So what does that mean for this procrastinating wordsmith who barely crossed the Camp NaNo/July edition? I’ll be happy when one of these simmering/stalled/still-to-be-polished-well-enough-by-this-‘I-am-not-a-perfectionist’ mind stories is set for print.
Then again, I could go off on a silly-themed challenge instead, say… a snippet tangent on one of the unusual holidays for the month. Given that today’s “International Forgiveness Day,” here’s a snippet from “Sights on the Storm.”
Vincent stood between his daughter and the door, something he seldom did if he could help it. Too many memories of Heloise doing the same thing all too frequently; he wasn’t going to become his sister.
“I know you’re upset about what happened at the music store,” he told her.
“Aren’t you,” Dorinda demanded.
He shook his head. He knew how long his child sought out the one whose name piqued her curiosity since she asked the question; a name that once brought bitter memories for him. “It was bound to happen. Politicians on the rise pretend to return to ‘humble beginnings’ when they’re hounding for votes.”
“Dad, I don’t get it! She looked at you as if you were nothing and at me as if I didn’t exist!”
Vincent leaned against the door, not to keep her in, but to keep from falling down. “Dorinda, she gave you life. You don’t have to give her yours.” He struggled to find the best way to share the last of what he held back from her, but couldn’t do it. Instead, he told her, “When I told you that your name means ‘gift,’ it’s true; you are a gift to me.”
“Why aren’t you angry about how she treated you?”
“Because there’d be no point, not in the scheme of things.” Vincent pushed himself from the door, thankful for Dorinda’s helping hand. If he ever could bring himself to tell her what he never even told his parents, would she ever forgive him?