Greetings, Friends ~
Many know that I am finishing my book, Just Keep Breathing. Because of the difficult subject matter of that nonfiction book, I sometimes switch back to working on a trilogy of novels I am writing. Actually, I nearly finished the writing of my first novel last summer, but then set it aside to work on Just Keep Breathing. I have a lot of plates in the air right now with my unfinished books. I need to buckle down and get them finished, edited and out the door to a publisher. So very many things to do. Writing books is more difficult than I imagined it would be, but I am a perfectionist and do not want to send them out if they are not written to a high standard.
The first of my 3 novels-in-progress is called, The Rose Wall. I began writing it about five years ago – have set it down for years at a time. This entire supernatural trilogy is based here in Oregon. Here is a small excerpt from a graveyard scene. This work has not yet been formally edited.
The Rose Wall (Excerpt From My Novel)
On either side of their resting site were fresh roses. Each time Megan had come here, the flowers on the Lighten graves had been new. Red. Perfect. Their grave was a large tomb and looked as ancient as it must have been. Why, after all these years, would the roses be replaced so often? They were never faded or brown. Enough years had passed since these graves were placed that even the Lightens’ children would have been deceased by now.
Her lips pursed tightly as she turned her attention back to The Rose Wall, looking at the niche of her dead boyfriend. There was always a fresh rose there, too. She wondered how long Trenton’s mom would keep bringing the roses in memory of her son. Megan had never once seen Joy Murray’s car, nor any evidence of her visits otherwise.
Standing there pondering the flowers, Megan was startled as movement in her peripheral vision sharply caught her attention. Gasping, her pulse raced hard. Crossing her arms tight against her chest, she looked around the graveyard. Nothing. Not even a bird moved in that direction. That familiar anxiety invaded her – a feeling she often had here that she was not alone.
She thought if ghosts did exist they would be in a graveyard, but she doubted she could see them. With intention, she slowed her breathing and decided that spirits would probably only appear at night anyway. It was broad daylight now.
The fog was lifting, revealing the sun high over the East hills. Soon, rays of bright light would replace the lingering fog and cast itself on the beautiful Willamette Valley. Dew sparkled on the tall grass in the fields surrounding the cemetery.
Megan was excited for the warm weather to return to Monmouth. Just a few more months and it would be cool sunshine, followed by the heat. Then a crisp, colorful fall. The calendar showed springtime had been here for a while. In Oregon, it often still froze as late as May and the cold rains were still frequent.
She turned around and leaned her back against the gate. Tucking her hands back into the pockets of her coat, she thought about him. In three years, she had not been able to shake the dreadful feeling that one decision could have changed everything. Just weeks after his 18th birthday, they would have graduated high school together and been off to some college far away from the overbearing eyes of her father, and the judgment of Trenton’s mother.
Copyright 2013, Jana Brock. All rights reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.