Saturday, January 13, 2018

"The Golden Bracelet"




Another tidbit from my novel!



"Robert pursed his lips, saying nothing as he strode over to the water pump. He grabbed the bar of soap left in a bucket and began scrubbing at his hands. Tomlinson stood in silence as his friend tried to scour away his anger. Finally, Robert lifted the lever a few times and let the cool well water ride through his fingers. His huge hands cupped and scooped the fluid over his head, face, and neck as he tried to cleanse away the wrath he felt. When he turned back to Tomlinson, a calm expression dripped through the rivulets, but his eyes burned with fury. Tomlinson admired Robert's ability to clamp down his rage."


Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman



Thursday, January 11, 2018

"The Golden Bracelet"

A snippet today from my novel! If you want more, just click on the link!

 

CHAPTER ONE


March 1908

         Five times she stood on the front porch.
         The first time, she squinted her hazel eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun that stabbed through the west bank of live oaks. The second time, the trees stood like black sentries against a bleeding sunset. By the third time, her fretting hands twisted the dish rag as the hush of dusk descended across the farm. Behind her floated the muted voices of her sons. Far in the distance, the howl of their shepherd, Ranger, carried on the whispering breeze. The hair on her arms pricked to attention as the dog’s howl mutated into insistent barking.
         “Mom?”
         She didn’t shift her gaze from the far field when her eldest son, Lewis, stood next to her. Instead, she cocked her head to listen again for Ranger’s far-off yelp.
         “He’s found her.” The certainty of her words belied the fear wrenching her heart. “Get your brothers and the wagon.” Peering into the gray shadows, she continued with instructions. “Take lanterns and blankets. Water. She’ll need water.”
         The fourth time she stood on the front porch, she wrapped herself within the blanket of early evening. Her eyes picked out pinpricks of light playing hide-n-seek among the stalwart trees.
         The final time, her legs shook uncontrollably that she gripped the porch banister for support. Her stomach pitched, and she fought back bile as it pressed up her throat. In the wagon lay her beautiful daughter, deathly pale in a golden halo of lantern light.
         “She’s alive.”








Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman 


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Monday, January 8, 2018

"The American Dream"

         My son, an artist, struggles daily to build his business. He spends his days in a blend of sharpening his skills using a variety of art programs while searching for potential clients. One of his oldest goals, designing art for clothing, started when he was twelve and custom-made t-shirts for friends. A few weeks ago, he stumbled upon a new local business that can meet his needs for placing larger pieces of art onto articles of clothing. Yesterday, he picked up the first order from this company: a t-shirt, two hoodies, and a pair of joggers that carry his logo plus some original art. Before he made it out of the store, he knew he will need to experiment with a wider variety of items see how his concepts will translate onto things like hats, totes and purses.
         With that new goal in mind, we ran to a Wal-Mart across the street from the mall in search of a black cross-shoulder tote that would be perfect for advertising the different patches my son wants to offer. We had no luck, and as we crossed the parking lot to our car, a young man stopped my husband and asked if he had a screwdriver. His battered, older model Ford van wouldn’t start. My husband pulled a small tool kit from the trunk of our car, and the two men began trying to fix the vehicle while my son and I chatted with the woman and her four-year-old daughter. Eventually, my husband pulled our car around to jump their battery, but the van never started. Another passerby suggested that the jumper cables (provided by the van owner) looked pretty old. He volunteered to purchase new cables while inside the store, saying he’d help the family if they were still stranded once he finished his shopping. The van’s owner suggested that we head on our way since we’d already been helping him for so long.
         As we drove out of the parking lot, an even younger man stood near the stop sign, holding a battered HOMELESS cardboard sign in his hands. As we rarely carry cash with us, we only had a few quarters to pass on to him. His eyes filled with gratitude.
         The juxtaposition of dreams and reality punched me in the gut as we sped down the highway. My son’s aspirations to own his own business and support himself through his creativity contrasted sharply to the stranded couple and homeless teen. I found myself wondering about the dreams these other people might have had before Life wore them down.

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman