Fool for Love by Merry Farmer @MerryFarmer20

Chapter Four

The Majestic rose up out of the water in its Liverpool dock with all the glory of its name.  Amelia held one hand to her hat and stared at its iron sides, its two dun-colored funnels and three tall masts.  The ship was a strange thing to her, a mixture of old and new, progress with hints of the past.  It had sails that could be unfurled in a pinch, but with its powerful new engines, the ship could cross the ocean in a week.

Seven days to a new world.  It was an exact description of everything her life had become.  It was every bit as daunting.

“What am I doing?” Amelia whispered, staring at the hopeful monstrosity in front of her.  It was one thing to accept an offer for a new life.  It was another thing entirely to go through with it.

She turned away from the ship, swallowing the nausea that had plagued her since she’d left her mother’s house.  This time it wasn’t morning sickness.  That was long past.  At the moment, the baby was the least of her worries.  Her stomach rolled over the idea that she was about to board a ship heading for a new life at the mercy of a stranger, a man, no less.  The last time she had trusted her life and her future to a man had been a disaster.

She paced, purse clutched to her chest, scanning the busy dock in search of her American savior.  Men, women, and children crowded the gangplanks, eager to start their journeys, excited and hopeful.  Many of the third-class passengers carried bundles that indicated theirs was a one-way trip as much as hers was.  Eric had left her there to go buy her ticket, but there was nothing stopping him from running off and leaving her stranded.  Like her father.  Like Nick.  She was a fool to agree to this.  She pivoted and marched away from the ship.

No, she stopped herself after a handful of steps, this was the best decision she could have made.  She may have felt small and lonely standing by herself, waiting, heart and stomach fluttering, but she was as much a part of the intrepid adventurers seeking a new life in America as any of her fellow passengers.  This was right.

Maybe.

“Well, we got a minor problem on our hands.”

The twang of Eric’s accent shocked Amelia from her worries.  She spun to face him as he approached her with wide strides, scratching his head and looking as guilty as a schoolboy.

“A problem?” she asked, voice fluttering.

“Yeah.  I went to buy you a ticket, but they’re plumb sold out.”

Amelia’s chest tightened and her tender stomach lurched.  “Oh.  Oh dear.  Well I suppose….”

She lowered her eyes, heart aquiver.  As quickly as it started, her chance for a new life was over.  All that worrying for nothing.

She squared her shoulders to face her fate.  “I … I thank you for your efforts on my behalf regardless, Mr. Quinlan.”

Eric’s brow crinkled into a curious frown.  “Regardless?”

“I suppose I could find work here in Liverpool,” she explained.  “Surely there must be a shop somewhere that would look the other way from….”  She lowered her hand to the mound of her stomach.

Eric’s lips twitched.  The morning sunlight caught in his eyes.  “I didn’t want to have to put you in third-class, so I told them you were my wife.”

Amelia blinked.  “You what?”

“I told them we’re newlyweds.  I reserved my stateroom in first class last year when I came over.  Good thing I paid for it then too, ‘cuz after this fiasco of a trip I’ll never ride first-class again.  Anyhow, when they said they didn’t have any more rooms, I told them you were my wife and that we would be staying in the same stateroom.  They sold me a ticket for that.”  He handed her a fresh, clean ticket with her name written as ‘Mrs. Amelia Quinlan’.  “Sorry.”

Amelia held perfectly still on the outside, but on the inside her heart pounded and her stomach rolled with guilt for questioning him.  He wasn’t abandoning her.  He had gone out of his way to help her.  Her heart squeezed as it never had before.  She took the ticket from him with a trembling hand, hardly noticing when her fingers brushed his.  She was rescued after all.

“Thank you, Mr. Quinlan.  You have no idea how much this kindness means to me.”  She had to concentrate on breathing, standing straight, and looking up into his handsome eyes with a smile to keep her tears at bay.

“You don’t mind sharing then?” he asked her.

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Genre – Western Historical Romance

Rating – R

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Website http://merryfarmer.net

Merry Farmer – How to Avoid the Rejection Blues @MerryFarmer20

How to Avoid the Rejection Blues

Writers might be the most rejected people on the planet.  Yep.  It’s a sad fact of this passion of ours that with the urge to create stories and share them with the world comes the inevitable pile of rejections.  They stalk us at every step of the process.  From those oh-so kindly worded form rejection letters from agents that dent our hopeful spirits to the vicious 1-star review from the reader who just didn’t get what we were saying, rejections are a part of writing.

But don’t despair!  There is hope!  All of these rejections don’t have to hang like weights on your soul.  I know they hurt, I know that no one wants to see them, but they don’t have to be the end of the world.  We all have different strategies for coping with these disappointments, so here are a few that might just speak to you.

The most important thing to understand as you’re holding Form Rejection Letter #15 in your hand is that we’ve ALL been there.  You are in the best company in the world!  I know you’ve heard all the stories of how many times J.K. Rowling was rejected or how Stephen King had a spike on his wall where he skewered all his rejections.  I guarantee you that every writer you love has been rejected enough times to shock you.  I wish that writers would bring out their rejection letters more often, keep them in collections and swap them like trading cards even.  “Oh?  You were rejected by Donald Maass?  Me too!”  Then we could see them as the badge of honor they are.

Rejection is part of the process.  That letter is a good thing because it means you’re actually trying.  You are already ahead of the vast multitude of wannabes who never work up the gumption to try.  You are awesome!  Way to be proactive!  If you knew how many people out there never even reach the point of querying or who give up after one or two rejections, you’d be astounded.  But not you!  You are already on the path to succeeding by virtue of being willing to put yourself out there where rejection lives.

What about those of us who managed to find an agent (oh the thrill of hope!) only to have that agent be unable to sell the book to a publisher.  Ouch!  The disappointment of that rejection has to be twice as hard as a simple agent rejection because the hope that preceded it was so much greater.  It sucks, but the thing to remember is that publishing is such a subjective business and those fancy traditional publishing companies don’t always know what books will be a hit.  The good news is that nowadays you have other options.  Self-publishing is not a consolation prize anymore.  It’s not the last resort of the rejected.  It is a viable, legitimate, extremely profitable alternative.  There are writers out there making a living and more off of books that were rejected by New York.  Why?  Because they didn’t give up.

Ah, but what about those icky rejections that come when you HAVE succeeded, when you’re right there in print for all the world to buy, but someone gives you a scathingly bad review?  These are the most bittersweet rejections of all.  They’re like enormous zits on your face – everyone is going to see them as much as you don’t want them to.

Again, every writer worth their salt has negative reviews.  They are a badge of honor!  They mean that you have reached that coveted audience beyond your friends and family.  Strangers are reading stuff you wrote!  Whether they liked it or not, you’re out there.  You’re in people’s hands.  That’s an amazing thing.  And often, if you read those bad reviews closely, you’ll see that it’s not your talent they call into question, it’s the emotional reaction they had to the story.  Not only did you reach them, you touched them as well.  Maybe it was a bad reaction on their part, but their feelings were strong enough for them to tell the whole world.

I know rejection isn’t fun.  It’s the pits.  But keep your head held high.  You are in a special group of dreamers and doers.  All you need to do is keep going, keep writing, keep submitting, and keep reaching.  You can do this!

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Genre - Western Historical Romance

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Merry Farmer on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://merryfarmer.net