My first novel, Snowdance, was released in August 2007. It seems hard to believe that it's been so long since Elinor "met" the world, but it has been.
Recently I was fortunate enough to receive a letter from a reader who had just finished reading Snowdance for the third time. I kid you not! How great is that? Reading that note made me feel like I'd just won the lottery! Truly, connecting with readers is one of the things that makes this author return to the keyboard day after day, year after year.
I thought I'd post a short excerpt from Snowdance. I hope you enjoy it!
She could hear it but she couldn’t see it. The grating
grabbed her attention, growing louder until it became a
roar. Her mailbox was nearly obscured, merely a lump at
the end of her drive. With the snow falling swiftly once
more, the snowplow sped past as a bright blur.
The slow-down must be over. I had thought just a little while
ago that maybe this storm was ending. I was wrong…it’s not
ending. It looks like it’s getting worse. Falling faster. As if…as if.
As if they’re running out of time, and the flakes need to get the job
done before the clock runs down. Is that it? Is time running out?
As if on cue, the grandfather clock in the hall chimed.
The clock—it is running down. For the snow. For me.
Holding tightly to the rectangle on her lap, she took
one long, deep breath. The box had a calming effect and
Elinor let her body loosen. The tempo of her heart slowed,
no longer affected by the rate of the snow.
The box. It was special to her, but to anyone else it
probably would be nothing more than a worn, old wooden
container. Of course Elinor realized that was the way it was
for everyone. The things that were dear to one were
inconsequential to another. One man’s trash, another man’s
treasure, isn’t that the old saying?
The plow made its return trip, spraying curtains of
snow in all directions. The driver moved faster now, she
was sure of it. Besides, hadn’t it just been by? How can it be
back so soon? She tried to recall precisely how long it had
been since the plow’s last sweep of the road. Well, no matter.
She saw the red taillights disappear and shook her head. He’s
here again, regardless of when he was here last.
With a sigh, she reached for the glass of milk,
expecting to find it warm. Instead, it was cool. Almost
cold. How had that happened? Was time running out so quickly
that an hour passed like a minute, a minute as swiftly as a second?