Hello, friends! You may have heard, I turned in
The Fulfillment to my publisher! Woot! As I wait for my first round of content edits, I have picked back up the very first novel I completed as an adult. It's near and dear to my heart. A lot has happened since I first started writing it who knows how long ago. My friend and historical consultant, an expert on the time period, died of cancer last year. I've moved across the country and married the love of my life,
Deek Rhew. I have two novels published and a third under contract.
Yet I keep coming back to this manuscript. It's a historical fiction, and I'm a total history nerd. Just ask my husband who patiently listens as I babble about ancient events. But this novel took me years to write because of all the research I put into it. And as with all historical fiction--even researched and written with the utmost care--some details will not be exactly right. I left my heart and soul in this novel, and I really want the world to read it. My friends who've read it ask me constantly when I will try to get published, and I always shrug.
Today, I shrug no more. The time has come to dust this baby off and give her a little face lift. And then I will try to find a way to share this story with the world.
In the meantime, here is the initial chapter of my historical fiction (with a big splash of romance--hey, I love love) manuscript
Restore To Me.
Jerusalem
970 BC
The
evening light casts an eerie glow around my room as the cool breeze caresses my
skin. This gentle wind provides a welcome relief from the heat of the day. Despite
my initial reluctance to move, I succeed in struggling out of the bed to stand.
The weight of grief and sadness makes it difficult to move, much less breathe. He
really is gone.
I
half hobble, half stagger to the window and gaze out upon the chaos. Below me,
people move about their daily lives as if nothing has happened, as if life has
not been shattered. In my struggle to grasp this reality, I notice her. She
sits on a rooftop, performing her ritual bath. My chest tightens, and, for a
moment, I think it may be my heart’s last beat.
Wild
emotion threatens to overtake me. Old guilt, heartache, and mourning mingle
with love, reconciliation, and the sweet cleansing power of forgiveness. The
scene reminds me so much of him that I must look away from it.
As I
turn, I catch a glimpse of the young woman standing in my doorway. She shifts
from one foot to the other while her brown eyes track my movements. We should
be enemies, yet we are not. The compassion I feel for her overshadows the seeds
of envy sprinkled within me and prevents them from finding fertile ground
within my heart.
“May I come in?”
My
old ears strain to decipher the words, though the melody of her voice soothes
me. I see why she brought him great comfort at the end.
“Of course.”
As
she glides into the room, I’m reminded how old I’ve grown. Despite that, a
faint grin tugs at my lips. I used to glide into a room; I still remember the
look on his face when I did. I shake away the memory and tuck it deep inside
where the anguish I now endure won’t taint it. When the open wound in my soul
has had more time to close over, I’ll recall the memory. Only then can I relish
in the light of his smile and the desire in his eyes. But for now, I fix my
attention on her and why she’s here.
“Do you need something?” I make my question light to
ensure she knows I mean no harm. Lord knows she’s received her fair share of biting,
derogatory comments, as have I. In this way, we have a bond which both puzzles and
brings me comfort. We’re like soldiers, though technically on opposite sides,
bound by the experience of the same war.
“Yes, I…”
As I search her face for the source of her
question, I recognize the streaks of sorrow etched across her tearstained
cheeks. Despair, a soul-deep suffering, has splashed its unabated rain upon us
both. At that moment, jealousy and tenderness pierce my heart in tandem. She
loved him too. How could she not?
She tucks her chin, and her hair falls down around her
face like a veil. “I hoped you would be willing to tell me your story.”
“My story?” My forehead squeezes together until an ache
thumps behind my eyes. She’s bringing up my oldest torments in the moment of my
deepest mourning.
When she swallows, the sound echoes against the stone
walls. “Yes. I know how much he loved you. He placed you on a pedestal, higher
than anyone else could ever hope to be. I want to know your story…your love
story…with him.” She lifts her head and manages a small smile. Her eyes glisten,
and I realize she does not mean to hurt me. Since she only knew him for a short
time, she never knew the depths of his secrets as I did.
I
release a bark of laughter, more cough than chuckle. “It isn’t your typical
love story. Our story is….” I search my muddled mind for the right word. “Bittersweet.”
“If you are willing to share it with me, I’d really like
to hear it.”
I sit down on my bed and pat the open space beside me. No
one has ever asked me to share our tale before, and I’m surprised by how much I
want to send this bird of truth into flight. She sails across the room and
perches herself next to me. I shake my head as a grin tugs at my lips once
more. Ah, to be that youthful again.
“Believe it or not, I was once young and beautiful like
you…”
And here is a picture of me and Deek...just because... LOL!
