Welcome to my new life

Good morning Murderers, I hope this lovely summery Thursday is the best you've had in a long while. I call Thursday "friday eve". It makes the day special in some way. It's like Christmas Eve or New Years Eve.

I am currently working hard on my book that is being composed on my blog for the How to Write Series. You can check it out here : http://www.kimsmithauthor.com -- I posted a link under the links part of the header to all the posts so someone who was interested could start with the first post and follow all the way through.

I have a subscribe thing on the site, too, so that no one misses any posts.

So far, this has been a lot of fun. It is making me really think about HOW I write a book. What do I do now? What do I do next? All those questions that come to mind. I am considering doing a contest to name the book. Maybe along about chapter three? I am finishing up chapter one now.

Sorry Murderers, it ISN'T a murder mystery.

But, the new revised Shannon Wallace mysteries will probably be out next month. At least the first book. I have retitled Avenging Angel to Deadly Array, and am very excited. The editor that has been working with me is top notch. She found things that THREE other editors didn't find. Just so you know, errors can and will make it into the printed version.

I am still struggling with my "new life". In case you do not follow me, my husband has cancer. There, I said it. I am doing many many things that I never thought I would have to do, and one of those is looking for a second job. It would be so much easier for me to just find ONE that paid more money, but I need the benefits that my one poorly paid job offers, so...there's that.

Maybe one day I will post the whole story. Maybe it will be an ebook one day. Hah! Maybe it will be a Lifetime movie. But for now, it's just my "new life" and I am bearing the burden.

Money is very tight because he cannot work so if you have a few bucks you are not in need of, please consider supporting us by buying a short story or book. And thanks for your prayers, folks. They are always needed and appreciated.

Straying from the normal

I have written in almost every genre. Fantasy, mystery, romance, and a little bit of in-between--leaning toward horror. But there is one thing I always said I would never write.

Sci fi.

I know, right?

I just didn't care for it. I loved sci fi movies, but books just left me dry. I didn't have enough of a science background to know when it rang true or was baloney-sauce. So I mostly left sci fi to those who are aficionados. Give me good old
Southern fiction any day. Throw in a murder or a ghost, well, I'm yours forever.

Then I got a wild hair and wrote what passed for sci fi in a short piece. I submitted it. They liked it and wanted to put it in an anthology. Well, punch me and call me Judy. They LIKED it! William Faulkner is rolling over in his grave about now.

Just hold up there, old Bill. I am hot on the trail of something new. Sci fi. And not just sci fi, the old dry pie. I mean space opera stuff. I know you fellers are all about mystery and suspense and thriller, but that all can be inserted in this type of sci fi. In fact, it is a prerequisite. You have to have drama and high stakes. Somebody might get "insert space gear name here" to death. They might have a spaceship collision. What if a planet exploded?

Yeah, man. I am on the hoof now, outlining and plotting a blockbuster. I am so excited, I can hardly wait to share it.

Coming Home, original flash fiction

Well, I know I know. I have been missing on the blog AGAIN. But I promise it is for a good reason. I am writing, you see. It is imperative that a writer writes, or they lose the right to call themselves a writer. Okay, that was a lot of right/write stuff, but you get my meaning. So, because I made you wait so long for a post from me, I am going to treat you with a flash fiction I wrote as an exercise. It is not complete, but writers sometimes keep adding bits and pieces to their work to make it better. I suspect this one will be that way. Maybe you'd like to help me finish it? What do you see happening next?

by Kim Smith, copyright 2015

Coming Home
by Kim Smith

Coming home is like breathing in a dust storm. You can do it, but you might die, and if you don’t do it, you will certainly die.

My return pulled at me like so many hands plucking my sleeve. Memories engulfed me. Surviving this visit would be hard, but that didn’t stop me from climbing off the train in Memphis. The familiar scenery hit me like a blues song. Coming home, being alone, feeling gone, all done.

The acrid scent of hot pavement, and roses wafted up. Crepe myrtles in fiery array all down Riverside Drive greeted me, and I looked up to see people on the bluffs enjoying the sights and sun. I joined them for a little while, sitting and waiting for that glimmer of hope that happened at the end of every day when you live near water. The hope called sunset, hope of a better tomorrow.

Sunsets over the Mississippi River is all gold and red and orange, and when the shadows fall and darkness swamps the whole area, a sojourner could feel lost. Loss of bearings, loss of self-lost forever in what might have been, not what had been, for what had been had done its worst and moved on. I moved on too, down the cobblestones slanting down to the river and my past.

Beale Street was the same as ever. Music spilled out of each doorway like a private concert being played just for me as I passed. The sounds of broken conversations, the tinkle of beer mugs being passed about, all created a symphony of sound that made me want to go inside.

But I didn’t. I kept moving. My heartbreak like a guitar strung around my neck, hanging useless waiting to be picked up and turned into life again.

When I arrived at Meemaw’s house, I knew coming home was just the period at the end of a sentence with no meaning. I had to come here. The old place brought tears to my eyes and washed away some of the misery inside my heart. The ramshackle building hosted a long well-used porch, complete with porch swing, now aloof and lonely. Maybe being here would fill the emptiness that traveling had not. Maybe my loss would find company here.

Out back, I could hear Pappy scraping food from a plate into the dog’s pan. The old flea-ridden Beagle shook her whole body as she waited happily, anticipating the morsels he’d put there. He straightened and saw me.

I greeted him and was embraced with a toothless smile. A welcome home. A “so sorry it has to be this way”. He didn’t have to tell me. He felt the loss as much as I did. No matter how far away I’d roam, I’d never forget the tears filling his eyes as he spoke of her.

We went into the living room where the worn out flowered sofa sat looking forlorn as if it wanted Meemaw to come and lie on it again. I knew I did. Pappy did. The place was never going to be the same without her.

Coming home was as bittersweet as missing the last piece of Meemaw’s best chocolate pie. But being home was as twice as welcome. I was home. Home was where life began.

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Kim Smith has more freebies for you on her website, http://www.kimsmithauthor.com