A to Z Challenge: T is for Taylor

This year, I'm participating in the insane awesome A to Z blogging challenge, which entails posting EVERY SINGLE DAY during the month of April, except for Sundays. Each day's theme corresponds to a different day of the alphabet: 26 days, 26 posts. I'll be blogging each day this month on some aspect of my current work in progress (WIP).

T is for Taylor

I'll preface today's post by asking you to forgive the strange grammar I'm going to use, here. I explained this at length back in November, but Taylor's gender is never revealed in the book - and indeed, I've made no decision about it one way or the other, either. I wanted to explore whether or not souls have gender, and what it means to love, and I wondered if love between souls could transcend gender. I did notice that every commenter so far has assumed that Taylor is a man, but I'm guessing that's because the love interest is a woman; if there are other reasons, though, I would love to hear them!

This decision, unfortunately, makes it not so easy to talk about Taylor in the third person...which is of course why this lifetime is told in the first person, from Taylor's own POV.

At any rate, as you all know by now, Taylor is a sheep farmer in Australia in the 1950s or 60s. Taylor lives alone, and has for many, many years; before Nat arrives, Taylor's only company were the sheep, and the neighbors, who live out of eye- and earshot, and only visit occasionally. This might sound lonely, but Taylor is a naturally solitary person, and loves this stable, predictable life. Yes, Taylor is of course our Rule Abider soul.

Needless to say, Nat comes in to this quiet life like, well, forgive the Miley Cyrus reference, but, a wrecking ball. Against Taylor's better judgement, they begin a no-strings-attached affair that should be uncomplicated and easy, and quickly becomes anything but, as Taylor realizes that not having anyone to love doesn't mean that the heart stops working altogether. It just hibernates for a while, until someone comes along and wakes it up, and then the heart finds that it's wide awake and ravenously hungry.

Things go well for a little while, until, of course, they don't. We enter their story as readers after things have gone south: Nat's gone for good - at least, that's what she said - and Taylor is desperate to find her. I'll let Taylor tell you a tiny bit about it (and once again, I'm making all of the sheep farming stuff up until I can research it, and correct it):

It all started because I was crazy enough to hire a local kid as a favor to an old friend. If I’d listened to myself, I never would have let the kid on the farm, and then when Nat came knocking I wouldn't have had a job for her, and she would have left. And that would have been the end of it. I wouldn't be here in my truck, leaving my flock at the height of the season to search for a ghost. 

But I didn't listen to myself; that was my first mistake. I ignored the kid's skinny arms and long hair, and gave him a chance. Holding sheep for shearing is no joke; a full-grown ewe can weigh more than a teenage boy, and will buck and kick and blow that boy’s shins out if he’s not careful. The kid took one look at the jostling crowd of dirty white backs, and did a runner. And left me short-handed with one thousand head of sheep to hold, shear, and cut loose. Bloody idiot. Me, that is, not the kid. 

I’m thinking about all of this because I have more time right now, sitting in my truck, than any person should have. We’re not made for driving around the country, scouring the grass for a shadow. At least, I’m not. Nat's different. In every way I can think of.

A to Z Challenge: Q is for Quiet Life

This year, I'm participating in the insane awesome A to Z blogging challenge, which entails posting EVERY SINGLE DAY during the month of April, except for Sundays. Each day's theme corresponds to a different day of the alphabet: 26 days, 26 posts. I'll be blogging each day this month on some aspect of my current work in progress (WIP).

Q is for Quiet Life

Sometimes we first meet the people we love in casual, simple settings - dinner with friends, a blind date, the grocery store - and sometimes they come barreling into our lives like a runaway freight train.

For Taylor, who lives what you might call an absurdly quiet life on a sheep farm in Australia, Nat's arrival on her motorcycle is like that train: just as wild, just as unexpected, and it leaves just as much chaos in its wake.

These two characters, as I've mentioned (too many times, probably), live in Australia in the 1950s or 60s, and it's their story that will carry us through the rest of the novel. The book will begin and end with them, and their story will weave throughout the other lifetimes. At least, that's the way I've planned it for now.

