tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375044611987391322024-03-13T05:29:55.175-04:00Scrawling Dreams in InkAn aspiring writer's lessons and dreams in the vast world that is publishing, while dealing with life's trials as a mom.The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-80770081164399622152014-06-28T07:00:00.000-04:002014-06-28T07:00:03.655-04:00Meet Kaitlyn. . . Born of Irish blood emigrated to the United States by her mother and her father's parents, Kaitlyn Mac Veigh was the picture of a stereotypical Irish lass. Her coppery hair fell in loose curls to the middle of her back. Her fair skin was freckled everywhere the sun could kiss. And her bright eyes were the color of a clear summer sky.
Kaitlyn never met her grandfather, but The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-51360260592442104622014-03-28T16:45:00.001-04:002014-03-28T16:47:52.900-04:00Sunday Snippets (On Friday)
This is my second foray into this LinkUp. I think I may have missed a week while I was lost in the revamping of The Sheepish Gardener.
This is 6 paragraphs--no more, no less--from a work in progress (Church Hill on the page link above). I think a glance at the setting for this snippet is in order.
So here, Ella and Dominic are relaxing on a pile of hay bales The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-24935672112861391822014-03-13T15:18:00.001-04:002014-03-13T21:25:08.057-04:00Trying a Linky List
This is a random post because, thanks to a fellow blogger, I discovered an author blog that started a Linky List on Sundays. It's called #SundaySnippets. The rules are simple:
1. Sign up in the Linky List below. The Linsky List will go live 12:01AM Monday and will close at 11:59PM Saturday night every week.
2.Post 6 paragraphs (no more, no less) from either a WIP or a The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-75813166206342322072014-01-17T07:00:00.000-05:002014-01-17T07:00:08.408-05:00Chapter 35 (part 2)
A sound woke me. Looking at the clock, my eyes struggled to focus on the blue numbers illuminating the room. Three-thirty.
Another sound whispered on the ground below the window. It sounded like a large animal fussing in the bushes against the house.
Then came the distinctive shushing issued to tell another person to be quiet.
My heart stopped for a few The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-41647716840099740452014-01-14T07:00:00.000-05:002014-01-14T07:00:05.786-05:00Discovering Laura DrakeWow! It's been a long hiatus, and while I could blame the weather, or the holidays, or my kids' school, there really is nobody and nothing to blame but myself. I did crank down in November and early December to get ready for my first "craft show" with the gourd art my mom and I do (Mom & Me Gourds shameless plug), and that put everything else on hold. But, the date The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-90959757606590498232013-06-24T07:00:00.000-04:002013-06-24T07:00:14.601-04:00Chapter 38 (part 1)
It took about forty minutes to get to Samantha’s house, and Allison fell asleep on the way. She lived on the outskirts of town in a neighborhood that felt like it had once been rundown, but was now cleaned up for the working middle-class.
“Used be a lot worse here, but they fixed it up. For people who don’t make enough to move farther out, but who can afford better than The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-10735469584957797922013-06-21T07:00:00.000-04:002013-06-21T07:00:08.643-04:00Chapter 37
Officer Brecky--Samantha, I had to remind myself--had brought us a couple books along with our meals the next day. While she was jovial and bouncy with Allison, I noticed the tension pinching her eyes and tugging at her mouth. This waiting game was either wearing on her more than I thought it would, or something was up.
The three of us ate dinner together, grouped around the The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-16591120834280257652013-05-20T07:00:00.000-04:002013-05-20T07:00:01.739-04:00Chapter 36
Two hours later, Allison and I were riding with Officer Brecky as she drove us toward home. I had stopped in to see Dominic, but they were keeping him overnight for observation. I didn’t want to stay at or near the hospital, so I told Brecky that I wanted to head home.
Her offer of putting us up in a hotel without the aid of the police was the best offer I’d had in the past The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-53525769289399119822013-05-01T10:45:00.000-04:002013-05-01T10:45:36.348-04:00The Reason Is You (a review) . . .I was blessed to receive a copy of The Reason is You, by Sharla Lovelace, to review. The author signed and dated the book for me, and she also included a Snoopy note card with a personal note of thanks inside. I will alway treasure this book because it represents my first personal contact with an author, and an opportunity to push my own writing out there a bit further.
Thank you, The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-12285049347094041732013-03-20T07:00:00.000-04:002013-03-20T07:00:06.632-04:00Chapter 35
Officer Brecky came to escort me back to her car where Allison was waiting. When the ambulance pulled back onto the asphalt, lights whirling flashes of red, she followed behind them.
With my wound shooting fresh spikes of pain through my arm and shoulder, I laid back and closed my eyes. I was relieved to be with Officer Brecky, as I trusted her, but I couldn’t help but The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-50543796036548096952013-02-22T12:47:00.000-05:002013-02-22T12:47:31.200-05:00A Taste of What's to Come. . .While I try to Push through to the end of Church Hill I started on the story of the young woman haunting me, imploring me to tell her story. There's not much done on it yet, but it's a start.
It's more a a traditional romance story: heroine with a troubled past, hero trying to get her to open up, both learning a thing or two about themselves and each other in the processThe Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-43576107182245479192013-02-15T08:52:00.000-05:002013-02-15T08:52:01.019-05:00Another Tact. . .Today I have a trip to the library planned. There are four books waiting for me there, all from Belle Books or their other imprint Bell Bridge Books. I found this publisher through the blog post about writer's block. (That post was written for the publisher's blog by Eve Gaddy, one of their authors.)
Here I must admit a couple things. First I am only about halfway throughThe Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-13521334003127754982013-02-12T09:14:00.002-05:002013-02-12T09:14:46.570-05:00Trying to Get Around the Block. . .These past few weeks have been torturous when it comes to working on Church Hill. I know where I want to go, where Ella needs to end up, but I'm kind of stuck as to how to get her there.
