We want to keep the title of our next publication a secret for now, however, here is a sample:

“It was a humid day in early June as Constance came crashing out of the house after having another dragged out and painful fight with her father. They fought about nothing and everything: lots and lots of nothing, important everything, and nothing. She hated it and tried to control it and yet he was the only person she could yell at and trust to fight back honestly and somehow caringly.

They had just moved in to the old white farmhouse. It had a squeaky wraparound porch and needed some work. It might have been some farmer’s bustling home generations ago. It sat comfortably in one corner of an old apple orchard not far from acres of pine woods and not too far from the dirt road which led to the main road to town.

Constance had lived in this town her whole life. Her father hoped that after the turmoil of his divorce a new place in the old town was just what they needed. Not a new town. Not a new school. Just a new place to try out this new life. On this day the air was sweet and the world white with blooms. The apple blossoms were very late in coming that spring.”