Deleted Scene From “Forgotten Reins”

WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING: A Soldier’s Devotion by Cheryl Wyatt.

WORK IN PROGRESS: 78,489 words

As you know, my current work in progress is coming to close. It makes my heart pound just thinking about finally being able to flip over the last page of this story. But I’ve got to admit, I’m also anxious to move on to the next story that’s been floating around in my subconscious.

The log line for my current work in progress goes  like this, “Sometimes the cost of saving a life is worth the cost of yesterday’s sorrows.”

Working title: FORGOTTEN REINS, although I’ve been leaning toward renaming it SEVEN DOLLAR BRIDE, we’ll see when I’ve finished up the current re-write. (I say “current” because there is no such thing as a “final re-write” until the story actually hits print.)

Today, I decided to delete a scene. It wasn’t really moving the story along. So, I decided to share it since it won’t be in the final version.

Sarah and Michael are my two main characters, they’re at dinner party hosted by Michael’s step-father, Harold Kingsley. Most everyone at this dinner party is affiliated some way or another in horse racing, takws place in Lexington Kentucky.

FORGOTTEN REINS – DELETED SCENE

“Sarah, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Michael placed his hand at the small of her back directing her through the crowd. 

They walked up to a small group of men laughing and listening to Harold Kingsley entertain them with another one of his horse stories. Michael wedged them into the circle. When Harold was finished, Michael tapped an older gentleman on the shoulder. “Mr. Wilkes, I’d like you to meet Sarah Colvert.”

“How do you do, Mr. Wilkes,” suddenly, Sarah felt the stare of a dozen eyes turn in her direction. She glanced at Michael. What did he think he was doing pulling her into the middle of all these gentlemen?

“Ah, yes, Robert and Hannah’s girl. My…what’s it been now…seven-eight years? A real tragedy it was.”

“Six,” Sarah said. She glanced around the crowd and took a step back. Michael’s hand wrapped around her waist and held her from escape.

“Still ride like your mother?” Mr. Wilkes inquired.

“I haven’t ridden in years.” Sarah confessed. Not since Ethan was born.

“But I reckon she’ll be getting back in the saddle again, real soon.” Michael added.

“Seems a shame to waste all that talent.” Harold said.

Mr. Wilkes took her by the arm and drew her aside. He reached into the pocket of his tux and pulled out a handkerchief. “If you’re interested in riding professionally again, I could use someone of your talents. Robert and Hannah only bred the best.” He winked.

“That’s very kind of you,” Sarah replied. “But I’ve recently founded the Silver Wind Equine Rescue.”

“Rescue?” Mr. Wilkes’ eyebrows shot up. “What possibly could a horse need rescued from?”

Several members of the crowd gathered close.  Sarah pressed the urge to flee down and smiled despite the catastrophic tremble in her arms. Michael wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She tilted her head up. “What do they need rescued from?” she asked. “How about abuse? Abandonment? Have you ever considered what happens to a prize race horse when it’s no longer bringing home blue ribbons? And what happens to the foals whose mothers are too busy racing than to raise them?

You ask what kind of horses need rescued–those are just a few of the types of horses that are saved, rehabilitated, and given a second chance at my stables.”

Mr. Wilkerson appeared taken back, he and all the rest of them made mumbling sounds and some turned away.  “isn’t that what you are doing, Dr. Wolfe?”

Michael grinned, pulled Sarah closer and responded, “Rehabilitate, yes. However, I’m afraid I’ll leave the rescuing up to Sarah.”

Several members of the crowd shuffled away. Harold and another gentleman lingered. “Now about that clinic of yours…” Mr. Wilkes moved away from Sarah and dragged Michael along with him.

Michael held up his empty glass and Sarah pointed toward the balcony. For a moment, at least, she’d retreat. A wast of talent. She shook her head. It didn’t matter what anyone thought, anyone but Michael.

Published in: on July 30, 2010 at 1:47 pm  Leave a Comment  
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When a Man Says… Translations Every Woman Should Know

WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING: A Soldier’s Devotion by Cheryl Wyatt.

WORK IN PROGRESS: 79,035 words

There’s a lot you can learn at a Christian Motorcycle rally. One of those things is what a man really means when he talks.