Taylor's life is so quiet that Nat can't help but wonder why, the more she learns about it. Here's a little excerpt about it from one of my brainstorming scenes (and as always, standard disclaimers apply, including the fact that I totally made up the sheep farming bits). And as a side note, on 'N' day, some of you mentioned wanting to see Nat's take on Taylor. Well, that's not really possible (and come back on 'T' day to see why), but today's snippet gives you a small insight into how Nat sees Taylor. :

“There’s not much to tell.” We were in the fields a week or so later; the dogs were running the flock back and forth, so I could watch for any lame ewes.  

Nat smiled. “Come on, I tell you stories all the time. I want to hear one of yours.” 

I shrugged. “It’s a quiet life, living on a farm. Nothing like traveling the country on a motorcycle.” 

“Well, tell me about the quiet life, then.” 

One of the ewes separated from the rest and made a move toward the open gate. I watched as Rafe, dense and black against the white flock, darted forward and nipped her back into line. Good boy. “You’ve seen it. This is it,” I said. 

“I’ve seen a tiny bit of it. That doesn’t count. What about all the rest?” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“I don’t know. Tell me about your family. Tell me about the other girls you bring over when I’m not around.” 

I shook my head. “There aren't any.” 

She laughed. “I don’t believe that for a second. Come on now, spill. I won’t be jealous.” 

“It’s the truth. There aren't any.”

Her eyes were hot on my face, but I kept watching the flock. “Really?” she asked. I didn't respond, just whistled at Rafe, who turned quickly to move the flock to the right. “Come on,” she said. “Not even one? What about that cute waitress at the diner – what’s her name? Susie?” 

I frowned and tried to think of what the waitresses looked like, but came up blank. “What about her?” 

“She was flirting with you, even with me right there.” 

“She was?” I thought back, but I couldn’t even remember what the girl looked like. I’d taken Nat to Brenda’s diner for lunch a few days before, because Nat said she liked diners. We ate eggs and bacon; I watched Nat’s face as she talked. Her hands moving through the air, helping her tell her story. The curve of her breasts under her shirt. Had there been a waitress? 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?” Nat asked. 

I could feel my cheeks starting to burn. “I guess I didn’t.” 

“Lord, Taylor, she was practically drooling on you.” 

“You were paying a lot of attention. Why don’t you go after her, then?” I pushed myself off the fence and waved at the dogs, signaling them to bring the sheep back to pasture. There were a few I wanted to get a closer look at.  

“It wasn't me she wanted.” 

“Well, I don’t remember her.” 

Nat followed me around to the gate and helped me close it. “You really don’t, do you?” Her smile was light but her eyes were serious. 

“No, I don’t.” 

She was quiet for a minute as we walked across the field. “Men, then?”  

“No.” 

“I won’t be upset if the answer is yes. Either one is fine by me. Both, too.” 

I shook my head. “I don’t bring anyone here.” 

“No one? Ever?” 

“I told you it’s a quiet life.” I whistled the dogs off the flock, and patted their heads as they swarmed around us, tails feathered and waving.  

“That’s not quiet. It’s saintly.” 

“It’s just the way I live.” I watched the sheep settle in and start to graze. They were still a bit flighty, after the exercise, and I wanted to wait on walking through them until they were calmer. 

“Taylor…” Her tone was so serious that I looked up. She was frowning, the tiny lines around her eyes more pronounced. “Am I – I’m not your first?” 

I looked back at the sheep. “No.” 

“There’s no shame in it. Some people wait a really long time before – ” 

“You’re not my first.”

A to Z Challenge: N is for Natalie

This year, I'm participating in the insane awesome A to Z blogging challenge, which entails posting EVERY SINGLE DAY during the month of April, except for Sundays. Each day's theme corresponds to a different day of the alphabet: 26 days, 26 posts. I'll be blogging each day this month on some aspect of my current work in progress (WIP).


N is for Natalie

I teased you about this for far too long - but in my defense, it was t the alphabet's fault! 'B' and 'N' are just too damn far apart.

