From the novel newly sold

Monday, October 4, 2010


The light of the real day is gone.  The lamplight is harsh.  My mother’s hands are blue blooded and thin and heavied down with her chin, and in the silence I remember her years ago, on the floor of a lost house, beside me.  She’d bought a long roll of waxed white paper and pots of finger paints and said, “We’ll paint what we dream.”  There wasn’t white in her hair.  There wasn’t night beneath her eyes.  She’d unrolled the paper across the whole wide of the floor and all afternoon we painted dreams.  Hers were blue like sky.  Mine were yellow-pink, like sun.  Afterwards, for the whole next week, her fingers were the color of the purple inside shadows.

12 comments:

Lenore said...

Newly sold? Congrats!

Priya said...

Oooh, I really like the last line... especially the "purple inside shadows" part.

Mary said...

Beautiful, Beth. Simply beautiful.

KFP said...

So beautiful: no wonder the book sold. You have such original, colorful ways of seeing and saying things. My favorite line here, among so many, is there wasn't night beneath her eyes -- such a fresh way of saying she was young then, and then of course she got old, and this is back in time, a memory.

Lilian Nattel said...

Congratulations again, Beth! Well deserved!

Erin said...

"There wasn’t white in her hair. There wasn’t night beneath her eyes." Mmm so good.

The1stdaughter said...

So so gorgeous! I can't wait to read the entire novel, it's going to be wonderful I'm sure. Congratulations again!

lissa said...

beautiful passage, I want to read this book when it comes out

Melissa Walker said...

A rainbow of words and images. Gorgeous as always, Beth. And huge congratulations!

Maya Ganesan said...

So good. It's no wonder you were able to sell it.

Beth F said...

Congratulations! I'm finally emerging from a heavy workload.

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