As women we often hear the men in our lives say, “I’m not a mind reader.” Well, guys neither are we. So when a man stood up at the Motorcycle rally and gave these three examples I found myself able to relate and felt apprecitive of his honesty.

So ladies if you were ever wondering what a man is really trying to tell you when he says the following things, here are the translations.  Straight from a man’s point of view.

When he says “I can’t find it.”

It really means, “It didn’t fall into my out stretched arms.”

Then when he says, “It’s a guy thing.”

Well, he’s really saying, “There’s no rational explanation and nothing you say will make it logical.”

So when he says, “It would take too long to explain it.”

Transalation: “I don’t have a clue.”

Sound familar?

What does your man say that really means something else?

Published in: on July 28, 2010 at 9:59 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Limited Edition

Psalm 139:13-16  reminds us that we are all wonderfully and fearfully made.

Essentially, we are limited editions, like the cars we drive and the passengers we take along with us.

Like this rare and unique vehicle at the 2010 CMA State Rally.

Can’t figure out what it is?

The owner calls it a “carcyle”. This unique and rare vehicle is the blend of a 1977 Volk Wagon Bus and 1980 Honda 11 motorcycle.

Call it what you want, but this rare limited edition custom-made vehicle turns heads where ever it goes. At the CMA bike show, attendees gathered round to figure out exactly what this custom contraption really was.

“If you don’t want attention,” states the owner, “You don’t drive around in this.”

There’s a history behind this limited edition, just like there is a history within each one of us. We’ve all got secrets locked inside, things we are n’t ready to share, and people and things that have gotten us to this place in our lives where we stand now.

Just like the way this limited edition gets Arnold Jones where he needs to get going for the past three years. 

Jones has been a member of CMA for the past 13 years, and just like the vehicle he drives…Jones is a limited edition.  He serves where he is called in order to serve others. This limited edition “carcycle” provides opportunities for him to meet people and to minister to them through their curiosity.

Call it a “carcycle,” a “trike”, or “motorcycle”….

No matter the name it is given, it still remains a limited edition.

A special thank you to the owner, Mr. Jones, for allowing me to share these photos and interview him for this post and article I’ve written.  Once I hear back from the editors of the magazines I’ve submitted to I’ll let you all know where the full length article can be found.

Until then I’m back to my work in progress, the end is nearing!

Published in: on July 26, 2010 at 12:58 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Ride For the Son

Last weekend, we packed up the kids and headed to Montrose, PA to the Christian Motorcycle Association State Rally. For the past few years my husband has been a member of our local CMA chapter.  This year, they asked him to conduct a few presentation on “group riding” and the “seasoned rider” at the rally for motorcyclist attending.

My husband became a motorcycle safety coach about five years ago, and through the state of Pennsylvania has been teaching beginning and seasonal riders how to be safe out on the roads.

This was our first year at the CMA State Rally.

For those of you who are not familiar with CMA. The mission of CMA (Christian Motorcycle Association) is to inspire their leaders and members to be the most organized, advanced, equipped, financially stable organization, full of integrity in the motorcycling industry and the Kingdom of God.

Each year the CMA holds a fundraiser known as “The Ride For the Son”. The proceeds from this charity ride go to three partnering ministries: Jesus Film Project, Missionary Ventures, and Open Doors. I can tell you that one of these missiontries helps provides motorcycles to pastors all over the world.

We spent last weekend in an air conditioned RV on a campsite near the rally. I know, not exactly roughing it. We even brought our television and dvd player! (mostly for my husband’s presentation). The weekend consisted of a talent show, good music, a great speaker, chilli cook off, and tons upon tons of motorcycles.

Here’s just a few in the line up amongst the hundreds that attended this year’s rally.

If you like those motorcycles, then check out these sweet rides…

                                                                                 

YUM!

Now these are my kind of motorcycles!

Stay tuned, on Monday I’ll reveal to you my favorite, and most unusual motorcycle, I’ve ever seen.

Until then, I’ve got to get writing!

Published in: on July 23, 2010 at 12:56 pm  Comments (1)  
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Stage Three

WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING: A Soldier’s Devotion by Cheryl Wyatt.

