Prudence MacLeod's Writings

I'm not just a wanna be farmer, I'm also a writer. I write romance, sci-fi, and action/adventure. Sometimes I even blend the three just for fun.

The romance novels are listed on the left of the page. The other books are listed on the right of the page. Please enjoy. You can also check the other pages of this blog for more.

I also play a lot of World of Warcraft; if you're a player you may spot where that hobby creeps into my writing. :)

You can contact me here: prudymac@gmail.com

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Book Excerpt.

This is a small excerpt from a book I'm working on right now.  I do hope to have it published soon.

Abby gave a small gasp of delight as she saw the place for the first time. The house was old but well kept up, or at least she had been until recently. It seemed to Abby that the poor old girl had fallen on hard times of late. Tall and well built, the old house stood in the middle of a gently sloping meadow with her back to the road, and facing the sea.  She had been built in a time when the only highway had been the waterway. 
       Her paint had been pristine white at one time, but no longer. Now it was faded to a dirty grey, and beginning to peel in several places. The black trim looked like three day old mascara, rimming the tired aching eyes of the windows. The smaller out buildings seemed like two small dogs, faithfully tagging along behind a well beloved master. Tall grass was busy trying to reclaim the poorly graveled driveway, and the land that had been kept from it for so long.  

Up by the road there was a signpost that stood stark and lonely, one skeletal arm pointing to the house as it gravely proclaimed the residence.  Number thirteen,
Gully Bank Road
, The Murphys.

Number
thirteen Gully Bank Road
gazed out over a gently lapping cove. The two arms of the big gully reached out protectively into the cold North Atlantic, and took the brunt of the ocean’s fury.  A long sweep of gravelly beach reached from one arm all the way round to the other, like a forced smile that had been stretched a bit too wide.

The field of wildflowers swayed to and fro in the warm gentle breeze that teased them into movement.  A line of washing that was hung on the neighbor’s clothesline, flowed gently through a stately dance, as though to attest to the welcoming nature of the folk who lived in this remote part of the world. There was something so appealing about the whole scene, as the old house sat alone in the sun, waiting patiently for the next owner to nurture and protect, waiting patiently for the next coat of paint to return to her the bloom of a youth long since past.  

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