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About the book

May 3, 2012 by Kelli

I’ve been hard at work on my book lately. I’m not going to finish it by June, but I’ve got momentum going now so I fully intend to finish by the end of the summer. Want to read a little more?

For some context here is Sneak Peek Part One, Part Two and Part Three. You have now met three out of the five characters. Today I will introduce you to the final two characters. Maria is becoming one of my favorite stories to write and it shouldn’t come as a surprise because her story is based on the story of a woman I knew and loved in Ukraine.

Maria’s story inspired this book.

Fourteen-year-old Maria and her brother, Sergei, are the oldest and the youngest of Ivan, who you met in Sneak Peek Two. Sergei has joined the Red Army and without him, Maria feels lost. Ivan has survived Babi Yar with his life, but emotionally and mentally he is failing. Maria longs for her brother and this passage has become a sweet moment for my characters as Maria escapes to the confines of her memory.

A particular memory keeps folding over me. The bitter, biting cold of January pushes the sun beyond the hill overlooking the Dneiper River earlier each night, and I find myself overcome with this one moment in time. I can’t escape it and so I have given myself to it. The shadows of night make fighting too difficult.

Tonight is no exception.

I’m eight years old again and we’ve gone to our dacha for the summer. The dacha – our happy place. On this particular day I wake up early and tiptoe outside to watch the sun lift up over the small lake settled at the back of our property. My long gown soaks up the morning dew and I shiver against the chill of daybreak.

As I come out of the trees into the clearing, I see him. His back is to me, long and thin, always stretching out and up. I don’t speak but the rustle of my feet in the moist leaves reveals my presence and he turns, his thin face breaking into a smile.

“What are you doing here?” he says and gestures me to come sit.

“I wanted to say good morning to the sun,” I reply and he laughs. I have always loved his laugh and even now, as I listen to it dance through my mind, I feel a smile spread slowly.

“Well, sit,” he says, and together we drop onto the banks of the lake, the rocky soil digging into the backs of our legs. I look at him, my brother, and I am completely at peace.

“Sergei?” I ask.

He turns and looks at me, his thick eyebrows raised. In this memory he is more boy than man. At twelve years old, he didn’t feel that much older, but then Sergei never did feel too old for me. Anna, on the other hand, has always seemed to be light years ahead of me in maturity despite only being two years older.

“What do you want to do when you grow up?” I ask.

Sergei takes in a deep breath and looks back out over the lake. A thin layer of orange and pink is beginning to pull up over the horizon. Daybreak is coming and our solitude will quickly slip away. I find myself wishing then and there that the sun would never rise. If only I could have frozen us on the bank of the lake for all of eternity.

If only…

“Don’t know,” Sergei says with a smile.

“You don’t know?!” I ask incredulously. “How do you not know? It’s very important to know.”

Sergei laughs again. Magic. “Well, I just don’t know yet,” he says with a grin. “Do you know what you want to do when you grow up?”

I open my mouth to answer, then snap it shut. Afraid.

“I don’t want to tell you,” I finally answer and Sergei gives me a gentle push. “See, you don’t know either,” he says with a laugh.

“I do know!” I protest. “But you can’t tell anyone yet.”

Sergei nods. “Okay,” he says and he means it. My Sergei always keeps his promise. Taking a deep breath I lift a small handful of sand and pebbles and toss them into the water, watching as a hundred droplets form rings that pierce the sheer glass of its surface. The strip of orange is getting brighter. Morning dawns.

“I want to join the circus. I want to be an acrobat.” I don’t look at him while I say this and I wait for him to laugh at me. I know I can’t even turn a cartwheel, but I truly believe acrobatics are my destiny.

Sergei is silent for a moment and I fear he is just laughing too hard to answer. Slowly I peek at him, barely turning my head. He isn’t laughing. Instead he stares intently at the rising sun. Now that she has broken the surface of the horizon it seems she is racing toward her perch in the sky. Time sped up – never slowing down.

“Okay,” he says, his eyes narrow and serious.

“Okay, what?” I ask.

“I think you should do it. I think you should plan to join the circus as an acrobat.”

I narrow my own eyes and study his profile seriously. “Are you making fun of me?” I ask evenly.

