Where Does My Heart Beat Now- Prologue/Chapter 1

 Does My Heart Beat Now

Prologue

 Fat drops of rain began to fall from a somber sky on that sad July afternoon, spattering the souls assembled in a place full of sorrow and grief. The umbrellas went up all around, save for one.

Gabriel watched listlessly as the beads of water rolled down the sides of the polished mahogany, and over the brass handles before disappearing into the void below. His body felt numb to the world around him. Not even the cold rain, soaking through the uncomfortable suit he wore, made him move from where he stood. When offered an umbrella- useless as it was by then- he ignored it. His heart was broken. Aqua-colored eyes stayed fixed on the casket in front of him, his mind unable to process the reality of what he faced; Susan, his sweet wife, locked away forever in that dark place along with his stillborn daughter. To have it end that way was simply devastating.

She must be so scared in there. I need to comfort her, he thought, his mind unable to accept the fact that his wife wasn’t alive. His muscles tightened up and a lump caught in his throat at the sight of the casket being lowered. That was it. He would never see her again. On impulse Gabriel started toward the grave, reaching out toward it as if to stop them. “No!”

A hand caught his arm in an effort to stop him from doing something crazy, such as jumping into the grave after the casket, which he had every intention of doing. The hand belonged to his best friend, Sean. Gabriel read the man’s expression: ‘don’t do it’, his eyes seemed to say. Sean had been there from the very beginning when Gabriel had first met Susan. Granted, it hadn’t been the best of situations for either of them, but he could tell Gabriel had feelings for the woman.

Gabriel’s eyes glanced around at the sad faces looking back at him from underneath the umbrellas; there were his parents, Rob and Mae standing beside the old tree closest to the grave; his aunt and uncle, Riley and Moira; their two sons, Eoghan and Casey; Sean and his high school sweetheart, Ava; and a majority of the re-enactors from his cavalry unit. All of them had shown up to support him during such a tragic time in his life.

No longer willing to throw himself in after Susan and the baby, Gabriel stood between Sean and Mae, watching the top of the casket disappear into the grave. He felt his cousin, Eoghan, place his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders, almost as a reminder to stay where he was. The lump reappeared in Gabriel’s throat as the grave diggers began filling in the grave.

The groups stayed where they were until the last bundle of flowers covered the mound of fresh dirt left afterwards. Slowly, each of them filed out of Oakwood Cemetery. There would be time for condolences once everyone arrived at the farm.

Gabriel was the last one to leave the cemetery. Not once did he look back at the grave. It would just make the grief that much harder. With his back turned to the cemetery gate, he vowed to never step foot inside of the cemetery again.

 

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. Life at the farm had pretty much returned to normal for everyone, except for Gabriel. He stayed in his room most of the time, only leaving to eat and to use the bathroom. He had sunk into a deep depression ever since the day of the funeral. It worried Mae to see her son in such a state. Every time she entered his room to check on him he was either in bed or sitting in the chair beside the window, staring absently at the Celtic knot necklace and wedding ring they had removed from Susan’s body before the mortician took her away.

His hell began on a beautiful sunny morning. Susan had roused him from his sleep, explaining she was in labor. Sure, he was a little worried, but what new father wasn’t when it pertained to the birth of their first child. She had progressed through the morning hours with fairly any issues. When it had come time to push later that afternoon the trouble began. The doctor, whom they had called to the house shortly before, was unable to control the bleeding and couldn’t understand why Susan continued to lose blood.

A single tear rolled down Gabriel’s cheek at the memory of the doctor stepping out of the bedroom to inform him the baby had arrived stillborn; it was one of many tears he had shed that week. As if learning of his child’s death was bad enough, seeing his mother, Mae leave the room shortly after in a state of distress and having her explain through sobs that Susan had passed away as well struck him a powerful blow. How could it be possible when she had been so full of life that morning? She couldn’t be dead.

 

It didn’t take long for him to survive the denial stage of the grieving process, and he skipped right over the bargaining stage, but his grieving process wasn’t considered the norm: the anger and depression stage were reversed. After months of dealing with a depression that had consumed him, anger finally showed its ugly face.

It didn’t take much to set Gabriel off. If he couldn’t find something in his room, he’d start throwing objects out of frustration. If a bird outside chirped too loudly, he’d open the window and yell at it. At one point he put a dent in one of the bedroom walls after he had gotten drunk and thrown a whisky bottle. Mae wasn’t too happy about that, but she didn’t have the heart to scold Gabriel for his behavior.

