Search results for ‘i give you my body’

Social Media Hashtags: #DailyLInes, #SevenStonesToStandOrFall, #collectionofnovellas, #anovellaisashortnovel, #AFUGITIVEGREEN, #HalAndMinnie, #AFugitiveGreenisaLONGNovella, #insideSevenStones, #availableinbookstoresnearyou, #oronlinewhicheveryoulike After a time, Hal got up and wandered down the hall to the nook he’d taken over as his study. It was cramped as an eggshell, but he didn’t need much space—and the close confines seemed to help him think better, shutting out some of the outside world. He plucked a quill from the jar and bit it absently, tasting the bitter tang of dried ink. He should cut a new one, but couldn’t summon up the energy to find his pen-knife, and after all, what did it matter? John wouldn’t mind a few blots. Paper… there was a half-quire of the parchment sheets he’d used to reply to the expressions of sympathy about Esmè. They’d come in by the bushelful—unlike the spatter of embarrassed notes that had followed his father’s suicide three years before. He’d written the replies himself, in spite of his mother’s offer to help. He’d been filled with something like the electric fluid […]

(Themes of the Outlander Novels) Books don’t write themselves, as anyone who’s ever tried to write one can tell you. And if there is a secret to writing anything—fiction, non-fiction, TV scripts, greeting cards, poetry or epitaphs—it’s this: The only way to write is one word at a time. This is either reassuring or Absolutely Horrifying, depending how to you look at it, but it’s the truth. But, as anyone who writes books can also tell you, books do have a mind and a voice of their own. And a successful book is one that talks to the reader. The interesting thing is that they talk to the writer, too. (Some writers suffer from the notion that they are in charge. Maybe they know something I don’t.) If you’ve ever been exposed to High School English classes, you’ve doubtless been forced to discern and explicate the theme of a novel. This is ungodly boring, but possibly helpful to those who’ve never heard of a theme before. (Frankly, my opinion is […]

On March 6th, 1988, I started writing a book for practice. That turned out to be OUTLANDER, and now look where we are….! So in honor of the occasion <cough>, here is (what I think will be) Roger’s first scene from BEES… Social Media Hashtags: #DailyLines, #GoTELLTheBEESThatIAmGone, #BookNine, #Nopenopenopitynopenopenope, #Illtellyouwhenitsdone, #InHonorOf30YEARSDoingThisStuff, #RogerWakesUpInANewOldPlace, #MinorSpoilers Sheer exhaustion made Roger sleep like the dead, in spite of the fact that the MacKenzies’ bed consisted of two ragged quilts that Amy Higgins had hastily dragged out of her piecework bag, these laid over a week’s worth of the Higginses’ dirty laundry, and the MacKenzies’ outer clothing as blankets. It was a warm bed, though, with the heat of the smoored fire on one side, and the body heat of two children and a snuggly wife on the other, and he fell into sleep like a man falling down a well, with time for no more than the briefest prayer—though a profound one-—of gratitude. We made it. Thanks. He woke to darkness and the smell [&hellip;]

From Friday, November 24, 2017 (The Day After Thanksgiving): I finished carving and scavenging the turkey carcass around 1:30 a.m. last night. (Not that I was working all the time up to then. <g> The festivities wound down around 5:30 p.m., and everyone subsided into a digestive meditation, emerging periodically for a piece of pie or a handful of Moose Munch. Everybody fell asleep around 9 p.m., including me and the dogs.) Below is a new Excerpt (“Daily Lines”) from GO TELL THE BEES THAT I AM GONE, nicknamed “BEES,” the ninth book in my Outlander series of major novels. I am currently writing and doing research for BEES. Happy Holidays! -Diana Please note that the Excerpt below may contain SPOILERS… Social Media Hashtags: #DailyLines, #ForThanksgiving, #FamilyAndFood, #NoFootball, #BriannaAndJamie, #AHuntingWeWillGo It was a steep climb, and she found herself puffing, sweat starting to purl behind her ears in spite of the cool day. Her father climbed, as ever, like a mountain goat, without the slightest appearance of strain, but—to her [&hellip;]

Social Media Hashtags: #DailyLines, #GoTELLTheBEESThatIAmGONE, #BookNine, #Noitsnotfinished, #nowherenear, #maybelate2018, #maybenot, #whoknows, #gowatchtheshow I was startled from a solid sleep by Jamie exploding out of bed beside me. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but as usual, it left me sitting bolt upright amid the quilts, dry-mouthed and completely dazed, heart hammering like a drill-press. He was already down the stairs; I heard the thump of his bare feet on the last few treads—and above that sound, frenzied pounding on the front door. A ripple of unrest spread through the house: rustling bedclothes, sleepy voices, opening doors. I shook my head violently and flung off the covers. Him or me? was the first coherent thought that formed out of the fog drifting through my brain. Night alarms like this might be news of violence or misadventure, and sometimes of a nature that required all hands, like a house fire or someone having unexpectedly met with a hunting panther at a spring. More often, though… I heard Jamie’s voice, and the panic left [&hellip;]