NEW CREATIONS

NEW CREATIONS
Friday, August 16, 2024 by SARAH HANKS

Categories: Friday's Fiction / GUEST AUTHORS

PLEASE WELCOME

SARAH HANKS

FICTION FRIDAY

My new novel, New Creations, is a tribute to my grandpa. It contains three timelines and two point-of-view characters. The 1960s storyline features protagonist Floyd Douglass as a young man and is full of “mostly true” stories of my grandfather Douglass Floyd. The 1990s storyline is told from Emira’s point of view and mirrors several memories of my childhood, along with a good dose of fictional occurrences that still communicate my emotions at the time. The 2010 storyline is nearly all fictional. However, I believe it stays true to my grandpa’s personality and character.

Why did I write a novel about my grandpa? Simply put, he’s a legend. No, he’s not famous, but perhaps he should be. Everywhere he goes, he tells stories of his escapades that have people in stiches. His home improvement ventures remind me of National Lampoons Christmas Vacation. But greater than his self-deprecating humor is his simple faithful love. His is an example of a life well lived.

Today, I offer you a short excerpt of New Creations based on a true story: his humorous attempt to paint his home’s facia board. The novel is full of funny stories but is also sweetly sentimental. This will give you a taste of the former. (Please note: I don’t mean to encourage smoking. However, like many from his generation, my grandpa picked up the habit before people knew it was harmful, and continued to smoke?on and off?all his life.)

EXCERPT FROM NEW CREATIONS

Cigarette dangling from his mouth, Floyd maneuvered the ladder until it rested solidly against the front of the house, then stood back to survey the position. No, he needed it to be slightly higher if he was going to reach the fascia board along the lower edge of the roof. A gallon of bright blue paint waited for him, as did his wife’s expectations. She’d been wanting him to paint that fascia board for over a year. Well, he’d do it today even if it killed him.

He dropped his Lucky onto the concrete porch and snuffed it out with his shoe. Time to get to work. With a grunt, he grabbed hold of the ladder again and angled it upward and to the right. At least, he tried to. A sickening crash resounded, and the weight dropped from his hand. Uh-oh.

“Dad?” Joseph called from inside.

Susan flew out the front door. “Floyd?”

He cringed as glass continued to crackle.

“You put the ladder through Joseph’s window?” Her hands flew to her head.

He scratched his chin. “Looks like I did.”

“My goodness, Floyd. We should have just paid someone to paint.”

He huffed and stretched his shoulder muscles before hoisting the ladder out of Joseph’s bedroom with a moan. “No need for that. I can do it.”

“The blazes you can.” Susan’s mouth twisted.

Joseph peeked out from behind her, brown hair tousled. “Dad, am I going to sleep with no window? It’d kind of be like camping.”

“No, honey.” Susan patted his head. “You can sleep on the sofa bed tonight.”

He jumped up and down at that new adventure, then spun around and raced back inside.

“Floyd? Are you sure about this?”

“Trust me, will you?” He’d scooted the ladder down a foot or so and had it balanced sturdy and secure. So what if he’d never been much of a handyman. He could paint a little fascia board, for crying out loud.

“Okay.” Her tone proved her unconvinced, but she closed the door behind her as she disappeared inside. He hoisted up the ladder, blue paint and paintbrush in hand.

Moments later, he leaned back to survey his work. Not bad! Susan was going to be tickled pink at their home’s new look. They’d have the spiffiest place on the block. He brushed more on, but he couldn’t reach far. When he leaned even slightly to the right, the ladder wobbled. This was going to take a while if he had to climb up and down to move over every few minutes. But anything for the wife.

He climbed down, dripping a few drops of blue paint onto the porch in the process. Darn it. He’d have to squirt that off with the hose before it dried. But first things first. With a manly growl, he lifted the ladder and moved it down a little. Only the bulky thing was a bear to maneuver. He tumbled forward as another crash rang out, followed by a cascade of crunching sounds. The porch looked to be littered with diamond fragments as glass shards twinkled up at him.

“Floyd!” Susan burst out of the front door. “What in the world?” Mouth agape, she surveyed the scene. “Did you just put the ladder through Marie’s window?”

