My muse is crazy!
*Giggles* perhaps not crazy, but it sure picks and chooses some crazy times to hit me with the inspiration stick. From waking me out of a good dream, to poking at me while doing glamorous things such as cooking, dishes, or laundry (and I don’t mind being distracted from those) to giving me a wet smack while in the shower. Sometimes I have two or three inspirations going at the same time and I attempt to balance my time between writing all of them. Currently I’ve been working on three stories, all of them completely different, and one totally outside of the London writing box.
The Sinner Inside Mississippi - Historical Romance
Lady Welby: The Time Storm Chronicles - Steampunk/Time Travel/Romance
Wolf Born - Paranormal Romance
I'm not sure if I will complete this story before the rest, but I thought I'd give all of you an exclusive sneak peek from one of my WIP – The Sinner Inside Mississippi. A historical romance. Setting – A small parish outside of Baton Rouge Louisiana – 1932
My mama told me I was born in the middle of the night, during one of the worst storms our small parish outside of Baton Rouge Louisiana ever saw. It rained non-stop for three days straight. In fact, she said it rained so much that the banks of the Mississippi overflowed, so it was by the grace of God that the parish midwife made it before the flooding took place.
While the wind stirred hard outside, threatening to take the roof of our house with it, my mama suffered inside those quaking walls with hard labor. Unable to do anything else, mama prayed the house would keep, as the midwife placed a knife under mama’s mattress to cut her pain. Several hours later, the wind finally settled, but nothing worked to stop the pain, and nothing kept back the rain, not even prayers.
On the third night of the deluge came the misfortune of my arrival as a girl. No. My birth was not a joyful occasion. Then there was the fragility of my condition, being born more than a month early. Believing I wouldn’t live to see the morning, mama didn’t name me that night. Fawna-Leigh, the midwife, cleaned me up, wrapped me in an old tea towel, and placed me into a knitting basket beside the wood-burning stove.
According to mama, the storm raged ‘til morning. I never made one sound. Not a cry. Not a peep. When the sun came up, mama told Fawna-Leigh to help her out of bed, so she could make daddy Bruce and the boys something warm for breakfast. He, Danny Joe, and James Henry, my two older brothers, would be finding their way home from town since the storm cleared.
Fawna-Leigh did what mama asked, and helped her out of bed. Mama had lost a lot of blood, and she was weak and wobbly, but she had to endure, and that’s what she did in order to please daddy Bruce.
On the way into the kitchen Fawna-Leigh stopped so she and mama could peek inside the basket. Mama was sure she’d be burying another baby, but I was sucking my thumb, staring up at both of them with eyes the color of bluebells. Mama told me, that’s when she cried. To her, it would have been better for all of us, if I’d passed on in the night. I would have been carried off on the wings of the angels, never to suffer this world no more.
I heard the story of my stormy arrival when I was fifteen, while holding my mama’s frail, pale hand, listening to her cough every other breath.
“You’ll need to be strong now,” were her last whispered words.
She passed on at half-past three on a sunny, Sunday afternoon from something called consumption, leaving me, Mississippi, her daughter, behind.
I'll be giving away $5 Gift Certificate from Evernight Publishing. All you need to do is tell me what genre of romance is your favorite to read in the comments section below, oh and be sure to leave your email address.
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