 

On a chilly evening in October Sean showed up at the farm to ask Gabriel if he wanted to go out to catch a movie as a way to get Susan off his mind. When he entered the house he found Mae vacuuming the rug in front of the couch. As soon as she noticed the man she shut it off and gave him a warm smile.

“What are you up to, Sean?” Mae asked.

Sean started for the hallway, “Came by to see if Gabe wanted to go see a movie with me.”

“Good luck. The last time I saw him he was in his cave watching Ghost.”

Sean’s eyebrow’s furrowed. Seriously? “I’ll go see.”

Without knocking on the bedroom door, he opened it to find the room empty. That was unusual knowing Gabriel had become a recluse.

“He wasn’t in there.” Sean announced upon returning to the living room.

Right then Rob walked in from the front yard. Mae stopped him on his way to the kitchen. “Honey, have you seen your son lately?”

Her husband shook his head, “Nope. Isn’t he in his room?”

“No.” Sean responded.

Rob started for Gabriel’s bedroom. “I’ll go see if he left a note saying he went somewhere even though his truck is outside.” He disappeared into the bedroom, and when he walked back a disturbed expression had replaced the previous one, “His Colt’s missing.”

Mae’s face turned pale at the mention of the revolver Gabriel usually kept in the top drawer of his night stand.

All three of them dashed out of the house to start searching for Gabriel. Sean took the lead, heading for the barn. Instinct told him that was where his friend would go, because that was where he felt most relaxed. At the barn Sean made Mae stay outside in case they had arrived too late, and he didn’t want her to see what was left of her son.

He found Gabriel at the opposite end of the barn in the stall Susan’s horse occupied before he made Casey take her to live at his ranch. Thankfully he had arrived in time to stop him. Gabriel had his back to him. His eyes moved from Gabriel to the gun in his right hand, thumb on the hammer. Slowly, his thumb drew back on it, followed by the sound of several clicks.

So as not to startle him, thus causing the trigger to be pulled, Sean spoke softly, “Gabe… don’t do it.”

“You can’t save me, Sean. There’s nothing left for me.” Gabriel’s voice shook.

“Give me the gun.” He picked up a horse brush lying on the ground near his feet. The way things were going he would have to take drastic measures. His pulse increased when Gabriel inched the barrel up to his temple. Cowardice. He’s a damn coward for not looking at me. A sickening feeling overwhelmed Sean when his friend’s finger found the trigger. Not putting much thought into his actions, he hurled the brush at the weapon, knocking it out of Gabriel’s hand. Sean rushed over to him, pinning him to the dirt floor. “Get a hold of yourself, Gabriel! Your life isn’t over just because Susan died.”

“I don’t have a reason to live now. Susan was my everything.” Gabriel struggled to free himself from Sean’s weight.

Sean did the only thing he could think of to make Gabriel come to his senses. He punched him in the jaw. “If you kill yourself, everyone you love will hurt. You need to man up!” Seeing the tears roll down his cheeks, Sean softened his tone after unloading the Colt and slipping it into the waistband of his jeans. He’ll get this back later, “We’ll get through this together. Now, come on…”

Chapter 1

In the small town of Jefferson, Texas, Gabriel Dawson was hard at work training his bay stallion, Bo. He was a southern Civil War re-enactor for the 1^st Texas Cavalry. Along with his friend, the boys were the best riders in their unit, extremely talented with the sword and pistol.

“Hey, Gabe!”

The male with the vine green-colored hair pulled his horse to a stop and waved when he saw his friend leaning against the fence, a smirk shining, “What is so amusing to you, Sean? Do I have my pistol holster on wrong, or something?” Gabriel hopped down from his mount after trotting over and coming to a stop right in front of his friend and climbed over the railing.

“Did you forget that we were leaving for our hiking trip in Washington, today?” Sean raised his eyebrow while waiting for Gabriel’s response.

Almost instantly, Gabriel’s eyes widened in shock; he had completely forgotten about the trip with their other friends, “Oh, crap! Come on, Sean! Help me pack!” He took off running for the house; Sean left standing by the fence.

“You didn’t pack?!” Sean stared incredulously at his friend’s back before running after him.

