From my third Julia book:
Alone in the golf course parking lot, I raised my palms to the sky and watched snowflakes collect on my mittens. The crystals fell in arabesque patterns, gathering in concert to rise like fairytale castles from the dark contours of my palms. They were all the same, I decided. Castles made of sand and snow. They were pretty, but they didn’t last. They never did.
I knew it was a matter of the heart. That this careful construction of imaginary landscapes was a wild, secret thing. Days like today were a sanctuary, a magical world where anything seemed possible but nothing truly was. As I watched the turrets slowly take shape in my hands, I realized that we did this to ourselves. Our searching souls pursued happy endings. And the heart was capable of great and deceiving beauty.
*Copyright: Nicole Baart, 2010
Your turn: Are you working on something right now? A novel, a poem, a simple reflection? Care to share? I'd love to hear a paragraph or even a line... I find the work of my friends inspiring!
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Cool imagery. Makes me miss snow :) And I'm not working on anything now... except "writing living epistles," as Anne Shirley said of her six children. :)
ReplyDeleteThat is lovely, Nicole! Your writing sings to me...sort of like how Barbara Kingslover's writing sings to me. :)
ReplyDeleteAmazing! :) I can't wait for the book to come out. I love how you use imagery and metaphor. It really ties together well.
ReplyDeleteI absolutely adore your writing! One of my oldest and dearest friends buys fiction for a popular Christian bookstore chain, and I am always telling her how much I love your work. I love that you have brought such beautiful, literary art to the world of Christian fiction. It's truly a breath of fresh air!
ReplyDeleteYou guys are so encouraging to me! Thank you so much. What an unexpected blessing... I had a tough day writing today and you've lifted my spirits. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteDo I get to sample any of your work??? ;)
Well...since you winked. ;)
ReplyDeleteHere's something I just revised - the hero hears the heroine playing her piano for the first time:
The evocative music flooded the café. It eddied and churned, splashing the walls with color and depth. It saturated his body, gathered everything into a pinpoint of compression, as if the notes swirled into a marble of dense gravity and lodged itself beneath his solar plexus. Her hands glided over the keys like a choreographed waltz, her hair shining beneath a halo of pendant lighting. Her honest notes brandished a piece of her soul and left a mark on his own.
Glad you found encouragement. :)
Beautiful, Katie! I can see why your book is going to pub board. :)
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