We’ve come to the end of, what was for me, another challenging week. I’m tired–“too pooped to pop” as my dad used to say–and I’m looking forward to going away for the weekend and spending time with family.
The premise is simple: find a passage in your manuscript or book that contains the word “look”, post it on your blog, and tag five other blogging writers to do the same. Seems like great way to introduce readers to other writers to me so I’m all in.
Excerpt from Two Hearts: (enter to win a copy now at Goodreads!)
Once in a while I see her: a ghost of a girl with long, blond, stringy hair–my younger self. Sometimes she is sitting under a street light with a book, and I can tell by the look of concentration on her face and the way she sits perfectly still that she is being transported by the book to another place, perhaps another time. I wish I could read a book and be transported to another world, but my mad mind can’t stay quiet long enough to read.
Other times I see her in the distance; I usually hear her before I see her. She wears a plastic loop around her ankle, and attached to the loop is a long plastic rope with a bell-shaped object on the end. It’s the toy Aunt Edie bought me many years ago. She jumps and skips, moving her feet so the bell on the end of the rope circles around her, and with her other foot, she lightly jumps over it when it comes by. She is nimble. Her long, slender legs know exactly what to do. Up and down the street she goes–skip, hop, skip, hop, skip, hop.
Most times she doesn’t realize I am there, that I stand watching her skip. Other times she looks in my direction and our eyes look, and in that moment the fire in my belly is quenched and I feel whole. It only lasts for an instant before she breaks our gaze, turns around, and skips back up the street.
Sometimes I’m tempted to call out to her, to ask her to stop, but I hold back. What would I say to her? What do I have to offer her that would entice her to stay awhile longer? My desire for her to stay is selfish, motivated by my desperation to find peace of mind, wholeness, and relief from the torment that keeps me from sleep. I cannot care for my child self.
And now, I extend the challenge to these fine five writers and invite you to check them out if you’re not familiar with them already.
Lynne Spreen, author of Dakota Blues
Christine Grote, author of Dancing in Heaven: A Sister’s Memoir
Madeline Sharples, author of Leaving the Hall Light On
Jan Fishler, author of Searching for Jane, Finding Myself