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
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