It's finally time to talk about Natalie, or Nat, as everyone calls her. A little refresher: Nat appears in the lifetime in 1960's Australia, and she spends her days driving around the country on her motorcycle. Yes, she does have the requisite leather jacket, attitude, and some seriously awesome - if also rather worn out and ratty - boots.

Nat is a true vagabond: she's in her 30's when we meet her, and since she was about 17 years old, she's spent her life on the road. When she runs out of money, she stops somewhere and picks up some work, but as soon as she has enough saved up, she's back on her bike again.

This is how she met Taylor, the other soul and of course love interest: she was near the sheep farm when her money ran out, and was lucky enough that it was shearing time, and that Taylor needed the help badly enough to not care that she had no experience. Taylor hired her on the spot, and the rest - well, the rest is the whole story. And yes, to find out more about Taylor, you are going to have to wait until 'T' day. Darn that alphabet...

If you haven't guessed by now, Nat is of course the Free Spirit soul. She loves the freedom of the road; it's the only place she's ever really felt at home. Late in the story, Taylor accuses her of running away, and it's true, she does run - but she has far too much haunting her in her past to stay too long in one place. If there's one thing Nat's learned, it's that no one can catch you if you just keep moving.

In fact, before she met Taylor, she never returned to the same place more than once. But now, no matter how many times she leaves, she keeps finding herself back at Taylor's farm, over and over and over again. If she's not careful, she might find that the road suddenly isn't enough for her anymore...

I'll let Taylor give you a little description of Nat. This is from the day they first meet, when Nat shows up on the farm, and Taylor is desperate for help (and all sheep farming stuff is utterly made up for now, so please forgive the blatant inaccuracies):

I was in the barn, trying to figure out how in bloody hell I was going to shear the sheep with no help, and I’ll say it now: I shouldn't have been around the sheep. Animals can tell when you’re off; they smell it and sense it on you, like oil or smoke. It’s one of the first rules of the farm and I’d known it since I was a kid, and I was busy breaking it anyway. 

At any rate, I was wrestling with a sheep when she appeared in the barn door. I wish I’d been doing something else, something stronger and calmer, but I wasn't; I had my arms wrapped around a crabby old ewe, trying to push her into the stall I’d rigged up, and she was crying out at the top of her voice and telling the whole bloody flock to run for the hills. 

“Need a hand?”

I glanced at the door and saw a person, a real live able-bodied person, and nodded. I didn't have breath left for talking. The girl came over and helped me corral the stubborn ewe into the stall; I caught a glimpse of long hair and fair skin, and an old leather jacket, and that was about all I had time for. The ewe was bucking and kicking, panicking, and I knew she’d hurt herself if I didn't let her out soon. I got her sheared as fast as I could. She was so wild she barely felt it; she kept crying out, poor thing, and as soon as I was done I kicked open the stall door and let her go. She ran for the far wall, near the water, and stood there glaring at me. 

I turned away. She’d forgive me soon enough; more likely she’d forget before she could, and would let me handle her with the same irritated patience she always had. I let the ewe be, and took a good look at my helper.

She was older than I’d first thought; there was a leanness to her freckled cheeks, and a few fine lines around her eyes, that told me she was well out of her teens and through her twenties, and stepping into her thirties. She was shorter than me, and slighter, dressed in a black motorcycle jacket and jeans so old and worn that they looked like they’d been painted on her body. Not because they were tight, but because they’d stopped trying to have their own shape, and conformed to hers instead. 

“Thanks,” I said.

“Sure.” She smiled, a flash of white teeth and brown eyes, and for the first time, but definitely not the last, I felt like I'd been blinded. Like the sun flashing off of metal, bright and too hot, when you're not expecting it. “I’m Nat, short for Natalie,” she said. She held out her hand. Her skin was soft and her hand was small in mine.

I’m not the kind of person to make bold statements. I like to keep things simple and straightforward, and I stay away from pretty language. So now I don’t know how to say what happened. I looked in her eyes, and...something happened. Something quick and bruising, like a high wind blowing or the sharp kick of a ewe’s hoof. 

“I’m Taylor,” I said. I dropped her hand like a hot stone.