Indelible by Laurie Buchanan (classic children's novels .TXT) 📗

his creations in small portions. I’m curious, who was able to leverage the focus word, ‘eavesdrop’ to help them write today?”

“Not me,” came the unanimous response.

“But I’m going to pay closer attention to the conversations around me. I can see where it would be helpful in writing dialogue,” Fran says.

Handing the box to Cynthia, Libby says, “It’s your turn to select a focus word.”

Closing her eyes, Cynthia reaches into the middle of the deck and pulls a card. “It says, ‘Ribe Tuchus.’ I wonder what that means?”

After finding the spot in the book, Libby reads, “‘When, as a kid, I found myself unable to start or finish homework, my father would say, “Ribe tuchus!” Translated from the Yiddish, this means, “rub your bottom on the chair.” Sometimes this is exactly what you have to do. Sit, even if you don’t think you have anything to write. Sit until the muse says, “Okay, I guess you’re serious. Maybe I’ll drop in and dispense a little inspiration.” If you’re always running around, she may never find you. So put your seat on that chair.’”

With a deadpan twinkle in his eye, Niall asks, “Do any of you know what the best pen for a writer is?”

Everyone shakes their heads, no.

“It’s a BIC pen. The letters stand for ‘Butt in Chair.’” He doubles over with a hearty guffaw.

“Oh, brother,” Libby says, rolling her eyes.

“I thought it was pretty funny,” Mick says, shoulders still shaking with laughter at his brother-in-law’s joke.

“And while I don’t use a BIC pen,” Libby retorts, smiling, “I do use a trick that keeps my bottom in the chair. I get the writing done by using a tea light.”

Greeted by blank looks, she continues. “When I sit down at my desk, I clear it of everything except for two items, my laptop, and a tea light candle. Once lit, the flame is my ‘contract’ to stay seated, and I continue writing until it burns out.”

“I love that idea,” Emma says. “May I steal it?”

“Yes, I’m glad it resonates with you,” Libby says.

“Scented or unscented?” Emma asks.

“I told you you’d make a good interrogator.” Mick laughs.

After giving her brother a haughty look, Libby replies, “That’s a good question, Emma. I use tea lights scented with peppermint essential oil. They’re easier to come by during the holidays, so I stock up then.”

“Any special reason you use peppermint?” Emma asks.

Ignoring her brother’s I-told-you-so look, Libby turns to Emma and says, “It’s a clean, fresh scent that boosts my concentration and keeps me alert.”

“Oh, brother.” It was Mick’s turn to roll his eyes in mock retaliation.

“Now, now, you two,” Niall interjects. “Break it up.”

While fingering her hand-carved pendant, Fran takes the moment of camaraderie to ask Mick, “The enclosure that came with our pendants explains that the designs originated with the Maori culture in New Zealand. How did you become familiar with them?”

“After high school, I took a gap year in New Zealand before going to college. It was one of the best experiences of my life. I’m grateful that our parents,” he says, nodding at Libby, “honored my request. I learned a lot about myself and did a lot of growing up during that year.”

Also looking at Libby, Cynthia takes the opportunity to ask, “I know you help a lot of writers with editing, you write short stories for magazines, and a column for the local newspaper. But I’m curious to know if you’re working on a book?”

Now it’s Mick’s turn to smile saccharinely sweet at his sister squirming in the limelight.

“Well,” Libby hedges. “Why don’t you tell me? You’ve read the lines on everyone else’s palms, let’s see what mine have to say.” She holds up her palm for scrutiny.

After some consideration, Cynthia touches a spot on Libby’s palm and says, “Do you see this split head line? It’s often referred to as the ‘writer’s fork.’ And if you look closely, this finger is slightly bent. That reveals that you’re a spiritual person. This aspect, coupled with the intuition line that runs opposite the life line up to the base of the little finger, culminates in these four small lines,” she says, tapping the spot. “These are known as the ‘healing stigmata.’

“The lines in your hand indicate that you’re driven to write a book. A self-help book. Now here, Cynthia says, pointing again, “can you see the deeper end of the head line and the upper one with a heavy middle zone to your little finger? That indicates you have a strong business mind as well. Perhaps your book will show people how they can create personal transformation at the intersection of business and spirituality, how they can enhance their profitability—body, mind, and spirit.”

“Cynthia, I don’t know what to say. You’ve floored me.”

“Am I right?”

“Well to be more accurate, you hit the bullseye!”

Overhead, thunder crashes like balls of lead dropping on a floor.

Hemingway’s bark is deep. His forelimbs are widely spaced on the floor, ready to protect. When the lightning flashes, they see rain lashing at the windows.

“Once it lets up, I’ll drive everyone back to their cottages in the ATV,” Mick says.

“I love a good storm,” Emma says. “Once it lets up, I’ll be fine to head back in my chair. I wouldn’t miss a chance to dance in the rain for anything.”

“Dance in the rain?” they ask in unison.

Emma’s eyes are lively, and her mouth is quick to smile. “Yes. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve danced in the rain. Whether on foot or wheels, my parents taught us that life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about dancing in the rain. We took every opportunity as a family to dance in the rain. And I still do, even when I’m alone.”

“Well you won’t be alone this evening,” Mick says, eyes smoldering. “Once I return from dropping the others off, I’d like to join you if that’s okay.”

“I’d love to dance with you in the rain,” Emma says.

CHAPTER 13

“Sometimes making a story