Sergei turns and looks at me, his eyes a little deeper and different. The sunlight gleams in the dark parts of his eyes swirling with an intensity that I’ve never seen before.

“Masha, you can be whatever you want to be and do whatever you want to do. You’re good and you’re a fighter. I believe you can do it…if you want to.”

We study one another for a quiet moment then he turns to look at the sky again. The colors reach from left to right as far as our eyes can see, vibrant, full and brilliant. The golden orb hangs above, giving forth the heat that will ultimately dry the grass and give way to a day of grace filled memories. I lean gently into my beloved brother and sigh.

“Thank you,” I say with a small smile.

Sergei is quiet briefly before responding. “When I grow up, Masha,” he says softly, “I will make sure that you can do and be whatever you want. That’s what I want to do.”

©Kelli Stuart 2012

Have a great day, friends. I leave tomorrow for Tanzania! Eeeek!

Filed Under: books, Novel, writing Tagged With: Novel, writing

The Pen Hovers

January 3, 2012 by Kelli

My first diary was a soft, red-bound book with tiny bears covering the front and back in orderly rows. It was a thrilling gift for a nine-year-old with serious secrets to keep.

Dear Diary,

Shhhh…don’t tell anyone but I like Brandon D. I think he’s really cute and funny but I don’t want anyone to know. Thanks for keeping my secret safe.

That was the first thing I wrote in my beloved book. I remember penning those words as if the moment had just slipped past. I was serious about liking Brandon D. and I seriously didn’t want anyone to know.

Through the years, that little red book ceased to be merely a Diary for my angsty gossip and soon became the book of my heart felt anguish. In those pages I recorded my struggles with body image and insecurity. My pen hovered gently over each page as I searched for the perfect words to capture my emotions. I remember writing things like, How do I quench the thirst in my soul? and The little leaf flutters to the ground in a dance just as my heartache flutters in haphazard turns and twists.

Clearly I was a bit of a dramatic, yes?

But writing in those pages became a source of comfort for me. It was there that I felt free to shout, to cry, to dance and to sing, all through the flowing rythmn of pen on paper. Writing in that journal was my worship.

Sometime in high school, that little journal was lost, most likely dropped off at a local Goodwill in a mix of discarded books. Perhaps someone picked it up and chuckled at my girlishness and the dramatic ponderings of my youthful heart. Perhaps it was simply tossed into the trash bin. I don’t know what happened to those treasured words, but I do know that a passion ignited inside of me and writing became more than a hobby.

It became my anthem of praise.

I filled the pages of many, many journals as the years progressed. Late nights and early mornings were spent writing the story of me. I penned poetry and songs. I wrote luxurious prose in the times when my soul danced and ravaged, fragmented sentences when the storms rolled in. There were ups and downs and every day, as my pen hovered over the pages, I felt a surge of energy knowing that these words would only be read by One Other.

Somewhere along the way, though, something happened. I think it occurred sometime around the birth of my second child when life got chaotic and crazy and suddenly the pen didn’t hover so freely any more. There were other, more pressing, matters to tend to and the pages of my journal remained blank and untouched.

And I forgot how to praise.

When I began blogging four years ago, I tried to treat this space as a journal of sorts but the truth is, it can’t be that. For one thing, no one would read it because it would be a jumbled mess. Who could possibly read a blogger that said such things as, The quivering ache for freedom doth shake me deeply. *eyeroll*

(Incidentally, as a young girl, I really loved to write a lot of Thee’s and Thou’s in my journal. It made me feel all Jane Eyre…)

But beyond the inner romantic that seeps out of my pen, the simple fact remains that I cannot tap into that worship and praise through my keyboard. To a degree I can, but not the way I used to. I can’t really let loose when I know that other people are reading. I worry too much about what the readers might be thinking. It’s time for that to change. It’s time for me to sit still over a blank sheet of paper and watch for what might flow forth.

It’s time for me to pick up the pen, open the book and make the words dance.

This is my 2012 goal. What are your goals for this fresh new year?

Filed Under: Blogging, Life, Random, writing Tagged With: Blogging, Journaling, writing

Why writing a book is a lot like life

November 17, 2011 by Kelli

I don’t know if I’ve told you, but I’m writing a book. I might have mentioned it once or twice…or a hundred times.

