I've been writing for years. Seriously. I wrote my first story back when I was like 8. It was a horrible story, and I can't fathom why I wrote it, but I did. I even sold a copy of it to our next door neighbor's kid.
But my first real experience with writing for myself was my entry into the world of fanfiction, shortly after Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix came out. See, I had to move that summer, so I was stuck in my mom's apartment while she was at work, with no idea whether or not anyone in the apartment complex was my age. And it was hot, so I liked to stay inside. Which meant I played on the computer. A lot.
I started reading fanfiction as a way to pass the time. And most of the stories that I read were horrible. Thrown together without a second thought, no development, nothing. So, I decided I could do better.
I ended up writing 5 full-length fics, and several one-shots over the next 4 or so years. Then, in my last year in college, my dear friends, A.K. Morgen and Naomi, introduced me to NaNoWriMo. I didn't write a novel that year, merely helped edit one. That never got done. We won't talk about that. The following spring, I had a lot of personal things go on, and the summer after I graduated from college, I ended up writing a memoir, as a therapeutic technique. I started writing short stories to challenge prompts, even submitted a few, hastily thrown together pieces.
That was 4 years ago. Now, I have a few ideas for new novels, but I can't seem to find the motivation to pen them. I have two rough drafts of novels that need to be heavily edited (because they're not consistent). And I have a folder of short stories that I started writing and never finished. I picked one up about 2 weeks ago, after I finished my exams for school. And I rewrote most of what I had down.
And then I got stuck. I realized that the draft I had written didn't have any purpose to it. It was about a girl under a curse, but I couldn't figure out why she was under the curse. I knew how to break it, but what was the motivation for the curse in the first place? How would breaking the curse affect her and those around her?
See, without knowing the reason behind the curse, I can't finish the story. And I honestly have no idea how to figure out the reason. When I got to this point in my novels, it was fairly easy to just start jotting down ideas, or writing out a character sketch of one of the characters. That allows me some insight into what my characters are trying to tell me. But this one... she's a mystery still to me. I mean, I know all about her, but why she got saddled with this curse? No idea. I know at some point, there's a boy involved, but I'm not sure how he plays a role either.
Maybe it will come to me in a dream. In the meantime, I'm stuck with writer's block. Maybe I'll start looking up prompts again. We do have a literary magazine that I'd like to submit something to this year.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Unusual Circumstances
Title: Unusual Circumstances
Word Count: 2227
Genre: Realistic Fiction (Fantasy)
I know, you're looking at that genre and wondering 'what the heck?' But, it's difficult to put this piece into one genre. It's a character sketch I wrote years ago (back in 2008) as a part of a collaboration project (which got about 4 chapters into the story and then went belly-up). The character sketch itself is realistic fiction. There's nothing completely unusual about it, though there are clearly things out of place. But, my character, as it turns out in the course of the novel, has powers. A la Heroes. Hence the fantasy tag.
I don't think I'll use this character again (though her name is one of my favorites, so that may come back). She was written in a weird time in my life, and I don't think I can get into her head again. But, I might use her concept again. She has a rather interesting back-story. As always, let me know what you think.
Unusual Circumstances
The room was darker than usual, though if she tried, she could see the corners. One lone fluorescent light beamed down on her face, causing the detective's face to be in shadow. His mustache seemed larger now, overpowering his other features, and it was certainly what made him distinct from other men. He was also quite large, though most of it was probably not muscle. If he wore glasses and put on a plaid shirt, he would look very much like the stereotypical high school geek, just a little larger. His badge gleamed a little. 'Denver Police Department' it read, and she rolled her eyes a little at him flaunting it now.
The man cleared his throat and her eyes moved back up to his face. She couldn't see him, as he was still out of the light, but she imagined him smirking a little.
“Please state your name for the record.”
She thought about giving him a fake name, or even the name of someone else she knew, but it was pointless; they already knew who she was. That's the only way they'd been able to find her. She took in a deep breath and stared down the man.
“Elizabeth Miriam Stern.”
He jotted down her name on a piece of paper. “And your birthday?”
“June 15, 1986.”
“Ms. Stern, do you know why you are here today?” She thought she heard him laughing at her a little, mocking her for being in this position.
She smiled a bit in response, hoping her expression would indicate she was mocking him in return. “Because you thought it necessary to drag me here after work. Though I am quite grateful you decided to wait until after work to arrest—sorry, detain—me. The hospital administrators wouldn't have taken too kindly to any of their employees being taken by the police while at work.” Of course, the hospital administrators were rarely pleased with what went on in the lab. She was just a lab technician, a rather low level job, and they treated her as such. It didn't matter that she was far more efficient than anyone else in there. One of these days, she will have saved up enough to move on to bigger and better things. Maybe she'd even put her college degree to use and do a little scientific research. Or maybe she'd get another degree that would give her the influence to tell those administrators to shove it.
He leaned forward onto the metal table separating them, his face finally coming into the light. “Come now, Ms. Stern. This is no time for fun. You know just as well as I do why you are here.”
She bit her lip in thought and tapped her fingers on the edge of the table. “No... nothing is coming to me.” She shook her head a little and smiled at the detective. “Though I do know that you can't keep me here without reasonable cause. That's still illegal for U.S. Citizens. Do you have any charges?”
The man's mustache bristled slightly, giving her the impression that they didn't have exactly what they needed for an arrest. “Very well, we'll do things your way. Where were you on the night of April 10th, around seven o'clock?”
“Nothing, hmm? Alright, I'll play. That was a Thursday, was it not? I was doing what I always do on Thursdays: sitting in my living room and watching my weekly allowance of television.”
“Any witnesses?”
She rolled her eyes. “My dog. She might maul you if you try to ask her, though. She doesn't take too kindly to people threatening me.”
