Tidbit Tuesday: Love's Pardon and #NaNo! Who's with me?!?

Since NaNo started yesterday, I'm going to share a smidge from what I'm attempting to rewrite...

Love's Pardon, Means of Mercy #3.

This snippet is from a rough draft written TWELVE years ago, so be kind in your critique. 

This is a letter that Gavin MacKay wrote to his mother while he lay on his deathbed in New York, a letter that Wyatt, his son, finds nineteen years later.

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My dearest mother,

            I know I shall soon draw my last breath, and so I dictate this letter to a

lawyer with great urgency.  How I wish I were home in Scotland… how I wish I could see your face one last time.  I’m sorry for not visiting, but I have something to tell you that should soften the heartache.

            I had a visitor in my hospital room today…it was Anne.  She looked so beautiful, mother… her face was so still and peaceful.  I wanted to drag myself from the bed and fall to my knees to beg her forgiveness for all I had ever said and done, but my selfish bitterness and pride wouldn’t allow it.  I lay there and lashed out at her as I’d done countless times before and I hate myself for it.

            Strangely enough my angry words didn’t offend her.  She’d come to see me with only one thing on her mind.  Anne begged my forgiveness, mother!  How can a heart so misused and abused find mercy enough for a man such as me?  There was no trace of scorn in her soft voice or resentment in her lovely eyes.  There was only compassion.

I’ve always scorned pity, and even more so right then.  My cold-heartedness intensified and my tower of pride refused to be scaled.  Dearest mother, she handed me a picture.  A picture of my son, she said, but I wouldn’t even look at it.  Instead, I accused her of trying to get her hands on my money, knowing full well that wasn’t her true intention.  Anne hadn’t ever cared about my fortune and never would.

            As she turned to leave, I finally looked at the picture she had placed on my chest.  A silent sob filled my throat as I looked at the precious face of the child.  I have a son mother.  I clutched it to me as tears fell onto the pillow beneath my head. Anne left before I had a chance to stop her.

            I called for my lawyer and begged him to find Anne, to tell her that my will will indeed be changed, and to tell her that our son cannot grow without knowing his grandmother.  He will do so once he finishes penning this letter to you.

            I shall never see you again in this life my sweet mother.  I pray that Anne will bring your grandson to Scotland to fill the void my death will undoubtedly bring.  I wish you a long and happy life.  I thank you for mine.  

                                                                        Your loving son,

                                                                        Gavin

~~~oOo~~~

Love's Sorrow & Love's Revenge can both be found over at Roane Publishing.

Who else is attempting NaNo this year?

Best of luck!!!

#TeaserTenth: Love's Pardon #MeansofMercy

#TeaserTenth is a monthly meme for writers, both published and unpublished. It's a great opportunity to meet new folks and showcase what stories you have going on. 

Click on the image for more info / to sign up!

~~~oOo~~~

I've got NOTHING going on in the later stages of writing OR editing.

So.

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.

Anyhoo.

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.

~~~oOo~~~

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.

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Ok. So it's 12 lines. Skimmed through and decided a cheat was necessary.  ;)