Inside the house, the boys flew past Gabriel’s mother, who was dusting off some pictures with the family’s Golden Retriever bouncing up on her legs. She turned around when she saw the boys run by into Gabriel’s room, and then shook her head in wonder.

“I can’t believe you didn’t pack. I asked you last night if you had finished packing, and you said you had,” Sean tossed some t-shirts on the bed while Gabriel stuffed them into his suitcase without taking the care to fold them, then opened a dresser drawer, “Uh, dude… what’s up with these?” He held up a pair of white boxers with small, green shamrocks all over them.

Gabriel quickly snatched them out of his hand and shoved them into the suitcase along with some jeans and socks, “Gimme those!”

“Okay, I know you’re half Irish, and really into that stuff, but seriously. Instead of chick magnets, those are more like chick repellants.”

“My mama got those for me on my birthday last year. Besides, anything Irish makes me look sexy,” He grabbed the suitcase as he headed for the door.

“Have you worn them yet?”

Gabriel stopped dead in his tracks, not even thinking about turning around to face Sean’s expression. He knew from experience that it was best to just walk away, “Let’s not go there. Now, come on!” He walked out of the room with Sean right behind him, still grinning madly. Before walking out the screen door, he gave his mother a hug and kissed her cheek, “Bye, Mama. We’ll see you in a week.”

The woman with the royal purple-colored hair returned the hug greatly and started kissing him all over his face, “I’ll miss you my sweet, baby boy! You be careful up there in those mountains; avalanches have been known to take lives. Now, I’m forgetting something… Oh, yeah! Bring back a little lady! You know I’ve wanted a grandbaby from you.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Gabriel’s face turned bright red from embarrassment, “Mom!”

To save his friend from further humiliation, Sean grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him out the front door with Mae Dawson left waving after them. If they didn’t leave soon, Gabriel would be so red people would mistake him for a stoplight, and they’d end up causing a wreck before ever getting out of Jefferson. In the event that that would ever happen, Gabriel and Sean had made plans to change their names and move to Ireland; Gabriel’s choice of places, of course.

Once they were in Gabriel’s truck, headed for the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, Sean started chuckling to himself until Gabriel turned to look at him, taking his attention off the road and almost hitting a large log in his lane.

“What is so funny, dare I ask?”

“You… and your mom. Is she always like that when you go on trips?”

“Oh, that’s nothing. Last year when I went to Petersburg she got me a shirt that said ‘Kiss me. I’m Irish!’ I swear that woman is going to do something insane someday.”

When they arrived at the airport, the race to get to their gate began. It took them a long time to get through security, and they were almost certain that they were going to miss their flight if the baggage inspection didn’t speed things up. Eventually, the boys were running down the row of terminals, trying to make it in time.

“Well, what took you guys so long? They’ve already started boarding,” One of their friends had been waiting on them, by the way he glared at them.

“Sorry. Ask Gabriel. I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you,” Sean shoved into the back of the green male in order to get him moving down the jet bridge, “Move, shamrock boy!”

The seats they occupied halfway down the plane were somewhat comfortable, except for the fact that Gabriel was stuck by the window. He wasn’t too crazy about heights, and the other kept teasing him in order to freak him out. Other than that small flaw, Gabriel was relaxed.

“Yeah, the leprechaun over here has shamrock boxers. I was saying he’d never get a girl with those things. Although, he might have some luck if he found a blonde, Irish one.” Sean and the other boys cracked up laughing until they saw Gabriel, then the laughter turned into hysterics and tears came to their eyes. “Look at him! He’s turning red, again!”

“Knock it off, you guys.” A smile crept across his face.

************************************************************

For most of the trip to Seattle, Gabriel kept his eyes closed and head tilted back against the seat. He found it as a way to escape everything around him rather than listen to his friends rambling on about some unimportant subject. Then a thought crept into his mind. Maybe they’re right. I do need to find a girl, but where? How? It would be nice to find someone with my same interests and views. A bump against his arm caused his eyes to open, seeing Sean peering at him with a raised eyebrow. “What? What’s going on?”

“Dude, we’re in Seattle, now. Did you pass out or something?”

Gabriel sat up and stretched his legs before getting up from the seat. After the long flight he was ready to inhale the mountain air, but once outside of the airport he received a face full of rain. It was one part of the trip he wasn’t too familiar with, and hoped wouldn’t last the entire time they were there.

