Wow, the writing bug has bitten me but good. I’ve finished fixing up 146 pages of my mss with only 27 pages left to go. It’s reading so good I hope my editor will pick it up this time.
I found another book I started about ten years ago. It was written on an old word processor and I have no way to upload it to this computer, so I’ll begin transcribing it once the first mss is sent to the editor. Transcribing works well for me because I edit as I go along. After the work I put in on the first mss, I feel I won’t have a problem using too much passive voice in the new book.
With the new home and lifestyle change, getting my books published will be a boon to my finances. I’m not relishing finding a second job when the full time one has fluctuating hours and days.
Here’s a peek at Invisible Ties (the book almost finished):
Shouts from the next room made eight-year-old Billy Anders look up from buttoning his shirt. A loud thud against the wall sent him running from his room and down the narrow hall of the trailer. The loose tails of his shirt slapped his back, his sock-clad feet slipping on the worn linoleum.
He turned the corner into the small living room. His mother stood in the middle of the room, cigarette smoke streaming through her nostrils, yellow hair stuck up all over. Nausea slammed his gut.
How he wished she could be more like Mrs. Warren.
His eyes darted around, scanning the room. Searching. There. In the far corner he saw little Penny Jean, huddled on the floor wearing torn and dirty hand-me-downs from his old clothes. Dirt- and blood-smudged streaks on the wall above her told more of the story.
He knelt beside the little four-year-old. “Shhh. It’s going to be all right,” he whispered as he brushed away her tears and smoothed damp hair from her face. The stench of beer wafted in the air from her hair. A small cut had stopped bleeding at her hairline, a small lump growing as he watched. “Let’s go to my room and I’ll clean you up.”
Soft, strawberry-blond hair tickled his cheek. He helped her stand while softly murmuring calm assurances, while biting back the rage boiling inside him. PJ, his nickname for her, is a sweet little girl who went out of her way to be good. It isn’t her fault Aunt Carrie up and left her with his family. He didn’t understand why his mother hated PJ and not Aunt Carrie.
“Go ahead and help her,” his mother snarled. “Just keep her out of my sight.”
Billy watched as Claudia turned her back on them and stalked off to the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of beer out of the icebox and lit another cigarette. He stopped wishing he could call her ‘Mom’ a long time ago. The one time he did, she backhanded him, splitting his lip. She ordered him to call her ‘Claudia,’ saying she was too young to be called ‘Mom.’
With a light nudge, he guided PJ down the hall to his room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claudia settle on the shabby couch and pop the cap off the bottle with her thumb.
Tamping down the anger, he turned his attention to the little girl beside him. Billy whispered, “Don’t worry, little PJ. I’ll keep you safe.”