He itched underneath his collar. “I guess so.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “It could happen to anybody.”

She shook her head, mumbling under her breath. “No, I think this could only happen to you.”

Joseph tugged on the hem of Susan’s shirt. “Does this mean Marie gets to sleep on the sofa bed with me?”

“Yes, bud. Now let’s go eat a cookie while I try to figure out how to pay for this expensive paint job.” She rolled her eyes at Floyd. “Ready to call a professional yet?”

A professional? Did she think he couldn’t paint his own house? “No.” He stood back and studied the task before him. “I have an idea.”

“Oh boy.” Once again, she slipped inside.

He moved the ladder to the end of the house—no windows there—and climbed onto the roof, bucket of paint in tow. The fascia board was so close he could lie on his belly and paint it with no problem. Call him a genius. Susan would have to admit she’d been wrong to doubt him.

He got a few inches coated before he couldn’t stand the roof shingles poking into his abdomen any longer. Talk about uncomfortable. He lifted his shirt to find marks from where they’d dug into his flesh. Okay, no problem. He’d kneel, lean over, and paint.

Except that bit into his knees. He lifted into a crouch, and his balance shifted. “No!”

He clamored for something to grab onto so he didn’t plummet. His hand grasped the paint bucket. Next to him, a waterfall of blue paint toppled from the roof to the porch below.

Then, his breath left his lungs as he tumbled downward into the bushes. He hit with a thud. The pain pounded his backside and prickled his limbs.

“Floyd?”

“Over here.” He raised a hand.

“What are you doing in the bushes?”

“I fell.”

“Fell?” She looked to the sky as if it was raining goofy men.

“From the roof,” he said.

“From the—” Puffing out a breath, she waved her hands in front of her. “I don’t want to know.” Then her gaze dropped. “Our porch!”

Head aching, he creaked to kneel and then stand. His vision hazed around the edges, but the bright blue splotch covering a good four or five feet of the concrete was clear enough. Shoot. His back cracked as he straightened, and he winced. “No one will notice.”

The bushes hid the view from the street, right? He squinted. Why’d she have to pick out such a bright color? A pastel would have been far less obvious.

She pressed her lips together and stared at him as if he were mad.

“Give me a break, will you? I’m trying.”

Her hand hoisted to her hip. “Are you going to stop trying and call someone? Betty Rambert hired a nice young man to paint her deck. I could get his number.”

His neck heated. “Betty Rambert is a ninety-two-year-old widow. I am a nice young man.” He thrust a thumb to his chest. “Me. I can do this.”

Why didn’t she believe in him? Didn’t the Bible say he could do all things through Christ who strengthened him?

She blinked back at him, then retreated inside, leaving him to form a new plan…

MORE ABOUT NEW CREATIONS

Does Floyd eventually finish the paint job? Find out in New Creations.

Here’s the blurb: Floyd Douglas is a blundering barber who faces retirement wondering if the past sixty years of his life have been a waste. When he's presented with the opportunity to go on a mission trip, it seems like the answer to his prayers and a way to finally make his life count for something. Now with a series of obstacles standing in the way of his newfound dream, he must decide whether to push through or find contentment in being the faithful family man he's always been.

Emira has always looked up to her grandpa, especially since her parents’ marriage fractured and left her foundations shaken. Now, she scrambles to assure the man who taught her how to love what a deeply meaningful life he’s lived.

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ABOUT SARAH HANKS

Sarah Hanks is an award-winning author of Christian fiction in both the contemporary and historical genres. After spending over a decade mostly writing and teaching Sunday school curricula for churches in her community, she jumped into writing fiction full-time with her split-time novel Mercy Will Follow Me. She and her husband have nine children, a couple of whom seem to have inherited their mother’s love for playing with words and crafting stories. Though Sarah dreams of a cabin by the beach, the family lives jammed together in beautiful chaos near St. Louis, Missouri. She buys earplugs in bulk.

You can follow her on Facebook or Instagram @authorsarahhanks, or visit her website at www.sarah-hanks.com.

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