Thankful for...Dream Chasing (Wrapped in Red Sneak Peek)

Remember my Super Secret Project?
Well it all started about a year ago. And God is too crazy good. And so sufficient in spite of the less than sufficient sleep I've been getting the last few weeks finishing this novella and prepping it for release smack in the middle of this holiday season.
I wanted to say thank you. For showing up. For reading.
I am wordlessly grateful for you. And for this dream chasing God dropped into my lap with this latest story and all the learning that has come with it.
There's way more to the story behind this story, which I will talk about more very, very soon.
For now, here is a special Thanksgiving scene from my novella, Wrapped in Red.
            Inhaling the bracing, frigid air, Merry put one hand on the doorknob, turned, and pushed it open. To the instantaneous shushes of her youngest siblings who had the end of the parade streaming loudly from the TV.
            “Happy Thanksgiving!” She pecked Lydia quick on the cheek and ruffled Ricky’s hair to their squawks of protests that they were too old for such things. Much as they all got on each other’s nerves—they were two of the six people Merry didn’t know what she would’ve done without. Especially the last five years.
            There it was again—that slippery, cool whisper of regret and longing and sadness all rolled into one. Memories of the Last Holidays she had been almost engaged—and still had Grandpap around—had almost kept her in bed just hours earlier. But she had literally pulled herself up by her red cowboy boot bootstraps, triple checked the work she’d need to do on the weekend at the library, and left her apartment.
            Slipping her scarf and cloak onto the banister, Merry snuggled deeper into her old hand painted Turkey Day sweatshirt. Mum could be heard banging around in the kitchen, and Merry just breathed in. Her favorite room of the house smelled of a special, once-yearly holiday kaleidoscope of aromas: a turkey turning golden in the oven, yeasty homemade rolls rising, and warm, cozy cinnamon from multiple family heirloom pie plates and casserole dishes.
            “Need any help?”
            “Oh! You scared me, Merry Grace!” Mum whipped around, still in her red terry-cloth bathrobe, and flecks of mashed potatoes went flying to land smack dab on Merry’s shirt. Which had seen better days. But it wasn’t a holiday if someone didn’t spill something or burn/cut themselves. All of which contributed to a giggle fit that stole her breath.
            “I’m…oh, sorry.” Wheeze-laughing, Merry caught her mom up in a hug.
            She’d never admit it—but one of Mum’s catchphrase-like platitudes was right on the money: laughter was the best medicine. And as Merry took over spooning the freshly whipped mashed potatoes into a crockpot, she purposed to stomp away the niggling dreams that had not yet died in her heart that sought to destroy her contentment.

Contentment that smelled like turkey, sounded like laughter, and felt like home.

Words, history, and grace color my days here in The Burgh where I seek out the perfect coffee and red lipstick.

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