Summer is here and I'm working on my novel. Okay, summer is here and I should be working on my novel. No wait, summer is here and I'm slowly working on my novel. I'm trying to mesh two versions together and I'm finding I'm actually writing a whole new version. The new one sounds fresher and in Melody's tone of voice (pun intended) and just plain feels right.
My legs are like cream cheese and jam on soft crackers and I need to sit before I fall. So I do, right next to my tree. And the boy stops and kneels down where he is, on a patch of dry leaves. It’s almost September now with a hint of fall coming and suddenly I am chilly with little bumps racing up and down my arms. I hug myself and consider what to say to this boy who is kneeling near me, fixing his hat every two seconds and looking all concerned; this boy who just dropped out of nowhere, or at least out of my beech tree, waiting for me to say something.