A.C. Hobbs's Blog, page 3
February 20, 2023
Crossing the Line
When your car tires bump
fwump fwump over the stateline
and the drivers speeding beside you
tap their horns to signal a homecoming,
you find yourself staring at the dismal
stretch of highway ahead,
the same as that stretching behind you.
The only hint to your arrival.
The Great Peach State, the Empire State
of the South, the home of the O’Haras
for God’s sake, an orange cartoon fruit
dominating the welcome sign.
Really it’s all asphalt, big rigs, and litter
with occasional signage yelling
that Jesus loves you, yes He does
beside Jumbo jackpot! Play and win big!
and a sultry eyelash flutter
announcing Adam and Eve’s proximity.
Where, you ask, are the peach orchards
and fields of white snow blooms?
Where can I find
the bluegrass twang or the pearl-collared
debutantes and their quarterback counterparts?
Where, you demand,
do the magnolias grow
their lemon-scented petals blanketing
the earth, and where can I find
the twisted oaks with their sagging shawls
of Spanish moss crawling with insects?
And where, once more,
are the white brick mansions
with their fluted columns?
And, oh, can you tell me
where I might find a Confederate, please
one is wanted dead or alive?
Or at least their sacrosanct
bone dust relic
of a horrific cause justly lost
Something unholy to sprinkle
on my righteousness?
If it’s not a bother.
Well, here you are.
Take this exit, yes. Here, now.
If you want to see and hear and taste
this land you call the South
(although south of what, exactly?)
then follow that old road
into an empty town
bypassed by progress’s concrete ribbon.
In buildings half-eaten by wisteria
growing in invasive tangles,
order vinegar slaw and smoked pork
in a basket, drink enough sweet ice tea
to rot your teeth or at least stain them yellow
Here we have a Hallmark, a Bi-Lo,
a dirty Wendy’s, and y’know I hear
they’re putting in a Walmart by the highway.
Drive further still and you’ll collide
with the first tendril trails
of industrial sprawl, strip malls
and condominiums cropping up,
reaching for the quiet pastures and mountains
like grasping fingers.
If you want to stretch your legs
and don’t mind clay stains
on your white tennis shoes,
you could:
lean on a gray fence post.
But mind the barbed wire,
coming loose there.
Walk soft through tall fescue,
wary that your footfalls don’t discover
a coiled rattler.
Don’t lift that sun-warmed
rock unless you want the sting
of the scorpion sleeping beneath.
Catch the flutter of sunlight
in the quick fly-flick of a chestnut’s tail,
her hide dappled brown with sweat
from the heat that settles
and smothers your skin.
Mosquitos, no-see-ums, horseflies,
copperheads, cottonmouths, water-moccasins
circling nearby, always, always
a whisper of malice in the water.
And so much sun-tinged yellow:
the empty pastures, the tangled undergrowth,
the knee-high weeds, and the thistles
with their ungraceful purple blooms.
And there, maybe,
your sought-after peach orchard.
Squat trees in brisk rows,
the laden branches drooping
to the fallen fruit, rotten
and oozing on the orchard floor.
Pluck one,
dangling in the sunlight,
its stem yielding to your grasp.
Delicately soft and flushed pink,
plump and nourishing,
spurting sugar.
Now there’s something
you can sink your teeth into.
Thank you for reading and supporting my creativity!
February 13, 2023
This Wide Sea
I’m currently writing a pirate-themed fantasy novel titlted The Dread. This week, I thought it might be fun to share a snippet of the novel with my readers and Instagram friends. I’m still in the drafting stages but hope to have a finished manuscript by the end of 2023.
If you’d like to learn more about my writing and my upcoming debut novel, visit my author website or Instagram. Also be sure to scroll to the end of this post for a fun question!
Thank you so much for reading and supporting my creativity.
Arabella Windcroft gripped the deck rail until her knuckles blanched. Seaspray spattered her cheeks. An eastbound wind whipped her dark curls. Closing her eyes, she inhaled a shaky breath of brine and seaweed.
Noise whipped around her. The slap and gutter of canvas. The creak of salt-stiffened rope. The singsong of male voices -- barked orders, sharp laughter, bellowed warnings.