“It’s raining,” his voice was glum, probably from the weather.

Nick brushed past him with two suitcases and threw them into the bed of the rental truck, “It’s always raining in Seattle, but it won’t be when we get into the mountains.”

“Yeah, the only thing we’ll have to worry about is wolves…” Sean jabbed Gabriel in the ribs before continuing, “Or in his case, hopefully a woman. I hear the Cascades are just overflowing with them.”

His friend shot him an annoyed glare before getting into the truck, “Shut up,” The door slammed shut after he yanked on the seatbelt.

“He’s hopeless.”

The drive to the mountains left Gabriel time to do more thinking. It was the only thing to keep him from getting bored. Once they began hiking the tension would ease off, hopefully. As the landscape turned into mountains, he slipped into deep thought, focusing only on it, I wonder if I’ll meet someone while up here. It would be nice to finally settle down instead of being dragged all over the country with these guys. The real world returned several minutes later when he noticed that the sun had slipped behind the peaks, making the roads dangerous, especially with the twisting turns, God, I hope Sean’s paying attention to the road so we don’t end up in a tree a hundred feet down the mountain.

“Gabe, are you okay? You haven’t said anything in a really long time," Sean glanced over at the passenger seat, where his friend seemed to stare out the windshield absently, “Gabriel!”

Gabriel shook his head in order to clear his head, “Huh? Sorry, I was spacing out.”

“What have you been thinking about for so long? I have never seen you that deep in thought before.”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me, Gabe. You can trust me,” he looked back at their two friends in the back seat, “Don’t worry about those two. Nick is konked out and Max has his earbuds in with them cranked up. I highly doubt they’ll be able to hear us.”

He seemed like he was being sincere, but Gabriel wasn’t sure if he should tell Sean about what had been occupying his mind for the past hour, “Alright… I was thinking about what my life would be like if I ever found a girl to marry. I guess what you said earlier struck a chord in me and made me realize what I’ve been missing.”

“See? Listen to your best friend. He does know a thing or two every once in a while.” Sean slowed the truck down as they neared the cabin they had rented for the week and pulled up the driveway until he finally cut the engine. When they hopped out with their suitcases, Gabriel noticed patches of snow glistening in the moonlight. Apparently the snow took a while to melt up at such altitudes.

Well, at least it’s nice and cool up here. Maybe we’ll go for a swim in the stream tomorrow, Gabriel glanced out the window of the cabin and saw a sheen where the stream should be, Or not. I guess we could start hiking instead. He sat on the bed nearest the window after pulling on his night pants and brushed his teeth. It was a good thing they were flannel what with him being up in a colder climate. Hopefully he would be able to sleep that night with Sean, Nick, and Max practically snoring in his ear.

Reviews

[JayG]

When your latest chapter became available today I looked at it, then came here to look at the story's opening. I gave thought to not commenting, because it's obvious that you've worked very hard on this—and put a lot of yourself into it—and a critique can be like being kicked by a mule.

In both the latest chapter, and this, I saw areas or presentation and structure that need to be addressed. But addressing them will take a fair amount of work, which will make this hard to take. But, in the end, it's information you need, and that I thought you would want to know.

I'm not talking about good or bad writing, or your talent and potential as a writer. But issues which will dramatically affect the readers perception of your story need to be addressed.

It might make sense to begin with a glass of wine, allowed to mellow in the stomach for a time, before going on — perhaps several glasses. But either way, remember the goal is to make the reader happier with the writing.

The first thing that hit me was that from start to finish, you, the author, are telling this to the reader as a story. And you're doing that with exactly the same technique and wording you would use were you telling the story aloud. Here's the problem with that: the reader can’t hear you. Nor, can they see you. And the ramifications of that are huge.

Think about telling a story to someone, personally. You’re not only passing information, you’re performing. How you tell the story is every bit as important as the words you use. In fact, the vast majority of the emotional experience the reader gets is contained in such things as your tone, cadence, inflection, volume, and the many tricks of verbal storytelling. Even such things as where you choose to take a breath can have a huge effect. Let's add to that the effect of the emotion that you demonstrate via facial expression. Add the visual punctuation of your gestures. And then there’s body language, which amplifies or modifies those emotional points.

