardly a kitten, and I don’t think we object much to keeping her.”

“No, it’s a little different, isn’t it?”

“A little?” Granny asked incredulously.

“A little,” Adele repeated. “Mother, I’m going to see about getting her bottle ready. When Camilla wants to eat, she wants to eat immediately, and it’s best to have it a little in advance. She has a somewhat unpredictable stomach.”

* * * * *

Adele tested the heat of the bottle by dripping a little of the milk on her wrist. She mentally questioned the use of the wrist for this important investigation, and dripped some on her hand, nose, and tongue.

“Mother?”

Adele picked up a rag and began washing herself up. “Mm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Um … just getting Camilla her bottle.”

“I thought mothers nursed their babies like cats,” Judy said, folding her arms over her chest and staring at her mother reprovingly.

“Sometimes … and sometimes they bottle-feed them.”

“Like a sick little lamb?” Judy asked.

“Yes, like a sick little lamb, only perhaps a little less out of necessity and more out of convenience.”

“Daddy says having a baby isn’t always convenient.”

“If that man knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t talk so much.”

Judy shrugged. “I guess so.”

“So, where were you?”

“Outside. In the garden. Daddy and I are going to plant vegetables for the war. I hoe it every day. We’ll put the seeds in soon. Mother, how does planting vegetables help the war?”

“Goodness knows!” said Adele nonchalantly. She did know, of course, but she didn’t want to get stuck in another endless string of why’s. “Let’s go feed Camilla, okay, baby?”

“Us?”

“Yes, us! You said you wanted to help with her lots, didn’t you? I need you to. I honestly have no idea how you survived; it’s probably best not to take the risk again. So will you help me?”

“I guess so.” Judy beamed. “I just thought you didn’t want me to. You didn’t want me to hold her, after all.”

Adele set the bottle down and leaned back against the counter. “Now, Judy. You know better than that.”

“Sometimes I do, but sometimes I don’t, either,” Judy explained. “We’d better hurry and feed her before the bottle gets cold.”

“Oh. Right.”

Part Two

“Daddy said the nurses wouldn’t let him touch Camilla barely at all, and they wouldn’t let me come see her. Why do you think they’re so mean?”

“They don’t want the baby to get sick while it’s little and delicate,” Adele explained, leaning back on the couch and closing her eyes.

Troy, sitting on Judy’s other side, pretended to scowl. “That woman had plainly never been a father,” he said.

Adele reached over Judy and slapped his arm.

“Well, she plainly hadn’t,” Troy said defensively.

“Troy, stop your nonsense,” Adele demanded.

Troy smiled and shook his head.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That I can’t stop my nonsense. I am my nonsense.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Nonsense! I’m merely implausible.”

“I give up,” said Adele.

Troy laughed. “That’s the problem with you, Della. You surrender far too easily.”

Adele rolled her eyes. “Just shut your mouth before you get deeper in than you are already.”

Troy faked a long face. “Judy, did you hear what she just said to me? I’m hurt. I am very hurt.”

Judy cast him a sympathetic smile.

“The whole world is against me!” Adele exclaimed dramatically.

“Mother, leave Daddy alone,” said Judy reprovingly.

“I tried. Do you know he sat on me earlier? Just sat on me! There should be some consequences at least! I mean, in my condition …”

“What? Earlier you were telling me how I needed to leave you alone and let you choose your own boundaries, and now I can’t even sit on you?”

“Troy, I swear -”

“Mother!”

“Judy, I’m disappointed. Can’t you see the injustice in all this? It’s ridiculous. You should be on my side. I’m the one who’s getting crushed.”

“Oh, that was only physically. My poor feelings …” Troy placed a hand over his heart. “I think I need some chocolate, Judy.”

“I think so, too,” Judy said, knowing anything her father would have would be shared.

“You don’t need anything, least of all sweets. It’s too close to dinner.”

“Judy and I are rebelling against dinner. We find it a silly habit,” Troy announced.

“Oh?”

