Presenting Visuals: The Pinterest Storyboard Party

 After far too long of an absence from the blogosphere, I'm making a return today to participate in Elisabeth Grace Foley's blog party link-up The Pinterest Storyboard Party. This lovely party is designed for writers to be able to share their Pinterest storyboards for finished works, works-in-progress, and works still being mulled over in the backs of their brains.

Follow Hanne-col's board Lee. on Pinterest.

 First, I would like to share the board I created for my big project of last year and the first half of this year: The Letters of Lee Ames. My second completed novel, this story is near and dear to my heart. Not to mention, a thousand times better than my first completed novel. Someday in the near future, I need to set about the mountainous task of editing and rewriting.

 Follow Hanne-col's board My WWI Novel on Pinterest.

 The Point of No Return is my WWI suspense/thriller that might be better off if I stopped worrying so much about the suspense/thriller tone and just wrote it as straight historical fiction. *clears throat* Yes. I believe I'm overthinking this one far too much.

Follow Hanne-col's board great depression novel ideas on Pinterest.

 Summer in Great Depression era Texas is the setting for Finding Home. This board is quite probably my largest storyboard and I have a very definite ideas of how this one needs to come together, though its plot has a somewhat vague middle that needs sorting.

Follow Hanne-col's board The Gunfighter - a short story on Pinterest.

 The Gunfighter is a western short story bridging almost into novella length that I finished last month. I'm currently editing it as a side project. This story has become rather near and dear to my heart, especially the characters. Truthfully though, all my characters from all my stories are dear to my heart.

 A bonus feature in this event is to share a few Pinterest storyboards that you like from other authors. One of my personal favorites is Elisabeth Grace Foley's Lost Lake House, while Emily Ann Putzke's Twenty-Eight Days has me excited for that story, and I mustn't forget to mention Joy's A Love That Never Fails board and her Twelfth Caller Home board, which has just recently become a favorite. I could mention numerous others but I have to rein in at some point, so I had better stop before I really get started.

 So, what are some of your favorite Pinterest storyboards? And do visit Elisabeth Grace Foley's post and join in the writerly fun!

Snippets for May

Mogollon Trail by Olaf Wieghorst
via Pinterest

 I believe I have a thing going for thick books right now. I cracked open my thick red bound copy of War and Peace last week and began the journey into early nineteenth century Russia. Its 1,000 plus pages edge it out as the longest book I am reading. The Day of Battle by Rick Atkinson comes in second at 588, while The Gates of Zion by Bodie Thoene settles into a comfortable third at a mere 400 some pages.

 Thick reading aside, I have started work on rewriting the beginning of my 1930s/Great Depression novel Finding Home. It is slow going as I get back into the swing of the story and figure out the best way write my main character's POV. I have also been working somewhat on a few of my short stories.

 Here are couple snippets from my writing so far in May:

 Salty was unamused. “A cow?” The word came spitting out of his mouth like a missile. “Cows are terrible creatures. I have had to ride with far too many of the revolting beasts since my fall from the dizzying heights of wealth.”

from Finding Home

 I eyed her and she eyed me. She was even scrawnier up close, her long face hollowed and sagged. Her big brown eyes watched me intensely a moment before she starting stuffing her mouth with musty hay.

from Finding Home

 Ansel took a cup of coffee from the third man and sat down on one of the larger boulders. He took a swig of the coffee and grimaced. “Where’d you learn to make coffee?” He emptied the black liquid over the edge of the cleft and set the tin cup down.
 The third man scowled. “I make no claims to being a good cook. You get what you get, Tom Ansel. That the boy?” He nodded towards me.

from The Gunfighter

Look Into My Eyes

via Pinterest

 Finally, I have written again for Rachel Heffington's Chatterbox. The theme this month is maple and I knew I could come up with something if I thought about it long enough. All last week I was kept on my toes attending and helping out at an art class, only to be able to put my pen to paper in my art journal and not on my beloved works in progress. Yesterday rolled around and I realized I only had a couple days left to come up with something. So, I wrote a little scene for my 1930s historical fiction Finding Home. It truly did blossom during the writing process and I know exactly where it needs to be placed in the story.

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“Good afternoon, Creighton.” Anna Grace’s voice behind me broke the late summer silence.

 I turned around quickly, startled that I hadn’t heard anyone approaching. “Hi,” I said, slowly easing my grip on the hammer. “What are you doing here?”

 Annie’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “I’ve come to read like I usually do,” she said. “It’s a short novel that Molly gave me.” She smiled and I tried to return a like expression.

“Swell,” I said, glancing around. Ever since my in-town run in with Butch Smith and Dan Winters I’d been jumpier than a grasshopper. “Why don’t you sit under that big maple by the pond to read. It’s cooler there.” I continued repairing the fence.

“I thought I might read it aloud. I read the first chapter last night and its about a dear, old school master. I thought you might like it so I decided to wait and read it aloud to you.” Annie’s eyes brimmed over with excitement.

“I’m working right now,” I said sharply, turning away slightly. “Go sit under that maple and read.”

 Annie’s face was an open book and in the split second I turned away and went back to work, an expression of keen hurt and confusion clouded her face. She walked away silently and sat beneath the maple tree I had suggested, her back against the trunk. She watched me a moment before opening her book and beginning to read.

 I forced myself not to hurl a curse on my own head. Instead, I beat my clenched fist against the fencepost. Why couldn’t I just keep my dumb trap shut? Butch and Dan were miles away. Just because I’d seen them again once did not mean they were keeping tabs on me or watching how much I interacted with the people around me. This was Ralston, Texas, not Louis Cassetti’s Chicago.

 I finished my work on the post and stole a glance over at Annie. Her nose was stuck faithfully between the pages of her book, but something in her manner told me she wasn’t paying attention to the words she was reading.

 I walked over to the tree. She looked up when my shadow darkened the pages of her book. Her brown eyes were narrowed and a dark cloud clung to the backs of them. The hurt on her face drove a sharp pang of shame deep into my soul.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. Apologies never had been my thing.

 Annie shook her head slowly, lowering her eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” she said. “You were right. You have work to do and I was interrupting you. I’m sorry. If I’m keeping you from your work, Creighton, just tell me to go. I know I am a nuisance.”

“No, Annie, you have never been a nuisance.” I squatted down and lifted her chin with my hand to look straight into her eyes. “You have been nothing but a God send. You were the one who kept trying to befriend me when I was being a lousy-tempered idiot. I was a dope back there and you were being the kindest, most selfless ...” I started backwards at my own vehemence. I let go of her chin and bolted back into an upright position. “You weren’t wrong back there,” I finished suddenly.

 Annie was staring at me. The hurt in her eyes was gone, replaced with amazement.

 I stuffed my free hand into my pocket and fiddled with the hammer with my other. “Go ahead and read that book aloud,” I said quietly. “I’d be glad to hear it.”

 Annie kept looking at me a couple moments longer and then reopened her book to the beginning.

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By the way, who knows what book Anna Grace is talking about in this scene? I am curious to know if anyone gets the reference.