I need a drive through the woods. I need it now, before leaves and vines cloak the ravines, rocks, and pioneer dwellings from view. This I need because 2016’s hectic pace continued past January 1, 2017. It’s time for new beginnings after being seperated from success for over forty years.
My first book to achieve publication came out in the fall of 2015, promo followed. More than 40 years separated that success from my initial attempt with book-length fiction after a career in journalism. I vowed not to self-publish back when doing so was mostly a vanity endeavor. After sticking to that vow, I watched things change until the market all but closed to new writers unable to attract an agent.
A traditional house open to unagented submissions. They accepted manuscript number three. Number one, a mainstream, is almost ready to give it another try with traditional marketing. Novel manuscript number two, a mystery, will be my venture into self-publication. You might say I’m setting New Year goals a bit late.
My return to speaking engagements is underway after not putting myself out there for too many years. The knee surgery is behind me, my husband’s troubles with his back are behind, but my husband, whose serious lung condition thankfully is improved, just coughed a room away from me. Major noise I’ll have to get used to.
New hearing aids will help me better hear questions from participants in my writing workshops. I must say though, tapping the keyboard today for the first time with those devices sounds a bit like the old linotype clattering in the newspaper office where my journalistic career began fifty years ago.
Writing, speaking, and enjoying the process.
But tomorrow the schedule demands time in beautiful Northwest Arkansas’ back country with hubby and our son. Too many months passed with me too busy with other things. We natives of the open prairie with few trees discovered the woods late and love them.
One discovery I made after moving here was that a shrub featured in the mystery I wrote back in my prairie days, would not have those scarlet leaves in late November. “Self-editor to Raymona, re-do that scene.”
Once that is an actual book rather than a manuscript I want to readdress the first book-length–my favorite of all. I will not let Myra fade away.
Meanwhile, tomorrow promises sunshine for that day in the woods. We can lunch at the once-stone-mill site, where a rustic café that serves excellent food now stands. The structure overlooks Sugar Creek. Parts of the early works create a mini-waterfall. When last we were there, a couple of adventuresome young boys tried to raft over the cement remains with less than successful results.
They kept trying. That is always my advice to anyone who has a personal goal, no matter how discouraged one becomes at times. Keep trying!
Rescued by tomb looter, Miguel Zamora, Sonrisa Lyons struggles between her contempt for Miguel’s thievery and her need for his help in returning to civilization.
Miguel, haunted by the loss of his wife and son would like to abandon the troublesome trouser-wearing woman from the future, but his cultured upbringing and compassionate heart rule. Forced companionship on the trail through Yucatán’s steamy jungle blazes into mutual passion, and in spite of herself, Sonrisa is drawn into Miguel’s true mission. At journey’s end, she finds a possible way to return to her time. Will she try to open the portal or choose life with Miguel?
She opened her eyes to a smile that lacked only a canary feather between the man’s lips to indicate self-satisfaction.
Miguel cocked an eyebrow suggestively. “You are weary this morning?”
Sexual banter wasn’t safe; every nerve ending in Sonrisa’s body zinged with remembered pleasure and longed for more. “I was resting up for the journey ahead. When do we start?” She swung from the hammock.
He pooched his lips. “You are so eager to leave me?”
“I just want to find my way back to my time if possible. Seeing Nicte made me realize how much I miss my nieces and nephews.”
“Yes. To part with a loved one is the worst torture.” No longer flirtatious, his eyes shadowed, Miguel looked past her at something far away in his mind.
Sensing he needed comfort she dare not offer or she’d melt into his arms, Sonrisa retreated a few steps. “I will find a way back home.”
“As you should,” he said, his face a mask now.
“You could help me.”
“If you mean guide you to Mérida, I cannot.”
“Just as you cannot give up your thievery?”
“There are things that you do not understand, gringa.”
Things like a another woman’s name spoken in passion? “Isabel is in Mérida, isn’t she?”
Wariness slid into his expression. “What do you know of my wife?”
“You are married then.” So why did she, Sonrisa, feel betrayed?
“I told you, I have no obligations as a husband.”
“And you want none, do you? You like the adventurer’s life: easy women, easy money from stolen treasures.
“You know nothing about what you say,” he shot back, eyelids narrowed. “And you break your promise of last night.”
He responded to her puzzled frown with a snort. “You scold, and twenty four hours are not passed.”
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