I've been sharing bits of my work as I go along via the #wordplaywednesday hashtag on Twitter, so for today's snippets post, I thought I'd collect them in one place for the benefit of non-Twitterers. (If you'd like to see the original tweets, you can click here.) These represent the last three months of work:
Sandy McAllister turned his head toward Horner slowly. His look seemed to say he might have found it possible to resent Horner's tone, if he had not found it more interesting to remain unruffled and see what he would do next.
Britt knew that people must talk. No incident is ever closed until it has been discussed and re-hashed and everyone has decided for themselves exactly what it meant.
"I feel I don't know myself at all, or know my own mind, and I thought I did. It's like walking in the dark, and not even knowing whether you're in danger of falling."
There was silence for a few seconds, the sun beating down in the dust outside the shed; a meadowlark singing somewhere far out in the fields. "So you see," said Britt, "they were all right about me—they just found it out a little late."
In the very hour that she had stepped forward forever into a new chapter of womanhood, only the exuberance of childhood seemed adequate to express her happiness.
No one wanted to speak; they did not feel inclined to quarrel at breakfast, yet none of them had swayed a whit from the convictions that had splintered them apart the day before.
Britt looked steadily back at her, understanding, with the perception that sometimes comes with heightened moments; but he still cut his words crisp for Lavinia Fullerton's benefit.
(P.S. - Look out for the beginning of my summer blog serial, "Skirmish at McKendrick's," on Wednesday the 8th!)