Breezes of November

02 December 2013

Hello, scribblers all! I trust you each had an enjoyable Thanksgiving. I think it was the lateness of the holiday this year that made the oncoming Christmas season feel a bit rushed, but one cannot argue with a calendar: December is well and truly here. I had planned to get my snippets of November noveling posted at a reasonable time, but better late than never is my motto, so here they are at last. Besides Rifles, I've been working on plotting There Blossoms Red, my next novel that I hope to begin some time in early 2014 (more about that at a later date). The rest of the excerpts are not labeled, either because I don't wish to reveal their identities yet, or I do not know them myself. You can decide on that account. Enjoy!

snippets of a november nature

If he did not rush to the distant battlefields of the Colonies and swiftly turn their towns to rubble, he would be thought the lowest sort of coward. If he didn’t follow after [name omitted] and promise his devotion to the land that had birthed him, no man would ever follow after him again.
Rifles in the South Field

Susannah was nothing like Mae. She was too open and obliging. While Mae was lovely and mysterious, the young plantation mistress was blunt and kind. Her low voice was gentle, but demure, and it never overstepped the bounds of propriety. For these reasons and more, Kenneth soon found her presence unbearably dull.
Rifles in the South Field

The girl stood alone in the shadows, watching after his retreating figure, silently accepting the reality of his answer. Never would she pass words with him again.
Rifles in the South Field

With the plantation's size and slave-number, Susannah was the American equivalent of a manor's lady. She should have been allowed to drink tea brought into the parlor by silent butlers, her cream-white hands hovering moth-like over a snatch of intricate embroidery. The state of the house and grounds was the concern of the servants, not her. And yet, here she was, struggling cheerfully as she hauled buckets of fresh water up to the house, her rosy cheeks the same color as the strands pricking out of her knotted bun. She exuded a spirit of quiet independence in everything she did.
Rifles in the South Field

Send me the season's scent, the thick warmth, the wafting spice, the exotic air that runs through the day until each moment is an hourly gem on the year's necklace. I'll tie it 'round my neck and wear it all my days. Give me the chill that ices over my red heart, the cold that makes the cider steam in the stillness, the frosty silence that draws me closer to you.

Lend me autumn, and I'll bury it in my heart. Give me autumn, and I'll love you until life passes from this world.

The minute the thought came to his head, he realized its truth. He hadn’t thought it of her before. She was too veiled, too mysterious to possess any sort of beauty. But now that he saw her anew, her thick hair falling gently from waves to curls like water over rocks in a riverbed, he thought her lovely.
And she was his.
There Blossoms Red

The decision was her own. She held the lives of so many in her unpracticed hands, and she could barely even speak their tongue. Mercedes was suddenly grateful her mother had been so strict about harsh language long ago, or else a few words not befitting a lady of her station might have slipped out of their own accord.
There Blossoms Red

[She] was dimmed in his presence, her own flushed glory decreased like an orb that catches sight of the sun for the first time and recognizes in the celestial body its own natural superior. She fell into his orbit with all the easiness of breathing.
There Blossoms Red

"Child of the lone dark, you alone know my nature. You alone know the secret of my destruction. Let it fall from no mortal lips; offer it to no mortal ears. You are one set-apart, for you know my fury as no one else can."

3 epistles:

  1. This is beautiful, Elizabeth. And I cannot wait to hear more about There Blossoms Red. I know I am not supposed to ask questions about it (yet), but I cannot help my mind from wandering, searching to find all the possibilities.

  2. I love how you write! So much beauty here. I can't wait to find out more about There Blossoms Red. That is a very eye-catching title. I really, really like the sound of Susannah from these snippets.

  3. Whoa. I am stunned. Your writing is weighty and vivid and lovely.

    "Send me the season's scent, the thick warmth, the wafting spice, the exotic air that runs through the day until each moment is an hourly gem on the year's necklace. I'll tie it 'round my neck and wear it all my days. . . "

    I read this passage through more than once, appreciating the potency of its beauty. Masterful use of details to evoke emotional imagery. The result: pure, emotive beauty.

    Bravo, Elizabeth Rose. Bravo!


"Gracious words are like a honeycomb; sweetness to the soul and health to the body." —Proverbs 16:24

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