WORK IN PROGRESS: 78,129 words

A few weeks ago, I posted that I had placed in a contest at the St. Davids Christian Writers’ Conference. The category was called FLASH FICTION.  As I’ve never attempted to write flash fiction before, I was both thrilled and honored that my last-minute entry received an award.

I say last-minute, because I literally sat down and wrote it the day before I left for the conference back in June.

Today, I thought I would share that entry with you. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. So here it goes….my first flash fiction entry and most certainly not my last. :)

Happy Friday everyone!

STAGE THREE

by Susan Lower

As the curtain rose, Veronica felt the first stab of pain. She sucked in her breath and clung to Mark, waddling off stage.

They went from an evening of dancing to a hospital room in less than an hour.

She squeezed his hand and panted.

He peered down at the doctor poised at the end of Veronica’s bed.

Her face scrunched up and she bit her lip. Waves of creases deepened across her sweaty forehead. Her brows drew together and her eyes locked on his, filled to the brim with excruciating pain.

Mark attempted to smile. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Because it was, wasn’t it? He couldn’t tango alone.

He felt spiraling nausea lodged at the base his throat like a case of bad heart burn. Despite his best effort to smile, his head felt light as a feather. He wasn’t sure who held on more tightly to whom.

They had known this day would come sooner or later.

He watched her grit her teeth, her body tense as she awaited the next squeeze of surging pain. Mark took a deep breath, willing his jittery nerves to calm. A nurse handed him a damp cloth to dab the sweat from her forehead.

She whimpered and trembled, her legs quivering.

She reached out and grasped his hand, like a two-hand vs. one-hand arm wrestle match as pain distorted her delicate features. With his free hand, Mark clung to the metal railing of Veronica’s hospital bed to keep his legs from buckling beneath him.

Scents of bleach and alcohol stung his nose causing his vision to blur. He blinked and a bright light was pushed closer as the doctor leaned forward. Veronica’s eyes grew large, she took big, long breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth.

“That’s it. You can do this,” Mark said as Veronica let out a blood curling scream that startled a nurse walking into the room.

Metal clanked as the nurse’s tray tilted and spilled across the floor. Startled, Mark jumped. He took a deep breath to ward off the sensation that swirled in his head and made him dizzy.

Slowly, he peeked over on the other side of Veronica’s white sheet.

“Just a little bit more!” exclaimed the doctor. Mark’s chest tightened. Any moment, he thought. 

“You’re doing great, Honey.” He assured her.

Veronica scowled and whipped her head in his direction as she let out another scream. Mark cringed and held onto her. She sobbed uncontrollably. Her head tossed from side to side across her pillow, weaving a bird’s nest atop her head.

Mark pried his hand away from the railing and tried to smooth her hair.

“There she is,” announced the doctor and held up the blood stained splinter pinched between his tweezers that he’d pulled from Veronica’s foot.

Published in: on July 16, 2010 at 11:37 am  Comments (3)  
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This Child of Mine

WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING: Pokémon with my oldest daughter.

WORK IN PROGRESS: 76, 607 words

There is no easy way to prepare this child of mine for surgery, she’s been through if far too many times before to allow the innocence of the unknown to fool her.

This child of mine isn’t like any that I may write about in a story.  She’s independent, strong-willed, and shy.  She’s different – not because of the attributes I describe, but because she was born that way.

A nurse pointed it out when she was first-born, and when she was three she discovered it own her own. They called it a hemangioma. There is a difference between her and me. She has it, I don’t. Neither do most of us.

Most children discover they have blue eyes and mom may have brown. Hair colors vary, and noses carry from one generation to the next.

Hemangiomas are becoming more wide-spread today, then they were when I was being born. One in every ten babies will bear the mark of a vascular birthmark – a.k.a. Hemangioma.

It is that difference between my children that makes me love her the way I do,because she’s learned to take it in stride. One doctor visit at a time. New friends, all alike – yet different in the same way.  All patients dealing with hemangiomas.

Both my girls have been touched by vascular anomalies. My oldest daughter having been blessed and cursed with the more complicated version, where as my youngest will never have to see a surgeon.

