Tuesday, 29 January 2019
"The grass is growing at last and the horses are nibbling its fresh, brilliant-green blades. Just Eagle and Bullet are home at my farm. Rose and Speed are back at the racetrack where optimism and spirits run high as a new season of thoroughbred horse-racing begins. I miss them, but I'm looking forward to seeing them train and race.
Instead of leaning on the oak-rail fence watching and listening, I could be packing to leave for a vacation with William. But we had our first passionate disagreement this morning and there's a residual shiver tingling along my spine: like an aftershock. He told me that he got a fantastic deal on a last-minute booking. He bought a short vacation at a resort in Cuba for both of us, as a surprise. But it was more like a bolt out of the blue for me. And the surprise for him is that I'm not going."
Wish me luck as I work on the slow and careful process of editing over 80,000 words! Don't feel sorry for me though - I enjoy all aspects of writing a novel, including editing!
And I love to write short stories. I have posted two more which I wrote to share at recent Uxbridge Writers' Circle uxbridgewriterscircle.blogspot.ca meetings. You can find them here:Short Stories
And if you still haven't read the first two books in the Meg Sheppard Mystery Series, they are available at Blue Heron Books in Uxbridge and at Books Galore in Port Perry, and as e-books at all your favourite e-book retailers!
Tuesday, 15 January 2019
Jorge said he wasn't coming back until I learned how to be a better wife. The Trouble was, I didn't know what that meant. I'd been raised by my Uncle Edwin, Earl of Cavendish, who had so many servants I didn't have to lift a finger.
Breakfast was served on silver platters and in heated silver dishes with ornate knobs, lined up neatly on the sideboard. I had no idea how the food was prepared.
My dresses were made for me. I knew you had to pin and then baste and then sew, but how - I had no clue.
Then came the war. And the London Blitz. The large mansion was many of the victims of incendiary bombs. Uncle Edwin believed that his home wasn't near any of the key targets, so we wouldn't get bombed. But we did.
The Germans bombed everything, it seemed to me. Devastation everywhere.
Uncle Edwin was sitting in his favourite armchair when the bombers came. I had gone to the air-raid shelter with the servants. Jorge was the chauffeur. We struck up a friendship which, a year later, led to marriage.
But the adjustment to living in a small, damp cottage, albeit in the beautiful Cotswolds, was too much. I had no clue how to be a housewife and look after the cottage, and feed my husband, and darn his socks.
So, I left before Jorge had the chance.
That's when I believe my life really began.
Vicky Earle Copyright 2019