*cough*self-promoter*cough*

The thing is, I really believe in this book. I’ve been working on it a long time…and by long time I mean more than a decade. Oy. I have started and stopped, re-written and tossed. I have had two characters remain at the core of the novel this entire time. They are my friends…at least I think they are. They may hate me since I’ve taken so long to tell their story.

How’s that for deflection? I’ll blame my ficticious characters for my unfinished novel.

This latest draft, however, is The One. You know how people always say you’ll “just know” when you meet the person you’re going to marry? Well, I just knew the second I wrote the first sentence of this version that I had finally tapped into the core of who my characters are.

I found them.

Now, the challenge is to keep them moving and flowing forward in a cohesive manner.

Stephen King, my writing guru, says that when writing a novel you need to get it out as fast as you can. Don’t stop to make edits, don’t get hung up on the details – just write. You can go back later and fill in the holes.

I am finding this very difficult, Mr. King. I see the validity of this and want to follow this advice, but the temptation to edit is powerful. Because, you see, there are some moments in the book that are wonderful. I love how they read and the imagery is powerful and I was obviously in the zone when writing.

There are other moments in the book, however, that are worthy of no more than kindling for a chilly night. The rest of the book falls somewhere in between brilliant and suckalicious.

The problem with having worked on a book this long is I know exactly where I want my characters to go. For the most part. Some of them have already surprised me a bit. But it’s the getting there that is slowing me down. I’m so impatient to get to the exciting part – the part of the story that I know – that I’m frustrated with the journey the characters are taking to get there. I am bogged down in the details.

Life in general is full ofsimilar ups and downs, isn’t it? We have moments of excitement – first day of school, graduation, college, wedding day, birth of a child and so on…We live for these moments and anticipate them never really realizing the journey we take to get to those moments is every bit as important. Those important moments are the peaks and after every peak we must descend for a bit before we reach another milestone.

But don’t we so often find ourselves impatient in the valleys and plateaus of life? We get bored and frustrated. We lose sight of the good of right now and only long and hope for the joy of the next big moment. But we need the valleys and the plateaus. They are, in fact, what builds…character.

It’s the same with writing a book. The journey to the peak of each character’s story is so important, but in the anticipation of the big moment, I am impatient. I’m bogged down in the details and the climb to the big moment feels endless and frustrating.

I just want to get to the good part.

But if I’m willing to relax, take a deep breath and enjoy the process of each step these characters take toward their individual peaks, I may actually learn a little something along the way. And in the end, the story of their lives will reveal so much more beauty through the toil of their climb to the top.

And yes, as I wrote that sentence I totally started singing this song.

*sigh* I’ll bet Stephen King never busts out with Mily Cirus while he’s writing…

Filed Under: Novel, Random, writing Tagged With: character development, Mily Cyrus The Climb, Novel, patience in writing, Stephen King On Writing, the craft of writing, writing

Big Foot, Roman Soldiers and the Voices in my Head

September 27, 2011 by Kelli

It is quiet and I am alone. Three children sleep in their beds, the first time all three have slept in their beds since we moved in.

A new house is scary. There are sounds to fear. And other things…

“Mom, I can’t sleep,” he said, coming out for the four-frillionth time. “I’m too scared!”

“What are you scared of?” I ask…also for the four-frillionth time.

“I was just starting to close my eyes and I imagined I was a Roman soldier being killed…”

That is scary.

After assuring him that he would, indeed, not die the violent death of a Roman solider, and also reiterating once again the fact that Big Foot does not indeed exist, we headed back to his room.

“Big Foot is real!” he protested. “I saw it on TV.”

Yet another reason we did not hook up cable.

“Honey, even if Big Foot were real, he wouldn’t live in Florida. It’s too hot here. And there are no mountains or tall trees for him to hide in. Big Foot lives in Oregon…if he exists…which I don’t think he does.”

Silence.

“But you said bears live in Oregon.” God help the poor child if he ever has to live in Oregon. Don’t worry Oregonians (right?), I didn’t pin monsters on you. I told the kids monsters live in Canada.

S’all good.

