In case you’ve been living under a rock, fellow Chicas and I have freebie fiction up and available for download. This is in answer to Paperback Writer’s e-book challenge.

And since I’m mentioning it, I thought I’d do an entry today on my short story, Eorwulf. It’s the story of a young girl writing in her journal, trying to capture her final memories of a man she can’t forget. After losing her powers of speech, she writes everything in her journal and waits for the inevitable.

The beginning of this story came to me one afternoon and I knew it had to be written. I remember clearly sitting down at the computer and writing. Once I started, I couldn’t stop and the first draft, Maggie’s Journal, was born. I’m not exactly sure what sparked the initial idea, only that I knew I had a main character who was writing in her journal of a long lost love she so desperately wanted.

From there, it evolved after several critiques. My faithful readers told me what worked and what didn’t and then I put my own spin on it. I wanted to give it an otherworldly feel and that’s where the fantasy element came in. Next I changed the characters names from Maggie to Meira. In the original version, he didn’t even have a name and it was apparent to me I needed to give him one.

Eorwulf was born. And yes, I’m very aware how close it is to Beowulf. ;)

So to entice you even further, I’m including a short excerpt from the story. You can get it for free at my website or by clicking the Chica Freebie Fiction link.

Happy reading. :)

***

It seems as though it has been years since I have seen him, though in truth only a few days have passed. Even so, I remember his last kiss and how his lips felt as if it was yesterday. I can still feel his scruffy cheeks under my palms, see his face in my mind?ruggedly handsome with an inherent strength, bronzed by wind and sun. I remember every detail of the color of his eyes, so dark-blue and mysterious, that I could get lost in their striking depths.

Or do I really remember this? Is it my feeble mind playing tricks on me? Has my imagination conjured this man? Part of me says yes. If it was not for the gold button in my bureau drawer, I would not have believed he existed.

Meira put down her quill and flexed her fingers. Her eyes drifted down the page along her careful script, not really seeing the words she had written. She gazed out the double windows into the waning afternoon, watching the grass wave in the wind and the sun blister the sky to dark pink.

Her illness had fully enveloped her and she knew it would soon take its toll, gripping her in a way from which she could never recover. She leaned heavily into the thick pillows, her breathing shallow and labored. Her fingers ached from writing, yet she knew she had to continue. Her writing and thoughts were her solace.