Productivity

My schedule doesn't give me a lot of play time. Fortunately, some of the things I do and call 'work' I also regard as play. This allows me to go off and "play" while still feeling productive. Which isn't to say that I don't occasionally goof off and waste time, too.

Yesterday was one of the most productive, creative days I have had in a while. It may not happen again soon, but I'm pleased with myself this morning. I wrote over three thousand words on the work in progress, a snarky little story about a pixie with a chip on his shoulder, and a very reluctant fairy princess. What I thought was going to be a short story is rapidly headed for novel status. Not that I mind too much, I am enjoying these characters.

When I finally shut that file down, (which doesn't have the same impact as firmly closing a notebook and slamming one's pen down, saying "enough! I'm tired, already!" to your characters), I moved on to my artwork. I've been learning how to paint on paper, which is a change for me, as I normally paint on skin. Watercolors behave totally different on paper, and I really enjoy seeing what I can make them do, how I can take the picture in my head and bring it to life. It is exciting, and I was so pleased to be able to do the art for the cover of Snow Angel. If you scroll down a bit in the blog, you will find the first parts of the story for free... and the rest of it will be available for purchase soon.

There it is, the cover for my short story about an innocent child, his discovery, and the mother who would fiercely protect her family against even the most unknowable dangers. 

I finished out my evening by editing the story one last time, and sending it out to beta readers. Just before I fell asleep last night, I got a message from one of them, telling me he'd done a first read through and found it "Sweet, and powerful." 

Snow Angel Snippet 2

Lying on her back in the snow was a young woman. Already, she was dusted over with snow, which is why Sarah had missed her clothes. Dressed in a long duster jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots, she was motionless. Her face was pale... Sarah leaned closer over her, pushing Josh toward the house.

“Go home...” she told him distractedly. He didn't need to know death, just yet.

The girl's lashes fluttered, and then her eyes opened. Sarah gasped. “You're alive!”

Then her practical side kicked in. The child must be freezing. “Come on, are you hurt anywhere?” She held out her hands and the other slowly raised hers, eyes slightly unfocused.

“No...” she whispered. “So cold...”

Sarah took her forearms. They were like ice. “We need to get you in the house, right now.” She pulled and was surprised at the weight for a second, then almost dropped the girl as she registered the wings that were coming up off the ground with her. They hung slack off her back, and she could almost believe they weren't real, until the girl shuddered and they retracted up into a neat fold behind her, wrapping partly around her shoulders.

“Oh, my.” Sarah breathed. On the next breath she was back in charge of herself. “Up to the house, now.”

The young angel let herself be half carried, Josh romping around them like an excited puppy. Sarah got her up the two steps onto the porch with difficulty, the poor thing seemed to be slipping away. Josh pulled open the slider, and the two women half fell into the house.

“Joshie, go get us blankets.” His mother ordered. She was feeling for a pulse, and it was impossibly slow under her cold fingertips. She really wasn't sure an angel could die, but all her training was kicking in now. She started pulling off the wet clothing that was making puddles on her clean floor. The angel, girl, whatever she was, was trying to help but not able to move much.  

Winter Story

A snippet of my work in progress, which I think will be a Christmas gift to my children.

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Snow Angel 

Sarah was standing at the sink with her hands in hot soapy dishwater when her son came in the sliding glass door in a small swirl of frosty air and rapidly melting snow. She turned around to see him bouncing up and down on the mat. He knew he wasn't allowed to bring his wet boots any further inside. 

 “Mama, Mama!”

Sarah felt the smile starting. Josh always made her happy, no matter how the day had been going. “What, Little Man?”

She walked over to him, drying her hands on the dishtowel that had been hanging over her shoulder.

“There's a snow angel in the backyard!” he announced.

“Do you want me to come see?” She knew he did, that's why he had come inside. He nodded vigorously, pulling open the door and plunging back out into the snowy yard. There had been close to a foot of snow the night before, and it was still coming down, although lightly, now.

Sarah put her feet into her husband's boots. Oversized on her, they were easy to just pull on and go. He teased her that she wore them more than he, some winters. She stepped out the door without a jacket. It wasn't that cold, and she would only be out for a moment. Josh's little foot prints disappeared beneath hers as she followed them around the corner and into the backyard.

She was puzzled as they led down toward the pasture. Their backyard wasn't well defined, as it merged into the forty-acre hayfield that gently rolled away toward the creek a quarter of a mile from the house. Josh usually played close to home, though. He was out of sight, his little woodland camo jacket helping as his footsteps led her toward a patch of hedgerow that she kept for the blackberries. Rounding that, she found him standing still and looking at the ground. The snow was lumpy, but unmarred.

“Did you make a snow angel?” Sarah prompted.

He looked up at her, his face angelic, a snowflake clinging to one of his lashes for a second. “No, Mama, I found her here.” He pointed, and Sarah stepped closer to see what he was looking at.

Motherhood, and reflections.

I wrote something a while back. A long while, given that my youngest child is now six, and he wasn't even born when I wrote this thought down. It still rings true, now, and it's a good reminder to me as my eldest will be a teenager in less than six months. I still need to keep these moments in my heart, as they grow up and away from me. Like the toad in this picture, my children deign to be held for a time, but for them to be truly happy I will have to let them go free. After touching their warts and saying "ewww!" of course.

There are many signs of motherhood. Today I wore, for a while, a badge on my shoulder and reflected about other badges like it that I have worn and will wear through my life. My youngest banged her head, and as I held her in my arms and murmured to her, she buried her face in my shoulder and sobbed. A few minutes later, after I had put her down and she was playing happily, I realized she had left a patch of tears and snot on my shoulder. One more in a succession of such spots. They started with the spit-up from my babies, and will progress to lower marks of banged knees and elbows, from cuddles at an age where they are usually past such comforts. Hopefully, when my daughters are teens I will be mother enough to shoulder their tears over every little heartbreak in a way my mother never did. And when our lives have come full circle it will be spit-up again, from their babies. All my life I will be proud of my badges of motherhood, but I prefer to wear them invisibly. Pardon me while I change my shirt.