In looking back, it's only been about three to four days since Ella and Dominic took Allison and fled town. Ella still needs to bury Michael. And there's the question of what's going to happenThe Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-49570421013844167012013-02-01T07:00:00.000-05:002013-02-02T12:59:41.841-05:00Flexing My Brain (part 2)The foot was a swollen, a purplish-red from the blood flooding the vessels. So swollen, in fact, that the toes were beginning to look like they were adhering to one another, becoming one giant toe appendage, aAnd eventually nothing more than a long pointed foot, with no without toes at all. The laceration from the bite was clearly visible at the angle of the joint The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-44227622650339167572013-01-31T07:00:00.000-05:002013-01-31T07:00:04.603-05:00Flexing My Brain (part 1)I was always a doodler in school. I just couldn't keep my head on the subject most of the time. (Lucky for me, I seem to have a sponge in my head instead of grey matter. ;) ) My doodles weren't necessarily the type you're probably thinking of, though. While I did draw--mostly abstract--pictures occasionally, most of my musings were just that. . . musings. I The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-81900840059291193112013-01-28T10:05:00.002-05:002013-01-28T10:05:09.026-05:00Chapter 34 (part 2)
He was young, maybe in his early twenties. His features still mostly untouched by life. But his eyes carried the scars of a spirit that had seen much in his short life. They were warm copper and good-natured. Trustworthy.
My head bobbed in a slow nod. “Yes. I do. You took an oath to help and heal.”
He began to swab the dried blood from my skin The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-51545534115147378242013-01-18T10:38:00.003-05:002013-01-18T10:38:26.794-05:00Chapter 34 (part 1)
My eyes fluttered open when the car began to slow. We were climbing a small hill exiting the highway, and at the top an ambulance waited. The flashing lights blazing beams of red through the budding grove of trees lining the road.
It was eerie. Maybe because I knew this particular bone box was waiting for us. Maybe because a mist had crept in while I drifted between The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-13475560400279251472013-01-14T07:00:00.000-05:002013-01-14T07:00:02.863-05:00Chapter 33
My heart soared at the sight of the exotic beauty standing at the passenger door. I began wriggling out from under the steering wheel as exultant tears spilled down my cheeks. Against all odds, our savior had found us.
“Allison. You can get up, sweetie,” I said in voice that trembled with relief.
Dominic turned to see who stood outside the car as I climbed out. I The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-87459893221703575562013-01-11T11:11:00.001-05:002013-01-11T11:11:07.314-05:00Chapter 32 (part 2)
The bumpy drive out to the road was torture. Every thump and divot jostled my injured arm, sending lightning bolts of pain through my whole body. Teeth gritted, I drove slowly to avoid the jarring as best I could, but it was difficult with only on arm to steer. I could only imagine the pain Dominic must have experienced spread across the back seat.
Turning the car The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-60216878542073668752013-01-08T10:47:00.003-05:002013-01-08T10:52:57.689-05:00Review: "Fifty Shades of Grey"
I’m a writer and a reader, but I’m not big on writing reviews. They feel like book reports to me. The ones I have written in the past wither on the page when compared to those written by people who have even a minor talent for such assessments. However, I have recently read two books which I think deserve at least an effort on my part. (I will write the reviews in The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-28747291716437045732013-01-04T10:12:00.002-05:002013-01-04T10:12:58.061-05:00Chapter 32
Silent tears stream down my face, weeping for my little girl. I rocked her like I had when she was so much smaller, pressing kisses into her hair.
“H-h-he w-w-was gonna h-hurt you, Mommy,” she sobbed.
“Shhh, baby. I know. I know,” I murmured. “It’s all right now. We’re okay.”
She pulled back and stared up at me with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “Is he The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-34435315135195271532013-01-02T07:00:00.000-05:002013-01-02T07:00:13.842-05:00Chapter 31 (part 2)
I knew I had to do something, but what? I needed a distraction. The problem was my location. The only way to distract Jennings would be to draw him toward me, but that meant drawing him closer to Allison, too. I’d have to find another way.
If I’d had the rifle, I could’ve picked him off from where I sat, but Dominic had the rifle when he came through the front. The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-88301483834665940362012-12-12T08:24:00.001-05:002012-12-12T08:24:26.651-05:00Chapter 31 (part 1)
Stinging heat flared on my cheek. A harsh male voice cut through the blackness I drifted in. Opening my eyes, Dominic’s features engulfed my field of view. His eyes burned into mine. Why did he look so angry?
“Ella!” It was a sharp whisper, my name on his lips. “Wake up, Ella. You will not leave me. Do you understand?”
I closed my The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-8342643199526865902012-12-07T07:00:00.000-05:002012-12-07T07:00:12.471-05:00Chapter 30 (part 3)
I tried to sit up, and Dominic surprised me by helping. I thought for sure that he would insist on me staying here while he went for Allison. But he had no idea where she was, so I had to go.
We reloaded the guns and headed back to the basement. To keep the door quiet, Dominic wrestled the dresser blocking it out just a bit. The small amount on one side was The Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1437504461198739132.post-79995537887331203632012-12-03T12:15:00.001-05:002012-12-03T12:15:19.476-05:00Chapter 30 (part 2)
He climbed down from the counter. “Maybe we should each take one. I’ll go up in the attic, and you take the guy out front.” He paused, studying me with a fatherly gaze. His eyes raked my face. “You’re really pale, Ella. I know you want the guy who shot you, but I don’t want you up there.” He stroked my face with his knuckles. “If anything happenedThe Sheepish Gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488498853418876843noreply@blogger.com0