Clay Embellishments & Another Excerpt

Hi there Peeps,

I am still plugging away at my novel for NaNoWriMo. I'm almost at 20,000 words, which is a little behind, but not horribly so. Whether I make the 50,000 word mark by November 30th remains to be seen.

In the meantime, crafting gives me some much-needed brain breaks, while keeping me in the creative flow. Today I decided to complete a project I started long ago - clay embellishments. I had the molds made already, from silicone putty. I originally wanted to use liquid resin for the embellishments, but I couldn't find any. Instead I picked up some air-dry clay. After that someone told me I might find the liquid resin at a hardware store, but I've never gotten around to going there. So... the molds sat and sat and sat some more. Today I decided to go ahead and make a few embellies with the clay.

The soft Paperclay molded beautifully. I gently popped the soft pieces out and cut off the excess with my sharp little SU scissors. Now I have to wait for 2-3 days for the clay to air-dry. Then I can paint and varnish the pieces. I really don't know how I am going to use these yet. I'm open to suggestions from my crafty friends.

And for my followers who have shown an interest in my writing, I will give you another tidbit from my story, "The Bee Singer's Daughter", at the end of this post.

Pin used to make one of the molds

Another pin used to make one of the molds

The Bee Singer's Daughter

(Out-of-sequence excerpt)

Jondon came into the room, carrying a basket of clean swaddling cloths. He set it down and came over to where Abella had their baby, lying exposed on their bed.

“Look,” she said, pointing to a pink blemish on Darva’s skin.

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly as he glanced down at their baby, “I’ve seen that many times whenever I’ve changed her swaddling cloths. I took it for a family trait.”

“In your family?”

“No, not mine. I supposed it was from your family line.”

Abella knit her brows together and examined the mark more closely. It looked like a long, straight horn in a spiral design. She looked at her husband.

“What can this mean?”

“It is probably nothing,” he said, “Why don’t you ask your mother about it? Maybe she-“

“No,” Abella interrupted. “She can never know about this.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing. I’m not afraid.”

“Abella, what are you not telling me?”

She looked into his face, his honest, trusting face. Was this mark on Darva something to set her apart? Would a moon goddess want a sacrifice? Could she tell him about Lucretia? Her love for her daughter frightened her. She remembered her mother’s words – Don’t love anyone. If she loved too much would she be required to sacrifice the one she loved? She lived between bliss and dread, wondering how long she would be allowed to experience such love. Could she share her burden with Jondon and thus lighten it? She got up from the bed and went to him, taking his hands.

“It’s nothing, Jondon,” she smiled. “My mother just makes such a fuss over little imperfections. I would rather she did not know that our daughter is flawed.”

“Flawed?” He shook her hands gently. “Our daughter is perfection itself.” He laughed and she laughed with him. At least she made the noise of laughter.