Last week we ended our family vacation and headed to Philly to Children’s Hospital where my oldest daughter had her last surgery (or so we pray) to remove the last of her hemangioma and reshape her upper lip. 

It’s been a long journey. Some writers take months,even years, to complete a story.  Some mothers, like me, take a lifetime drafting their children, directing their action, and praying for good end results.

I believe God chooses our children for us. We give birth to them, adopt them, babysit them, and become involved in their lives by appointment. It’s been a long said cliché’ that God doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle. Even in our weakest moments He lays upon us the situations that will make us stronger and introduces us to the people who will carry us through our journey.

Now that it’s over, I just want to hold her.

There’s nothing like getting that super-ala-uper hug at night, and holding on for just one more squeeze.  “Mom!” She protests, “Your squeezing to hard.”

…or at least until tomorrow when I hear, “Mom, did you forgot something?”

Thank you all for your prayers these past few days for my oldest daughter.  Her surgery went well, and now we are all in recovery. I am thankful too, on these hot summer days, that we have accumulated enough Pokémon books to keep her content and out of the sun while she heals.

Who knows, perhaps one day, this child of mine will have a story tell of her own.

Published in: on July 14, 2010 at 1:42 am  Leave a Comment  
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Seaside by the Sea Shore

There is something romantic about the beach. Perhaps that is why sailors take to the ocean blue, couples walk down the sand barefoot leaving their prints to be washed away by the tide, and why we keep coming back to a place that remains consistent. Like rolling swells of water crashing against the beach. Sounds of water churning, splashing, and sea gulls calling.

“I love the scream of the ocean. It’s a scream of excitement.”  Those were  the words of a relative yesterday as we stood watching my children run from the unpredictable waves at the ocean shore line. My youngest, screamed the loudest, waiting as she pumped her little legs as fast as she could away from the spilling waters that rushed towards her feet. When it appeared the water had its peak, she’d chase away the retreating waters. Thus she did over and over again in spite of all efforts to move her closer.

Sometime later, I sat in the wet sand, building sand castles and watching foot prints get washed way. The more we spent time digging holes and moats the more the water would wash more sand up to erase our hard work, like a chalk board slate wiped clean.

It would appear the ocean has a relationship all of its own. One that consists of water colliding with sand and mingling for just a moment. Yet, the water always pulls away, leaving the sand wet and vulnerable.

Lucky for my oldest daughter, who scavenged the sands in search of treasure. Sea shells by the sea-shore.

Shell speckled sand and rushing waters licked the beach, never reaching to the same heights. No rhythm or reason behind each attempt to roll in and push forth.

 There’s nothing like standing near the ocean and watching the swells of water rise and crash against the beach. Nor is there like the taste of salt water that will stick to your lips like a bad dream that haunts you. Not just a teaspoon of salt, but a tablespoon in every drop.

Sea gulls swoop and glide against the water with bellies skimming. Boggy boards and bikinis line up and down the horizon. A fog mist of ocean as far as the eye can see. Sand. Gritty, hot, white, wet, broken shells, and life guards perched on tall white towers.

Ahh, what a wonderful day to be at Seaside Heights in New Jersey.

Needless to say, there was no writing going on this day. However, there were many a memories in the making as we explored the boardwalk, ate giant pizzas, watched children’s faces as the waves splashed up their legs, and laughed at our own silliness. Especially, when a wave came up and caught me off guard. Talk about having your feet swept out from beneath you!

How romantic, right?

It depends if you’re a dolphin or tourist, of which, the tourist label would apply.  But even as I write this, and all the umbrella’s have been taken down, the ocean waters remain. The sand lie in waiting. And, tomorrow the sun will again rise. In the darkness of night, the sounds of the wind sweeps across the waters, whispering. The sands shiver beneath the cold reaches of the tide.

Forever, shall the ocean lap against the sand, and the sand shall be swept away by the ocean. And somewhere there is a couple, or a family, walking along the seashore leaving their footprints to be washed away behind them.

