I finally have something written that I'm willing to share. It's only a little bit but so far it's some of the best stuff I've written (which I'm sure says something less than great about the quality of my writing).
On the drive to the house she rehearsed what she was planning to say. Not knowing what to expect, Sarah was trying to keep an open mind but it was difficult to ignore all the stories she had heard over the years about the woman’s cantankerous personality. Almost before she was even aware of the time passing Sarah was pulling into the long driveway and approaching the beautiful house. Whatever else the woman might be like, she certainly did have amazing taste when it came to her surroundings. The gold and crimson leaves of the trees lining the drive were a perfect compliment to the rich colors of the brick and the warm cocoa-colored trim around the doors and windows. There was a row of neatly manicured bushes along the front of the house and Sarah could see a gracefully curving trellis of wrought iron arching over the path that led around to the back yard. Although it was too late in the season for many flowers, it was easy to imagine the place alive with tulips and daffodils in the spring. For a fleeting moment Sarah forgot why she had come and was just enjoying the beauty of her surroundings. She parked her car off to the side of the house near the open garage where she could see parked a pink Volkswagen Bug. The car was so out of keeping with her expectations of the place that it shocked her out of her reverie and recalled to mind the purpose of the visit. The conviction that the imminent conversation was not going to be what she expected was suddenly very strong. Sarah walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell. Its ringing sounded far off in the distance and a few moments later the door opened and Sarah was face to face with Victoria Swann. Although the woman’s picture was featured on the back of many of her books, the person standing before her was not at all what Sarah had expected. For starters, she looked much younger than her sixty-odd years, a fact that was intensified by the brilliant purple color of the embroidered tunic top she wore over her long black skirt. Her wrists chimed with the noise of countless tiny silver bracelets and several long strands of pearls surrounded her neck. In her curly gray hair she wore a scarf in a paisley of blues and purples that set off the clear blue of her eyes. Sarah was stunned speechless for a moment. When she had sufficiently collected herself she said hesitantly, “Ms. Swann? I’m Sarah Nelson. I believe Arthur Lande told you I was coming today.”