Fiction Friday: Excerpt from Zombie Road. Meet Evelyn.

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By Leslie Lindsay

The holidays are here and it sure is a busy season! Wait–you know that already. I’ve heard that Decemeber is notoriouly bad for agent submissions, so I’ve lightened my load a little by waiting to start the submission process in the new year. 

Let me just say, while that burden has been lifted, it’s still hard getting into the writing groove.  Between planning family visits, the wrapping, shopping, and baking…writing has taken a backseat.  And then those pesky rejections just keep rolling through. It’s not that they are telling me I suck; on the contrary. “It’s a subjective business, and while the writing is good, it just didn’t resonate with me.”

What with all of that going on, plus the hustle and bustle of everything else, this writer gal has been less motivated to crank out much of anything.

Until yesterday.        

Sure, I had to force my fingers to tap on the file that contained my next novel and *not* to peruse Amazon or TinyPrints, or the basset hound gift shop, but they did. And then they got busy…writing this excerpt I’ve about share. While not originally planned, it just kind of came…

“I was given life 163 years ago.  When I was six, it was taken away.  Life is not measured in years, but in the lives we touch.  And I’ve touched many, including yours.  The heavy presence that wedges between your shoulder and ear, a crystal  orb radiating energy causing you to swack at it like you might a fly or gnat, that’s me. I am the wind that soars beneath the door and through the crevices of the window, whispering your name when you are sure no one is there.  In your dreams, I permeate your conscious, an everlasting imprint of our worlds intersecting with you feel you’ve dreamed the dream of your own free will, a collective consciousness left to the unknown.

Let me introduce myself.  I am Evelyn.  I have shoulder-length dishwater blonde hair that runs down my back.  My mother never combs it because I have no mother. It gets washed infrequently; baths are scheduled twice every three weeks, but only once may we have our hair washed.  And when we do, it’s with the ferocity of anger, the steel wool sponge scraping against my skull as I bite my tongue. For these reasons, my hair hangs limply, dirtier than it should be, gnarled with tangles.

With piercing blue eyes I take in the world. Some say they are my best feature.  It isn’t the ears that hang off my head like loose flaps or skin, or the slightly off-center freckle-splayed nose; and certainly not my pigeon-toed feet.  When I smile, you’ll see I am missing my front tooth, normal for my age, but the other teeth are rotten.  But I do have a dimple and that is said to entice many of my charms; I get many return smiles because of that pucker in my cheek.”

[That’s all for now…she goes on to describe a few other things, like her brother…but you’ll learn more as we move forward. Thanks for reading. Remember, this is orginal fiction and not to be taken or shared as your own. Feedback is always welcomed.]

[image source: http://bobbiblogger.wordpress.com/2012/12/08/a-christmas-tree-made-from-books/book-xmas-tree/ retrieved 12.13.13]

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