I haven't had time to devote to any additional publishing research as of late. The boy turns one in less than a month, and all of my spare time has been going into making invitations and gathering party supplies. I'm hoping that once that little milestone is behind us that I will find more time to focus on the book.
I'm still leaning toward Amazon for their self-publishing package, but want to explore a few more options to see if I can get a similar setup for less investment. It's hard to convince myself that I want to invest $1750 in a book that still hasn't been edited completely. I think that's where my desire to find a literary agent comes in. If I had an agent's support, I would know at least one other person doesn't think this manuscript is crap. Sometimes that's all you need, you know?
That being said, I have managed to finish up the edits for the remainder of chapter one. You'll get to know Gram and the main character a bit better as this is where the dialogue actually makes its first appearance. For me, the characters really live through the dialogue. Sure, interior monologues can reveal a lot about the protagonist, but nothing makes them come alive like dialogue. Interaction with other characters is what makes them well-rounded. I hope mine doesn't leave them feeling flat or uninteresting. Hope you enjoy!
We ride down Route Three in silence. It’s not a very long drive to get to the town of Lowville, but the silence stretches every second into an hour. We pass over Beaver Falls. I cracked my window to let fresh air into the car, and I can hear the water rushing over the rocks below the bridge. Years ago, people would dive from the side of bridge, free-falling into the deep pool below the falls. The river was swollen then and its depths made it safe to jump from the bridge's height. Even those thrill seekers wouldn’t risk jumping from the bridge now. The water is too low to survive the fall. In places, it barely covers the rocks as it flows over them.
Even though the autumn night is chilly, I can hear the crickets send their songs across the river. They fill the air around Beaver River with their high pitched chirping. As we pull further away from the bridge, the cricket songs fade and the car lapses into silence again. Soon, I find myself talking just to break the quiet.
"I'll put the kettle on the stove as soon as we get home, and I'll make you some tea. I have that English Breakfast stuff that you like. If you want, you can take a shower while water's boiling. You'd be able to wash the smell of smoke out of your hair."
For a few seconds, I think she’s going to stay mute, and I struggle to think of something else to say.
"I think a bath might be nice. I'd like to soak the smoke out of my skin."
"As soon as we get home, I'll show you where I keep the towels. I can lend you a clean nightgown too, if you'd like." I keep referring to my house as home, but for Gram, it isn’t. We’re currently driving away from her home, or what is left of it, anyway. To her, my house will never be home. It will just be my house. I scold myself for my poor word choice. Gram either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it.
"Don't worry about making any tea, dear. I think once I'm done in the tub that I'm just going to go to bed. Don't trouble yourself."
"Are you sure, Gram? It's not any trouble at all, and will only take a couple of minutes."
"No, no. A towel and a nightgown will be just fine. You should think about getting some sleep yourself." I choose to ignore the implication that I look tired and run down, mostly because I know it is the God-honest truth. I feel tired down to my bones.
"You sure you don't want any tea? Or maybe a light snack or something?" I know I'm being a bit pushy, but tea is the one consolation I'm able to offer to her. It would make me feel better to see her begin to relax with a steaming cup of tea in her hands.
"I could hardly eat a thing right now, honey." Gram continues to politely decline my weak attempt to comfort her, and I finally resign.
"Okay. We'll both head to bed, then. I'll fix breakfast in the morning. I think we'll have a long day ahead of us."
"Why do you say that?" Gram sounds more tired than curious, but I answer anyway.
"Because we'll have to head out to the house tomorrow, you know, to see what's left." I regret the words as soon as I've said them, and I suck a bit of air through my teeth. Too abrupt. They just popped right out. I've never been known for my tact, and my frayed nerves have clogged the poor chat filter I normally do have. "Oh, Gram, I'm so sorry." I sputter, wishing I'd just kept my mouth shut.
"It's okay, dear. You're right. I'll have to face it one way or another. Might as well get it out of the way." She sounds drained and it seems to take a lot of effort for her to find her words. I know she’s as exhausted as I am, although I am the only one of us who looks it. I don’t know how she has made it through the night. I wonder if I should be worried that, of the two of us, I’m the one that looks worse for the wear.