“Lay down, babe,” I said, brushing my hand across his silky smooth cheek. Would that I could bottle his skin up…

“Let’s find something you can hold on to while you go to sleep so you don’t have to be scared,” I said, looking around his room.

“I can hold on to you,” he replied grabbing hold of my hand and looking up with ocean blue eyes. And I melted…fast. Knees buckled, a mass of goo, I slid under the covers and held his hand. Five minutes later, he slept. All the lights are still on in his room. Because Big Foot doesn’t like light. If he did, we’d have caught him and there would be no need for a TV show.

And now I sit in an empty, quiet, semi-organized room. I believe I have found my writing zone in this new house. I love this front room. It’s peaceful and happy and I feel inspired here. Last night I stayed up, much too late, writing, for the first time focused on my book. The voices of my characters are swirling and moving again.

I’m going to finish it, friends. It may mean I have to spend a little less time with you and a little more time with the people I want to introduce you to. Bear with me as I find my stride. And in the meantime, if you could all be on the lookout for Big Foot and let me know when and if you find him.

I, on the other hand, will continue to keep the air bed inflated on the floor next to my bed.

Something tells me we’re going to need it for awhile.

Image Credit

Filed Under: Family, Florida, Kids do the darndest things, Novel, Sloan, writing Tagged With: Big Foot, Motherhood, moving, New House Fears, writing

The Day I Talked with Harry Connick Jr.

August 20, 2011 by Kelli

I love my job. Have I ever mentioned that? I get to work from home in my pajamas. I get to work as often or as little as I want. And I get to talk to hunky movie stars on the phone.

How fun is my job?

The best thing that ever happened to me career-wise was joining the team over at 5 Minutes for Mom a few years ago. I love those ladies. They have great hearts, they are the hardest workers I’ve ever known and they share amazing opportunities with the team of writers they’ve put together. It’s an honor to be a part of that and I’m constantly grateful for the chance to further hone my craft, use my journalism a little bit and have experiences I would never have otherwise.

Like next week, when I am flying out to Los Angeles for the premiere of The Lion King: 3D. That is an experience that never would have been possible were it not for the lovely ladies at 5 Minutes for Mom being willing to share the fun with everyone else. (I won’t tell you that I was supposed to go to Bolivia for them earlier this month but had to back out due to the move. I won’t mention that because it still stings a little.)

Anyway, last week I had the opportunity to speak with Harry Connick Jr. and his daughter Kate about their partnership with American Girl benefitting the Ellis Marsalis Center for Music in New Orleans. Here is our conversation.

As parents, we all want to instill a sense of heritage into our children. Whether we’re starting from scratch, hoping to create a new story for our kids or we’re drawing from the past and passing history on to them, we all want to send our offspring into adulthood with a sense of identity.

For Harry Connick Jr., the desire to share his love for the city of his youth and the culture that nurtured him into the man he is today only heightened six years ago when Hurricane Katrina wiped out New Orleans in one fell swoop.

“I think [passing on heritage] is paramount,” Connick says, “and that’s why I take my family to New Orleans regularly. Growing up in New Orleans, the culture was so much a part of the fabric [of life] down there. It was so interwoven into everyday life that you didn’t even think of it as heritage and culture. It was just part of the norm.”

Hop on over to 5 Minutes for Mom to read the rest and find out how you can be a part of the continued work in New Orleans.

Filed Under: Blogging, Random, summer fun, writing Tagged With: 5 Minutes for Mom, career, Ellis Marsalis Center for Music, Harry Connick Jr., Kate Connick, writing

The sliver of light

June 28, 2011 by Kelli

When I arrived home from Cali the other night, it was wickedly late. I stumbled to bed and switched off the lamp that my husband had so thoughtfully left on for me. Though I was tired to my core, sleep was a bit elusive. The impending move out of our house has proven to push my mind over the edge. But there’s more than that. My mind was full of details that began to oppress my already fragile emotions.

As I lay in the darkness, I willed myself to fall asleep. I watched the clock slowly tick the hours away. 1:30. 2:30…I finally started to drift off when I felt the room go from darkness to light instantaneously. I opened my eyes in a bit of a panic to see Lee’s iPad, which was sitting on his bedside table, illuminated. I figured he must get some kind of notification for emails and closed my eyes again. Five minutes later the room lit up again. And I got annoyed. Who emails at 3:00 in the morning?