He smirked again and rubbed his mustache thoughtfully. “Tell me, Ms. Stern, are you seeing anyone?”
The picture was almost too comical for her. If she were in any other situation, she probably would have laughed. “Are you asking me out, detective?” She smiled mockingly at him, meeting his eyes in defiance. He stared her down until she relented. “No, detective. My 'significant other' and I broke up a few months ago. Last I heard, he was on his way out east to New York or Washington, or some other big city out there. I haven't thought it necessary to look for someone else as of yet.”
“Messy break-up?”
“I fail to see how that is any of your business, but no. We parted on fairly good terms, though it was still difficult. The ending of any long relationship is difficult.” She turned her head away, closing her eyes to fight against the wave of sadness that crashed over her. The wounds were still too fresh to discuss with anyone, let alone someone who didn't know her. The break had been fairly clean, but the decision to break things off had been very difficult for her. Still was, if she was honest with herself.
He heaved a sigh and looked down at his paper. “We have a witness who says you were downtown at Cowboy's, arguing with a man on this night.”
“Your witness must be mistaken.”
“And if she's not?”
She smirked. “I already told you where I was. If you have any other proof that I was there, I'd love to hear it.”
He shifted in his chair and moved on to another line of questions. “Are there any people familiar with your habits? Friends, family, neighbors, anyone you're rather friendly with?” He stared her down, clearly hoping she would break and confess whatever it was he suspected she did.
She shrugged and folded her arms over her chest. “My neighbor, Samantha, takes care of my plants when I go out of town. I talk with her with some regularity, though I wouldn't exactly consider her a friend. All my family live out of town, and I only talk to my sister on a regular basis, every Sunday night. She's like a best friend to me, and would probably know me better than anyone. My coworkers, James and Heather, are familiar with my work schedule, should you want to interrogate them as well. I go swing dancing with a small group of friends every so often...”
“And who might those friends be?”
She glanced at him, clearly annoyed with the interruption. “Josh, Michael and Destiny. Destiny and I do things other than swing dancing as well on occasion. She's about as close to a best friend I have beyond my sister.” Of course, everyone else thought she was a tad bit too serious for her age, and opted to go out and party rather than take life seriously. “Other than my weekly television shows, and my work, I really don't have any habits for anyone to really know. I go to bed at different times every night, and do different things before I go to bed, depending on how I feel...”
He looked back down at his paper and jotted down a few more notes. She looked around the empty room while she waited for him to break the silence. There was a mirror on the other wall and she looked at herself carefully. Her long brown hair had fallen out of its bun, and wisps of it were now framing her rosy cheeks. She readjusted her glasses, knowing that she would have to go and get contacts one of these days. The threat of all those infections made her a little leery about them, though. Still, her ex, Joey, had said that she looked better without the glasses, letting her deep brown eyes actually be seen. Her face was still as youthful as ever; that's why she opted to work in the lab for a while, so that people wouldn't get so anxious about someone so young treating them, even if she wasn't really that young.
The detective cleared his throat and she went back to focusing on his face. “Do you associate with anyone named Ryan Smith?”
She thought for a moment. “The name sounds vaguely familiar, but he certainly isn't in my inner circle. He's probably come in for some blood tests or something. Are you ever going to get around to telling me exactly what you suspect I did?” She glared at him across the table, wishing she could use him as a practice dummy for her workout. He looked pudgy enough to give a little when she punched him, so it wouldn't leave her any worse for wear, and his annoying train of questions was certainly firing up her temper.
In response, he pushed a picture across the table. It was of a man, severely bloodied, dressed in torn and dirtied clothes. She looked at the picture with a mix of intrigue and disgust. She looked back up at the detective. “While I have no doubt I could inflict such injuries if I tried, I didn't do this. Now, unless you have any actual evidence linking me to this crime, such as the knife that caused all these wounds, I suggest you let me go.”
His head tilted in question, his eyebrows bunching together slightly. “How did you know it was a knife?”
She smiled and raised her eyebrows a little. “It's rather obvious, isn't it? The wounds are deep, and were clearly caused by at least a somewhat sharp instrument. It looks like fists—rather strong fists—could cause the bruises and potentially broken bones, but something sharp had to make the cuts. My guess is a knife, though without actually seeing the body, I couldn't tell you what shape of knife.” At his confused look, she continued. “I have a degree in biology. I know the parts of the body quite well, and took a handful of forensics classes when I was considering going into that field. I eventually decided that I would rather deal with live people than dead ones. Even if the dead ones don't talk back.”
He looked decidedly uncomfortable and looked back at his paper. “Just a few more questions, please.” He slid another photograph towards her. A close-up of a part of the body, the neck. It had a necklace around it, one with a column of progressively larger gemstones, alternating blue and white in color. “Do you recognize this?”
Of course she recognized it. It had been the necklace her sister had given her for her last birthday. It had been one of the only pieces of jewelry she would wear, along with the ring on her thumb her mother had given her before her parents disowned her. The necklace represented the strength of the relationship she still had with her sister, despite their parents' disapproval. The chain was different, of course, but the chain was most certainly hers.
She thought quickly and nodded slowly. “Yes, that's the necklace I got from my sister. It went missing about a month ago. I figured it had fallen off at work, and was devastated when I couldn't find it.” She hoped that was enough to convince the detective she was not the suspect he wanted. She wondered who would want to frame her for such a crime, and why her. She smiled at the detective, not betraying her thoughts. “Anything else, detective?”
He watched her face carefully and shook his head. “I'll be in touch. I highly advise you don't leave town until we get this all cleared up.”
