Today as a part of my 'Turning Over a New Leaf Series' I decided to post a chapter of my current WIP. This is the one I'm currently agonizing over the edits and rewrites. It's told from multiple POV's and this guy,
Everett is probably my favorite.
I'm gonna let you read it here and not say too much more. Quite possibly in a future 'TOaNL' post, I'll even tell you where the inspiration for this WIP and, most particularly Everett came from. For today go ahead and have a read, then let me know what you think. Go ahead; you can be honest. After all I'm in rewrites, so maybe there is something I should know.
Every time they open the earth in this place I feel it, especially in winter. I cannot help myself. I have to come and see who it is. It’s dangerous for me here. They can see me. Not like there is anybody left who might recognize me, but dangerous all the same. What if somebody started talking to me? Wanted to know who I was? What I was doing here? Answering those questions could be tricky.
As questionable as my presence in this place would be, it is nothing compared to that other guy. He’s not even the least little bit settled. My guess is less than twenty-four hours. In that first day, some of them do real crazy things. They have no idea where they are or what’s happening. He seems to be in control. Coming and going the way he does. Pushing those people and talking to them, that’s risky stuff. Apparently, nobody come for him. He acts like a loose cannon out there on his own. After all this time I can tell just by looking at him, he will not be hanging around long. No unfinished business for that guy. Well, maybe this was the unfinished business. He seems pretty intent on getting a message to those two.
Last words. They all have some last words that they want to be remembered by. Not me, there was no time. All I had time for was one last look of shock. There never was a pretty girl held tight at my side. No mother to cry for me. No large group of friend standing around saying nice things. Nope, just the quick end, to a short life.
That guy, the one holding the pretty girl so tight, he looks like one of the modern day ranch kid. You can tell by his build that he’s used to hard work. His face has seen the sun on it for more than a few harvests. That guy next to him, the same. They look like brothers. When I think about it, Mr. Loose Cannon looked like another brother. That would fit the picture, because they seem a whole lot more genuinely sad than the rest of this crowd.
The girl at his side; well, she’s perpetually sad, except when she looks at him. I know her. Her pa’s the horse breeder, the son of that squatter, the guy who tricked Emily and took the ranch. Her name is Sandra, Sandra Baker. I wish some girl had looked at me like she looks at that ranch kid. He’s about my age. I’m a little taller, but about the same build. I would have liked to have the opportunity to hold a girl like that, even Miss Sandra Baker.
I have spent the last sixteen years watching that girl grow up. It’s not that I wanted to. I didn’t have much choice. She and her family live in my space. She lives in my personal space, my room at the ranch. Since she’s gotten older, turned a woman, I spend more time in the attic. It’s only right.
She looked right at me, probably wondering about this guy who’s so irreverent as to be climbing all over a tombstone. Well, this is my space too. My name is right down there carved in stone. This lovely little park and the ranch that Baker guy still has the nerve to call the Williams Ranch are my own private little hell. The only places I’m free to roam while I work for my name. I am starting to wonder if it’s worth it.
That ranch kid, the one holding Sandra Baker so close, I recognize him now. He works for her Pa, at least I think he does. He’s always hanging around the ranch, doing chores and helping out. Maybe, now I see him holding Sandra, he’s there more for her. He doesn’t touch her like that in front of her Pa. I wonder if Stan Baker knows how it is between them. I bet Stan would not like it. He and his wife keep Sandra pretty close. Watching the two of ‘em, Sandra Baker and this ranch kid, I find I don’t like seeing him holding her like that either. Somewhere in my head, I think I would like to be holding her instead. No use crying over spilled milk, Pa would say. That is never gonna happen. That ranch kid might be like me in a lot of ways, but there is one big difference between us. He’s still alive.
If you've made it this far, thank you. Also, you know why this is more soliloquy than anything else. Everett is no longer alive. Interested, intrigued, want to read more. Well, I'm looking for a few betas to give it a go over. I'm not finished with the edits and rewrites yet, but if your interested, please let me know and I'll get in touch with you. Anyone who is interested in beta reading for me with critiques in mind is welcome, but I am particularly looking for a male perspective.
I'll be back on the 15th with a new exciting BATTLE OF THE BANDS. Until that time, Happy Trails!