Arabella heard no animals. No birdsong. No babbling brooks or sighing leaves. No rattling stagecoaches or marching Imperial squadrons. This far off shore, the only sounds you heard were the ones you brought with you.
Except for the sea, she thought. The constant breath of the great dark sea.
Waves lapped the ship’s hull. All day and all night, the ocean hissed and splashed and whipped itself into a frothing frenzy.
Suddenly Arabella’s stomach heaved. Her fingernails dug into weathered wood. Gods, she hated the ocean. The boat lurched -- her stomach with it -- and she paled.
“Ari?”
Arabella clenched her eyes as her mouth filled with saliva. Beneath her boots, the ship bucked like an angry horse. Rise, hover, plummet, rise.
Oh, gods. Arabella groaned.
Arabella, pull yourself together. Her father’s voice snapped like the canvas overhead, forceful even in memory. Her stomach tightened with grief instead of sea-sickness.
A gilded parlor floated into her memory: the Rhododendron Tea Room. Arabella saw pink china teacups, stems as delicate as flower petals. A pyramid of powdered dainties, candied flowers, and cold cucumbers towered atop a silver serving tray. Her stomach grumbled, but she couldn’t even eat due to her whalebone corset. Her heart galloped beneath her bodice; her fingers trembled in lace gloves. Over this lace-trimmed scene loomed her father’s frown, severe and dark as a stormcloud. The sausage curls of his wig curled magnificently over his embroidered coat. The rich shot green and black silk garment rendered his eyes piercing blue. His silver wig glowed against his skin, dark as oiled walnut.
Arabella had stared at her father’s chiseled features, unyielding as hardwood, and sought any resemblance to her own. But she had inherited her mother’s face, a fact her father routinely degraded. Soft cupid lips, high cheekbones, and a regal brow. The sole concession to her father was her eyes: iridescent blue and cold as winter. And glistening now with unshed tears.
Father and daughter glared at each other across the simpering tea service. Arabella realized that, color notwithstanding, they never would see eye-to-eye. Certainly not today.
And now, she conceded with sinking dread, perhaps never.
“Arabella, I confess myself disappointed. I’d anticipated a better reception.”
Arabella had stifled a laugh. Her teacup rattled against its saucer as she set it aside. “I don’t know what to say, Father.”
“Your opinion is irrelevant. The matter’s settled.” Sir Windcroft dabbed his mouth with a lace-edged napkin. “I’ve booked your passage aboard the Endeavor. You’ll sail within the fortnite.”
Arabella clutched her hands in her lap. “So soon?”
Unfazed, Windcroft continued: “Your mother’s cousin Eridena will collect you at Portshelm. She’ll escort you to the Governor’s mansion. Your wedding will occur as soon as possible, I’ve been assured.” He sipped his tea and waved a hand. “Regrettably, I’m unable to attend the nuptials but Eridena is sufficient to the task, I’m sure.”
“Sufficient to the task,” repeated Arabella under her breath. She tapped the golden rim of her cup. The lace ensconcing her finger was so diaphanous it appeared tattooed: white swirls and roses against flesh as dark as a coconut husk.
Her father droned as incessantly as the cicadas outside. Arabella stared at her tea -- stared at cream dwindling to surface scum -- stared at her tapping finger -- stared at the virginal tablecloth and hand painted saucer, fragile as a seashell -- stared -- stared -- stared --
“No.” Swift as a bullet, the single word jolted through her.
Her father stopped. Their blue eyes met across the frilly table. “What did you say?” he asked carefully.
Refusal welled up Arabella's throat and burst into the air between them. “No. No, I won’t go. I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to?” Sir Windcroft repeated with the bewildered air of one being told the sky was purple.
Arabella’s cheeks scorched. “I want to stay here. In Imperia.”
Her father’s eyes crinkled. His lip curled. Then he boomed a laugh that made more than one patron glance their way.
“My dear” -- chortling as he poured her a fresh cup of tea -- “ what you want doesn’t matter a whit. The marriage is arranged. Dowry paid, papers signed.”
Arabella’s hands trembled. The teapot clattered on its burner. Sir Windcroft’s silver spoon tinkled against his cup. Such stupid sounds, she thought.
