Through his prized hayfields.
Good afternoon from warm, partly sunny Vermont. In the half book I’ve written, Eva hasn’t talked about her dad much. Why hasn’t she talked about her dad? He’s supposed to be a strong presence in her life, according to Vinehart Farm, but he remains unshaped. Now that my dad has died, I find myself thinking of various things I need to ask him about, as if I still could. Most recently, I wanted to ask how he’d feel if some gas company told him it was planning to run lines through his prized hayfields. He’d have some words for me, I promise you that. Why didn’t I ask him that long before he died? After all, I had the book’s plot figured out. Stupid of me, and now a regret.
Anyway, it makes sense that Eva continues to have questions for her dad, even though he’s been gone a year. It makes sense that she’d have conversations in her head and even out loud just for him. Where did you put that old oil can, dad? Why did you have three small ladders but only one big one? What would you say to Gesco to protect your land?
I’ll start over from the beginning of Quill Point and work in her dad Randy’s essence. That will make the book more genuine, and it will help me through some grieving. The other part of my book that needs work is how to reconcile the sheer power of the gas and oil industry in regard to individual rights. Realistically, Eva doesn’t stand a chance. How do I make her stand a chance and still write credible fiction? I want this book to be hopeful.
And speaking of hopeful, tomorrow is Easter, a hopeful day if ever there was one. I plan to attend 8 AM services and attend a large family brunch at my mom’s. We’ll have tears, moments of silence, and mostly joy. How will you spend Easter?
Check back next week for another segment of Finding Home.