She pursed her lips and stood, waiting for him to lead her out of the room. When she was finally in the bright light outside, she let out a long breath. She didn't particularly feel like riding the bus home, so she started walking, thinking the whole time. All she really wanted out of life was to help. She had long figured that the best way to do this would be through medicine, due to her fascination with science. One day, she hoped she might become a physician, but that wasn't part of her immediate plan. She didn't want to give up her entirely life quite so soon.
She knew she would have an easy time accomplishing her goals; she had graduated at the top of her class in college, and had a number of offers to work in biotechnology upon graduation. She had spent her last semester in London, and didn't want to be tied down to any one position for the rest of her life, so she turned them all down. Her parents weren't happy with her decision, but she took their disappointment in stride and did some introspection.
Of course, this all led her to reject much of what her parents clung to in belief, so they disowned her. Her sister had supported her all the way, and she guessed this was because her sister felt much the same way, but was too afraid to disappoint the parents. She did regret hurting her parents, but she didn't regret the year she spent traveling and holding temporary jobs after college. It was the best thing she could have done.
When she finally reached her apartment, she opened the door, only to be tackled by her rather crazy Golden Retriever, Lily. She took in a deep breath and smiled. It was good to be home.
Word Count: 2227
Genre: Realistic Fiction (Fantasy)
I know, you're looking at that genre and wondering 'what the heck?' But, it's difficult to put this piece into one genre. It's a character sketch I wrote years ago (back in 2008) as a part of a collaboration project (which got about 4 chapters into the story and then went belly-up). The character sketch itself is realistic fiction. There's nothing completely unusual about it, though there are clearly things out of place. But, my character, as it turns out in the course of the novel, has powers. A la Heroes. Hence the fantasy tag.
I don't think I'll use this character again (though her name is one of my favorites, so that may come back). She was written in a weird time in my life, and I don't think I can get into her head again. But, I might use her concept again. She has a rather interesting back-story. As always, let me know what you think.
Unusual Circumstances
The room was darker than usual, though if she tried, she could see the corners. One lone fluorescent light beamed down on her face, causing the detective's face to be in shadow. His mustache seemed larger now, overpowering his other features, and it was certainly what made him distinct from other men. He was also quite large, though most of it was probably not muscle. If he wore glasses and put on a plaid shirt, he would look very much like the stereotypical high school geek, just a little larger. His badge gleamed a little. 'Denver Police Department' it read, and she rolled her eyes a little at him flaunting it now.
The man cleared his throat and her eyes moved back up to his face. She couldn't see him, as he was still out of the light, but she imagined him smirking a little.
“Please state your name for the record.”
She thought about giving him a fake name, or even the name of someone else she knew, but it was pointless; they already knew who she was. That's the only way they'd been able to find her. She took in a deep breath and stared down the man.
“Elizabeth Miriam Stern.”
He jotted down her name on a piece of paper. “And your birthday?”
“June 15, 1986.”
“Ms. Stern, do you know why you are here today?” She thought she heard him laughing at her a little, mocking her for being in this position.
She smiled a bit in response, hoping her expression would indicate she was mocking him in return. “Because you thought it necessary to drag me here after work. Though I am quite grateful you decided to wait until after work to arrest—sorry, detain—me. The hospital administrators wouldn't have taken too kindly to any of their employees being taken by the police while at work.” Of course, the hospital administrators were rarely pleased with what went on in the lab. She was just a lab technician, a rather low level job, and they treated her as such. It didn't matter that she was far more efficient than anyone else in there. One of these days, she will have saved up enough to move on to bigger and better things. Maybe she'd even put her college degree to use and do a little scientific research. Or maybe she'd get another degree that would give her the influence to tell those administrators to shove it.
He leaned forward onto the metal table separating them, his face finally coming into the light. “Come now, Ms. Stern. This is no time for fun. You know just as well as I do why you are here.”
She bit her lip in thought and tapped her fingers on the edge of the table. “No... nothing is coming to me.” She shook her head a little and smiled at the detective. “Though I do know that you can't keep me here without reasonable cause. That's still illegal for U.S. Citizens. Do you have any charges?”
The man's mustache bristled slightly, giving her the impression that they didn't have exactly what they needed for an arrest. “Very well, we'll do things your way. Where were you on the night of April 10th, around seven o'clock?”
“Nothing, hmm? Alright, I'll play. That was a Thursday, was it not? I was doing what I always do on Thursdays: sitting in my living room and watching my weekly allowance of television.”
“Any witnesses?”
She rolled her eyes. “My dog. She might maul you if you try to ask her, though. She doesn't take too kindly to people threatening me.”
He smirked again and rubbed his mustache thoughtfully. “Tell me, Ms. Stern, are you seeing anyone?”
The picture was almost too comical for her. If she were in any other situation, she probably would have laughed. “Are you asking me out, detective?” She smiled mockingly at him, meeting his eyes in defiance. He stared her down until she relented. “No, detective. My 'significant other' and I broke up a few months ago. Last I heard, he was on his way out east to New York or Washington, or some other big city out there. I haven't thought it necessary to look for someone else as of yet.”
“Messy break-up?”
“I fail to see how that is any of your business, but no. We parted on fairly good terms, though it was still difficult. The ending of any long relationship is difficult.” She turned her head away, closing her eyes to fight against the wave of sadness that crashed over her. The wounds were still too fresh to discuss with anyone, let alone someone who didn't know her. The break had been fairly clean, but the decision to break things off had been very difficult for her. Still was, if she was honest with herself.
He heaved a sigh and looked down at his paper. “We have a witness who says you were downtown at Cowboy's, arguing with a man on this night.”
“Your witness must be mistaken.”
“And if she's not?”
She smirked. “I already told you where I was. If you have any other proof that I was there, I'd love to hear it.”
