Hi All, I missed last week becasue I was traveling and my laptop died. It didn’t owe me a dime but it was annoying as hell. On a brighter note Both Ends of the Whip will be released May 7th and I’ve got a new snippet this week. Sending all of you positvie vibes.
From Both Ends of the Whip:
“I’m not sure why you had to find the only mud puddle in the whole field and roll in it.” Octavia brushed the mud from Max’s coat. She ducked under the crossties to work on his other side.
“Do you always talk to them?”
The brush clattered on the floor. Octavia bent to pick it up, one hand on the horse to steady him. “Only when I think I’m alone.”
Vivian laughed. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
“It’s okay.” She worked the brush over Max’s side and flank.
Vivian picked up a brush and worked his other side. “I’ve missed this.”
“Grooming the horses?”
“Spending time with them, yes. I’ve neglected them.” She patted Max’s shoulder. “But that’s going to change.”
“What happened?” Octavia placed her brush in the grooming box. She stepped around the horse. She looked into Vivian’s eyes. Sadness. Grief. Regret. Pain. So much sorrow. “Did you fall?” She gestured to Vivian’s leg. “I noticed your scar.”
“No.” Vivian looked away. “I haven’t had the desire. It was something I always did with my wife. Between assignments.” She stopped brushing Max and held the brush to her chest.
Married. She was married. Damn.“Breakups suck.”
Vivian raised her eyes and met Octavia’s gaze. “She died three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Octavia’s cheeks grew hot. “I’m sorry.”
Vivian sighed and placed the brush on the bench. She sat down next to it and looked straight ahead, avoiding Octavia’s eyes, her cool mask back in place. “I don’t tell people. I hate the pity in their eyes when they find out.” She rested her chin on her chest. “Or looks of disapproval. People have a right to know what’s going on, to read and see the truth about conflicts, not the sanitized version big media wants to tell.” Her voice was a fierce whisper. “Miriam died doing what she—” Vivian’s voice cracked. “What we believed in.”
Brenda Murphy writes short fiction and novels. She loves tattoos and sideshows and yes, those are her monkeys. When she is not loitering at her local tea shop and writing, she wrangles two kids, one dog, and an unrepentant parrot. She reviews books, blogs about life as a writer with ADHD and publishes photographs on her blog Writing While Distracted.
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