I’ve majorly revised “The Widow’s Granddaughter,” a short story (about 12,000 words) I wrote a few years ago.

This is the story of Marietta, a pretty, young woman who has had one bad relationship after another, starting with her parents. Fortunately, they were gone for most of her life. She grew up living with her grandparents. Having returned home, she now finds her life taking a turn for the better, after she seduces a man as a bribe to help her grandmother.

I’m releasing it as a free downloadable eBook:

• Click here for PDF format.
• Click here for ePub format.
• Click here for Mobi/Kindle format.

-TimK

P.S. Note: the official page for the eStory is over at my eBooks blog. That post has the same links as above, but if you liked the story, please comment over there! I’d love to hear about what you thought of it.

My Facebook friends gave me a number of possible answers, but nothing really hit home, this past Saturday morning in synagogue when we read a selection from First Samuel chapter 1. Suddenly, my heart lit up, as if God had spoken to me through this account. As a Christian, this was a a message I could particularly identify with.

It inspired me to write a short-short story based on 1 Samuel 1:1-20, entitled “Baby Boy,” involving a character from the Abe’s Turn universe (because I know these characters already, and I wanted to use a deep character for this story). I also included in it the wonderful storytelling style I’ve admired in Jewish tradition. I posted it on on my stories blog. Click here to read it now.

This book might appeal to you if you enjoy deep characters that challenge your preconceptions, if you are fascinated by the human psyche, if you believe in happy endings, if you prefer stories that are easy to read (rather than those that are literary masterpieces), if you accept people the way they are but wish they wouldn’t be so dysfunctional.

The working title is People Stories: An eclectic collection of short stories and other works. I’m still throwing together ideas for the book, but the contents would probably include:

• An expanded version of “Love Through the Eyes of an Idiot”, the true story of how I met the love of my life
• Biographical stories and anecdotes
• “Relapse, Recovery, Relationship,” a short story about the aftermath of sexual abuse, previously published in The Conscience of Abe’s Turn, book 1
• Rewritten and expanded versions of other stories I’ve written, like “Pine” and “The Widow’s Granddaughter.”
• Brand new stories, written especially for this collection.
• Flash fiction, character sketches, and slices of life, such as “On the Beach,” “Abigail White,” and “Running”
• A few short poems, such as “A Tribute to Lorelai,” inspired by the parallels between Gilmore Girls and a dysfunctional employment situation
• At least one “Carolyn and Amanda” story, just for fun

The idea is to assemble 350 pages of the kind of character-driven creative writing that I have made a specialty.

So, my question to you is: If this book concept appeals to you, leave a comment below, and on a scale of 1 to 3, let me know how much it interests you:

1 – Yeah, it sounds like it might be interesting.
2 – Sounds pretty cool. I’d buy a copy.
3 – OMG! I need to read this yesterday! What’s taking so long?!

Enjoy!
-TimK

P.S. If you came here through a “Friday Snippets” meme link, expecting another chapter of The Conscience of Abe’s Turn, I am still posting these at the Abe’s Turn site. Click here to read the latest episode..

Pine

Each morning Jace walked by her house on his way to school. Each afternoon he passed it on his way home. Sometimes, he would also pass at other times. Occasionally he would catch a glimpse of the bright-faced girl with wavy blonde locks. She sat under the two conifers that towered overhead. But as far as he knew, she never noticed him.

The house itself, a grey Stick Victorian with brown trim, spoke of a happy family. Its expansive porch took a jaunt through the sweet-scented yellows and reds of the flower garden. Little gabled alcoves jutted into the world, embraced by the overall form of the structure, as if its gables were parents looking after their offspring. A squat wall of white stone stood before this all, making up in intensity what it lacked in stature, a formidable protector to all within.

But the trees were even more special, for under these Jennifer would read. Or sometimes she would just be sitting quietly or humming softly a tune Jace didn’t recognize. Jace paid her no heed, or else she might see his admiration. But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her shapely form, and he fought to keep breathing. And in his imagination, he felt the softness of her pink cashmere sweater in his delicate hands. He felt her fingers running through his thick, dark hair. Her chocolate eyes and his ordinary brown ones got lost in each other. Perhaps his finger stroked the line of her eyebrow, following her face around softly-curved cheek and jaw, finally resting under her chin.

But Jace said nothing, made no motion out of the ordinary. He merely continued walking, as nonchalantly as possible for a big-footed, lanky teen in a grey tee and worn khakis.

Jennifer walked into second-period Algebra wearing a close-fitting, short-sleeved salmon top and jeans. Jace looked up to see her nonchalantly flip her hair over her shoulder, sending a scented breeze wafting over his face.