He shifted in his chair and moved on to another line of questions. “Are there any people familiar with your habits? Friends, family, neighbors, anyone you're rather friendly with?” He stared her down, clearly hoping she would break and confess whatever it was he suspected she did.
She shrugged and folded her arms over her chest. “My neighbor, Samantha, takes care of my plants when I go out of town. I talk with her with some regularity, though I wouldn't exactly consider her a friend. All my family live out of town, and I only talk to my sister on a regular basis, every Sunday night. She's like a best friend to me, and would probably know me better than anyone. My coworkers, James and Heather, are familiar with my work schedule, should you want to interrogate them as well. I go swing dancing with a small group of friends every so often...”
“And who might those friends be?”
She glanced at him, clearly annoyed with the interruption. “Josh, Michael and Destiny. Destiny and I do things other than swing dancing as well on occasion. She's about as close to a best friend I have beyond my sister.” Of course, everyone else thought she was a tad bit too serious for her age, and opted to go out and party rather than take life seriously. “Other than my weekly television shows, and my work, I really don't have any habits for anyone to really know. I go to bed at different times every night, and do different things before I go to bed, depending on how I feel...”
He looked back down at his paper and jotted down a few more notes. She looked around the empty room while she waited for him to break the silence. There was a mirror on the other wall and she looked at herself carefully. Her long brown hair had fallen out of its bun, and wisps of it were now framing her rosy cheeks. She readjusted her glasses, knowing that she would have to go and get contacts one of these days. The threat of all those infections made her a little leery about them, though. Still, her ex, Joey, had said that she looked better without the glasses, letting her deep brown eyes actually be seen. Her face was still as youthful as ever; that's why she opted to work in the lab for a while, so that people wouldn't get so anxious about someone so young treating them, even if she wasn't really that young.
The detective cleared his throat and she went back to focusing on his face. “Do you associate with anyone named Ryan Smith?”
She thought for a moment. “The name sounds vaguely familiar, but he certainly isn't in my inner circle. He's probably come in for some blood tests or something. Are you ever going to get around to telling me exactly what you suspect I did?” She glared at him across the table, wishing she could use him as a practice dummy for her workout. He looked pudgy enough to give a little when she punched him, so it wouldn't leave her any worse for wear, and his annoying train of questions was certainly firing up her temper.
In response, he pushed a picture across the table. It was of a man, severely bloodied, dressed in torn and dirtied clothes. She looked at the picture with a mix of intrigue and disgust. She looked back up at the detective. “While I have no doubt I could inflict such injuries if I tried, I didn't do this. Now, unless you have any actual evidence linking me to this crime, such as the knife that caused all these wounds, I suggest you let me go.”
His head tilted in question, his eyebrows bunching together slightly. “How did you know it was a knife?”
She smiled and raised her eyebrows a little. “It's rather obvious, isn't it? The wounds are deep, and were clearly caused by at least a somewhat sharp instrument. It looks like fists—rather strong fists—could cause the bruises and potentially broken bones, but something sharp had to make the cuts. My guess is a knife, though without actually seeing the body, I couldn't tell you what shape of knife.” At his confused look, she continued. “I have a degree in biology. I know the parts of the body quite well, and took a handful of forensics classes when I was considering going into that field. I eventually decided that I would rather deal with live people than dead ones. Even if the dead ones don't talk back.”
He looked decidedly uncomfortable and looked back at his paper. “Just a few more questions, please.” He slid another photograph towards her. A close-up of a part of the body, the neck. It had a necklace around it, one with a column of progressively larger gemstones, alternating blue and white in color. “Do you recognize this?”
Of course she recognized it. It had been the necklace her sister had given her for her last birthday. It had been one of the only pieces of jewelry she would wear, along with the ring on her thumb her mother had given her before her parents disowned her. The necklace represented the strength of the relationship she still had with her sister, despite their parents' disapproval. The chain was different, of course, but the chain was most certainly hers.
She thought quickly and nodded slowly. “Yes, that's the necklace I got from my sister. It went missing about a month ago. I figured it had fallen off at work, and was devastated when I couldn't find it.” She hoped that was enough to convince the detective she was not the suspect he wanted. She wondered who would want to frame her for such a crime, and why her. She smiled at the detective, not betraying her thoughts. “Anything else, detective?”
He watched her face carefully and shook his head. “I'll be in touch. I highly advise you don't leave town until we get this all cleared up.”
She pursed her lips and stood, waiting for him to lead her out of the room. When she was finally in the bright light outside, she let out a long breath. She didn't particularly feel like riding the bus home, so she started walking, thinking the whole time. All she really wanted out of life was to help. She had long figured that the best way to do this would be through medicine, due to her fascination with science. One day, she hoped she might become a physician, but that wasn't part of her immediate plan. She didn't want to give up her entirely life quite so soon.
She knew she would have an easy time accomplishing her goals; she had graduated at the top of her class in college, and had a number of offers to work in biotechnology upon graduation. She had spent her last semester in London, and didn't want to be tied down to any one position for the rest of her life, so she turned them all down. Her parents weren't happy with her decision, but she took their disappointment in stride and did some introspection.
Of course, this all led her to reject much of what her parents clung to in belief, so they disowned her. Her sister had supported her all the way, and she guessed this was because her sister felt much the same way, but was too afraid to disappoint the parents. She did regret hurting her parents, but she didn't regret the year she spent traveling and holding temporary jobs after college. It was the best thing she could have done.
When she finally reached her apartment, she opened the door, only to be tackled by her rather crazy Golden Retriever, Lily. She took in a deep breath and smiled. It was good to be home.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Stronger Stuff
Title: Stronger Stuff
Word Count: 1328
Genre: Realistic Fiction
This is a semiautobiographical piece that I started writing about 3 years ago. In going through my files this summer, I found it and finished it up. I'm curious as to who you sympathize with more, the man or the woman. Both had their problems and difficulties, but one of them has to be the victim, right?