Published in: on July 8, 2010 at 3:19 am  Leave a Comment  
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The Nature of Independence

WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING: Head In the Sand by Linda M. Au

WORK IN PROGRESS: 75, 870 words

It’s late in the evening on this July 4th. As I sit in the quiet of the night, I listen to the burst of fireworks that can not be seen. I hear the trickle of a bird bath behind me, and fumes of chlorine drift from the pool that I have settled down beside in which to write my post.

The night air is like a fall afternoon, not too warm and the breeze just right. Perfect after a humid day that registered a mere 102 degrees.

Another well celebrated Independence day.

Yet, as I sit here by the pool, independence has another meaning to me. I know that this is a national holiday, a day we celebrate the day our country won its freedom. A grand thing, indeed.

Today, I was also reminded of a different independence. The kind we all achieve on our own.  For you see, the nature of independence is to simply break free of something. Or more precisely, thanks to my “handy-dandy” dictionary (as my son would say from watching too many Handy Manny shows) Independence is defined as the irresponsibility to any one superiority.

Hence my oldest daughter. 

As a mother, I can sympathize with every woman out there who complains about children’s behavior. As a mother, I can admire the streak of independence that rears its head in each of my children. Especially in those times when children have no say, like bedtime or going to school.

Somethings, just have to be done. Ask my oldest daughter about doing homework in the second grade. :P

There is an independent streak in all of us that taught to use properly we can conquer our talents and strive as individuals as much as those that fought wars to allow us to become the nation that we are today. Freedom of speech and all that…

When I see my toddler demonstrating independence by buttoning a shirt or dressing herself in mismatched clothes, I applaud her. Or when my son makes a decision to give up a day of swimming in a relative’s pool rather than to clean up his toys. And then my oldest daughter, who stands and faces the world while putting her worldly armor on so that no one, but a mother, could see she’s cringing inside of the feat yet to come.

I hear the boom of another faceless firework. The trickle of the bird bath continues through the night. There is not a star in the sky, which to wish upon. But on this night of Independence, I salute all those who have stepped out in their faith in Christ, those who have fought wars for our country, and for every mother who has raised or is raising  a child through the nature of independence.

Published in: on July 5, 2010 at 3:09 am  Comments (1)  
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Writer’s Retreat

Birds singing, leaves rustling, and the sun shining…that’s how the day began at SDCWC yesterday morning.

Over sixty men and women gathered in the halls switching classrooms between workshops, sneaking into the bookstore for a cup of coffee, a good book, or to sign up for editorial appointments.

Meanwhile, I and several others gathered together under the direction of editor, Melanie Rigney to critique each other’s work in a writers’ retreat. During this time I received a lot of wonderful feedback on the pieces of my WIP that I am grateful for. Now, to start revising and pull it all together. :)

Today, the schedule is no different, other than the annual St. David’s Auction this evening. It promises to be a delightful evening. All proceeds from the auction are donated toward providing scholarships towards next year’s conference.

While walking on campus it is very likely that I will run into David Pierce, David Mills, Virelle Kidder (as I plan to take a workshop with her this morning), Jim Watkins, or Linda Taylor, along with all the other wonderful writers and aspiring writers we have here this week.

So without much further ado, I’m off to chapel and fellowship here SDCWC as the second full day gets underway.

Published in: on June 24, 2010 at 10:44 am  Leave a Comment  
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SDCWC Kicks off with Virelle Kidder

St. Davids Christian Writers Conference kicked off last evening with keynote speaker Virelle Kidder.

Ms. Kidder is the author of “Meet Me at the Well: Take a Month and Water Your Soul”.

Her encouraging and heartfelt presentation held her audience captive. This year’s theme at St. Davids -Well Springs.

Ms. Kidder will be teaching many workshops this week on taking life experiences and turning them into written works that can both encourage, move, and bring closing to one’s life. She invites other women to “meet her at the well”.

 As the first full day of SDCWC begins, I am excited to see what else our talented faculty and God has in store for us this week.  Today’s schedule is filled with workshops, retreats, fellowship, and this evenings literary coffeehouse. Not to mention, our bookstore is filled with wonderful titles by both faculty and members of Saint Davids.

Published in: on June 23, 2010 at 10:54 am  Leave a Comment  
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