Rhode Island Story – Part 1

 Good morning FFF,

    It's a bit chilly this morning and everything is wet. Yesterday we had a lot of rain and thunderstorms. There was flooding in many places around here. But this morning all is quiet. It's still cloudy and breezy, but I think the sun is supposed to come out.

    Right now I'm fighting an allergy cold, but it's not too bad. I was able to actually write last evening and get 1k written. That's the 2nd time this week I've gotten a thousand words written. Usually I write 1k almost everyday, but not this month. This month has been dragging as far as writing goes.

    Have you pre-ordered your A Very Bookish 4th of July? Or are you like me and are waiting for the paperback to become available? If you want the kindle copy, get it HERE before the price goes up. Or add it to your TBR list on Goodreads HERE.

    Today's story is not the one I had talked about giving you. This is a new story. A story that isn't finished yet. I started it last year some time just for fun intending to write a short story. But here we are 6k words later and it's not done. So, I hope you enjoy the first part (more coming), and if you have any ideas let me know!

Rhode Island Story

Part 1

    The sun was hot, and the water looked so cool and inviting. The waves lapped up on the sandy beach, and a few sea gulls waded, soared, and called to one another. I stopped walking before the grass met the sand. How I wanted to step into the water and feel the coolness of the waves. I was sure the sand would be hot, but that was to be expected since it was summer.
    It was a different kind of summer though. My sisters and I had always gone to Grandma and Grandpa’s farm for a whole month of summer, but this year we couldn’t go. Grandma had been sick, and Grandpa had to take care of her, so we were sent here to Rhode Island, far away from our home in Springfield, Missouri, to stay with our aunt and uncle and cousins who lived in a spread-out village near the sea. My sisters and I had never been to the ocean before, or this far from home either.
    We had traveled by train, and the conductor took care of us and made sure we got out at the right place. Uncle Tony met us and hugged us, got our luggage and loaded us in the car, and away we went.
    Florence, Gwendolyn, and Isabella chattered the whole way, asking questions and commenting on everything until Uncle Tony just shook his head and asked with a laugh, “Are you sure I didn’t accidentally picked put a dozen girls instead of just four?”
    They do like to talk. Flo and Lyn are a year apart and older than me at thirteen and twelve, while Bella is two years younger I am. They were all named by Mama and take after her in their lively talk, and energetic ways. But Papa named me. I wonder sometimes if I would have been less observant and quiet if Mama had named me. But I wouldn’t want to have any other name. My real name is Heather, but I don’t think anyone remembers that except Papa, for everyone calls me Bonnie. Papa said it was because he grew up in Scotland and loved playing in the heather there as a boy. Mama thought the name a bit odd, so when Papa said I was a bonnie wee bairn, Mama started calling me Bonnie.
    On this trip I was ten.
    I didn’t say a word the whole drive from the station, through the town, along the winding coast, and then across the country to the quaint little village nestled among pines and maple. We drove right through it, and I was beginning to wonder just when we were going to reach the end of our drive when we came to a stop before a two-story gray brick house with deep red trim and shutters. There was a small front porch.
    “Well, here we are, girls,” Uncle Tony said.
    The front door flew open and everything was confusion after that. I was hugged and talked at, and hugged again, and pulled, and told so many things that I didn’t know how I was going to survive a full month!
    Somehow we all got inside. Aunt Betsy showed us to our rooms. Bella and I were staying with nine-year-old Candy and seven-year-old Julie. I hardly had a chance to catch my breath before Candy grabbed my hand and almost dragged me from the room.
    “We’re going to Jack Frost’s!” she shouted.
    Jack Frost? But it was summer not winter. In moments the whole babbling, chattering, laughing, and thoroughly excited group were rushing across the grass to the road. It felt like a mob to me. I’m not really shy, but large crowds overwhelm me, and right then I wished more than ever for the quiet and peace of Grandma’s kitchen or Grandpa’s barn.
    I couldn’t think. My head ached, and the hot summer sun burned through my blonde hair until my whole head felt hot, and I wished they had allowed me time to unpack my straw hat. Slowing my pace I managed to drop back behind the others and sit down on a rock in the shade of a large pine to catch my breath.
    Did I mention that all my cousins here were girls? There are only seven of them, but with my sisters added it felt more like twenty instead of only ten.
    After finally feeling like I could breathe without panting, I looked around. When I didn’t see any sign of my aunt or uncle, I reluctantly stood up and followed the noisy group before me, for I had no idea how to get back to the house. With a sigh I trudged on, keeping the girls in sight but trying to enjoy the quietness. A few times I caught a glimpse of the shining sea to my left, but I didn’t dare stay and look at it for long lest the others get too far ahead and I lose them.
    Then we came around a bend and the village lay before us in all its quaintness.
    But the sea. The sea was there, rolling, sparkling, beckoning to me. I forgot all about the girls. I forgot about Jack Frost, whoever he was. I even forgot about my headache and just walked toward cool water of the ocean. Soon I was there, on the beach. Just sand, water, and sky.
    Sitting down on a rock, I quickly pulled off my shoes and socks and hid them in some tall grasses. I just had to feel the water on my feet.
    The sand was hot, but not so much that I couldn’t walk on it. No one else was around except three seagulls, and they flew away as I approached. Nearing the water, I felt the sand change and become damp, moist, and cooler. A wave washed up and licked at my toes.
    I smiled and walked farther in. 

