Happy September! Welcome to a weekly post of Weekend Writing Warriors. If you'd like to check it out or give it a try, click here to go to wewriwa.blogspot.com
It's been a while. I'm looking hard at my retirement. The end of the year is coming fast. I hope to have time to get some stories published, but from everything I've heard from others, there is less time to spare after retirement.
I'm working on some short stories, second-chance romance set during the holidays. Almost finished with story #4. My plan is to learn the process by publishing a short story collection. Is that a good idea or a bad idea? Any pitfalls to that route vs. publishing a one-story novel?
This snippet is from story #3, "The Silent Stars Go By". (Still working on this blurb.)
Ace Ridley and Ashley Pence made a promise when they were seniors in high school. They'd go to college then join the Air Force, do their stint so Ashley could fly, then come back home to the farm, get married, and raise their family.
Over two decades later, Ace knows well how things can go wrong, and promises can be broken. He can't forgive that. Or can he? When, Ashely visits her parents, he runs into her. Against odds, they spend several days together, But what looks like a promising rekindling of affection turns to anger when Ace can't find a way to move forward.
He'll need to swallow his pride long enough to explain his side...and listen to hers if there is going to be a chance for them.
" Ace stepped through the barn door into the chilly night. He looked heavenward where stars winked in the black velvet sky. Two more hours and she’d fly right over. He wondered... Did she ever look down at Armstrong County, and did she wonder if he was looking up at her? Or did she ever wonder about him at all?
Coyotes yipped in the
distance, their voices coming from two directions. He shivered, closed and latched
the door, and headed toward the house.
When he strode into the
kitchen, his mother scolded, “Young man, wipe your boots off or you’ll leave
muddy tracks on my fresh-scrubbed floor.”
A little more...
He hid the amusement his
mom’s words caused. With forty in his rearview mirror, he hadn’t been a young
anything for a while. But his mom was right, as usual; he should check his
shoes before he stepped into someone’s house.
“Sorry mom. Thought I’d
drop in and say hello while I’m picking corn over this way.”
He tried to do that a
couple of times a week. The nearly two decades since his dad’s stroke had
taught him there was always something they needed a hand with. He supposed it
was pride that kept his dad from picking up the phone and calling him to ask
for help. While he took off his work boots, his father shuffled into the kitchen,
nudging his walker in front of him.
I've missed this group. I've missed holding myself accountable to post weekly. Have a great week!