Stronger Stuff
Meet me by the bridge at dusk.
That's all the note had said. No signature, no address, nothing except the single sentence. But, she didn't need to wonder who it was from. The sharp letters were as familiar to her as her own sloping handwriting. She sighed and folded the note back up, placing it carefully in her purse.
He wouldn't have sent that note to her if it wasn't important. Despite her reservations about seeing him again, she knew she would end up going. There was no way she could deny the tug the note had over her. She sipped on the last of her afternoon tea, her one pleasure after a long day at work. It was the only thing that seemed to calm her down these days, now that he had left and taken his calming presence with him.
A quick peek out the window told her that she had to get ready. The sun was dipping low in the sky, and if she didn't leave soon, she would miss the appointment. She made her way into the kitchen and washed out her cup, thinking about what he could possibly want to meet her for. Making her way to her hall closet, she pulled out a long pink scarf, her long coat, and an umbrella. She didn't particularly want to leave the warmth of her house to go out in the drizzling cold, but she couldn't leave him waiting for her.
It was a fifteen minute walk to the stone bridge in the park. There was little foot traffic so late in the afternoon; just a few people walking their dogs before turning in for the night. She looked down at the river flowing freely under the bridge. The water seemed so calm, but she knew it ran strong. An orange leaf floating by showed the current moving along quickly, while the few raindrops falling from the sky left ripples in the surface.
It was starting to get dark. He'd be here soon, if he wasn't already waiting nearby. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She heard a few leaves crunch behind her, but she continued to look out over the water.
“Hello again.” His voice was soft, sweet, just as she remembered it. “Thanks for coming.”
She turned to him and melted at the sight of him. He stood there, proud and confident as ever, save for the small blue circles under his eyes. He smiled brightly, making her stomach flutter.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, confused as ever. Her heart ached a little, knowing she would never fully recover from the loss of him.
“I needed someone to talk to. You're the only one who would understand.” He looked at her, his eyes pleading. Her gaze dropped to her hands, fighting the urge to bound into his arms.
She heard him sigh and lean against the railing next to her. “You know, this is where I first told you I loved you.” He paused and placed a warm hand over hers. “It's still true, you know.”
She pulled her hand away and closed her eyes, urging the tears to stay at bay. “I am well aware of what has happened here. If you love me so much, why do you keep pushing me away, only to draw me close again?”
He shrugged. “I need you. I just can't... be with you.” He shifted his weight.
She turned to him quickly, her eyes flashing with anger. “You can't be with me, and yet you won't leave me alone long enough for me to move on. To try to scrape together some semblance of my former life, before you took me by storm.” Her breathing became erratic, and lightening flashed overhead. He held his hands up in surrender and took a step back.
“Calm down now. I just wanted to talk....”
“Of course you just wanted to talk. And as soon as you have whatever it is you're worried about off your chest, you'll leave again until you need me again. You don't care about me, certainly not to the degree I care about you.” She turned her back to him, closing her eyes tightly against the onslaught of emotions.
“If this is about me and Brian...”
She wanted to scream in frustration. “Of course this isn't about you and Brian. This is about me. This is about my need to be human again, not some shade of my former self. If you actually cared about me, you would be able to see that. I'm miserable, and you're just keeping me there while you go and move on with someone else. I don't care who it is you move on with; I love you enough to wish you happiness, but I want to be happy as well.”
She could hear him breathing quietly behind her and held her breath for his reaction. She couldn't imagine it would be a good one. There was entirely too much tension in the air and his temper would flare worse than hers had. Their tempers matched so well, it always made for explosive arguments when either was stressed.
He brushed his fingers along her shoulder and sighed. She stiffened beneath his touch, her nerves on edge. “You're right,” he said softly. “I should let you go. But I find myself craving your company at the strangest of times. I'm not strong enough.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles softly.
Her knees shook beneath her and she used her other hand to steady herself against the stone wall. “What did you need to talk to me about?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“It's my dad. He still won't talk to me.” He tugged on her hand pulled her into his arms. “I'm not sure what to do about it,” he mumbled into her hair.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Just give him time. You're his only son. He'll come around. You just shocked him.”
“It wouldn't take much to shock him,” he chuckled. “He's lived the straight and narrow his whole life.”
She nodded, but remained silent. He continued to talk, letting the weight of the world off his chest, it seemed. She listened, savoring the feel of his arms around her, the feeling of safety she felt. She reluctantly pulled away as he finished his catharsis. The rain had stopped, leaving a crisp chill in the air.
“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”
“I didn't do anything,” she muttered.
“You listened. You gave me hope again.” He leaned down and softly kissed her cheek. “You make everything seem better.”
She shrugged and smiled weakly. “I should be getting back.”
He glanced at his watch and nodded. “Let me walk you back.”
“No, that won't be necessary,” she said forcefully, placing her hand on his chest. “I could use the quiet time,” she added.
He nodded and gave her one last hug, then set off for his home once again. As she stood there, watching him leave, a tear rolled down her cheek. “Goodbye. I'll miss you.”
Turning on her heel, she started the stroll back to her own house, making a mental list of the loose ends she'd need to tie up before she left town. It was a cowardly move, she knew, but a necessary one. He needed to find someone else to confide in, and she just needed to find herself again. Three long years she had spent in his company, becoming absorbed in his world. Now, it was over, and she had to become her own person again, not half of a couple.
What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.
Word Count: 1328
Genre: Realistic Fiction
This is a semiautobiographical piece that I started writing about 3 years ago. In going through my files this summer, I found it and finished it up. I'm curious as to who you sympathize with more, the man or the woman. Both had their problems and difficulties, but one of them has to be the victim, right?
