Retain Some Mystery

by S.V. Farnsworth

Cast not the windows of your soul too wide,

Lest the winds of this Earth steal the very heat from your blood.

Retain some mystery,

For more renowned than Anonymous endures The Mona Lisa.

            Novelists bare their souls in their books, but it is fiction. You and I get to know each other here, there, and everywhere. You decide if you like me from my picture, my name, or a little chit chat, but you can only grow to love me (like I love Shakespeare, L.M. Montgomery, and J.R.R. Tolkien) by reading my work.

            I’m not going to over share. There are some things about me that you will never know for sure. You may guess, but I won’t tell. I am none of my characters, but in a way I am all of them.

            My advice to anyone is to retain some mystery. Know who you are, give everything to your work without reservation, and make some rules. You need to decide what you want from every avenue of communication you open. Be personable, not personal.

            Many writers take criticism of their work personally. I don’t. I take it seriously. I consider it. I improve my skills every day. I own my work.

            I write for myself. I edit for you. Editing takes longer…much longer, because earning a reader’s respect is hard.

            I like to say the first draft is for me and the final draft is for you. Today’s publishing world is changing. It’s too easy to be out there and go nowhere. Put forth the effort to be timeless. Readers who value your books will pay for them.

            I’m writing book three of an Epic Fantasy series, Woman of the Stone. A sample chapter of book one is available on my website. I hope you love it and remember me when book one comes out in 2015.

https://sites.google.com/site/svfarnsworth/home/sample

Memoir of the Milk Jug

by S.V. Farnsworth

            Somewhere in the daydream that encompasses the ages of three and four, I remember a sunny day, not too hot and not too cold. I got thirsty and went inside to ask for a glass of milk, but my mom said we didn’t have any. I asked if we could buy some, but she said we didn’t have enough gas in the car. I knew what that meant, but being resourceful I thought I could fix the problem.

            I asked for the empty milk jug and went out into the yard. I mixed water and dirt together until it looked like gas. I unscrewed the cap and poured it into the tank. I put the cap back on and closed the flap, but the drizzle of sand down the side of the car made me think something wasn’t right.

Looking at the jug in my hand, I remembered when I’d added water to the last of the milk in order to make more. Mom had been mad and explained that I hadn’t really made more milk, but ruined what we had left. Peering down into the jug at the dregs of dirt in the bottom, I became quite certain that I was in trouble.

I didn’t want to be around to see how angry mom got over this, so I hid the jug and went inside. I asked for a paper sack, went to my room to pack some clothes, took my baby brother by the hand and marched back through the kitchen to the outside.

            We didn’t stop in the yard, or the drive, or the road, but turned left down the grassy roadside. We headed for the nearest house, the only other house in sight. Soon mom called for us, but we didn’t answer. Before long our rust colored bug pulled up to the end of the driveway and I quickly pulled my brother down into the tall grass. We watched mom drive by and as soon as she disappeared, we continued on.

At last we got to the house down the road. When we knocked on the door a kindly woman answered and let us in. We sat on her couch, and she gave us milk and cookies while she called our mother. When mom came I just knew I’d be spanked, but instead she hugged and hugged us. She thanked the woman and we three walked home. The car was broken.