So, I’m a slacker. Or just incredibly stressed out. Well, probably a combination of both. There are 17 days of school left in the year (not that I’m counting or anything) and life is catching up with me.
So, I’m combining Monday’s excerpt with today’s About Me Blog MAYbe entry.
I’m not sure what to tell you about me. We’ve talked plotter and punster. I’ve answered silly questions. I refuse to discuss politics or religion. I get enough work talk at work.
So ask me anything. I’ll stop by throughout the day and try to answer your questions. We’ll see where that gets us. What do you want to know about me?
And, since I missed yesterday, here’s the excerpt from my current WIP (the WWII historical)
I relax back against the grass, the cool night air sliding against my skin. Beside me, David turns a small wireless on, the music as low and soft as the night.
“I should be at the house getting things done,” I say.
David props himself up on one elbow. There’s still enough light to see the slight smile that curves his lips. “Even the Lord took a break, you know.”
“Yes, well, he never had ration books and doodlebugs and —” I force myself to stop and bite my lip. “Sorry.”
David curls his rough fingers around mine and gives a gentle squeeze. A strange thrill runs through me at the contact, then disappears when he releases my hand. He sits back, stretching out a few feet away. “You don’t have to apologize. We all need to let it out sometimes. You can say whatever you want. Only me and the night will hear it.”
I can’t help but think of Anthony and his speech about doing my duty with a stiff upper lip. I shift, and release a long breath. “You always know just what I need, David. How do you do that?”
He chuckles. “It’s a gift, I guess. That and your eyes change color when you’re stressed. I can always tell.”
“What?” He pays attention to my eyes?
“I’ll prove it to you sometime. It’s a bit dark out to try now, don’t you think?”
I give his shoulder a slight slap, then roll back to stare at the stars. In the distance, a low hum begins. My body tenses.
David hand engulfs mine. “Don’t worry. They’ll skip us tonight. Besides, those are ours.”
There’s so much confidence in his voice. “How can you do that?”
Tears burn the corner of my eyes. “No. The optimism. Always seeing the best. I can’t do that anymore. Every time I open my eyes, I can only see the problems—every possible disaster that might happen.”
He is silent for a moment. “As I recall, that wasn’t always the case.”
“If you’re going to yell at me, I can tell you it isn’t going to work like it did on you.”
David laughs, but his voice is serious. “Can you change what will happen?”
“Of course not.” My voice shakes.
“Then why worry?”
He waits, then rolls to his side. It’s too dark now to see his face. It makes it easier, I think. “Let it go, Ruth.”
“I’m terrified. Of everything.” I wipe at the tears I can’t keep from flowing down my cheeks. “Of when the money will run out, or the ration stamps, or what could come falling from the skies. Everything. I don’t know how to fix it.”
I press my hands to my eyes, stress and frustration mixing with my fear until I feel swamped by everything. A sob rips from my throat, and I sit up. David’s arms slide around my shoulders, and I bury my face against his chest.