Stronger Stuff
Meet me by the bridge at dusk.
That's all the note had said. No signature, no address, nothing except the single sentence. But, she didn't need to wonder who it was from. The sharp letters were as familiar to her as her own sloping handwriting. She sighed and folded the note back up, placing it carefully in her purse.
He wouldn't have sent that note to her if it wasn't important. Despite her reservations about seeing him again, she knew she would end up going. There was no way she could deny the tug the note had over her. She sipped on the last of her afternoon tea, her one pleasure after a long day at work. It was the only thing that seemed to calm her down these days, now that he had left and taken his calming presence with him.
A quick peek out the window told her that she had to get ready. The sun was dipping low in the sky, and if she didn't leave soon, she would miss the appointment. She made her way into the kitchen and washed out her cup, thinking about what he could possibly want to meet her for. Making her way to her hall closet, she pulled out a long pink scarf, her long coat, and an umbrella. She didn't particularly want to leave the warmth of her house to go out in the drizzling cold, but she couldn't leave him waiting for her.
It was a fifteen minute walk to the stone bridge in the park. There was little foot traffic so late in the afternoon; just a few people walking their dogs before turning in for the night. She looked down at the river flowing freely under the bridge. The water seemed so calm, but she knew it ran strong. An orange leaf floating by showed the current moving along quickly, while the few raindrops falling from the sky left ripples in the surface.
It was starting to get dark. He'd be here soon, if he wasn't already waiting nearby. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She heard a few leaves crunch behind her, but she continued to look out over the water.
“Hello again.” His voice was soft, sweet, just as she remembered it. “Thanks for coming.”
She turned to him and melted at the sight of him. He stood there, proud and confident as ever, save for the small blue circles under his eyes. He smiled brightly, making her stomach flutter.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, confused as ever. Her heart ached a little, knowing she would never fully recover from the loss of him.
“I needed someone to talk to. You're the only one who would understand.” He looked at her, his eyes pleading. Her gaze dropped to her hands, fighting the urge to bound into his arms.
She heard him sigh and lean against the railing next to her. “You know, this is where I first told you I loved you.” He paused and placed a warm hand over hers. “It's still true, you know.”
She pulled her hand away and closed her eyes, urging the tears to stay at bay. “I am well aware of what has happened here. If you love me so much, why do you keep pushing me away, only to draw me close again?”
He shrugged. “I need you. I just can't... be with you.” He shifted his weight.
She turned to him quickly, her eyes flashing with anger. “You can't be with me, and yet you won't leave me alone long enough for me to move on. To try to scrape together some semblance of my former life, before you took me by storm.” Her breathing became erratic, and lightening flashed overhead. He held his hands up in surrender and took a step back.
“Calm down now. I just wanted to talk....”
“Of course you just wanted to talk. And as soon as you have whatever it is you're worried about off your chest, you'll leave again until you need me again. You don't care about me, certainly not to the degree I care about you.” She turned her back to him, closing her eyes tightly against the onslaught of emotions.
“If this is about me and Brian...”
She wanted to scream in frustration. “Of course this isn't about you and Brian. This is about me. This is about my need to be human again, not some shade of my former self. If you actually cared about me, you would be able to see that. I'm miserable, and you're just keeping me there while you go and move on with someone else. I don't care who it is you move on with; I love you enough to wish you happiness, but I want to be happy as well.”
She could hear him breathing quietly behind her and held her breath for his reaction. She couldn't imagine it would be a good one. There was entirely too much tension in the air and his temper would flare worse than hers had. Their tempers matched so well, it always made for explosive arguments when either was stressed.
He brushed his fingers along her shoulder and sighed. She stiffened beneath his touch, her nerves on edge. “You're right,” he said softly. “I should let you go. But I find myself craving your company at the strangest of times. I'm not strong enough.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles softly.
Her knees shook beneath her and she used her other hand to steady herself against the stone wall. “What did you need to talk to me about?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“It's my dad. He still won't talk to me.” He tugged on her hand pulled her into his arms. “I'm not sure what to do about it,” he mumbled into her hair.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Just give him time. You're his only son. He'll come around. You just shocked him.”
“It wouldn't take much to shock him,” he chuckled. “He's lived the straight and narrow his whole life.”
She nodded, but remained silent. He continued to talk, letting the weight of the world off his chest, it seemed. She listened, savoring the feel of his arms around her, the feeling of safety she felt. She reluctantly pulled away as he finished his catharsis. The rain had stopped, leaving a crisp chill in the air.
“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”
“I didn't do anything,” she muttered.
“You listened. You gave me hope again.” He leaned down and softly kissed her cheek. “You make everything seem better.”
She shrugged and smiled weakly. “I should be getting back.”
He glanced at his watch and nodded. “Let me walk you back.”
“No, that won't be necessary,” she said forcefully, placing her hand on his chest. “I could use the quiet time,” she added.
He nodded and gave her one last hug, then set off for his home once again. As she stood there, watching him leave, a tear rolled down her cheek. “Goodbye. I'll miss you.”
Turning on her heel, she started the stroll back to her own house, making a mental list of the loose ends she'd need to tie up before she left town. It was a cowardly move, she knew, but a necessary one. He needed to find someone else to confide in, and she just needed to find herself again. Three long years she had spent in his company, becoming absorbed in his world. Now, it was over, and she had to become her own person again, not half of a couple.
What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Michael's Mission
Title: Michael's Mission
Word Count: 1,144
Genre: Fantasy
Yes, I know it's been forever and a day since I posted something. But between writing and school, school will always come first. But now that I'm out for summer break, I'll have a little more time to write and edit and whatnot.
