Hi all!
I know, I know. I've been a bad, bad, blogger. Sorry guys! And I can't really blame it on any one thing in particular, except perhaps sheer laziness or . . . maybe procrastination? I dunno. I mean I work full-time and have 2 kids (and sometimes a third, if you count my husband--sorry, hubby!). But I know that's true for so many of us--we all have things/people that we have to write or blog around. So I'm starting back (to blogging) and workin' on the time management (I found some great links on this that I'll put in another post later). I'll also be posting links to some really interesting witer/publishing info that I've come across in the last month or two.
For today (or what's left of it), I'm posting below my entry for Kelly Lyman's "In the Beginning" Blogfest . . . it's from the first page of TRAIN WATCH, my middle grade work-in-progress. I've never participated in a blogfest before so I'm a bit nervous, and I also haven't posted any excerpts in quite a while either! Anyways, here it is . . . let me know what you think (especially if anything strikes you as unclear).
Wishing you all a happy & blessed Easter weekend! :)
And, of course, THANKS FOR READING!
Chapter 1
Letter to Mama
April 10, 1941
Dear Mama,
I hope you are doing well. PLEASE COME GET ME AND OTIS! I’m tired of working in the field picking cotton and corn and tobacco and whatever else Grandpa Lum grows for the Boss Man. I thought slavery was over! I want to come live with you, Mama. Now! And Mama, you’re not going to believe this, but yesterday, when me, Hattie, and Otis were out in the cotton field pulling weeds, Grandma Jenny hit me over the head with a hoe! She said I was too slow. Mama, I was just tired. Tired from walking the mile home from school. Tired from the heat. Tired
from--
"CRR-E-E-E-A-K"
Oh no. Someone’s coming up the ladder! Grandpa Lum will skin me alive if he finds me up here writing to Mama.
Shoving aside the worn notebook she was writing on, Cleo Holmes swung her brown, mosquito-bitten legs over the side of the bed, narrowly missing the jagged metal springs poking through the thin mattress.
With the nearly-finished letter still in her hand, she hurried across the room and quickly pushed aside the dark sheet of the makeshift closet. Pulling down an old, tattered shoebox from the back of the top shelf, she placed the letter in the box alongside her blue ribbon ink pen (won in a most-books-read-over-the-summer contest). She scooted to the middle of the room just as Hattie, her twelve-year-old aunt, appeared at the top of the ladder, sweat streaming down the sides of her pecan-tanned face.
Cleo raised her eyes to the ceiling. Thank you, Lord. Grandpa Lum hasn’t reached the house—yet.
"Whoo-weee! It’s . . . some . . . kinda . . . hot . . . out there!" Hattie huffed, as she pulled herself up and over the ladder. She wiped the steady drip of water off her dirt-streaked face with the back of her hand and down the sides of the faded, dust-covered overalls she wore. Catching her breath, she continued, "Papa says you better hurry on down. He don’t want anymore dilly-dallying from you." She focused more clearly on Cleo. "You still in your school clothes?"
"Hattie," Cleo begged, shimmying out her knee-length plaid skirt, "tell him I’m coming. Please?" She forced her clammy legs into the new pair of blue jeans her mama had sent last month. "I just have to finish something first."
"Papa don’t care ’bout none of that. You better get a move on or he’ll be up here with a switch—or a belt." She looked over her shoulder, then back at Cleo.
