A shudder ran through the walls, and the beams in the ceiling creaked at the savage wind pummeling the corners of the small, wood-framed farmhouse. Sadie swept aside the mulberry curtains and cast an anxious eye at the angry clouds twisting and assuming a pale green hue. She still clung to the anonymous note she'd received that morning. It had been specific in its instruction that she come here, but could its author have foreseen the tempestuous weather? Had they planned for
Daylight may be failing in this latter part of the year, however, I’m still burning the proverbial midnight oil in scratching my head, learning, and forever recalibrating my path-to-publishing with new information. But here's where you can help...