“Yes. You feel the same way; you never eat anything.”

“I need to lose weight.”

“You’ve been saying that for thousands of years and yet you still don’t eat! Eventually the weight’s got to go somewhere, and then you’ll have no excuse. Besides, food is necessary for survival.”

“Yes, but not chocolate.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Weren’t you just saying something about ‘surrendering far too easily,’ Troy?”

“Mm … maybe …” Troy said slowly. “But I was talking about you, not me.”

“What’s the difference?”

“You’re shorter than I am. And you have brown hair.”

“No, I mean … oh, never mind.”

“Della, what did I tell you about giving up?”

“Oh, I’m sick of you!” Adele exclaimed and marched out of the room.

“Is she really?” Judy asked.

“I don’t know. You can never tell with Dellas. Here, let me take Camilla. Isn’t she sweet? I think she looks like your mother.”

“She does,” Judy agreed as Troy took the baby from her. “At least, parts of her do,” she amended.

“She’s going to have brown hair. Your mother will be very upset.”

“Why?”

“Because Della doesn’t favor brown hair.”

“But she has it!”

“I know, and it looks so well on her! But, like I said, you can never tell with Dellas.”

Judy laughed and Camilla hiccuped.

* * * * *

Adele rolled over in bed and opened her eyes. She laid still for a minute, listening, then moaned and tugged the covers over her head.

“What’s wrong?” Troy asked sleepily.

“I woke up.”

“Oh, dear. How will you manage?”

“I didn’t want to wake up until Camilla did. She kept me up half the night.”

“She woke up twice. I think that’s considered almost drugged for a newborn.” Troy laughed. “You didn’t drug her, did you, Dell?”

“No, but I wish I had,” Adele mumbled.

“I do hope you’re joking. I was.”

“I don’t know. Am I?”

Troy laughed again and got out of bed.

“You keep quiet. I’m going back to sleep.”

“And I’m going into London today.”

“London? Why?”

“I told you I was going to join up after the baby came.”

Adele propped herself up on her elbow. “Oh, forget about that, Troy! You’re too old!”

“Too old! I’m thirty-two! That’s not too old.”

“Not for army, but you keep talking about planes and such. You’re too old for that. They’ll tell you they can’t  teach an old dog new tricks and put you on ground crew.”

“Hmm. We’ll see about that. Go back to sleep. I’ll try to get ready quietly. I’m just going to dress and brush my teeth.”

“And your hair, although I don’t know what good it’ll do for you,” Adele murmured into her pillow.

* * * * *

Troy got back late that evening, driving rather slowly. Adele met him at the door.

“Well?”

“You were right. That’s a first.” He glanced up at her and smiled sadly.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You predicted it. You expected it.”

“I’m sorry because I don’t like to see you disappointed,” Adele said with some difficulty. “But Troy, perhaps it’d be better … a desk job or something. You might even enjoy it. You like working with people.”

“I would have liked flying an aeroplane.”

“But … why?”

“I told you. It was my father’s passion.”

“Not much to have a ‘passion’ about when he was alive,” Adele commented.

“That was part of the fun for him. Doing something new and excited. Well, I’m not like him in that … but I would have liked to be like him in this. I could do it, I think, too. I have the mind for it. Know a lot about the mechanics, the way things work … have always studied it.”

“But studying isn’t doing.”

“I know. I have flown, though.”

“Mm?”

“Yes. Not enough, I know … but some. My friend Jean has a plane you used to let me use all the time.”

“‘Your friend Jean’ who just ‘has a plane?’ Why haven’t I heard about this before?” Adele asked laughingly.

“Haven’t gotten to it much in the last few months,” Troy replied.

“Ah, well, yes. But you never said anything about it.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Anyway, I think I’m going to keep bothering the War Office until they agree to let me do something. I could ask Jean to write them a letter.”

“So ‘your friend Jean’ who just ‘has a plane’ and you talk to often?”

“Well, not often. Every month or so.”

“Troy, I’m a bit disturbed to find that you have a life outside of me.”

