WIP (work in progress) Behind The White Gate. A Novel. Prologue.


Behind The White Gate is my NaNoWriMo 2015 novel. I wrote it in one month. I changed and edited it million times during the next eleven over more coffee than I care to admit to. And more may be to come. This version I am sharing, it gives a piece of me to you. I am open and love any feedback you might have. If you wish to share it personally you can do so at peggyjdavenport@gmail.com .

I am that kind of writer who can tell you what I write..or what I am writing is about. But I will say that this one came to me by passing a white gate on a daily walk to a job I hated and letting my imagination go wild, combined with the coming of womanhood and the women in and out of my life through out the years who had shaped, molded, and influenced me, for the good or for the bad. There are also intertwined lessons in life we often learn the hard way and their shaping of oneself and there is the old “Nothing goes according to plan.” It is being lost and becoming grown up and recognizing yourself in others around you…especially those you tried to be the least like. It is often the lack of denying any longer all that has made you…all of it.

Behind The White Gate is secret’s that aren’t secret, controversy we face today and are just now beginning to speak of but in many homes still in hushed tones. It is shame that you carry and hide from only everybody else who also has their own. It is memories of childhood perceived as an adult. It is letting go. It is changing. It is forgiving, but also not forgetting.

It is raw emotion and no giving excuses.

It comes from a place deep of them that I hope resonate on the page for the reader.

It is fiction drawn on very real emotion.

Past that, maybe you can hep me explain it better.

I will release over time, the Prologue, and then chapter by chapter. I had previously released some bits and pieces. This new full chapter by chapter release will be named WIP (work in progress) Behind The White Gate. A Novel. Chapter 1 (and so on). You can easily search in the search bar for all pieces and keep in order as released.

Currently I hope this will go to publish sooner than later. I am in the search of, and have been researching for, a Literary Agent. Feel free to contact me at my email above.

Thank you for reading.

Peggy J. Davenport


Makeup streaked down my face, tears hidden by the pouring rain and hair drenched as I sloshed through the knee deep street’s trying to get…


It is said that no one comes here who isn’t running from something. But I had spent my entire adult life running from here.

A Bump. Just a bump. I kept telling myself. Not a roadblock. I can’t control the rain. The streets purely flooded around me and hard hitting rain drove straight into my eye’s like nails as I walked from the bus station. This was how it was here. Houses built up high just for this reason. The rains came hard and swift bringing along rushes of floods. Most often gone so fast that some never knew they’d existed.

All while freezing cold this January day. Not wearing rain boots after spending sixteen years in mostly rainless Southern California. Coming back to Galveston Island I was being met with what seemed a storm ready to wash the island away into the Gulf just as I decided to return.

It was a sign.

It wasn’t a sign. Shaking my head I immediately tried to push my creeping negative thoughts back. Sadly trying to convince myself. I wanted to turn and run like I had then. But I now ran from where I’d run to, before.

Just a bump. Not a road block. I can’t control the rain.

I repeated this mantra again and again just to get me through the three mile walk. My new shoes soaked, my slacks and light sweater hanging on my wet frame. The wind so fierce I gave up on the umbrella when it pulled and tore inside out and long ago ripped from my hands. A cold had wrapped the island and my hand froze around the handle of my suitcase. Almost two weeks ago so similar….this coldness. That coldness had come from within though. This coldness from the weather and the God’s.

God hated me…I was being punished. I believed this even as I didn’t believe in God. I couldn’t shake the negative feeling. I couldn’t imagine positive in my life again at all at this moment. Or had I for the past two weeks.

It’s ok, It’s ok, It’s ok….Oh God I can’t even see! My thoughts screamed louder inside my head than the rain pounding on the outside. Mascara and sharp rain blinding me, I plunge into the the next deep pool. Sloshing crossways through another intersection that cars couldn’t even drive through, water reaching past my knee’s.

I stopped and looked up when I reached the statue that pointed me home. A feminine figure long ingrained into my memory. Her hand held aloft, finger pointing, directing everyone and all lost souls that come to the island. As a child I’d been fascinated by this womanly form, head vine crowned. I’d always felt she’d held her share of secret’s.

People think of men as being leaders, who to follow instruction by, but really we often follow the female in lead. Even in the wild mustang bands of horses, the stallion follows, the lead mare leads, chooses the path.

I had chosen my paths.

Now I stand there, stopped, in the middle of the torrential street, The island is drowning…I am drowning…


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