We fall back into silence. I don’t trust myself to make any more small talk. If I stay quiet, at least I know I won’t mistakenly mention the house again, or worse, my grandfather. My grandmother has lost a lot tonight, and I don’t want to force her to talk about anything she isn’t ready to discuss yet. Thoughts of just how much she lost tonight occupy us both until I pull into my driveway.
My house is nothing fancy, but it I love it. There‘s a small eat in kitchen, and the living room is through an open archway in the far wall. When you’re standing under the kitchen archway, there is a door in the far wall of the living room that leads out to a set of concrete steps down into the front yard. To your left, there is a short hallway. The bathroom is the first door on the left. The second door is a closet that holds my linens and a bunch of other things that I don't have a better place to store. The only door on the right is my guest bedroom. The door at the end of the hall leads to my bedroom. I’m happy to see that it’s shut. Even as tired as she is, if Gram saw the state of my bedroom, she would still give me a lecture on cleanliness, for sure. I lead her to the guest room. There's a brass day bed against the right wall. I have a small desk pushed into the left corner on the far wall. During the day, the sunlight from the window on that wall sheds natural light on the desk top and makes it a great space to write. A small closet set into the left wall offers extra storage for anything that won't fit into the set of drawers directly to the right of the door.
“The dresser is empty.” I say. I point to the chest of drawers as if Gram may not be able to spot it on her own. “The closet is also empty. Since you'll be staying here for a bit, feel free to decorate the room however you want. If you want to rearrange the furniture or anything, just let me know, and I'll help you move it.”
“I'm not going to rearrange your furniture. It's fine where it is. As for the closet and dresser, I don't have anything to put in them. What you see is what I've got.” She says. She grabs one side of her bathrobe in each hand and holds her arms out by her sides.
“I'm sorry, Gram. I forgot that you don't have any other clothes. I'll take you over to Wal-Mart first thing in the morning to pick out some new things. Let me grab you a clean nightgown.”
I don't like the way nightgowns tangle around my legs while I'm sleeping, so I usually won't sleep in them. I'm much more comfortable in a tank top and pair of shorts, but I know I have some nightgowns hidden away that were Christmas gifts from Gram. Only guilt has kept them safe from Goodwill so far. I wade through the mess on my bedroom floor to my dresser. The nightgowns are in the bottom drawer, and may be the only clothing I own that is actually in its place. The majority of my wardrobe is currently on the floor of my room or in a laundry basket on top of the dryer. I pick a white cotton gown out of the dresser drawer, not bothering to close it before I head back to Gram.
My grandmother is sitting in the center of the daybed when I walk back to the guest room. Her legs are so short her soot covered black slippers hang a few inches from the hardwood floor. The fake fur of the slippers is matted, and it looks like the fuzz may have melted in a few places.
“Here you go, Gram.” I say as I pass her the nightgown. She takes it from me with shaky hands.
“Thanks, Jody.”
“Is there anything else I can get you, Gram? You sure you don't want that tea?” I know, I said I resigned, but I have to push it one more time. I would really like to see her with some chamomile tea. I think it would be good for her nerves. Alright, maybe my nerves too, but mostly hers.
“No, honey. I'm just going to take a bath and then get to bed.”
“Ok," I say, really giving up this time. I pat her on the hand to let her know I'm really letting it go. "The bathroom is just across the hall. There are towels in the hall closet. There should be an extra toothbrush under the bathroom sink. Help yourself to anything else in the house.”
This time she just nods. She slides down off of the bed and shuffles out into the hallway. She closes the bathroom door behind her, and I hear water begin to fill the tub. I can smell the smoke in my own clothes and hair, but I'm too tired to wait until Gram is done to hop in the shower. I'll just shower in the morning. I peel my smoky clothes off and toss them in the pile by the bedroom door. I pull my hair back into a loose braid to keep its smokiness away from my face. I crawl into bed, and I think I fall asleep before my head even reaches the pillow.
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