Summer Splash Book Blog Tour ~ Guest Post ~ Anna Kringle
Summer Splash Book Blog Tour
Make your summer reading SIZZLE with these HOT reads from FRESH new authors!
Hello! Thank you so much for having me back again, Catherine. It's such fun connecting with other authors. And thank you, Lovely Readers, for stopping in to see us!
Seeing as how I was here a few weeks ago, answering questions and giving you a behind the scenes look into my little kingdom, we thought it'd be a bit redundant to do so again. So instead, I'd like to share a little piece with you- a little something from my unpublished works.
This is a creative essay I wrote a year or two ago. I was trying to capture the essence, the singular feel of creating a story. It really is a complicated process, and not everyone works through it the same way. But this is the closest I can get to letting you see inside my mind.
Ladies and Gentle-peeps, I give you: In My Mind's Eye
I close my eyes and dream, and in that fog-walled room I meet a man, sitting at a table and drinking his coffee. He talks to me, as we are old friends, and we unfold a relationship, a story to be told. And as we talk, the fog mutates and shifts, forming the coffee shop we chanced to meet in. and as we sit and watch, catching up on old times and new turns, the world outside takes form.
I look out on the 'new' street, which does not seem new to me at all, and remember I must meet my bus and go home. With a hug, an affectionate peck on the cheek and promise to call soon, I traipse out the door and hurry to the bus stop.
On the swift, thoughtful journey, I realize; It is not me. Not my story being unfolded, but that of a heroine, born into the circumstance, and as such, must be allowed to create her own personality. And so I step back, permitting her to reveal her own identity.
She has long, dark hair, Brown eyes that soak in light; but rather than mute it like a vacuum, it refracts within, coming to life with a warm fire. And, revealed to me in a passing thought, her name: Erin.
We hop onto the bus- me as her shadow, and grab a seat for the long ride. Her smile is soft and thoughtful, kept to herself, as she recalls the chance meeting over coffee. It'd been so long since they'd met, yet they talked in all the familiar ways. She tries not to be too fanciful, leaving the “which”s and “whether-for”s to attend themselves, and simply enjoys the memory. A pleasant memory, long overdue.
She departs from the bus on a familiar street, ignorant of my ghost-like presence. I follow behind, scribbling frantically, committing as much as possible to memory so that she and her story are not lost to the fog.
We walk, down the street and up the path, to the door of a little condo; not a dream home by any means, but cute and manageable for now.
It is here that I leave her- not by choice or design, but because I am not allowed to follow. She enters through her door, and I am shut out, left standing on the sidewalk as the city around me hazes with the end of a day. Only me and the home left bright.
I fold my imagined note papers into an intangible folder, staring wistfully at the door as I file them away safely. Another day; She'll come back to me another day, and hopefully tell me more.
For now, I tug my nonexistent cap low, stick my hands in my pockets, and stroll down the street and away, to disappear into the fading scenery.