What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I started in May 2019 and finished August 2020
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I write in my home office surrounded by research books on this topic.
What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I do best with writing in the morning and evenings. Because of COVID, I was able to write every day, a new experience for me since I usually work fulltime. I only write on a computer but I keep a notebook of notes beside me to remember what I said about characters, setting details, and names. I drink green tea and need a quiet room.
Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.
From page 11 :
Poppy is the first Luther in our family. My older brother Luther Junior died in a mining accident on Pigeon Mountain fifteen months ago. He was barely twenty. The explosion happened only six months after Poppy returned from France, sick and dog-tired. Those days after Luther Junior was killed were a blur. All-day crying, no one able to believe Luther Junior was really gone. Poppy fighting with Briar over what had happened. The sharpest image I hold from that day are the shiny nail heads in the wood, where someone overdone the hammering to shut the wood-slat crate they sent my brother home in. A note came attached, stiff with condolences from Mr. Mercer, the Estelle Mining owner. Other scrawled words said the company believed they’d recovered most of my brother from the explosion but warned us not to open the lid and check.
After he was buried in the family cemetery on a high nob, the neighbor men left their handmade leather boots outside the cabin, covered with fresh earth from Luther Junior’s grave. I studied that dark dirt, stuck on the notion that it unfairly exchanged places with my brother. The black soil was free to watch the sunshine poke daggers of light through the morning fog while my brother was destined to darkness. I was only fourteen, but learned an oak-size life lesson that day. In order to pack down the pain of losing a loved one, adults turn their talk to everyday concerns, such as how months of foggy mornings could rot through a birch outhouse faster than one bad winter.
Now our new baby Luther isn’t with us anymore. Appears as if God wants only one Luther in this family.
Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? I imagined the death of a brother, which would be so hard. Having the coffin already being nailed shut, never to see him again. The dirt on the boots coming from the earth that will surround her brother forever. And the talk of the weather, and inconsequential topics to avoid the pain of the death. I get choked up because I recognize the truth in these words.
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