“You’ll depart nine days hence. Here,” her father offered a tray of sugar-encrusted pastries. “Have a biscuit. You’re too thin.”
“Ari?”
A voice dissolved her father’s frown as easily as a biscuit in tea. Arabella turned to find her brother standing at the rail. His auburn curls, soft as ocean-froth, jumped on the wind. He squinted up at her, nose wrinkled. He too had inherited none of their father’s looks but was all their mother: quick laugh, soft hair, lip-biting frown.
“Gods, William,” huffed Arabella. “What do you want?”
“Captain said I’m to man the helm,” gushed the boy. Ten years younger, he still brimmed with glee at any hint of adulthood. “Next bell! Can you believe it?”
Brandishing an invisible sword, he feinted left, then stabbed her side. “I’m captain of this ship now, Windcroft. And ye’ll do as I damn well say or it’s the brig for ya!”
“William!” Despite his cursing, Arabella found herself laughing. She caught his shoulders and assessed his appearance. Shirttails loose, waistcoat unbuttoned.
“Well this uniform won’t do,” she tutted with mock gravity. “Tuck. Button.” As he obeyed, she pulled a black ribbon from her pocket satchel and finger-combed his tousled hair. “There. Fit for duty, Soldier.”
William flashed a glittering grin.
In that moment, the first cannonball struck.
Thank you so much for reading the opening chapter of my in-progress novel The Dread. For more writing updates, be sure to follow my Instagram. If you enjoyed this post, let me know in the comment section, and I will post more fiction in the future!
In the meantime, I could use your help on a dilemma. I’ve written about 50k words so far; but I’m debating whether or not to change the main female character’s name. Presently, her name is Arabella Windcroft. However, the main female character in my upcoming debut is named Gabriella.
Arabella. Gabriella. See my problem?
I’ve tinkered with two alternate first names. Auriana (Auri for short). Or Leila (Lee for short). Which do you prefer?
February 6, 2023
Book Review: Ithaca by Claire North
Excellent read for fans of: Circe, Song of Achilles, Ariadne, Elektra, Lovely War, or obviously the Odyssey (are there modern day ‘fans’ of this? Or just people who soldiered through it for high school? My husband is piping up from the couch with a “I really liked the Odyssey.”)
If you’ve been following my Instagram @scytheandpen for any length of time, chances are you’ve heard me mention Circe by Madeline Miller. In my not-so-humble opinion, Miller is one of the greatest writers this century. She wields prose like a sharp knife, often leaving readers breathless. She knows how to cut to the heart of an idea and every sentence is whittled to needle-point precision. If there was a book I wish I could re-read for the first time again, it would be Circe.
When I spotted Ithaca by Claire North on the New Releases shelf at my local library, I immediately thought of Circe and picked up the book, hoping to be similarly transported.
Synopsis: Ithaca shares the untold story of the women left behind when Odysseus sailed for Troy. When every able-bodied male sailed for war and glory, the women were left to farm, hunt, fish, and manage alone. Penelope, wife of Odysseus, presides over a dangerous court of suitors vying for her husband’s title. With only her maids as allies, she must navigate everything from a disgruntled teenage son to pirate invasions to blatant treachery. In other words, she must rule without seeming to do so. The entire narrative is told from the perspective of Hera, the queen of the gods, who is drawn to Penelope’s plight but must observe clandestinely to avoid Zeus’s wrath. Hera, like Penelope, must wield her power without seeming to do so.
Pros:
Great writing, almost poetic at times. The book contains poetic moments in which North creates cinematic descriptions of Ithaca life, like a camera panning from room to room. North jumps between characters, offering one sentence or sometimes one single line of dialogue to capture a fleeting scene. These threads weave together to create the overall atmosphere of Ithaca and masterfully provides the reader with a wealth of information. As a writer, I loved seeing this little trick employed so well and may have to file it into my writer arsenal.
