Giving thanks for being a storyteller

Another shot from the book cover photo shoot, snapped last Monday south of Ukiah, California.

More rightly: for being able to translate what comes from my heart onto the computer. That's all I do, although nineteen years into this gig, I'm WAY better at it than when I started, LOL.

I'm going through the last scroll of Home and Far Away. Found one misspelled word that was underlined in red: scrambed instead of scrambled. Major facepalm emoji averted (though other missed typos probably remain, sigh)!

But as I scroll, I am inundated with the thrill of all that being an author entails. Such joy for the ability, wonder at how it all comes together, appreciation for the tenacity to keep doing it. Further gratitude for the outlet to publish independently. And an overwhelming giddiness of a long-held dream once again being made into reality.

One last excerpt, then back to scrolling. Hoping to upload this novel this evening. Main message of this post: Don't give up on your dreams. Sometimes they come true in ways unexpected but so marvelous even the occasional facepalm is permitted.

 

 

 

His grandparents hadn’t been young then; Myland was eighty, June seventy-eight. They died of the flu the following year, weeks after Gilly’s birth. Celia had taken Gilly to Santa Rosa after Myland became ill, Richard not wishing to compromise his family’s health. He didn’t see his wife or daughter for nearly two months as June battled, then passed away two weeks after her husband. Myland’s funeral had been postponed while Richard nursed his grandmother, then both were feted in a large service that drew nearly five hundred guests from as far as Eureka to the north and San Francisco to the south. Only Celia represented her relatives and Richard never forgave her mother Lydia for refusing to attend, or for not helping Celia, still recovering from Gilly’s birth. He harbored that animosity privately, then exploded at Lydia days after Celia’s death three years later. Lydia forbade her other daughters to speak to Richard, or to assist with caring for Gilly. Richard grunted as Chella continued to croon, then he turned around, finding Suze watching him from the front room doorway.

“Are you all right?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’ve been clenching your hands into fists, then releasing them. Gilly will be fine, I’m sorry if I worried you by constantly checking her.”

“I wasn’t thinking about Gilly, I mean, not directly.”

“I see.”

He shook his head, then walked past her, entering the kitchen, which she had cleaned like usual. So many tasks he no longer had to do, like the laundry and housekeeping. He opened the icebox, retrieved a beer, then cleared his throat. “You want a drink?”

“Please.”

He pulled another from the pack, opened both of them, dropping the pull tabs into his can. Suze entered the kitchen and he gave her can to her, then chugged half of his, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Be careful or you’ll cut your tongue doing that,” Suze clucked.

“Indeed I might.” He smiled, swigged the rest, then took another from the icebox. This time he put the tab in the empty can, then gestured toward the front of the house. “I don’t wanna bother her, gonna drink this on the back step.”

Suze nodded, then cleared her throat. “You want to be alone?”

“I dunno,” Richard shrugged. “You wanna listen to me bitch?”

Now Suze smirked. “Sure.”

“I’ll tell you this now. I’ll be working the rest of the month if you’re willing to keep looking after Gilly.”

“You mentioned that a few days ago. But you didn’t say any more once she became ill.”

“It didn’t seem like the right time to say, ‘Oh by the way, if you’re fine with watching my daughter, I’m gonna work some long-assed days the next several weeks.’”

“How long will these days be?”

He sighed. “Some of ʼem might be from seven to seven. Once Moss gets going on a project, he’s hell-bent for leather to let it go.”

“Hell-bent for what?”

Richard smiled, chugged half of his second beer, then squeezed the can tightly, imagining it was Lydia’s neck in his grasp. “It means he’s not gonna stop till it’s done.”

“Hell-bent,” Suze repeated. “Hell is what humans view as a place no one wishes to be.”

“Well, Christians see it that way.”

“Christians,” Suze said softly. “Are you a Christian?”

“Probably. Anyways, Gilly’s gonna be fine and I could make good money even if it’s just a few weeks. But he’s talking maybe through half of August and if that’s the case….”

“I’ll look after Gilly. It’s the least I can do.”

“Yeah?” Richard stared at her; those long curls weren’t as bouncy as he first remembered, but she’d talked about her planet being mostly clouds, so the local heat was stripping the moisture from her hair. She had crow’s feet along her eyes, but often he found her squinting. Her features were definitely those of a black woman, her wide nose and full lips, yet her cheekbones reminded him of Irene Boggs, one of his grandmother’s friends who was of the Pomo Indian tribe. Suze was striking in personality, but her beauty also shined, and Richard closed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t asked if she wanted to listen to him…. He smiled, opened his eyes, then sipped his beer. “Actually, I’m done for today. Gonna go to bed. I’ll close up in here unless you want to.”

“Go on. Chella’s telling Max how we left Enran, she’s not gonna fall asleep anytime soon.”

“Is that what’s she going on about?”

“Yes,” Suze smiled.

“How did you leave Enran?”

“It’s a long story, but not for tonight.” Suze finished her beer, then gestured for Richard to do the same.

He stared at the can, swirling the liquid, then he walked to the sink, pouring out the remnants. “I don’t need more of that,” he said, wishing he could expunge Celia’s mother the same way. But Lydia Marsh was one healthy woman, unlike all three of her daughters, yet only Celia was dead. “We’ll talk about me working in the morning. Moss didn’t need a firm yes or no till after the holiday.”

“The holiday’s over now, correct?” Suze said.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Then call him tomorrow and secure the position. I’m not going anywhere imminently.”

Richard gazed at her, assuming a smirk waited. But Suze’s face mirrored her voice, an unusual gentleness lacing her tone and her eyes. Richard wanted to stroke her cheek to confirm her sincerity. Instead he nodded, then slowly walked from the kitchen, Chella’s sing-song tenor sending him upstairs with a prayer on his lips, thanking God these women had made it safely from wherever it was they truly came.