It’s done. After six years, Painting of Sorrow is available for pre-order on Amazon, Kobo and Smashwords.

An art conservator, hiding in witness protection, battles her larcenous bosses and brutal ex-husband to save a priceless masterpiece.

In this excerpt, Sarah Downing, the conservator, meets with the director of the university art gallery.

Their firm rented studio space from the gallery and the director consulted for them. His office was a short walk away. She hurried along, passing the newest paintings from the University’s collection hung on the walls of the corridor leading to his office.

The door stood open; the director sat at his desk, reading. Sarah knocked on the door casing and stood across the desk from him. He never invited her to sit down but he smiled, his face so thin, his lower jaw seemed to unhinge like a skull’s.

“Yes, Sarah.”

“Gregory, would you review the Caravaggio copy left for conservation?”

“Of course, later this afternoon.”

He glanced down and up at her again. “Something else?”

“I…would like to speak to you afterwards. Would you call me?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Thank you.”

She turned, stumbled into the chair behind her, righted it and herself, and escaped through the door. What was the matter with her? She did have a Ph.D. after all. Talking to the director turned her into what—a scared kid in the principal’s office? And he wasn’t even her boss.

She turned right into the hall leading to the studio and right again into the ladies’ room. She leaned over the sink and took a breath and another. She brushed back her hair. She wasn’t happy with Emil. Those last streaks he’d put into her dark hair had a brassy tone, hard. She’d have to go back. Another Saturday wasted.

She touched up her lipstick and used her finger to wipe off the unsteady rose line her shaking hand had drawn around her mouth. 

Why did he frighten her? Gregory had been nothing but kind to her since she arrived at the restoration firm six months ago. But there was something about him. He resembled Leonardo’s Saint Jerome with his long, gaunt face and tight skin. But she was used to his appearance. It was something else, something underneath when he looked at her. Not lust. That was easy enough to see. Something else.

That something else proves to be dangerous for Sarah and the Caravaggio masterpiece.

Painting of Sorrow is available on pre-order from Amazon, Kobo and Smashwords.

Sunday morning, half way through summer. Lately we’ve been having a lovely stretch of weather, so hot the mosquitoes have packed it in and sadly, so have heat-sensitve roses. The day lilies are blooming though and so are the phlox.

I’m still working on my novel. Doing a long outline showed me where there were a few holes, not needing new material, but scenes moved and connections made.

Recently I’ve been reading Ursula K. Le Guin, Steering the Craft, an excellent short book on the craft of writing from a terrific writer and teacher.

The critiques arrived for the entries into the University of Winchester’s writing contest. My flash fiction piece, The Gulls Soared, placed third in its category and the reviewers had kind words to say and one piece of advice. The reviewers of The Empty Room, on the other hand, suggested a rewrite in first person. I have a first draft of that and may lengthen the story.

I also submitted the first three pages of a novel. The reviewer, a senior editor at Little, Brown in the UK, wrote, in part, “I’ve very much enjoyed reading this. You have a very assured writing voice”. 

Of course she also had areas of concern and advice but closed by saying, “I do think this is a very unique and interesting idea and hope you keep working on it”.

Encouraging to receive such kind words from someone whose business is evaluating writers. The novel in question is not my work-in -progress but one I have “in the drawer” for the next time.

Other news: George, my husband saw an Indigo Bunting in our back yard this week. In fact, it saw George, and hovered outside the window for a time before it flew off into the Sunburst Honey Locust. One of our few blue birds. I’m envious although I did see a flicker this week, although not well enough to tell if it was yellow or red-shafted.

Our plans for France are proceeding. We’ve been debating getting a Paris Pass vs a Museum Pass. All four of us loved the vaporetti in Venice and have almost decided to use the BatoBus on the Seine for most of our transport, that and walking.

That’s about it for this first Sunday in August.

The results of the poll for a title for my Dangerous Journeys sequel are a dead heat between Eighteen Days and The Child on the Terrace. Just to remind you:

Anne McPhail, doctor and genealogist vacationing in the Spanish village of Setenil, risks her life to save a child. An arms cartel kidnapped Naomi to pressure her grandfather, an Israeli cabinet minister, into voting to extend the settlements. The cartel’s goal: to foment war and increase the sales of its arms to both sides.
The story begins 16 days before the vote and 18 days until Anne leaves Spain.

Vote below for your choice!