Hello, my reading friends! I'm writing today to share news of a special new project--something different for me. It's a new novel, A Most Peculiar Providence, a return to the small town of Peculiar I first visited in Five Miles South of Peculiar.
This book has been living in a drawer for about four years . . . and I'm finally able to revise and finish it.
It's the story of a shy young man, a weary young woman, and an abandoned baby . . . who encounter a mystery in a town filled with quirky characters. I think you'll like it, and I hope you'll join me in this venture.
Instead of taking this book to a traditional publisher, I want to try to publish it myself, but to do it properly, I need to raise some funds through a Kickstarter campaign. (I need to hire an editor, a narrator for the audio book, and pay for some marketing). I've tried to come up with some creative and fun rewards for those who come alongside me in this endeavor, including a retreat in one of my airbnb's--a stone's throw from my front door. If you need some time in the Florida sun or in my own tropical jungle, here's your chance! Click the link in the box above to check out the Kickstarter preview page, which will give you a good overview of the book.
And now--here's a taste of the book itself:
Chapter One
In a town the size of Peculiar—four hundred and ninety-three souls at last count—folks notice everything.
Trust me. I’ve been the police chief here long enough to know that if you so much as sneeze out of season, three people will offer you soup, two will pray over you, and one will start a rumor that you’ve taken up smoking. Privacy is theoretical in a town this small.
Which is why nearly everyone paid attention to Joshua Donnelly.
I’ll admit, I did too. Not because he caused trouble. Quite the opposite. Men like Josh Donnelly stick out precisely because they don’t.
For years, Josh and his mother moved through their days with a rhythm so steady you could’ve set your watch by it. Sunrise breakfast. Dishes washed before the coffee cooled. Bibles opened before the first car turned onto Main Street. That’s not poetic license, either. Grace Egan, who lived next door and had a kitchen window positioned like a theater box seat into the Donnelly household and could’ve sworn to it under oath.
Grace claimed she never once saw a variation.
Not until the November morning everything began to shift.
Before that day, Peculiar knew twenty-six-year-old Josh exactly as he’d always been. Polite as a deacon. Shy as a wild rabbit. A little odd around the edges, in the harmless way folks like to call “quirky” when they’re fond of you.
Josh carved animals out of fallen branches—rabbits, raccoons, the occasional tractor—and sold them at Retro Relics, Jackie Leakey’s antique shop. Jackie will tell you she bought the first few pieces out of neighborly pity. She’ll also tell you she tripled her money on them and never thought twice about it. Folks around here like things that are handmade and gentle, reminders of softer days. Josh’s toys fit the bill.
He moved through life like a boy raised in a forest chapel, which wasn’t far off. The Donnelly house sat on Church Street, a sagging Victorian swallowed up by live oaks, scrub pines, and palmetto bushes that refused to be contained. Vines crawled up trunks and spilled back down like green curtains, giving the place an otherworldly look. Despite Margaret Donnelly’s friendliness, no child ever knocked on her door at Halloween. According to local legend, the woods were full of monsters. Personally, I’d have been more concerned about snakes and spiders, but children have their priorities.
Given his surroundings, it’s no wonder Josh grew up a bit different.
Every afternoon, after his bologna-and-mustard sandwich, he walked the mile to Twin Oaks Assisted Living Center. He always changed shirts first, usually into a plain white tee. And every time he reached the front door, he paused to smooth his jeans like he was about to meet royalty.
Maybe he was.
Bill Goodman—my predecessor and, depending on the day, my conscience—had taken a shine to Josh years back. Bill spent most afternoons in a recliner by the window, muttering about baseball stats and the decline of civilization. Josh listened. That alone set him apart. When Bill felt sharp enough, they played chess in the community room. One man at the far end of life, one still near the beginning, keeping each other company without making a fuss about it.
That was Peculiar.
Predictable. Steady. Comfortably uneventful.
Then came December ninth, 2006.
A northern wind swept through Florida that morning, rattling palmettos and dragging sweaters out of drawers hadn’t been opened since the the Apollo moon landing. Grace Egan shivered in a draft and closed her window. Jackie Leakey turned on the heat and fussed over her potted hydrangeas.
That’s when she noticed something peculiar in Peculiar.
Josh Donnelly wasn’t wearing his usual T-shirt.
He had on a button-down. A nice one.
He moved faster too. Rinsed the breakfast bowls without lingering. Kissed his mama on the forehead. Picked up a foil-covered plate he must’ve prepared the night before. Then instead of taking the sidewalk route to Twin Oaks, he cut through Peculiar Park.
Jackie stood on her porch, broom in hand, and watched him disappear into the trees. She wondered if the assisted living facility had called with bad news about Bill. Around here, deviation from routine usually means trouble.
Josh reached Twin Oaks early, cheeks pink from the cold. He warmed one hand by the electric fireplace, nodded to Isabella at reception, and headed straight for the elevator to Bill’s room.
Bill was still in his pajamas, but his eyes lit up. “A little early today, aren’t you, son?”
Josh grinned and held up the plate. “Don’t you remember what day it is? You’re eighty-five. Mama made you a mini pound cake.”
Bill blinked. “Well, I’ll be.”
“Want cake for breakfast?”
“Why not?”
Josh fetched plates and forks, and the room filled with the aromas of vanilla and butter while the wind rattled the palms outside. They talked about the cold snap, the Noah’s Ark Josh wanted to carve, and the Rays’ chances at another World Series.
Bill was halfway through a complaint about pitching when there came a knock at the door.
Isabella peeked in, worry written all over her face.
“Josh,” she said, “your neighbor called. Your mama’s in an ambulance. They’re taking her to the hospital.”
The fork slipped from Josh’s hand and hit the table.
He didn’t stop to clean up.
He was already running.
And that’s where this story truly begins.
The Kickstarter campaign begins on January 6th and runs for only thirty days.
I'll send a reminder email the day the campaign begins, because there's a special half-price reward that's available only on opening day! And you can sign up for a reminder on the Kickstarter preview page. Thank you for your support!
Always,
Angie