First up is another character sketch. This one is for Michael Cline, the second main character in my Hidden Souls universe (the first is Sophia Carson, and her character sketch can be found here). I started writing this back in November, just to try to get inside Michael's head, but he didn't want to let me in too far. So I picked up the document again a couple days ago and banged out the rest.
Note once again that this is a rough (as in almost hot off the press) draft. It's unedited, probably full of mistakes (both grammatical and chronological), and gives a little more away than I'd like, but as the novel is about Sophia, and not Michael, I figure that's okay too. Enjoy!
Michael's Mission
People were walking up the hill, gathering in a small circle at the top. He stood at the bottom, watching them idly, before seeking shelter from the sweltering sun under a large oak on the edge of the circle. A man within the circle pulled a Kleenex out of his pocket and dabbed his forehead to stop the sweat from running down his face and onto his freshly pressed shirt. Several of the ladies had papers that they were using as fans, while others didn't seem to notice the heat at all, too focused on the speech in the center of the crowd. He stood out in his jeans and black t-shirt, but no one seemed to notice.
The crowd bowed their heads in prayer, and he took the time to watch the faces. Everyone he knew, even some he didn't, were standing there. People he hadn't seen in years had gathered here on this bright summer day. His family stood in the center of the crowd, huddled together as if for warmth despite the heat. The steady cadence of the prayer came to a conclusion and the crowd collectively murmured 'Amen.' There was a slight paused before the crowd shifted, moving closer to the center, then dispersing one by one.
He watched as the older couples filed out one by one, followed by his friends, heading down the hill to their cars parked along the narrow road. None even glanced his way, almost as if they were purposefully avoiding him. He appeared unfazed by this, as if it were a normal turn of events.
Finally, the crowd thinned enough that he could see his mother and father standing next to the preacher, his mother leaning against his father for support. His younger sister stood a little off to the side, her eyes blank and unfocused. He straightened and walked towards her, holding out his hand to offer her support. She shook her head slightly, then turned away and stalked down the hill to where a man was leaning against a small blue car.
His mother let out a soft sob, then turned to her husband and clung to him for support. He whispered reassuring words in her ear, though tears were streaking down his own face. After a moment, both walked slowly towards their own car, leaving only him and the preacher. The preacher looked down at the ground and mouthed a few words, then followed the rest of the crowd towards the waiting cars.
He remained, looking down at the hole in the ground where they had lowered his body. There was a pile of dirt artfully hidden with a black cloth, the edge of a shovel sticking out slightly. He swallowed, then turned to watch the cars as they drove away, one by one. Never before had he felt this alone, looking down at his tombstone.
Michael Richard Cline
Son taken before his prime
June 9, 1984 – August 10, 2007
Letting out a groan of frustration, he looked up at the sky. “Why? Why me? Why did you have to take me away and then curse me by leaving me here?” he shouted, falling to his knees and letting out a sigh of despair.
Glancing down the hill, he saw his sister standing there in the arms of the man who had been waiting by her car. Feeling a sudden surge of anger, he marched down the hill to them. The wind picked up slightly as he moved, rustling the leaves of the trees and his sister's skirt. She shivered and huddled further into the man's arms. As he approached, he heard her sobbing softly.
“It's all my fault, Simon,” she cried. Michael slowed his approach.
Simon shook his head and rubbed her back slowly. “Nat, it's not your fault. It was an accident...”
She shook her head quickly. “I asked him to drive home. I knew he couldn't leave until late, but I insisted he come anyway. And then it started raining...”
Michael shook his head. “Natalie, it wasn't your fault. I'd made that drive hundreds of times.”
Simon held her at arms length. “It was an accident, Nat. Someone was driving too fast down the mountain, and he just got unlucky and went through the light at the wrong time.”
She whimpered softly. “If I hadn't insisted that he drive down that night, he would have come the next morning, when it wasn't raining, and he would have made it home safely...”
Michael reached out a hand for her, but Simon pulled her to him instead. “You can't blame yourself. He wouldn't want that, and you know it,” Simon argued.
Michael sighed softly and nodded, then looked at Simon with narrowed eyes. “You had better take care of her. If you hurt her at all, there will be hell to pay.”
Simon kissed Natalie's forehead, then opened the door to the car and led her in. A few minutes later, the pair was driving away into the distance. Michael stood on the side of the road and watched them, even as they drove out of sight.
“It's not very healthy to hang out around your grave, you know,” a soft voice chimed behind him.
Startled, Michael spun on his heel towards the voice, only to find a girl that looked as if she were only ten dressed in a short white dress. “Who are you?”
She shrugged. “Who I am doesn't particularly matter. You're upset that you died, and you're upset that you're stuck here. Not what you were expecting out of the afterlife, I take it.”
He frowned slightly. “I don't... How can you see me when no one else could?”
She smiled. “Not everything is as it seems, Michael. You have not yet completed your purpose in life, so you'll remain here until you do.”
“What if I don't want to remain here? And what is my purpose?” Michael asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
The girl's eyes twinkled. “You'll figure it out eventually, when the time comes.”
His jaw clenched. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? No one can see me or hear me, so I can't interact with anyone, and I can't touch anything. What am I supposed to do in a physical world when I'm not a physical being?”
The girl tilted her head and watched him for a moment. “You're very educated, Michael. Perhaps you would best be suited exploring the interests you didn't have a chance to explore during your life.” Without waiting for a reply, she faded, leaving Michael to shout in frustration at his new situation.
“Have it your way, then,” he shouted. “I'll find my way, but I'm not going searching for it. I'm going to do things my way.” With a sudden burst of wind, he disappeared, leaving the cemetery empty once again.
Word Count: 1,144
Genre: Fantasy
Yes, I know it's been forever and a day since I posted something. But between writing and school, school will always come first. But now that I'm out for summer break, I'll have a little more time to write and edit and whatnot.
