It’s an online serial I’ve been adding to each week called, Tomahawk Hill. I wrote this book forever ago but hadn’t signed or released it anywhere. It has been a huge block in my creative process because I love the little world I created and the characters I’ve come to know.
So… I was inspired to do something new. Rewrite it as I go, releasing each chapter as I finish it. So it’s not perfect, but it’s there and it’s free and I’m sharing it and that’s all that matters.
I’m up to chapter 17 now! So if you haven’t read until now, join us! And if you’ve been waiting for chapter 17, I hope to have 18 here for you by the end of the week!
Tomahawk Hill: an online novel
Read my new contemporary romance, TOMAHAWK HILL, set in a town as cozy as the Stars Hollow of the Gilmore Girls…HanaHawley.Com
If you like to read: contemporary romance, commercial fiction, and women’s fiction, you’ll be swept up in this smalltown romance about a hotel billionaire and an LA writer who find themselves on the opposite sides of the same cause.
Read the novel chapter by chapter on my website. Tomahawk Hill a novel by Hana Hawley
Welcome to the neighborhood, Hana, Sara, and David! Congratulations, Floyd and Mary! In the picture, three neighbor kids, freckled, blond and Velcro-sneakered, stand beneath the sign they’ve taped to our new mom and dad’s garage door.
Beneath this photo, is one of the three of us; transplants with similar blunt haircuts and coordinating seersucker outfits, sitting in the back of a brown Crown Victoria Station Wagon (later we dubbed her, Miss Vicky). The back seat has been turned down to create a kind of playpen in the rear of the car so that the three of us can sit together. There are toys everywhere. In the photo, I’m pressing a plastic phone the size of my head to my ear, my little brother looks caught, in the lens of the camera and my sister sits, holding a doll in her lap.
Looking at the photo now, I think we look a little stunned, as though we’re suspending our belief, terrified that we could wake-up at any moment to discover that all this–the toys, the smiling, teary adults–are a figment of our imaginations. But when we awake the next morning, the three of us stretched-out on mom and dad’s king-sized bed, it is all still true. (READ the rest of the chapter on my website hanahawley.com
photo by Kelcy Gatson on Unsplash
Head on over to http://www.hanahawley.com to read the latest about Hanako and Jiro’s adventures in Japan. A lot has happened since we caught up with them last. How will these changes impact their relationship? Chapters 22 and 23 are up. Click the link to read.
Hanako and Jiro in Japan
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Photo by Royji Iwata on Unsplash
Hanako despised the way their conversations entered a freefall of chaotic words and too tender feelings. The way they could pick apart each other’s sentences like birds pecking at nearly bare bones. At these moments, Hanako often felt as though she would rather die than admit she could have said or done things differently.
Read More at Hanako and Jiro in Japan on hanahawley.com
Why did it sometimes hurt so much to think that everything wasn’t for her? That the story she stepped into wasn’t always her own? Wasn’t it possible that God loved her and her friend equally? She’d always had the sneaking suspicion He played favorites.
Read the rest at hanahawley.com
Photo by Christopher Sardegna via Unsplash
Sometimes it’s hard to connect with anyone, in any language. Read Jiro’s story on HanaHawley.com as Hanako and Jiro’s adventures in Japan continue. Can you believe they’ve already been in Japan for six months?
Photo by Soro Sagano by Unsplash
When you’re too old to shop Forever 21 but too young to give-up trendy clothes…
Chapter 14 of Hanako and Jiro’s Adventures in Japan is about aging and kindness. Read the full story at http://www.hanahawley.com
(Excerpt): The fluorescent lights, the pulsing music, the bright yellow bags: all of it for the benefit of the forever twenty-one and under set whose skin miraculously looks brighter under the punishingly harsh lights, whose feet have danced club floors to the music piping through the store’s speakers, and for whom the plastic shopping bags will swing with freedom about their slim legs as they leave the incubator of youth in an hour’s time.