Leenie Brown

Old Clapham Church, London 1750

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“Miss Tolson?” From a window in the church, Philip Dobney had seen the lady enter the graveyard and was worried when she had stayed for so long. For the past few minutes, he had been watching her weep from the window as the sermon he had been practising sat neglected on a pew a few feet away. He knew that grief was a demanding master who ran roughshod over many, sometimes, leading them to consider all sorts of things they would not have considered when in a happier state. And it was always strongest at first, so he knew that Lucy’s grief was great. It had been but a few days since Mr. Tolson had been buried. It was the first service of that sort which he had performed since accepting the living here in Kympton.

[from And Then Love]

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Music Monday: In My Veins, Andrew Belle

This week I have been writing some rather sad moments, and a song that Youtube happened to recommend to me, really captured the feeling I wished to convey in my writing. The song is outside my regular listening genres, but then again, writing sad, angsty moments is pushing me outside my regular writing boundaries as well. So, let me share both the song and a small snippet of what I was writing.

“In My Veins – Period Dramas.” YouTube. Video created and posted by PiepMiau04, November 7, 2011.

Excerpt from Through Every Storm:

“Oh, yes!” she shouted. “It matters now because you know of the children and because your business would suffer!”

Her fists were clenched at her sides, and his stomach roiled at the look of disgust on her face. Desperation clawed at his heart. He was failing. He had failed. That which mattered most to him was about to push him out of her life, and he had no idea how to stop her. He could hold her─force her to remain, but she would only be there in body. He saw her turning from him and grabbed her arm. “Lydia, please. It is not like that.”

Continue reading Music Monday: In My Veins, Andrew Belle

Music Monday: I Don’t Dance

Yesterday afternoon, I was creating this graphic…

(it’s a pinned tweet on my twitter profile this week)

…and the song that kept going through my head was…

(This song has always made me think of Mr. Darcy. 🙂 )

I often use music when writing:

relaxation music that helps me focus

upbeat motivational songs (played at a high volume) that get me going

and of course….

songs that evoke emotions and ideas inspiring some part of a story.

Since this blog is about following my imagination….I thought I would start sharing some songs that I find spark that imagination. Unlike those that are often a part of Wordless Wednesday, these songs will probably have words (though maybe not always). And just as Wordless Wednesday has a connection to a story, these may also have a connection…just like today’s.

Enjoy your Monday!

Just Three Words

Sometimes a short story begs for a sequel. Well, at least in my writing world it does. A while ago now I wrote “A Change of Heart,” a story which takes place just after Darcy’s disastrous first proposal, but before he leaves the parsonage.

This story takes place shortly after that one, when Elizabeth arrives in London.

“Please, Brother? If I am to spent the whole of tomorrow afternoon sitting with Great-Aunt Margaret, might I not have a bit of new ribbon or lace in my work basket.” Georgiana peered out the window of the carriage as they traveled the streets of London. “It would make the task ever so much more enjoyable.”

Darcy chuckled. “Spending time with Lady Margaret is hardly a thing to be endured.” He noted the small pout that formed instinctively on her lips. It was not an attempt to procure his favour, but rather a small twinge of disappointment which would soon be replaced by a smile and accompanied by a ‘very well.’

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Percival the Frog

Here is a throw back to last year. This story was written when I was feeling nostalgic about my eldest son’s birthday. I find I am feeling that way again and to perhaps a greater degree, since today, he is reaching that magical age of eighteen–the gateway between youth and adult.

This mucky, muddy little boy was the inspiration for this story. You see, when this picture was taken, he and his cousin had just captured a frog.

This story can also be found under the Tales from Pemberley tab in the menu.

Percival the Frog

Bennet scampered into the room. “Mama, Mama. Look at the frog, Mama!” He shoved a muddy, wiggling creature under his mother’s nose. “I found him near the pond. He was hard to catch.” His small face shone with triumph. Globs of mud dripped from his hands unto the floor. His feet were shoeless and a trail of muddy prints formed a trail from the door to the sitting room.

“Marie, there appears to be no need for the search party; the young master has found us. Please, instruct someone to draw a bath.” Elizabeth spoke to the nurse maid who stood at her side, mouth agape. “Bennet, do not move.” She gave him a stern stare. “Roger, a container with a lid, please.” The footman quickly fetched a small lidded crock. She pointed to the frog. “I believe, Bennet’s new friend would much rather be back at the pond with his family instead of in my house.” The footman carefully placed the crock under Bennet’s hands and the lid above. With a pout, Bennet released the frog, and Roger secured the lid before the frog could make an escape.

Continue reading Percival the Frog