Feminist retelling done right. Ithaca definitely fits into the genre of “feminist retellings,” but does so in such a graceful way. Imagine looking through a magical spyglass that allowed you to witness history unfolding. Imagine you’re watching Odysseus traverse the sea, headed for Troy; now imagine a hand (in this case North’s) grabs that spyglass and redirects your gaze back to Ithaca, to a worried queen holding her kingdom together through sheer grit, barely keeping her head above water. While North’s storytelling is bitingly feminist, it isn’t didactic. North doesn’t preach to her readers or denigrate the source material; rather, she sheds light on a story that unfolded off stage, unnoticed and unrenowned. She elevates everyday mothers and maids alongside queens and warriors.
Hera’s irreverence. Hera (the goddess of women, marriage, and childbirth) narrates the novel. At times she is so snarky and irreverent I laughed out loud. She isn’t afraid to shed a harsh light on the truth of the matter.
Cons:
Pacing. At times, the book felt a little slow. It took me a few chapters to get into the story, but one I did I was hooked.
The Ending. In all honesty, this con is simply me being a picky grump.The novel ends on a gut-wrenching note that I found brutally beautiful. Apparently, however, this novel is not a standalone, but the first in a series. House of Odysseus is set to release May 2023. While I’m excited to spend more time with these characters, the sadist in me loved that heart-shattering ending.
My favorite moment:
My favorite moment occurs between Hera and Artemis. (Or maybe it was Athena? To be honest, I kept confusing the two goddesses while reading… joys of my brain cells being fried by toddler parenting. It’s a miracle I’m writing this right now.) Hera defends her presence on Ithaca by reminding her stepdaughter that “all women cry to her when their waters break.” She staunchly reminds the other goddess that, even though she does not claim a temple on the island, these bereft Ithacan women are wives and mothers, her devotees. The wrathful goddess (Athena, Artemis, who knows at this point?) realizes she has overlooked and belittled an entire swath of the population. She laughs at Hera’s attention to the mothers and cries “The mothers? Who gives a fuck about the mothers?” She abruptly leaves, as though those useless women were beneath her notice. They aren’t warriors or priestesses, they’re just measly mothers. She physically can’t even behold them and must depart. Well, as it turns out, perhaps she should have paid attention to those mothers. This moment is paralleled later amongst Penelope’s suitors, when they puzzle over a problem Ithaca faced. They sit around, stumped, wondering “who fixed that? Did the gods intervene?” It doesn’t even enter their minds that the “measly wives and mothers” might have had a hand in saving the day. These aren’t the heroines with swords, defying men and gods alike, these are the heroines of everyday, keeping the castle together and keeping their children (and themselves) alive.
Overall, I rate this novel 5 stars. (Sheesh, I’ve had a good reading year so far.) I highly recommend it to readers of all ages, but especially to women and mothers who have ever felt overlooked and ignored. Aforementioned grumpiness aside, I’m eagerly awaiting the upcoming sequel.
Follow me on GoodReads and Instagram to see what else I’m reading and reviewing!
February 1, 2023
TBH I'm Glad January is Over
I blinked, and between one thought and the next, January was over. For some reason, I hold a grudge against January and March, the former because it’s so cold and the latter because it simply isn’t spring when I feel it should be. (February receives a free pass because Valentines and my birthday, you see.) All this to say, I’m happy to turn a page on the calendar.
Aside: Does anyone keep a wall calendar anymore? You know, the ones that our grandmothers loved, with the softly-glowing scenes of snowy cottages and fluffy sheep? A psalm floating above a white-steepled church?
My seasonal grumpiness aside, January was a pleasant month in the Hobbs household. Our local library began children’s storytime after a two-year hiatus. We (finally) binged House of the Dragon… I have thoughts about all those traumatic birth scenes, but that’s not the point of today’s post. My husband and I successfully ate no processed carbs and no added sugars, which resulted in a good deal of grouchiness on my part. And…
I SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED A MONTH-LONG BOOK BUYING BAN. My friends, I have never achieved this, and I am rather absurdly proud of myself. I completed this goal, even with two of my favorite authors releasing titles this month. Pardon me while I pat myself on the back. I’m even *gasp* considering extending the buying ban into February. It’s the shortest month so surely I can do it, don’t you think?