In illustration: a storyteller strides to the podium, smiling and confident. She looks over the audience, obviously pleased with what she sees. She extends her hand as if presenting a gift, and in a voice warm with emotion says, "Susan loved her mother." And with those words a mood has been set. We know that the story that follows flows from the fact that Susan loves mom. And that took only four words, plus the performance.

But another storyteller also walks to the podium, frowning. He stands, arms crossed looking out over the audience, obviously displeased with what he sees. He stands for a moment, takes a breath, and flips a hand in dismissal, as he says, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "Susan loved her mother."

That storyteller used exactly the same words. But the mood set is entirely different, as are the expectations of the audience.

So here's the problem: my new novel begins with four words: "Susan loved her mother." How will you read it? As the first storyteller? The second? Or will you read it according to my intent?

See the problem? The printed word medium does not support either visual or audio technique. So you’re using the techniques of verbal storytelling in a medium that will not support them.

I know you weren’t hoping to hear that news, any more than I was when it was pointed out to me, after I had written six unsold novels.

And if it's any consolation all new writers do exactly the same thing, because it's how we were taught to write. In school we were trained to be useful to employers. So the only writing techniques we were given were nonfiction. And the only storytelling techniques we know when we come to writing are verbal.

Another problem that all new writers face, and its related to our nonfiction background, is that we tend to think in terms of the story as a whole and believe that our reader wants to know that. But that’s a history book or a report. And while a history book informs, it doesn’t entertain. When you think about it, it should. It has drama, excitement, betrayal, romance, and everything that makes a good novel, except for suspense. There is no uncertainty in history because it's immutable. And that approach—a story in which the action is explained—is as exciting as any other report or history book.

With all that in mind, and taking into account that a reader is with us to be entertained, not informed, look at a reader's view of the opening.

As we begin the prologue we don’t know where we are, who we are, or what's going on, so we have no context for the data we’re givenm, and no desire to know it because we can’t see why we need it—or even if we need it. Instead of story, which lives in the moment your protagonist calls now, we’re with a voice whose tone we cannot hear and whose speaker we cannot see, who’s providing information we don’t need at-this-point. And the result of that? Were this submitted to a publisher, this is where the rejection would come, because this is where a reader would put the book back on the bookshelf.

Move to chapter 1. The first paragraph? Another info-dump that has no context or relevance for the reader. As a minor issue, and as a rider, I have to comment that any horse which would fall at the "slightest tug on the reins" would be fairly difficult to stop by using the reins, so you might want to rephrase that.

But, does that information matter to the scene? If not you've wasted the words to say it, because the reader will believe it matters, since you mentioned it. And if it does matter later, the reader will probably have forgotten, so where it’s needed is where it belongs.

What I'm saying is, don’t gossip. Every sentence must develop character, set the scene, or move the plot in some way — hopefully more than one of those at a time, because anything else only serves to slow the narrative.

Obviously, I could continue and rip things apart, but that's not what I'm trying to do. What I'm trying to do is to make you fully understand why what you are saying—and your intent for what the reader gets—is unrelated to what the reader actually gets, because you are focusing on issues that are not relevant in-our-media.

The solution is simple, though not easy. You want to write. That's great. You've obviously demonstrated the perseverance. That's also great. What you're missing is the specialized knowledge of the fiction writer, and that's as easily learned as were the nonfiction tricks of our book-report writing skills.

The reason I say it’s not easy to fix is that we didn't learn those book report writing skills in a day, and we had the perfect them as well as learn them. But doesn't your story deserve to be told with a professional level of skill? Can we call ourselves serious about writing if we don't spend time and a few dollars on our writers education? Of course not.

The good news, is that while there is time and effort required, if you are truly meant to be a writer, you'll love every minute of it. And the effect on your writing will be amazing.

This is a lot to take, and I wouldn't give you this much at once, where I not using Dragon Dictate to save wear and tear on my keyboard. But here is the meat of it, the short version:

Try this article:
http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/art/scene.php

It gives a good introduction to one extremely powerful method of presenting the story from the protagonists viewpoint. Chew on it for a time until it begins to make sense. Then, look at a modern novel that made you feel as if you were living the story to see that technique in play. And if it makes sense, and seems as if it's something you can make use of, pick up a copy of the book it was based on: Dwight Swain's, Techniques of the Selling Writer.

For why that strong viewpoint is so critical, try this article:
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2015/05/13/inside-out-the-grumpy-writing-coach/

It may also pay to dig around in the writing articles of my blog, for a kind of overview of the issues. Most of the articles are based on that Dwight Swain book.

