It’s March! I’m almost finished giving a bit of love to a novel that’s come out of contract, meaning back to me, so it can be returned to the world – a lot of worthwhile work, and I love the new cover, which is in the righthand column. I’ll have more information on that in a few weeks.
Welcome to Writing Wednesday. My Wednesday shares have become shorter and serialized, and they’re coming from my current WIP (work in progress), Striking Balance. You’ll be able to find all the ones that pertain to Striking Balance under the Categories drop down to your right.
Striking Balance is a Queer Historical Paranormal Fantasy story set within my Appalachian Elementals series. It’s a freestanding tale, so you don’t need to have read the other stories within the series to delve into this one.
As of February 2020, Striking Balance has reached the beta reader stage. Yay! I’m now working on a new WIP so you’ll be reading a new Writing Wednesday as soon as I finish sharing this chapter.
This is installment forty-eight, “Words Fly,” and it immediately follows where last week’s installment, “My Mother’s Eyes,” ended. The main character in Striking Balance is Benjamin (Nub) Schnell, the possessor of secrets twice his size and seeming age. He’s been working for nearly a decade on the same small farm as his friend, Conall Baldwin, who acts as the farm’s manager. This story begins during the American Revolutionary War years, 1779 to be precise, in the Nolichucky river basin of Northeast Tennessee.
We’re beginning with Ceardach’s observation from last week, which is in orange.
“Ye have yer mother’s eyes.”
“Thank ye, sir.” I gulp, afraid of where this will lead.
“They’re kind eyes.” He continues then he chuckles, sitting straight. “Yer being caught between might also have made things easier fer ye. Were yer parents taller?”
He has looked inside my locket, seen my mother’s small portrait, but passed no judgment on me because I share her features. My entire being relaxes and my pain eases at this revelation. My life being easier or more difficult because of my size depends on the situation and my thoughts for the day. I am often my own worst enemy in this regard. “Yessir. My mother by several inches and I stood to the top of my father’s arms when he folded them across his chest.”
Ceardach nods. “Do ye oft do ye need women’s cloths?”
“Once, twice a year.” My words fly out because I want this portion of our talk finished. “No more and only for two or three days.” I know this ‘tisn’t typical, but ‘tis something I have always been grateful for.
“False signals, Ah am certain. Much like a girl might have before she grows tae womanhood. The body can be cruel when it wishes.”
Note: Once again, before anyone tries to educate, correct, or otherwise say anything concerning Ben’s unique status – I am recounting Ben’s experience alone and no one else’s. I need no education or guidance on any matter discussed in this series of posts so don’t waste your time and energy on something that won’t make it past moderation anyway.
For the rest of you – have a great week. Oh, and until then…