Don't ya just love writing?
I do. I really do. Since I started writing seriously, I've been happier than at any other point in my adult life. It works for me. If I want to brainstorm while hiking, I can do that. If I want to brainstorm while sprawled out on the couch, I can do that, too. I've met many fabulous people in the writing community, both online and at conferences. What I like best about writing is the fact that I'm creating something truly mine. I was a musician for years, and I always envied composers and jazz players who improvised their own stuff. No matter how "good" or "artistic" I became, I was still just playing notes penned by someone else. Now, I get to be the composer. I've never known anything more fulfilling.
Despite my love affair with my job, I still have days like the one pictured above. It seems like there's always something. A rejection. A bad review. Marketing struggles. An inbox that's empty when it should be anything but. My skin is very thick, but even though I do well not taking troubles personally, the publishing business can be downright painful some days. Joy and despair in one neat package called "being a writer."
And that's a beautiful thing.
Why? Well, for years I went to a job I didn't care about on a good day and hated on a bad day. When things went wrong, I didn't care! Yes, there was stress when trouble flooded the day job, but ultimately I hurried home at the end of the day eager to do and think about something, anything, else.
These days I'm a workaholic. For once, I actually like what I do enough to feel something when things go wrong. Hallelujah!
Since this is my first post at Paranormal Romantics (thank you so much for having me!) and I'm a paranormal author, I'd like to share some angel flash fiction. :-)
It takes a lot to surprise a guardian
angel.
On a clear day one spring, I received
more than a surprise. My human of eighty-six years had died, and as always, the
universe automatically paired me with the next human born. I found and stood
over the infant as I had done countless times in the past, but for the first
time in my existence, the new father met my gaze and held the child out to me.
You see, the archangel Chamuel had
sired a son with a human.
At the moment of the child’s birth,
the Powers, the angels who govern Heaven, declared that the half-human
abomination had to die. Chamuel had bought his son a few precious, private
moments by swearing to the Powers that he would atone for his crime by doing
the deed himself. However, Chamuel had something else in mind.
Me.
Me, a common, unremarkable guardian
angel. Chamuel, one of the seven great archangels, got to his knees before me
and begged for his child’s life.
On one hand, I wanted to help. It
was, after all, my purpose to protect my charge from threats originating in the
spirit world--usually demons and malicious human spirits, but a threat was a
threat. However, we were never allowed to interfere with human affairs, an
ancient edict enforced by our inability to assume a corporeal, human visage.
Only archangels and a few select others could walk among man in a flesh and
blood body.
“I’m just a guardian angel.”
“If you are willing, I will make you
able. Please.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, then
met the father’s gaze. “In that case, I am loyal to your son first, and Heaven
second.”
He drew in a shaky breath. “Thank
you.”
Chamuel got to his feet, his human
visage as solid as the infant he clutched to his chest. He kissed the child’s
cheek and murmured something in his ear. His hand shook as he stroked the wisps
of hair on the boy’s head.
He grasped my shoulder with one hand.
My body solidified under his touch with a lurch that left me queasy. My wings
faded out of sight, though I still felt them. The white pants and jacket I wore
darkened into jeans and a brown coat.
He handed me the baby, and for the
first time ever, I touched the human--well, half human--entrusted to my care.
An archangel’s son.
Chamuel dissolved into his true form.
His brilliant, glowing wings filled the room.
I lowered my gaze out of habitual
respect. “Does the child have a name?”
A brief pause. “My son’s name is
Benediction.”
“Ben?”
“Yes… Ben.” A smile filled his voice.
“I will keep Benediction safe.”
“He…is not to know of me.” Chamuel’s
wings drooped. “It would be dangerous if he ever tried to contact me.”
“And his mother?”
“The Powers have already wiped her
memory of us,” he said, his tone bitter.
“I’m sorry.”
“You have my undying gratitude.
You’ll find everything you need to make your way in the human world in your
pocket.” He bent and lightly kissed the infant’s toes. He stared at the child a
moment longer, then vanished.
Though I had the right to defy the
Powers by protecting the child, I was but one against Heaven’s army of
thousands. My only chance was to vanish. I fled the tiny house and disappeared
into the sea of humanity.
END
Cheers and have a great weekend everyone!
Sarah
~***~
Sarah Gilman is a paranormal romance author with a thing for wings. Debut novel Out in Blue now available. http://www.sarahgilmanbooks.blogspot.com