 

Do you like thunderstorms?

Have you or are you planning on getting the 4th of July book?

What do you think of this story so far?

Too Busy?

 Good morning, Faithful Friday Fiction Fans,

    It's a cloudy, damp, cool spring morning here. The birds are going crazy, especially the starlings. Everything is very green and if we'd have a few days of sunshine everything would probably grow like crazy. 

    This week I actually wrote 1k words in one day! Of course I haven't written since then, but it's a start. And sorry, it wasn't on "Phil Wood." About 600 words were on "Lawrence & Lenexa" and the other 400 were on another short story that I had started and had forgotten about. But it's a start. At least I wrote. I'm hoping I'll get some more written tonight. You can pray I'll be motivated because I just haven't felt motivated at all.

    I have decided to keep this blog going since I have new readers who haven't read everything. :) If you follow by email though, you may have to find a different way to follow since blogger is getting rid of that option come July. Perhaps there's another way I'll be able to have a "follow by email." If any of you know of any options, let me know.

    Oh, I do have a story that would take 14 weeks to post, should I post it? I could possibly break it up with some other one-week posts.

     Today's story is one I wrote specifically for a friend to read to a class she was teaching. I'll let you figure out the meaning of it. 

 

Too Busy?

    Jessie McDonald opened the mailbox and pulled out the mail. Eagerly she flipped through it. “Oh, there’s a letter here from Cindy!” she exclaimed in delight. “I wonder what she has to say today.”
    Quickly entering the house, Jessie dropped the rest of the mail on the table and tore open her letter. Cindy was such a good friend, always ready to listen to Jessie’s problems and help in many ways. She offered good advice, had wonderful stories to tell, and Jessie knew she could always count on her friend’s wisdom.
    After quickly reading the letter, Jessie sighed. “She’s such a good writer,” she thought, carrying her letter to her room where she dropped it on her desk and promptly forgot about it as the phone rang.

    The following day brought another letter from Cindy, but Jessie was in a hurry and only had time to rip open the envelope and glance at a few lines. “I’ll read the rest as soon as I get home,” she promised herself. This letter, stuffed carelessly back in its envelope, was tossed onto the couch before she left the house.
    But when she returned home later in the day, she was tired, and the thought of reading Cindy’s letter didn’t sound as much fun as reading a mystery book. So the letter remained unread on the couch and eventually slipped between the cushions.

    “If I didn’t have to clean the house,” Jessie said when another letter arrived from her friend, “I’d read Cindy’s letter. Oh, well. I can read it later.” But later never seemed to arrive that day, for Jessie was busy with one thing or another and the letter lay unopened on her desk.

    There was no letter over the weekend and when the mailman delivered the mail on Monday, Jessie hurried out to get it. Inside the mailbox, a lovely red envelope caught her eye. It had an intricate design embossed around the edges and her name was written in a flowing, swirling font. “Oh,” breathed Jessie, realizing that it was from Cindy. “This is so lovely, it would be a shame to mess it up.” Gently she ran her fingers over the edges and then turned the envelope over in her hand. “I won’t open it yet,” she decided. “I’ll enjoy the lovely envelope a while longer.” Carrying it inside and into her room, Jessie set the red envelope in a prominent place on her desk and stood for several minutes admiring it. “I just love the color red. Some friends are coming over this afternoon, won’t they be jealous when they see this!” She knew that Cindy also wrote to several other friends, and a desire to have them see what a lovely envelope she had received came over her. Picking up the treasured bit of paper, she carried it out and propped it up on an end table in the living room where it would be sure to catch the eyes of her coming visitors. So delighted was she with the cover of the letter, that never once since she had come inside had she thought of wondering what Cindy had written inside the lovely envelope.
    The envelope brought several comments from Jessie’s friends as she knew it would. The talk for some time was about Cindy and what she was doing and what she had said. Jessie, because she hadn’t taken time to read the letters which she had received, could only listen and comment. At first this embarrassed her, but then she shrugged it off. She shouldn’t be expected to know as much as some of the others. After all, she assured herself, no one else was as busy as she was.

