A soft creak in the corner of the porch caught her attention before her knuckles more than brushed the wooden door. Dalia spun to face the oldest woman she had ever seen, rocking slightly in a chair. The woman was bent, covered in three shawls in various degrees of shabbiness. She appeared attentive to something straight ahead. Dalia turned to see what arrested the old woman’s gaze. Nothing was there that she could see and assuming that the old woman had not noticed her, the young girl cleared her throat.
You probably can't tell much about the story by this page, but it's obvious there's something wrong with our main character's mother. That's made this whole first section so hard to write for me because it's too near home. My mother is battling stage III ovarian cancer right now and I have to catch myself lately, as I write, from crying. I suppose it'll help my writing because I feel what Dalia's feeling at this point in my life, but it's also making for difficult writing days. I just don't want to go where my heart is taking my writing right now. And yet I know I have to go, so I will continue. And like my mother fighting the cancer, I will persevere!