Books I Read in January (or, the Month of Maas):
Daughter of the Sun by Amanda Auler. This indie pub YA novel was a fantastic way to start the new year. Auler deserves all the praise for crafting a unique wholesome fantasy novel that will entertain adolescents and adults alike. Heartily recommend. Agents, you need to email her because this author has writing AND marketing talent and you’re sleeping on it. Or, maybe don’t email her so she can continue to bless us with independent work.
Phantom by Greer Rivers. Talk about an about-face from the first read of the year. I dipped my toe into the romance-craze currently rocketing through BookTok and Bookstagram… This is not for me, friends. However, I concede that this novel is likely a great example of its genre.
Crescent City by S.J. Maas. A re-read. I think CC may be one of my winter comfort reads. In my humble opinion, it’s the best of Maas’s books.
A Court of Mist and Fury by S.J. Maas. (audiobook). Because I loved Crescent City so much, I decided to revisit her other books. Past Abi was correct; I still don’t like them a much as CC. Will this stop me from listening to them? Nope.
Villains of All Nations by Marcus Reiker. This book is research for my current WIP, a pirate fantasy novel. I have nothing to say about it other than it’s been very helpful and informative.
Ithaca by Claire North. AHHHH this one was lovely, another 5 star read for me. The premise is similar to Circe by Madeline Miller. I think I may have to devote an entire review post to this book.
A Court of Wings and Ruin by S.J. Maas (audiobook). AND now I recall why I don’t like this series as much as CC. Feyre annoys the devil out of me with her internal monologues about her own general badassery. But, I ask again, did this stop me from consuming it like an entire box of Godiva chocolates? Nope.
Writing Updates:
Scythe and Pen update. I received news of the editor with whom I’ll be working. I have to say, I’m mildly intimidated by their resume and also exceptionally grateful that they’re working on my novel. I actually love the editing process and crave critique, so I can’t wait to see what they suggest to make Scythe and Pen a strong book. Please remind me of this when I’m weeping on the edge of a cliff after receiving their feedback.
New projects. At the end of last year, I successfully outlined and began a new project, completely unrelated to Scythe and Pen. It’s a pirate-themed fantasy novel. Fast forward to the end of January and I’ve completed about 40k words in the first draft. My goal is to complete half of this project before moving to Scythe and Pen edits/rewrites. I would love to have a marketable draft I can circulate to agents by the end of 2023. We shall see. Scythe and Pen took six years for me to write…
Interviews. Earlier this month, I was asked to give an interview for a South Carolina lifestyle magazine. At first, I assumed the email was spam… because aren’t they always spam? But after some research, my disbelief turned into flush-faced surprise. So I did the thing and received my first hearty helping of Imposter Syndrome. I don’t know if the interview will be published, but I hope it will.
Goals Going Forward:
I hate the phrase “going forward” and yet here I am using it. So many of my past bosses beat this phrase like a kettledrum.
Possibly extend my book-buying ban through the end of February. Can she do it?
Update my Substack regularly. I don’t write short-form stories, so often I find myself at loss as to what to post here. But with the demise of static and long-form posting on Instagram, I now feel galvanized to create content for Abigail Writes Too Much. Rather an ironic title right now, since I do all my writing elsewhere. I aim to change that.
Read a Dostoevsky novel. If I continue my buying-ban, this goal will require a trip to the library, one with many renewals I am sure. But I can’t imagine there are too many holds on Crime and Punishment. I could be wrong and end up pleasantly surprised by my fellow Greenville citizens. Also… I just spelled Dostoevsky without double-checking and without a rogue y inserted into it. *drops mic* … *doubts self and makes sure she spelled it right… she did *
Continue my no-processed-carbs-blah-blah nutrition goal. Or at least, drastically reduce my intake of processed foods. My husband and I avoided processed foods (i.e. bread, pizza, noodles, fried foods, etc) throughout January. All I did the entire month was crave pizza. I have the palate of a twelve year old boy. However, I will say, I lost six pounds and the dark circles under my eyes drastically diminished (why I have no idea). Let’s be real, the world in which I NEVER eat pizza and pasta does not exist; but I quite like feeling good, so I plan to continue eating predominately whole foods and avoiding added sugars/carbs.
So enough of me. What about you? How was your January? Did you do anything fun? Complete any goals? Read or watch anything good?