    The letter stood on the end table for several days, drawing admiring glances from Jessie and her friends who stopped by. Each day she dusted around it, but she never opened it.

    When the next letter arrived, Jessie noticed it wasn’t such a bright envelope and, thinking about the other unread letters, she ripped it open before going inside. She could tell this new letter would take a while to read as there were many pages and the writing was small. “I will put it by my bed,” she decided. “That way I can read it tonight.”
    Jessie’s intentions were good, but after a busy day, all she wanted to do was crawl between her sheets and sleep. In the morning a stack of books were placed on the nightstand, and Cindy’s letter was mistakenly covered up.
    And so things went for several weeks. Jessie had good intentions about reading her friend’s letters, but she was busy and forgot later, or she lost them. One time she fell asleep reading one at night and crumpled up the sheets so badly that she decided never again would she read the letters at night.

    One day, as Jessie sat on the porch steps waiting for the mailman, a friend’s car stopped in front of her house. “Hi, Joey. Hi, Nicole,” she called. “What are you two doing here?”
    “Just wanted to make sure you were all right,” Nicole answered, coming up the walk with Joey.
    “Yeah,” Joey added, “when you weren’t there we thought you must be sick.” He stopped before her.
    Jessie looked as confused as she felt. “What are you talking about? I’m not sick. Where should I have been?”
    Her friends looked at each other. Then Joey asked, “Didn’t you read Cindy’s letters?”
    And Nicole added, “She’s talked about her visit for quite some time now. Today was the day and she planned a party for us all.”
    “It was a great time! I wish you could have made it,” Joey put in.
    For several minutes Jessie sat in silence staring at her friends. “Cindy here, in town,” she gasped, “and I missed out on seeing her!” She swallowed hard and blinked back tears. “It was because I almost never made the time to read her letters. I didn’t know she was coming.”

    After Nicole and Joey left, Jessie sat in thoughtful silence on the porch steps. “I couldn’t  know what Cindy planned because I never cared enough to read her letters! Never again will I make the same mistake. As soon as her letter arrives, I’m going to take the time right then to read it.”
    So diligent has Jessie become in reading Cindy’s letters, that there is no danger of her ever missing any event Cindy plans again and their friendship grew. In fact, Jessie soon was so well acquainted with what Cindy was doing and what she thought about different things, that even Nicole and Joey started to ask Jessie for news of their friend.

Has your spring been wet this year?

Do you want me to start posting the longer story?

Did you figure out what this story means?

Not Sure

 Hello Readers,

    It's a lovely Friday morning here. The sun is shining and it's in the 50s. The yard got mowed last evening by my 4 oldest nephews. One of them had been begging and begging me to let him mow the yard, but it just hadn't worked out. This time, however, they all came prepared. At one point we had 3 mowers going, a weed-eater, and a blower. (Yes, I did mow a little.) It didn't take long before the yard was all mowed. I wouldn't mind if they mowed the yard for me again. :)

    I'm sure you are wanting to have an update on my writing. Well, it's really not coming. I did get "Dancing with Fireflies" edited and sent to my synopsis writer, so I hope to get that published by the time the fireflies come out here. I tried to work on "Phil Wood" but it is so slow. I really want to reach the ending, but it's just not coming. And the story might be missing something else too. I don't know. I'm not sure why this story is causing me so much trouble, but it is. I may have to set it aside and write some other things first.

    Speaking of writing and stories, that brings me to this blog. For the last few weeks I've been wondering if I should keep this blog going. I've been posting every Friday for 12 1/2 years, so it's hard to think of ending it, but at the same time it has been a lot of writing and stories. I haven't been writing as many short stories that I'm not publishing, so it's harder to have new content for you all. And then I've re-posted almost all my old stories except things I've posted in the last six years or so. And some of those stories are hopefully going to end up published soon. If you haven't been a reader for more than 4 years, leave me a comment and let me know. Or if you have been a reader but don't mind re-reading the same stories again, let me know.

    I could do a few thoughts.

1. Only post when I have a new story
2. Keep posting every week even if I am re-re-posting a story.
3. Stop posting here at all and share new short stories on Read Another Page.
4. Only use this blog to post extra times like during December.
   
5. Quit this blog and share short stories in my Read Another Page newsletter.
6. Post on here every-other week.
7. Have on and off months when I post so I'm not doing it every week.
   
8. A mixture of more than one thing above.

So, what do you think I should do? 

While you think about it, here's a short poem.

My Speech

Lord, make my speech with Scripture a-line
And make my words to edify.
Lord, make my words be Your’s not mine
That You alone they glorify.

Lord, make my speech to minister
Your grace to all who hear me speak
And make me, Lord, a comforter
And give me words for those who seek.

Oh Lord, my words with wisdom fill
That they exhort my fellow men,
And use my words and speech until
You’re pleased to call me home, amen.

 

Do you try to read this blog every week?

Which option do you want me to do?

Would you be sad if this little blog comes to a stop?

Anything

Good morning!

    I won't take up too much time this morning because I have something else I need to do before breakfast.

    This week hasn't been quite as busy. I've taken the entire week off of writing "Phil Wood". I am hoping that by getting some other things done I'll be ready to dive back into writing and  will be able to finish it. I actually haven't written anything this week. But that's okay. Sometimes it's good to take a break and get other things done. I still have a lot of things I need to work on. Like blog posts for Read Another Page. And I'm teaching on Sunday in Children's Church, so I need to get ready for the lesson.

 

    Today's story is from Anything. It's the story I put in. When I wrote the story for this collection, I wasn't planning on it being published in so many places and being pushed so much. But oh well. It's not a bad story, just more like a vignette or something. Anyway, you can find all the places this book is available by clicking on the cover image. Isn't that a lovely cover, by the way?

 

 Anything

 

I glared across the table. “I won’t do it and that’s final! You knew I wouldn’t when you agreed to it.”

            “But—”

            “But nothing! You are the one who got into this mess, and now you can get out. I want nothing to do with it.” Shoving back my chair, I rose and marched out of the room.

            “Abby!”

            Ignoring the call, I stalked down the hall, out the front door, and down the sidewalk. Of all the things my cousin had done since coming to live with me, this was the very worst. I scowled again just thinking about it. Well, she had agreed without asking, so she could inform the committee that they would have to find someone else to be their “media face.”

            “Hey!” A shout from a black truck made me stop and look up, while a half smile answered the grin from the driver. “Are you out for exercise, or can I give you a lift somewhere?”

            “Well,” I started slowly. Then I asked quickly, “Can you just take me for a drive someplace, Aaron? I don’t care where.”

            A look of mingled concern and amusement crossed my brother’s face as he leaned over and opened the door for me. “Sure. Hop in.”

            It was a little difficult to “hop in” since his truck is so tall, and I’m just over five feet, but I climbed in quickly and almost slammed the door shut.

            “Whoa, what’s eating you?” Aaron asked, putting the truck in drive and heading down the road.

            “Tiffany.”

            I didn’t miss the glance he shot my way, though I kept my gaze on the road before us.

            “Going to tell me about it?” Aaron asked at last.

            “She volunteered me to be the ‘media face’ for the children’s charity fundraiser and didn’t even ask me!”

            “And you don’t want to be.”

            I turned quickly. “Are you kidding? Of course not! I hate all that social media stuff, I hate being in front of a camera, and I hate being interviewed! The entire committee knows that! Theo even asked me about doing it once, and I turned him down.”

            “What’d you tell Tiff?”

            “That I wasn’t going to do it, and that since she had gotten into the mess, she could just get out.” The very thought of our argument raised my voice, and I felt my frustration rise.

            Aaron drove a few minutes in silence and then pulled the truck into the parking lot of woodsy walking trail and parked. “Let’s go walk.”

            I climbed out, and we fell into step. Neither of us talked for a few minutes. I was trying to calm down and enjoy the lovely golden and red leaves, the crunch of acorns under my feet, the smell of woods and dry leaves, and autumn.

            “Aren’t you a part of the committee?” Aaron’s voice was quiet.

            “Yeah.”

            “Do you love what you do?”

            “Of course I do, Aaron! But I’m not going to have my face showing up all over social media. I don’t even have social media accounts. And reading some scripted speech about what we do is stuffy and won’t attract anyone’s attention. Tiffany can just tell the committee I can’t do it.”

            “Won’t.”

            I turned quickly. “What?”

            Aaron looked at me. “You won’t do it, not you can’t.”

            I let out a sigh. “Fine then. I won’t do it. What dif­fer­ence does it make?”

            “A lot.” Aaron’s voice was quiet, and something in his tone made me look at him again.

            He didn’t say anything or even look at me. I waited, and when he still said nothing, I at last broke the silence. “Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking?” I was still feeling rather exasperated by the whole thing.

            “Abby,” Aaron’s words were gentle, “you once told me you’d do anything to show Christ’s love to Tiffany. Did you really mean anything? Or did you mean anything you enjoyed doing?”

            “I—” What could I say? I had told my brother that when Tiffany first moved in with me. I thought I had really meant anything, but had I? I didn’t want to have to learn about social media, or talk into a camera, or anything like that, but should I?

            A twig cracked under my foot and I remembered the hurt in my cousin’s eyes when I lashed out at her. How was she supposed to know I hated being in front of the camera? She knew I didn’t have any social media accounts, but I hadn’t said I didn’t like them for business things. What if my words and actions had pushed Tiffany further away from my Savior instead of showing her His love?

            I felt tears spill from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I had said I would do anything, but I wasn’t willing to face a little inconvenience and some uncomfortableness. The wind tried to dry my tears and I shivered.

            Without a word, Aaron took off his jacket and put it around me. As he did so, I turned and hid my face against his flannel shirt.

            “Why does anything have to be so hard?” I cried.

            Aaron hugged me tightly. “Christ didn’t promise us an easy path, Abby, but He did promise that He would be with us always and would give us the strength we need. Even for the anything we don’t want to face.”

            Drawing a deep breath, I looked up and tried to smile. “I don’t even know where to begin if I do this.”

            “Don’t you think Tiffany would help you?”

            I wasn’t sure. Not after the way I had blown up at her. What if she’d already called the committee? I reached for my phone, only to realize I had left the house without it.

            Aaron offered his before I could ask and then walked a little ways away so I could make my call in private.

            As I waited for the call to go through, I wondered if Tiffany would even talk to me. What if she wouldn’t pick up the phone? But it’s not my number.

            “Hi, Aaron.” The answer was a little shaky and my heart broke. I had left my cousin in tears and hadn’t even cared.

            “Aaron?”

            “Tiff, it’s me, Abby. I’m so sorry. You didn’t know. I shouldn’t have blown up at you. I—”

            “Abby, I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t realize you disliked social media that much.”

            “It’s not that exactly,” I floundered, wondering how to explain. “I have no idea how social media works and—”

            “I was going to set it up and stuff, but since you’re so passionate about these kids, I thought—”

            “You’ll help?”

            “You’re going to do it?”

            I started to laugh and cry at the same time. “Don’t do anything till I get home, Tiff. I can’t explain over a phone.”

            “I’m not going anywhere.”

            Ending the call, I looked over at Aaron. “Can you take me home?”

            He jogged over and took his phone. “Sure. If I pick up pizzas later, can I come over for supper tonight?”

            I hugged him. “Of course! Tiffany and I are going to need some brotherly advice.”

            When I got back home, I ran into the house and hugged Tiffany and cried and apologized again. So did she. Then we laughed and dried our tears and settled on the couch to talk. Tiffany explained what I wouldn’t let her explain before, that she had offered to set up and run the social media pages about the children’s charity fundraiser and had only volunteered me to tell about it because I cared so much about the children and what we did.

            “And it won’t be a real camera,” Tiffany assured me. “Or some scripted speech. You can just talk to me about it like you did when you first got me interested. I’ll have my phone camera set up beside me, so you won’t feel like you’re talking to a screen.”

            I felt rather foolish that I had been so focused on what I thought was going to happen that I hadn’t waited for her to explain. And, while it did still make me somewhat uncomfortable, I was glad to find I wasn’t on my own.

            By the time Aaron arrived with pizza, I was ready for food. Tiffany ran upstairs for a minute, giving me a chance to say something to my brother as I got out plates and glasses.

            “Aaron, next time I get upset about doing something, remind me that I did say anything.”

            Smiling, Aaron wrapped an arm around my shoulder and hugged me. “I will.”

 

The End

Do you take intentional breaks from writing?

Did you enjoy this story?

What should I post next?