First up is another character sketch. This one is for Michael Cline, the second main character in my Hidden Souls universe (the first is Sophia Carson, and her character sketch can be found here). I started writing this back in November, just to try to get inside Michael's head, but he didn't want to let me in too far. So I picked up the document again a couple days ago and banged out the rest.
Note once again that this is a rough (as in almost hot off the press) draft. It's unedited, probably full of mistakes (both grammatical and chronological), and gives a little more away than I'd like, but as the novel is about Sophia, and not Michael, I figure that's okay too. Enjoy!
Michael's Mission
People were walking up the hill, gathering in a small circle at the top. He stood at the bottom, watching them idly, before seeking shelter from the sweltering sun under a large oak on the edge of the circle. A man within the circle pulled a Kleenex out of his pocket and dabbed his forehead to stop the sweat from running down his face and onto his freshly pressed shirt. Several of the ladies had papers that they were using as fans, while others didn't seem to notice the heat at all, too focused on the speech in the center of the crowd. He stood out in his jeans and black t-shirt, but no one seemed to notice.
The crowd bowed their heads in prayer, and he took the time to watch the faces. Everyone he knew, even some he didn't, were standing there. People he hadn't seen in years had gathered here on this bright summer day. His family stood in the center of the crowd, huddled together as if for warmth despite the heat. The steady cadence of the prayer came to a conclusion and the crowd collectively murmured 'Amen.' There was a slight paused before the crowd shifted, moving closer to the center, then dispersing one by one.
He watched as the older couples filed out one by one, followed by his friends, heading down the hill to their cars parked along the narrow road. None even glanced his way, almost as if they were purposefully avoiding him. He appeared unfazed by this, as if it were a normal turn of events.
Finally, the crowd thinned enough that he could see his mother and father standing next to the preacher, his mother leaning against his father for support. His younger sister stood a little off to the side, her eyes blank and unfocused. He straightened and walked towards her, holding out his hand to offer her support. She shook her head slightly, then turned away and stalked down the hill to where a man was leaning against a small blue car.
His mother let out a soft sob, then turned to her husband and clung to him for support. He whispered reassuring words in her ear, though tears were streaking down his own face. After a moment, both walked slowly towards their own car, leaving only him and the preacher. The preacher looked down at the ground and mouthed a few words, then followed the rest of the crowd towards the waiting cars.
He remained, looking down at the hole in the ground where they had lowered his body. There was a pile of dirt artfully hidden with a black cloth, the edge of a shovel sticking out slightly. He swallowed, then turned to watch the cars as they drove away, one by one. Never before had he felt this alone, looking down at his tombstone.
Michael Richard Cline
Son taken before his prime
June 9, 1984 – August 10, 2007
Letting out a groan of frustration, he looked up at the sky. “Why? Why me? Why did you have to take me away and then curse me by leaving me here?” he shouted, falling to his knees and letting out a sigh of despair.
Glancing down the hill, he saw his sister standing there in the arms of the man who had been waiting by her car. Feeling a sudden surge of anger, he marched down the hill to them. The wind picked up slightly as he moved, rustling the leaves of the trees and his sister's skirt. She shivered and huddled further into the man's arms. As he approached, he heard her sobbing softly.
“It's all my fault, Simon,” she cried. Michael slowed his approach.
Simon shook his head and rubbed her back slowly. “Nat, it's not your fault. It was an accident...”
She shook her head quickly. “I asked him to drive home. I knew he couldn't leave until late, but I insisted he come anyway. And then it started raining...”
Michael shook his head. “Natalie, it wasn't your fault. I'd made that drive hundreds of times.”
Simon held her at arms length. “It was an accident, Nat. Someone was driving too fast down the mountain, and he just got unlucky and went through the light at the wrong time.”
She whimpered softly. “If I hadn't insisted that he drive down that night, he would have come the next morning, when it wasn't raining, and he would have made it home safely...”
Michael reached out a hand for her, but Simon pulled her to him instead. “You can't blame yourself. He wouldn't want that, and you know it,” Simon argued.
Michael sighed softly and nodded, then looked at Simon with narrowed eyes. “You had better take care of her. If you hurt her at all, there will be hell to pay.”
Simon kissed Natalie's forehead, then opened the door to the car and led her in. A few minutes later, the pair was driving away into the distance. Michael stood on the side of the road and watched them, even as they drove out of sight.
“It's not very healthy to hang out around your grave, you know,” a soft voice chimed behind him.
Startled, Michael spun on his heel towards the voice, only to find a girl that looked as if she were only ten dressed in a short white dress. “Who are you?”
She shrugged. “Who I am doesn't particularly matter. You're upset that you died, and you're upset that you're stuck here. Not what you were expecting out of the afterlife, I take it.”
He frowned slightly. “I don't... How can you see me when no one else could?”
She smiled. “Not everything is as it seems, Michael. You have not yet completed your purpose in life, so you'll remain here until you do.”
“What if I don't want to remain here? And what is my purpose?” Michael asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
The girl's eyes twinkled. “You'll figure it out eventually, when the time comes.”
His jaw clenched. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? No one can see me or hear me, so I can't interact with anyone, and I can't touch anything. What am I supposed to do in a physical world when I'm not a physical being?”
The girl tilted her head and watched him for a moment. “You're very educated, Michael. Perhaps you would best be suited exploring the interests you didn't have a chance to explore during your life.” Without waiting for a reply, she faded, leaving Michael to shout in frustration at his new situation.
“Have it your way, then,” he shouted. “I'll find my way, but I'm not going searching for it. I'm going to do things my way.” With a sudden burst of wind, he disappeared, leaving the cemetery empty once again.
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