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Emmily Unbound is now in my editor's queue for November 29th.
Sorry I've been absent. My husband has ongoing medical issues to which a heart attack was added a little over a week ago. After five days in the hospital, his recovery is slow. My job is at maximum stress levels. The wonderful young man that worked with me just moved on to a bigger, better, brighter-future job--the state's D.E.P. (I am so happy for him). After all of that... Across the Night Sky is more than I can tackle right now. I needed to write, not edit. Have you ever felt that way?
So, moving forward. I'm working on a scifi-ish second-chance romance short story. Is that even a thing? Probably not. I'm enjoying the journey, though.
I'm just going to start at the beginning. It's a long excerpt--meant to give you the twist taking the story into scifi-ish territory.
Sometimes Caroline tries to convince me I’m senile. Tries. And she’s doing it again. She doesn’t even set my groceries and medicine on the counter before she starts."
“Whose footprints are on the porch?” Her voice turns scolding when she continues. “Aunt Eva, you didn’t go outside to fill the bird-feeders, did you? Not in this snow!”
“I most certainly did not. You told me to stay inside when it’s icy or snowy, and I do.”
She raises her brows as she tilts her head forward, like she’s dealing with a seven-year-old. “Then who left the tracks in the snow? They lead from the porch right out to the feeders and back again. And since you’re the only one here…”
It’s tempting to play dumb. Honesty will lead to that worn-out discussion about me moving into a senior care complex. Then I’ll tell her that senior care is a nice way of saying old folks’ home. It’ll go downhill from there, right to her telling me they don’t want to, but since I told them about my visiting spaceman, they doubt I can continue living on my own--that I can't sort out reality from make-believe.
But I can.