WeWriWa: “Feeding the Soul” HER TEXAS HERO

I’m beginning to feel a bit like Jack Torrence in THE SHINING, typing away on his novel while the blizzardy winds blow, isolating him from the world outside his imagination – only a lot saner. What a place to get lost – my favorite place. No lines, no waiting, no getting out of your sweatpants. A bit like Michigan, at the moment. But as long as I have electricity and an idea, let those cold winds blow – below zero. I’m on a hot streak (not to be confused with hot flash, which would keep me a lot warmer!). At the moment, that heat is coming from Texas and the scorch of my fingers hurrying over the keys as I, AT LAST, get back to my favorite project – the newest book in my Bass family Texas historical series. Let me introduce you to my heroine, the feisty Martine Malloy who feels trapped, not only by her absent father’s dictates, but by circumstances she can’t escape . . . or can she?

 The Excerpt 

Finally! With news from the outside world pressed close to her rapidly beating heart, Martine tried to concentrate on the recitation of the rosary, on the words, on the meaning behind them to show proper reverence as she’d been taught—often at the end of a switch—but there wasn’t much patience left in her restless soul. God would understand. He’d made only so many perfect souls and hers was not one of them. He was much more understanding than Sister Mary Helena, who even now watched for her slightest deviation from the twilight catechisms. Sister Mary Helena whose love of God was sometimes surpassed by her fondness for meting out punishment in His name.

But risking punishment was worth the reward.

Her uncle’s communications kept her from madness. Unlike the meek and humble Agnes who knelt at her side, Martine was as suited to the non-secular life as an exotic bromeliad in sunbaked Texas soil. The endless hours, days, weeks, now years of silence, reflection, and self-discipline had her crawling inside her skin while resentment festered within her heart. Not toward God, or the genuine kindnesses shown her inside this temporary home, but against the circumstances holding her captive, away from her true family.

. . . and a bit more . . . 

She hugged that link to them close beneath her breast, now able to ignore the rough stone cutting into her knees and the incensed air that had her head aching. Escape was near. At least, escape for the heart and mind if not yet the body.

When the pealing tone of the steeple bell brought dismissal to go about evening routines, Martine followed the orderly line from the chapel into the dry warmth of late day. While the others headed in flock-like obedience toward their sparse supper, Martine and Agnes slipped away, hurrying with heads bowed toward the barrack-like dormitory where they shared a Spartan room with four more young women. All was silent within the warmed adobe walls, the others intent upon feeding the body while Martine could think only of satisfying her starving soul.

It feels wonderful to be doing original work again – work that will end cap my Texas series (at least for now . . .). Let those wintery winds blow. I’m wrapped up in my writing and it keeps me warm.

How’s your January going?

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