A snippet, a link and a thought or two

Before we get to the snippet, my apologies for not posting it yesterday. Real life interfered until I forgot to do it. So, I’m playing catch up now. As with all snippets, this is the rough draft. There may be spelling, grammar or punctuation errors. There is a possibility the scene may — and probably will — change during edits. Finally, this is my work and can’t be used without my permission. 

Rattling Chains (or Rattle Them Chains — not sure which yet) Snippet 1

“Lexie, I swear your mama’s never going to learn.”

I looked across the kitchen table to where my best friend, Amy Duchamp, sat and sighed. A good daughter would disagree with her. A good daughter would come to her mother’s defense. A good daughter would point out how much her mama had to overcome. But even good daughters would find it hard to deny what Amy said because it was, as they’d say in those courtroom dramas Mama loved so much, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Besides, Mama would be the first to tell you I’m not a good daughter. Closer to thirty than twenty, I hadn’t fulfilled Mama’s dream of me being hit by a bus so a rich, single doctor could not only save my life but marry me as well. Well, to be completely honest about it, I had been hit by a bus, almost, but there’d been no handsome doctor or marriage proposal. In fact, I hadn’t even gotten married. 

If that wasn’t bad enough in Mama’s eyes, I’d thwarted her plans of moving in with me once I left the family home by renting a small house that didn’t allow roommates other than spouses. Let me tell you, such a place is almost impossible to find in Mossy Creek, Texas. Fortunately for me, and something I’d never tell my mother, the landlord knew Mama all too well. The day I rented the house, he asked if I wanted the “no roommates” provision added to my lease agreement. Not only had I quickly said “yes”, I’d been relieved to learn less than twenty-four hours later that he made sure to let Mama know when he ran into her at church.

Mossy Creek might be strange, and that really is putting it mildly, but we did tend to look out for our own.

That might have solved one potential problem. Unfortunately, my family is decidedly not normal and that’s saying a lot when it comes to Mossy Creek. When folks talk about coming from the wrong side of the tracks here, they aren’t talking about your social status or how much money you have. They are, however, talking about whether or not you’re an Other. For years, long before our existence became common knowledge to the world-at-large, Others gathered in Mossy Creek. Most folk here don’t care one bit whether you are an Other or normal as long as you’re a good person. But there are some, like Mama and her family, who’d prefer it if those different from them didn’t exist. 

Which is yet another reason Mama and I have been at odds for for more than five years. I probably hadn’t helped things by tossing fireballs at her car when she pushed me too far. My only excuse is that, until then, I hadn’t realized I was an Other. I certainly didn’t know I could call fire and throw it at someone as easily as I could throw a softball. 

Unfortunately, the episode only confirmed something Mama always suspected. I was too much like my daddy’s side of the family. In her version of reality, I was going to end up rotting in Hell. Until then, I was an embarrassment she’d just as soon not deal with — unless it suited her needs. 

Of course, Mama being Mama, she wasn’t wishing me dead. Far from it. In fact, she probably prayed I enjoyed a long, long life. No, it wasn’t through any sort of maternal instinct or love for her youngest daughter. It was the cold reality that, if I were to die, I’d probably just return home like the rest of the family had for fifteen years and then some.

That’s right. Our dearly departed aren’t so departed. No, they don’t come back as zombies or vampires or any of the other Hollywood monsters we’re all so familiar with. I’m not really sure what you’d call them except “returned”. They died. They were buried. Usually, within a day or two, they returned to the family homestead on the outskirts of town, wearing the clothes they’d been buried in. At least the undertakers now understood why we insisted on buying them with their shoes on.

Look for this short novel next month.

In other news, I have two other blog posts you might be interested in. The first, published yesterday over at Mad Genius Club, looks at a post that appeared at Forbes suggesting Amazon replace local libraries. Needless to say, I wasn’t impressed with the reasoning. The second is a post that went live this morning at Victory Girls Blog. It’s my take on the Trump-Cohen tape “leaked” to CNN by Michael Cohen’s attorney, former special counsel to Bill Clinton during his impeachment days, Lanny Davis.

Finally, I’ll be revealing the proposed cover for Chains later today. I really, really like it.

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