Then I marveled at how bright the room was from that one tiny light of the screen. Turns out he gets weather notifications and his iPad was warning us of the impending storm that rolled through ten minutes later. But the visual of the light piercing the darkness stuck with me.

As already mentioned, I had a wonderful time in California, but it was hard too. I was processing a lot of emotions. And on top of that, the subject matter of the novel I’m writing is oftentimes hopeless and desperately sad. As I researched the events surrounding World War II, I found myself terribly sad. The darkness of that time is so deep and as I read story after story of heartache, my stomach turned into a tighter and tighter knot. I wondered how I would portray the characters in my novel with any sort of redemption, any sort of hope.

And then I saw it. That one sliver of light that pierced the darkness.

Hope.

As I read the personal accounts of survival during those heinous years of war, I saw a thin trail of Hope. One woman described seeing a tiny sprig of green growing from the frozen ground as she marched to the concentration camp. Why did that small plant stick out in her mind? It was Hope. It was the knowledge that after winter, spring arrives. After death, life springs forth. A sliver of light in the pitch black can illuminate a whole room.

I read an account from a young mother whose infant was killed at birth by her Nazi captivators. And she rejoiced, because a swift death was better than a slow one behind the barbed wires. Did her heart ache? I imagine it tore into a thousand tiny pieces and was never fully reassembled. But she saw the sliver of light and sometimes that’s all we need to guide us through the darkness.

I read story after story like this. Some of them were so horrific, I didn’t see how there could possibly be any hope – any redemption. But many of the stories had a sliver. Enough to give me the emotional strength to keep reading. It was the same when I went to Ukraine nine years ago. I interviewed veteran after veteran and saw so much Hope. They were happy, jovial and so full of light that I wondered how they possibly survived such horror with their spirits in tact. That’s the redemption of so many of their stories. And that spirit is what I hope to capture in my characters.

A blade of green amidst the rubble.

Darkness is repelled by light – even the smallest sliver of it. Sometimes the darkness is still oppressive and the pain remains ever constant, but that tiny bit of Hope is what keeps us going. For me, that tiny sliver of Hope is the thing that keeps me moving forward with this book project. It’s the tiny bit of light in an otherwise very dark story. I am reminding myself to focus on Hope as I continue to research and write. If I don’t, I fear the heartache will become too much.

Filed Under: faith, Novel, writing Tagged With: faith, Hope, Novel, World War II, writing

California

June 25, 2011 by Kelli

Welcome to my new blog design! I decided a couple of months ago that it was time to give this space a little more POP! And Franchesca of Small Bird Designs was the perfect girl for the job. Hasn’t she done a wonderful job?! Hang on, hang on! I need to introduce you to my favorite feature!!!

Watch the header for a minute. Keep watching. Keeeeep watching…

Did you see it?!

Fran sent me numerous templates with different color backgrounds and I just couldn’t make a decision on which color I liked best. So I asked her if she could do all of them in a rolling header and POOF! She did it. She’s like my Fairy Godmother, she is. She’s gotten all kinds of telepathic hugs and high fives from me for her magical design.

I’m still working out a couple of little details, but mostly I’m just desperately happy with these new changes. And did you notice the picture of my van up top? See how the sun just gleamed off of it? It’s like the angels were smiling down on her hotness…

So I’m still in California. It’s been just an absolutely amazing few days. I can’t really describe how much my soul needed this break. I have been loved and poured into and fed and graced and blessed. I have written a lot – about 60 pages! I have edited. I have read and cried and laughed and slept. It has just been so wonderful here in Clear Lake, California (which, incidentally is one of the most beautiful places in America…you should visit!).

Today we visited a local winery for a lavender festival. Stunning is the only word I can use to describe it. I didn’t bring my camera on this trip (what was I thinking?!) so all I have are a few cell phone photos. But you’ll get the idea. I am immensely grateful for these five days I’ve gotten away. I will go home refreshed and ready to tackle next steps.

