Summer Is Concluding

I'm sorry to see the lazy days of summer behind me as the rigid schedule of fall begins. The saddest part for me though, is not so much the lazy days are gone but the days at the beach and pool are over for another year. Of course, I can't complain when a wicked snowstorm blows in the dead of winter and the kids are home from school. My kids do the "snow dance", (well one of them anyway) but the joy on their faces at an unplanned missed school day is priceless. The whole summer was not as laid back as it seems but filled with many long writing days. I've managed to write a short story entitled "Your Side of the Lake" which was published in two local magazines. I'm considering making it a full novel since there is so much history in the main characters plus I've gotten feedback from my readers wanting more. I'll leave a teaser at the end of this blog. I've also finished two picture books this summer, began a new YA and rewriting an existing one that is so complex, I often wonder why I've taken the task on even though I know why I did. I'm pushing myself in an area that I've not explored and my characters just have so much to say. I admit I enjoy writing this YA but want it behind me so I can focus just on the whole rewriting process and anyone who knows me knows that's my favorite part. Here's my teaser until next time. Your Side of the Lake I hadn’t been to Lake House in thirteen years, but when my shoes crunched against the chopped bluestone of the drive and the scent of blue bearded irises drifted on the light breeze, memories tumbled back. Back to fog and shadows sheathing my mind like silky cobwebs binding me with no escape. The horror of that night slashed before my eyes in shades of reds. Such brilliant hues reds are; the color of love and violent death. Blond hair the same shade as mine in life looked macabre in death, now stained red, appeared ebony in the moonlight. From that night forward, I was no longer the young girl of fifteen pacified by half-truths and colorful lies. I no longer believed in the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus and I didn’t view the house as the safe haven the younger version of me remembered. I saw it for what it was: shattered dreams, betrayals, eviscerated hearts and savage murder. Turning at the hoot of a loon, I saw the Wheaton Mansion across the lake, tall, massive and majestic. Like the people who lived inside. In the middle of the vast basin, the rectangular white raft rose and fell with the soft laps pushing against the float. A bronze arm rose out of the water, glistening in the summer sun, and before I knew it, the beautiful man I longed to forget stood dripping wet looking like the Adonis he was - I sucked in my breath. Ethan Wheaton had only gotten more handsome with age and prison had honed his body well.