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I've got NOTHING going on in the later stages of writing OR editing.
I'm copying a random 10 lines from my TWELVE YEAR OLD MANUSCRIPT of Love's Pardon, the 3rd installment in my Means of Mercy series, which is scheduled for a Jan 2016 release with Roane Publishing.
Laugh away. This was years before I knew a thing about novel writing. Before I met my beta buds over at Scribophile. YEARS ago before I got even a flash piece accepted for publication.
Honest to GOD - I haven't opened this document for ages. I'm going to copy & paste the first ten lines without editing. Promise.
I finished reading and slowly refolded Ma’s letter. She hadn’t needed to beg forgiveness from me. I wouldn’t ever old it against her. I thought that if I’d been forced to eat from her plate I’d have done the same thing. Only I wouldn’t have forgiven that piece of horse dung that fathered me.
The contents of Ma’s trunk on the braided rag rug beside me were forgotten as I leaned against my bedstead and looked out the window at the wide expanse of sky. My first memories of the stone house I’d grown up in were of me sitting on a bearskin rug by the fireplace playing with the wooden horse Pa had carved for me.
I remember clear as day sitting on top of his broad shoulders and watching the new ponies playing in the corral. I remember following after him as he did the chores in the morning and evening, eventually learning how to milk the cows and fork hay from the loft by myself. Best of all, he’d taught me how to ride a horse and rope and brand calves. He was the man who’d always tousled my hair and sent me scurrying off to bed with words of edification and love. Ma had written that Jude Connagher wasn’t my real father, but he was my Pa.
Ok. So it's 12 lines. Skimmed through and decided a cheat was necessary. ;)