Here goes

Well, I said I'm plunging in. So what I've decided to do today is post a few hundred words from my novel. What do you need to know? Sophie is the protagonist. Rebecca is her mother. The setting is a small town in Arkansas in the 1970's. Tell me what you glean from the characters, and what you have questions about. Any additional feedback or comments are welcome.

In the summer, Rebecca only did Sophie’s hair every other day. She neatly parted and greased her scalp. Each section she carefully combed and brushed, then with sturdy, sure fingers, she began to braid Sophie’s thick, long hair. Her fingers would begin to work faster toward the end of the plait, a testament that the tough part of the braiding was over. She would braid her hair to the hair’s end so that the plaits would stay put.

“Be still before I pop you with this brush, girl”. No answer. There was no need. Sophie just tried to be as still as she could so she didn’t upset her mother.

There was usually no conversation between Rebecca and Sophie during hair-combing time. This is the way Rebecca wanted it. She managed her children in such a way that casual conversation, which included jokes and laughter, was a sealed gift, which only adults were worthy to receive. Rebecca even reserved her rich, warm smile for adults. Rebie’s house rules kept the children on a strict schedule. In-between meal snacks were forbidden. Friends were only allowed to come over when all chores were done and only on special occasions were they allowed inside the house. Sophie and Simon felt a pressure of being watched at all times, therefore they were self-consciously aware of every move they made. Her house was immaculate and the children had to do their part to keep it that way. Toys were never left out unattended. No clothing articles were allowed to be left out in the open.

This morning as on many other mornings, the sound of the Price is Right was all that could be heard, less the occasional scolding by Rebecca for Sophie to be still. But just as the day’s sun can unexpectedly change a great day for a picnic into a day of cloudy disappointment and worry, the eight year-old Sophie, normally controlled and frightened by her mother’s demeanor, had a whim to speak.

“Momma, Simon was cryin’ last night in his room. Did you hear him?”

“No.”

“I did. He cried a long time. I was gon’ go in his room to see what was wrong. But I didn’t.”

“Um. What you think he was cryin’ about?”

“I think it was the same thing he been cryin’ about since things changed.”

“Yea. Sometimes things got to change and it might make people cry but it is better in the long run.”

“Momma, do you think you should tell Simon more about why my Daddy had to leave? Maybe if he understood what happened he wouldn’t be so sad.”

“I told him what he could understand. The rest has to wait till he gets older. You cain’t make a tree bear its fruit before the tree grows its leaves.”

“Momma did you tell me everything?”

“I told you what you can understand.”

my write path

Yes, I am a writer. I am also a mother of four teenagers, one of whom is autistic. I am a wife. I am a friend. I am a sister, cousin, daughter. Of course between these descriptions, lie the details of my life. I won't bore you with all those details but give just enough to illuminate how I've come to decide I am a writer.

My parents and I were at a family reunion in Oklahoma one year when I was about 10 years old. One evening, there was a big family dinner in a hall. The facilitator of the dinner went around the room and asked all the kids "what do you want to be when you grow up?" When it came to my turn I said "I want to be a writer." That was the first time I had ever mentioned such thoughts. Had I taken myself seriously, I might have remained diligent in becoming one. But as the years went by with some successes but many disappointments, that dream vaporized. I would get married, have kids, eventually become a high school English teacher.

Teaching offered several things. It taught me to become more organized. I learned to confront personal issues (150 kids a day tests your self-perception- you need to have self-assurance.) There was the fulfillment of making a difference in a kid's life. Among these things and others, it gave me a platform to share stories with my students. I began to remember that evening in Oklahoma again. I wrote poems, read them, had the kids write their own poems, (unless I told them a title, theirs was about love).

Fast forward to this year. My husband told me, "You need to write. You should quit your job." I thought about this for oh, a minute, and said "Fine, you are right." So here we are. I have plunged into this. Crazy to some - the world economy is turned upside down; distrust, scepticism abounds in the universe. But living honestly is part of the legacy I want to leave for my kids. I honestly believe God has given me a purpose to share my words because they matter.