Filed Under: faith, Life, Novel, Random, summer fun, Travel, writing Tagged With: California, Clear Lake, faith, Getaway, Girls Weekend, writing

Oh Canada

May 4, 2011 by Kelli

I’m working on my northern accent today. I’m saying “Eh?” alot and I throw in “That’s what I’m talking aboot,” every now and then.

Why?

Because I’m going to Montreal tomorrow!

The lovely Janice of 5 Minutes for Mom sent me an email last week that said something to the effect of, “Hey, do you have a passport? Would you like to go to Montreal next week to visit the set of a new family friendly movie that’s being filmed there?”

To which I promptly responded something to the effect of, H#*% yeah!

No I didn’t. I don’t swear…hardly ever. I promise I don’t! I might’ve thought it, though…

So yes, I’m hopping on a plane tomorrow morning and flying to Montreal. I won’t be there any time at all, honestly. I probably won’t even get to see the city, but whatever. It is an adventure and I love a good adventure, dontcha know.

I also adore my husband who takes these things in stride and gives me his full support. I could not do this sort of thing without his awesome attitude. I seriously have the greatest man on planet Earth. Plus, well…he’s pretty dang good looking, too. (He’s been working out – yowza) And he makes me laugh. And he’s all mine! You can be jealous. S’okay.

So I’m cleaning today and packing and doing laundry and making out lists and writing thank you notes to the lovely people who are helping out with the kiddos while I’m gone. It’s amazing how much work has to be done when you are leaving for three days.

The next time I talk to you I’ll be in blustery Montreal! Now that’s what I’m talking aboot, eh?

I should fit right in…

Filed Under: Blogging, Travel, writing Tagged With: 5 Minutes for Mom, Montreal, Motherhood, P&G, trips, Walmart, writing

Sneak Peek, #2

April 12, 2011 by Kelli

I am having a hard time focusing on blogging lately. There are a few reasons for this: First, I am just really busy. Between the kids activities, Lee being out of town, preparations for Easter at our church, the house on the market and general everyday things that pop up, I have little time to sit and think.

Second, my heart feels anxious right now. It’s probably mostly magnified by Lee’s absence and all of the aforementioned craziness, but I am truly feeling restless inside. I feel like I’m not doing enough and equally I’m doing too much. This morning I got up early, while the house was still. I opened my Bible and just began to read. It was so refreshing. You know when you walk outside on a warm summer morning and step into the cool grass and your whole body buzzes from the cool? That’s what this morning felt like – stepping onto the cool grass.

Third, when I do have a few minutes to sit down and write, I want to work on The Novel. I don’t want to edit pictures or video. I just want to release the characters in my head. In June, I have a trip planned with a dear friend and a couple of other writer’s. For four days we will sit on a lake in Northern California and get lost in words.

I’m only mildly excited because it sounds like heaven.

Today I give you one more small sneak peek. I won’t give too many of these, because I don’t want to give it all away, but a few here and there are fun for me to share…and I hope it’s fun for you to read! This is, of course, the first draft and contains few edits. It will change with time and re-reads, but it’s slowly beginning to take form.

This part of the story is told by Ivan Kyrilovich Petrochenko, a father of three teenage children and husband of Tanya. They are living in Kiev. This is June 22, 1941, the morning of the bombings, after the smoke has cleared. Ivan and his son Sergei are headed out to survey the damage.

The memory of that night will haunt me. The whistle of the bombs and the thunder as they found their targets still move through my head, my heart, my soul. Intertwined with the noise is the sound of screaming. Masha, turning and crying, confused and afraid. Tanya and Anna gripped in the corner, their cries mingling together to form a low wail. In the midst of all the noise, I see Sergei, my son. He is silent. I watched him through the flashes and tremors. Between dark and light, he became a man.

As the terror of the night slipped into a balmy, dusty morning, I watched them all closely. Tanya and Anna, both delicate and small, wrapped in one another’s arms, their faces worn and strained. Masha sat tucked beneath Sergei’s arm, her head nodding and falling, stubbornness alone keeping her from succumbing to the sleep that so clearly longed to take her away.

