Latest excerpt from my book

Okay, I asked, I listened and I fixed. So, my blog posts are easier to read now.

I get this, what my grandma used to call, 'a wild hair'. Why she called it that I have no idea but it means that I do something different and strange. At this point in my life I find having that 'wild hair' thingy comes often. I want to try it all!! And, I often do. Love changing my blog look but I will try to keep it readable. I promise. Cross my heart.

I am riding on a wave of euphoria these days! Euphoria may be a strong word to use here but I am excited. Those of you who know that I have been writing a book know that I finished it and the manuscript was sent off to the editor and a proof reader as well.

The feedback, so far, is outstanding. Those two people who have read my book from cover to cover had nice things to say about it so I can't wait to get the manuscript back so it can be sent off to the publisher. Well, it was TWO people. They liked it. Hopefully others will as well.

Back on Nov 11th I posted the last excerpt from the book (still no title) so I thought I'd whet your appetite today with this...........................

The boxcar was stifling hot, the air dusty and dank, smelling of sweat, moldy corn, and cow manure. The car had been swept out at some stop back up the line but the powerful odor lingered. Tom held his hand over this nose until he finally grew accustomed to the stench and then he threw his knack-sack into a dark corner and curled up on the filthy floor with his head resting upon it. The heavy swaying of the train car as it clickedy-clacked over the rails had a monotonous rhythm to it and soon Tom had dozed off.

Hours must have passed when Tom bolted suddenly from his fitful sleep. What was that noise? There it was again – the engineer was applying the brakes. The train must be coming into a town. He’d need to see how it looked, if it appeared to hold good
prospect for work. His stomach was growling, too. Just how long had it been since he had last eaten? The memory came flooding back. It had been early that morning that he had been sitting at the kitchen table with Mary and the children enjoying a cup of hot chicory coffee, some eggs, gravy and hot fluffy biscuits – and his last few moments at home.

Tom’s heart ached. His body felt old from being cramped up on that sticky hot floor. He hurt, not only in his joints, but his spirit was crushed. He felt a failure, not being able to provide for his family. A man’s worth was measured in how well he could take care of those he loved, how well he could make it in this world. Well, it looked like he hadn’t done so well. But, he reminded himself, that it was not his fault. He missed his family beyond measure. He roughly wiped his sleeve across his eyes, somehow ashamed that tears had begun to form there. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t the only man that was forced to travel the roads and rails just to make a little money. However, that gave him little comfort.

 

The train was slowing down so Tom drew unsteadily to his feet, trying to regain his balance from being asleep so long. Holding onto the sides of the box car he slowly made his way to the opening and looked out. They were coming into a small town. The name painted on the water tower said ‘Benton’.