My office remains hopeless

As I dictate this I am wandering through the ranch house. I stop at my writing desk. Despite my best efforts it has now become just as cluttered as the other flat surfaces on various levels. There is an array of blogs, new web pages, contributions to four websites, Land for Love and Money, coming out June 26, 2012 (www.landforloveandmoney.com) the evolving manuscript of Book Three of the Threads West series—Uncompahgre—where water turns rock red.

I stare at pages and wonder, “Let’s see, did I do those re-writes?” My eyes glaze over at the scribbled edits on this and that manuscript for both fiction and non-fictional.

My writing desk has become a storage place for outlines, blogs and revisions. The breakfast bar in the kitchen is now home to the amended copies of the Land for Love and Money and the third book of the Historical Western series. My office remains hopeless. I believe that somewhere under the piles of papers there’s a short story or two. I’ve run out of floor space to pile papers and documents. I have to move papers to sit on the couch.

My new mantra has become, “I’m enjoying this creative process.” I gaze cross-eyed at a pile of paper with so many red-line edits that it’s difficult to see the original print.

“I think I will work on Uncompahgre,” I argue with myself. “No I really need to get those blogs done.” (sigh). Nope need to put the final touches on the Green for Green Workbook for Land for Love and Money.”

And finally, “I think I will just go fishing for a couple of hours!”

The Emancipated

It is their first taste of freedom. And the spirit of liberty is not something they ever intend to lose again. Tired, cold, and hungry they must make a choice. Let us introduce you to two new characters in the Threads West, An American Saga series, Lucy and Israel.

From a Chapter of Maps of Fate—Book Two of Threads West, An American Saga From Chapter “The Emancipated”

    The whisper of the river entwined itself with an almost imperceptible breeze that drifted down valley from the west. The silhouettes of mountain peaks towered sharp and dark against a sky that had almost lost its day glow. The luminescence of the coming moon shadowed silver above the ridge lines.
    The medium-height, slightly overweight figure of a man, his short, curly salt-and-pepper hair dully reflecting the slight sheen from the emerging lunar light, turned to a small, slightly hunched female figure. “Lucy, keep that mule quiet. We didn’t walk all this way as freemen to have no trouble now.”
    “I’ll sure enough keep him quiet, Israel. What do you think we should do? I’m hungry. Do you think it’s safe?”
    There was a silence as the two peered intently upriver to the dim but beckoning glow of oil lamps from a ranch house’s windows. Other than the bright points of Venus and the first night stars, there was no other visible light.
    Israel spoke slowly, thinking. “Well, this is the edge of the country. We sure are a long way from Oklahoma. This ain’t no plantation and I’m bettin’ all that grows here is hay. You can hear them cattle. It’s going to be cold tonight. These thin clothes of ours ain’t going to be much help with winter coming on. We’re about out of food, and I lost my last fishhook yesterday. I don’t see as we have much choice. We have to take our chances.”
    Lucy continued to stroke the muzzle of the mule and laid her free hand lightly on Israel’s forearm. “You’re my man, Israel. I’ll do what you think.”
    They gazed for a moment at the halo of light a mile or so out. “Maybe folks this far out will be happy to have company.” There was a tinge of doubt edged in the hope of her tone.
    “Well, let me do the talking, woman. And if there’s any sign of trouble, we’ll just back our way out of there somehow. Let’s tie off the mule before the house. They don’t have to know we have a critter just yet.” He squeezed her arm and smiled grimly into the darkness. “One thing I’ll tell you, we’ll freeze to death and starve before we are slaves again.”