In fifth-period study hall, Jennifer read. Jace took out a pencil and sketchbook, and he drew. From his seat two rows behind hers, Jace filled a page with sketches. At one point, Jennifer peered in his direction. Jace quickly buried himself in the papers on his desk. It was only partially an act. From his mental snapshot, he saw dark eyes, sultry, staring at him, which with talent and skill he transferred to the page.

In sixth-period English class, Jennifer sat at the desk directly in front of Jace. At one point, she turned to him. “I broke my pencil. Do you have an extra I could borrow?”

“Yeah.” He always carried surplus sharp pencils. Jace handed one to her.

The bell rang signaling the end of the day. As Jace started his walk home, Jennifer caught up to him.

“Jace!” She proffered the borrowed pencil. “Here’s your pencil. Thanks.”

He took it, but just for a moment, she held on to the pencil, would not release her grip, and Jace wondered whether she wanted to keep it. As far as he was concerned, she could. It was only a pencil.

“You were really a life-saver,” she said.

“It was no big deal,” Jace replied. It was only a pencil; he had only saved her a trip to the pencil sharpener.

“Well, thanks anyway.”

They talked as they walked, mostly trivia–school, the weather, the ball game–until they reached Jennifer’s house.

“Well, this is me,” she said.

Jace said nothing.

“Can I show you something?”

Jennifer led him up the path and under the tall trees.

“This is one of my favorite spots,” she said.

The shade was cool, and the air smelled of pine. Birds sung through a light breeze, which gently vibrated the branches in an awkward motion Jace could never figure out. Jennifer leaned against one of the trees.

“Sometimes I imagine standing under these trees and getting kissed by a boy I really like.” She giggled coyly. “It’s just a silly fantasy.”

She rubbed her foot through the blanket of needles underneath. Then her gaze met his.

“I guess everyone has silly fantasies like that sometimes.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I’d love to see some of your drawings,” she said.

“Huh?”

“I saw you drawing a picture one time. It was pretty good. It looked like you did it a lot.”

Jace was mortified. “Um, yeah, I guess I do.”

“Sorry,” she said. “You don’t have to if you don’t want.”

He pulled from his book bag a sketchpad. “Here,” he said, and handed it to her.

They sat next to each other under the trees, and she opened the first page to reveal a rough rendering of a house. On the next page some neighborhood kids played at the playground down the street. Then came a local road with cars, a bicycle and rider, someone working in an office.

She turned the page again, and saw as if she were looking into a mirror. But the face looking back at her was beautiful, suave, womanly, yet still young. It was the face of a supermodel, but not fake like supermodels can be; it was a real person, of flesh and blood and graphite.

“Oh my.”

Jace tensed and his heart beat faster.

Jennifer swallowed. “This is really good.”

“Thanks.”

The page after that was a collage of Jennifer. She was cute, sophisticated, sexy, humble, studious, and numerous other qualities for which there are no words.

Jace panicked. “Sorry.” He fumbled with words. “I didn’t, uh, mean to, um, stalk you– or anything.”

Jennifer didn’t look angry or scared as she looked him in the eye. She took a breath. “Will you kiss me?”

Jace froze, like a deer mesmerized by a pair of headlights.

As if in a dream he touched his lips to hers, soft and full. She smelled good. He put his arm around her, and his hand passed over the strap of her bra. Her body was warm and there. She put her hand on his leg.

A moment later, he counted her eyelashes. He touched his thumb to her eyebrow and traced it around, and Jennifer snuggled her cheek into Jace’s palm. Her skin was soft. It was smooth. And she looked happy.

“I like you, Jace,” she managed. Then, with a lost smile, “I wish I wasn’t moving.”

“You’re moving?”

“Yes, to Seattle.”

“That’s pretty far,” he said.

“Yes, it is.”

“It sure is.”

“Can you sit with me for a little while?”

The next day, Jace had to walk on the grass as he passed by the house, because the green and white moving van was taking up the whole sidewalk. He hoped to catch a glimpse of Jennifer, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Now when Jace walks by the house, he sometimes sees two young children playing in the yard. Jace has Jennifer’s new address, and they’ve exchanged one or two letters. But he doesn’t know whether he’ll ever see her again. He figures, even if you’re an artist, sometimes you draw dead. Still he imagines he sees Jennifer sitting under the pines, reading or humming softly a tune Jace doesn’t know.

Other Friday Snippets

The way Friday Snippets works is that fiction authors can leave a link to their own snippet on others’ blog posts that are part of the meme. Many of the participating writers are using one of Mister Linky’s Autolink Widgets to streamline this process. See “Friday Snippets” at Holly Lisle’s blog for more information.