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| Sample Chapters |
It was Monday, May 9th, and a beautiful spring morning. Bill and I had spent most of our weekend cleaning house and fine-tuning any discrepancies in preparation for our latest project: selling our home. The house was immaculate and we felt ready for the challenge. Bill and I had new dreams and plans. We had placed our house on the market the previous week, and the realtor had said this day, after advertising, would probably be the day for customers to want to take a look. We’d known that ads were placed in the real estate magazines over the weekend and figured we’d better make sure everything was perfectly tidy for any lookers. So, beds were made and everything sparkled and smelled just wonderful. We sat with our coffee and stared at perfection. We giggled with optimism about how the first person to see our home would probably say, “This is it! I must have this wonderful house! I will gladly pay any amount of money. I will pay even more than the asking price as long as I can have it!” We laughed and then stopped to gulp, because this was our home. There was a fine line between excited and utterly horrified that someone would actually want it. Finally, we just held hands and sat quietly, knowing that what will be, will be. We enjoyed the moment and decided we had better get ready for work. We usually left home about 10:30 and this day would be no different. I dressed and was waiting for |
notebook paper, were strewn about. Just a few had been typed and stapled together. I wished I could wave a magic wand with sparkly sprinkle dust and make them all start shuffling about until one neat, organized manuscript appeared. I knew I needed to get all my deepest thoughts: the paragraphs of fulfillment, the sequences of happiness, true love and dismay – all into some kind of logical order. There was a story to be told about a girl (me) and a boy (Bill). The story was somewhere in this pile. I knelt down on the tile floor to get a closer look. Seeing the ragged-edged pages and post- it notes scribbled with hasty scrawls, whatever had been previously attempted was no longer clear to me. Was this the best I could do? I thumbed through the pages. A sentence popped out at me as though highlighted. I read aloud, ‘The sirens could be heard coming down the street until they ended in an abrupt death…silence.’ Seeing my handwriting, I wondered how I could relive that day in black and white. But I'd made a promise over a year ago. |
