WIP

So, most writers post updates on their blogs of how their writing is going. I figured I should probably do the same. (Especially since then it’ll be like an accountability thing, because I get SO behind, plus that’s one of the reasons I started this blog.) So, I have a total of, I believe 21 stories going right now. 🙂 I’m not working on them all, don’t worry! That’s just how many “unfinished”s I’ve accumulated over time. I work on them as I am “moved” because I don’t have a lot of time to dedicate. But my latest that I’m serious about is called “The Other Side of a Wheat Field”. (Or just “Wheat Field” for short.) It’s what I’m considering my WIP. (That’s writer-language for Work In Progress. haha) So, anyway, here’s a “sneak preview”, for any of you who wish to read an exerpt. It’s obviously really rough and not even close to final yet. But let me know your thoughts/opinions!

The Other Side of a Wheat Field

He shot up the driveway, spraying rocks and gravel in all directions. Swinging the old, beat up Ford around, he threw it in park seconds before hopping out. He had 15 minutes before the bank closed to deposit that check he’d been sleeping on. . .literally. It’d take two minutes to grab it from under his pillow and refill his coffee thermos, and eight minutes to drive into town. . .he’d do it in five.

Sprinting up the porch steps and banging through the screen door, he came to a sudden halt, not one step over the threshold. As in a daze, he backed out the door and simply stared at the sight on his porch swing.

“Hey, Ken.”

Other than the slight tremor in her voice, it sounded like her. . .that warm, full tone he remembered so well. It’s lacey fingers crawled into his soul and hooked onto a memory deep within him, reeling it in, trying to bring it out, off the dusty shelves and let it finally drink in the beautiful sunshine.

Yet he stubbornly said nothing. With the memories came flooding all the reasons they’d been shelved in the first place. If anyone was going to talk, it would be her.

“Um, I, uh, figured it was. . .er, that I was. . .long overdue for a visit. I’ve been home for a couple weeks now; I just couldn’t bring myself to face you.” She gave a weak smile. “You’ve probably been wondering how I’ve grown so callous.”

Actually, he hadn’t even heard she was back in town, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Arms crossed, Kenny leaned back against one of the posts, waiting grim-faced, but silent.

“Well, I just wanted to say ‘hi’.” Lacing her fingers together she stood up, gazing at her hands. “This is really awkward. I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for. . .for everything.” She peeked out a hesitant smile. “Bye.”

She brushed passed him, in a hurry to leave his cold demeanor.

“Hold it.”

Many a night he’d lain awake, dreaming of their reunion, but never had he planned his first words to be so harsh.

She turned at the bottom of the steps, looking everywhere but his eyes.

“You left me without any word or warning—not even a note good-bye. Just dropped me like a rock. You stay silent as the grave who-knows-where for nine long years; then just waltz up to me with a mumbled apology and expect everything to be okay? For me to be satisfied with that?”

He paused, waiting for her to reply.

“I know, Kenny. I just. . .” she shrugged helplessly, but finally looked at him. “What do you want me to say?”

“For starters—why did you leave?” he thundered. “Then you can tell me where the hell you’ve been all these years. After that you can explain why you never matured enough to have the decency to call me—just once, one measly phone-call—so I’d know you were okay!”

Tears filled her blue eyes—usually bright and laughing.

“Ya,” she whispered. “That really is why I came over here. I’m just losing courage. I. . .” she took a deep breath, then blurted out. “Kenny, I-got-pregnant.”

(C) 2007

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