I really wish my news were better. And I apologize for the length of this. I can only say that because I write novels, I can't say hello in less than 10.000 words. ;)

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[Sympathy Heart]

Thank you for the review! I found it very helpful. Being that I started this novel 6+ years ago it was in my early stages of writing when I was just finding my voice, so I understand if it is horrid starting out. I am a person that takes critiquing very well considering the type of schooling I'm studying. After only four hours of sleep last night I believe I have figured out how to make the beginning work. Thank you!

[CL Steffen]

Very interesting critique of your writing. I learned somethings myself. This process is really tedious, but i understand completely what he means by telling a story. I love the amount of detail you have, and I do think your conversations are real. I've read some really bad novels since October and others that are crafted with such artistry that I couldn't put them down. Your pieces have that impact on me. I want to read more. Stay after it.

[Sympathy Heart]

That you very much. I do enjoy it when others feel my writing and can empathize with the characters.

[Cyndy Robinson]

Actually I am a poetry writer, and attempting to do some short stories. I found this critique fascinating. Because I look at them on the printed page and think something is missing. But I do not only write poetry, but perform it as well, and I somehow know I can carry the piece off on stage. I guess the point here is there is a difference between a story teller, and a story. I am not satisfied with that, and will probably look those articles up. I like my stuff to stand on its own. I can always ad lib on stage, and I have feedback from the audience expression. You don't get that from a reader. This review was great, perhaps one of the best I have seen on this site.

[Richard Patrick]

The story is very somber, it reflects how you felt about the death of our loved one. You can not see anything with out her being there. When you return to her in heaven, it will be right again. The good lord wants you to carry on the journey. Now with her presence in your heart and mind. You are able to relate that emotion to the reader, which is difficult some times.

You have succeeded, Look at what you have, your friends remember her too. for they were there when you too were young. LOve is a wondrous thing, that we can not forget. Forgive her for joining the lord so soon, he needs her now. For whatever purpose he ahs in mind for her to do.

[Lost & Lonely]

Wow the suicide attempt made my heart hurt. The detail is grate and really catches your eye. Amazing

[Cyndy Robinson]

First off let me say I love your featured review! Sometimes I find it hard on here to give a review, because I am reading something in a style that I don't usually read (and I read a great deal and enjoy it). I like insanely funny or a high action thriller. And I only like fiction, lol. This writing style to me is more like a harlequin romance novel, in that I am not sure men act this way. I am a woman in a man's field, and I just do not see men like this. It is problematic for me because there is a sense of unbelief and I am not drawn in, maybe I could be anyway if there was some kind of action (Harlequin does have that), but as it is written now it is more like a slice of life. It may only be a problem with me, Harlequin seems to make a mint. But it is a targeted reader they are after. To me there isn't real characterization, and very little going on. It is an opening chapter, but there is nothing to draw you to the next one. There is a lot of the camaderie that goes on between men present, but none of the competitive edge between it, their camaderie is usually a little more forceful or brutal towards each other than goes on here. I do not like to make a review without a suggestion on what would make it better. But, Even though I read what I read, It is not what I am even writing now, and I am out of my element. I am growing. This is also what I see in some of what I am doing, but I can compound that in my case and some of the reason why is I tend to write in the 1st person. I hope it helps.

[Crimson Apples]

ooooh~ poor Gabey poo. Iz okay, I think your underwear is awesome. T-T
Though it reminds me- I should try pulling the irish card sometime.

[Sympathy Heart]

shamrock boxers, hellz yes! Psst! I am Irish with the temper to match

[Crimson Apples]

lol. My dad's a Duggan, but my mum, she's scottish.

[Sympathy Heart]

Turns out I've got Scottish in me too thanks to my aunt who does genealogy and went back like 300 years to find out.

[Crimson Apples]

rofl.
My friend has a book with everyone from her dad's side's name in it, that about five hundred or more years old.

[Sympathy Heart]

that's what we ended up with for Christmas this year. Pretty awesome gift

[Crimson Apples]

That'd be cool.

[Sympathy Heart]

It took her years to put it together and do all of the research

[Crimson Apples]

daaang. It's awesome she had the perseverance for that. 0.0

[Sympathy Heart]

she can be a little crazy, yes

[Crimson Apples]

Join ze club~