Fiction and Other Sundries

They were terrified of losing me, my seven husbands.  And they hated me, oh yes, for reflecting their ugliness; when my hand lingered too long next to one of theirs, and their gnarled limbs left bruises on my pale skin.

With her eyes closed, Eve lifted the money to her nose and inhaled.    The fresh crisp glue-smell of new money mingled with the stale salt of older bills.  She pictured Sylvia in the passenger seat of a car, maybe a convertible with the top down.  She drove, and they flew along the highway west, racing the sun to a lighter sky.

This is an excerpt from my novel The Beekeeper's Son, a semi-finalist in the 2008 Faulkner-Wisdom Novel In Progress competition.

From a distance, it will be nothing but a glitter of caught candlelight on the Prince's wrist.  That is the beauty of embroidery: it is a thousand little secrets laid out in full view and somehow still untold.

An excerpt from a work in progress.