And the man Sergei, who sat with his back straight against the wall, protecting the sister he so deeply loved. I knew the decision he made in those long, quiet hours. I saw him wrestling, an inward battle flashing through his grey eyes. And when the war was over, he looked at me resigned, brave, grown. I nodded, a silent confirmation of what he needed most – my blessing.

Shuffling into the still street, I turned to my son and grabbed his shoulders with both hands. I felt the muscles that rounded over the tops of his arms and for the first time noticed the sinewy nature of his frame. My son had developed the taught muscles of a man without me even noticing. Surely this did not happen overnight.

Looking straight in his eyes, I spoke to him not as a father to his son, but as a comrade. “You will wait until your birthday. When you are eighteen, you may enlist.”

My voice came out gruff, almost harsh and tears stung the corners of my eyes. Sergei’s chin lifted slightly and he nodded calmly. “Yes, Papa.”

Not caring who might look out and see, I pulled him into my arms and gripped him with the passion that only a father can feel for his son. Sergei’s arms engulfed me in return and for a long while we held one another. And in that embrace I bid farewell to the boy I had rocked, fed, played with and taught for nearly eighteen years. And somehow I knew that when my son left, I wouldn’t see him again.

Have a lovely spring Tuesday!

Filed Under: Blogging, books, Novel, writing Tagged With: Blogging, Life, Novel, writing

Sneak Peek

March 28, 2011 by Kelli

I’ve mentioned before that I’m working on a novel. In actuality I have been working on this book for a decade. I have started and stopped more times than I can count. I got 230 pages in the last time I worked on it, but it just didn’t feel right. I was getting close, but I wasn’t there yet.

In the last few weeks, as I’ve stepped back a bit and gathered my thoughts, something exciting happened:

My characters found their voices.

I felt it all beginning to bubble shortly after the holidays. Inspiration, confidence, desire and excitement. All of these formed and gelled and moved into a rhythm that allowed me to sit down and type and suddenly things fell into place. I’ve known these characters for a long time, but I haven’t truly discovered them.

This week, as I’ve stepped away from the computer, I’ve been inspired. How could you not be inspired by these views:

I still have a long way to go on this little book of mine and it will be slow going as my opportunities to write often appear in short bursts. But I feel like I’m finally on the right track (dare I say the “Write” track? *groan*). Here is a sneak peek at what I’ve been working on while I was away.

The setting: It’s June 22, 1941. The Soviet Union was just surprise attacked by the Germans. Each of my characters is loosely based on a true story as I am compiling the stories I heard when I spent a month in Ukraine interviewing veterans. This character, Luda, has elements of truth mixed with elements of imagination.

“Luda!”

I stood in my small bedroom and glanced into my mother’s hand mirror. It was the only piece of her I had left. My father had gotten rid of everything else when she died. I don’t remember anything about her. I don’t know what she looked like, or how she smelled. I don’t know if her laugh sounded like a thousand bells or a babbling brook. I have imagined her so many times. I have no photographs to create her image. There are no grandparents to tell me stories. So I’m left to my imagination. I see her as tall and pretty. Her eyes dance when she talks and her delicate hands feel like silk when she holds me. In my mind, she is the very picture of love. In my mind, she sings softly to me each night as I drift to sleep. In my mind, her voice is a melody and her movements a beat.

But it is only in my mind.

I was two when she died. I don’t even know what happened. Father won’t tell me. The only time he mentions her name is when the vodka bottle is half empty. My father, at half empty, is pleasant, relaxed, almost happy. When the bottle is empty he is sad, mournful and wants only to be alone. Most of my nights are spent wrapping a blanket around the shaking shoulders of my empty bottled father.

My father with a full bottle of vodka is frightening. This means he’s sober and my full bottled father is filled with dashed dreams and self loathing. He is the father I fear most. The full bottled papa is why I keep pouring.

“Luda!”

I jump and look in the mirror again. Is this the same reflection she saw when she looked in it? Large brown eyes, thick brown hair and a small red mouth? Today I don’t have time to wonder. I quickly hide my precious mirror, protecting it from a potential rage of the full bottled father. Rushing out the door, I smooth my tattered skirt. My father stands by the front door of our flat, his hand wrapped around a nearly empty bottle of cheap vodka.

I haven’t eaten for two days so he could have his poison.

©Kelli Stuart 2011