Troy chuckled, put an arm around Adele’s shoulders, and hugged her. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For laughing until I do. Come on, let’s go inside, Della.”

* * * * *

And Troy did ‘join’ the RAF, about a week later after receiving a long letter from one Jean Fontaine and making friends with a few recruiting office people. ‘Join’ because he didn’t so much ‘join’ as slip in under the noses of anyone who might want the inexperienced old man out.

“I don’t really care if they just have me bring coffee to the actual airmen as long as I’m in officially,” Troy confided to Adele with a wink.

“Whatever makes you happy,” she replied, quite disgusted with the proceedings.

So within the month, Troy was gone, doing something to help the war effort even if it was just providing caffeine to exhausted flyboys (though Adele later reflected he might have been joking about that). She gathered from a ‘phone call the night after he left that he was enjoying himself greatly (which she didn’t think was the way one ought to behave during a war), liking being teased with typical Troy bravado.

“He’s just going to slip in the mess hall and break a leg or something. He’ll never get up in the air,” commented Eloise “Lola” Kee-Cole who was now another resident of the ramshackle country house where Adele, Judy, Mrs. Collier, and Camilla were to remain for the duration of the war.

“At any rate, I’m glad he’s gone. We can get to work on the cleaning,” Granny said happily.

Get to work on the cleaning they did. The house smelled strongly of bleach – of turpentine, in some places – and dust floated in the air that had once settled on everything. At least, Adele reflected, It didn’t used to make me cough!

They even attacked the attic, dragging all the old furniture and dozens of trunks full of trinkets left behind by the previous owner – and older man who had apparently kept everything he ever laid hands on – out and littering every other room in the house with them, trying to decide what would be kept and what must go. Granny thought everything should go; Lola thought nothing should go. As they continued arguing about it for weeks on end, Lola technically got her way.

Where were Adele and Judy and Camilla during this flurry of brooms and brushes? Well, they were outside in the garden.

And that’s where the story really begins.

Note that I didn’t do a ton of editing … for grammar, spelling, or historical inaccuracies! But constructive criticism is welcome if you care to.

In Which We Examine Millie Lark on a Non-Professional Basis

{Note: all the images in this post were stolen from Google images. Credit to their owners, whomever they may be.}

Today we’re going to take a peak at the inner workings of a character from The Lady of the Vineyard. Her name is Millie Lark. She is Adele Collier’s best friend. She gets all of two paragraphs of page-time in TLOTV and perhaps a mention in Flowers. However, I like Millie and am considering writing a novel (or novella) specifically about her.

Doesn’t he crack you up!? Probably he’s all like, “Is this a dress, and did a cow just lick my hair!?!”

To start with, I’ll give you a quick summary of her life. Millie was born in Kent, England to … a normal family, I guess. She has an older brother who doesn’t get mentioned ever (although in my head Adele had a crush on him at one point). She grew up with Adele; they were dearest friends since they were infants. Their parents were likely friends or something.

Ahhhhh!

Anyway, unlike Adele, Millie is a very cautious, down-to-earth person, but she lives for her best friend, so she goes to wild parties and such (quite against her nature). So as a young adult, she gets into all sorts of trouble (through Adele), but manages to (overall) avoid a jail record (same as Adele).

Yeah, I’m exaggerating a bit … but it’s more fun like this!

Announcing the New and PERFECT Blog Schedule + Merry Belated Christmas

As you can see from the title, today we will be announcing not the New and Improved Blog Schedule, but the New and PERFECT Blog Schedule!

An Experiment in Pantsing: Introduction

I’m a plotter, through and through. The more I plot, the better my novel turns out. However, I want to experiment in pantsing. So today I started the fourth novel in The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy. With no outlining. With no character…ing. With no plotting.

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Welcome to my experiment in pantsing.

Ready for this? It’s a blog series! And what’s weirder is that I just came up with it five seconds ago! Yay! I’M ABOUT TO COMMIT SUICIDE BUT THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD!