Wandering, white, alone.

It's that time of the month again! That time when you get to read odds and ends and bits and pieces of all my works in progress. The time between this round and the last has been very busy--I've finished Fly Away Home, messed around with a little bit of two other ideas, and have almost finished a first-round edit on The Scarlet-Gypsy Song. That's why October's Snippets of Story are just a bowl of stone-soup. And be happy over the two other ideas because this may be the last time you see them on this blog if they aren't destined for full spinning-out! However, I am really excited over the first bit of the one I've titled Find Her. Enjoy!

I smiled into my cup, watching the reflections of a dozen kindnesses shimmer in the mirror of hindsight.

-Fly Away Home

My eyes traveled over Nancy’s strong, upright figure and rested on her brown, supple fingers. Fingers that had wiped tears and struck important words out of a typewriter. Fingers that had taken down dictation and fastened buttons. Fingers, in short, that had seen the world and chosen their occupation. I looked at my own and saw the fresh coat of apple-red nail polish so shiny I could see the curve of my lips in their reflection when I raised my hand to brush back my hair.

Well, I’d always liked paradoxes, hadn’t I?

-Fly Away Home

...you can't trust jelly in a sieve, and you can't trust a fellow to follow a logical system.

-Fly Away Home

Again, that strange grey-edge gulf widened between me and the rest of the world. I was left gazing upon an image of Mr. Barnett, Nalia, and a dozen greats standing on the white cliffs of Dover while I tossed—seasick—on the green swells between, without enough energy to look over my shoulder and see if that ever-eager Jerry had accompanied me on this departure of the lower social order.

-Fly Away Home

How the women of today must work to shake from ourselves that desire to be won. That is not what we want—you of all women know this—but the pathways of a hundred years agone have taught us to become enchanted with the fascino of a man who would treat us like his queen…

-Fly Away Home

I squinted against the glare of the sun—no more dazzling to my eyes than this new feeling was to my soul—and saw the great bird, pinions flashing and gleaming beneath the sunlight. My heart was like that albatross—wandering, white, alone.

-Fly Away Home

“This is how you repay me for my slavery?” I asked: “With fawning insults?”

“Would you rather have them administered in vinegar and cayenne?”

“Beast!”

“Beauty.” He caught my eyes for a moment and again I was at a loss to look away. “But—” and he broke off the spell of a sudden. “This particular rose has thorns enough to spear a kingdom and she must be handled only by those who know the trick.”

-Fly Away Home

“You’re using your prudent-face,” Hayden said, jerked Valerie’s pen out of her hands. “So spare us both a scene and don’t preach at me.”

“I’m not preaching.”

“You fussed me out for not paying my rent.”

“I didn’t.”

“You might as well have. You made me feel guilty.” Hayden ran her manicured fingers through her hair and shook her head. “And this is a Saturday. It’s ‘Hayden is happy with herself’ day. Don’t ruin it with a sermon, Val, ‘k?”

“Whatever, Hayden.”

-The Sirens of Baker Street

“Playing Zaccheus?” Hayden slid into a chair beside Valerie with a playful shove.

Valerie ignored her and made a few more desperate marks with her pen on the edge of a Past Due notice.

“Come on, Val—just because it’s Saturday doesn’t mean you have to be a grouch. Can’t we do something fun?”

“We could.”

“Hallelujah—girls! Val’s ready to have some fun. What’ll it be—Starbucks?”

Valerie tucked her bangs behind her ears and stifled a yawn. “More like ‘sit in the park and catch the bread-crumbs before the pigeons do cuz that’s all we’re getting for lunch.’”

Hayden’s face fell. “That bad?”

“Yeps.”

“Joy.”

-The Sirens of Baker Street

“Was my father Naramore Durbin?”

“Curse you, Griff—you know well as I and better who he was.”

“These are yes or no questions, Cartier.”

He growls something. I ask him again. “Yes,” he snaps out.

“Did he concern himself with Her?” We’re speaking of Her in capitals now—strong and tall with the legs of the “H” supported by a beam ‘cross the middle like me and Cartier and that grudge smack between us.

-Find Her

“You’re a damned fool.”

“Your language, Cartier. We’re in a church.” I slip from the comfortable backwoods accent into my Society British one I save for special occasions.

Cartier’s eyebrow jinks up, and I know I’m giving his nerves a work-out, playing all my father’s cards like this…the gambles…the accents….he licks his lips. “Fine.”

“You ask me a question—any question. And if I answer wrong, you get to kill me.”

“I could kill you now.”

“Of course.” I spread my arms and smile humbly. “But you won’t. Because you still need me.”

-Find Her