Checking in

Holy crap am I behind! And I'm sorry for that. But life has come together as of late to create sort of a perfect storm of a creativity blocking nature. As in, I've got nothing. No time, no inclination, no ideas, no nothing basically. But for my amazing handful of dedicated readers, I promise I'll be back soon and your dedication will be rewarded!

Post-Journey

So. I know this story is a wee bit different than my previous ones have been. And there are several reasons for that. The first of which is that this whole write a story a week for a year thing is a bit more intense than I thought it would be so I asked dearest Sh to give me an assignment this week (so the first sentence is of his provision, the rest is mine). The second of which is that I had to keep the story under 500 words, also per the assignment. The third of which is that because the starting sentence was so lyrical, I really wanted to just take the opportunity to play with words. I didn’t start off with a character sketch of any kind. I didn’t start off with any kind of situation or plot ideas. I just started playing with really rich language and decided to see where it took me.

Where it took me was not only to this place of dramatic and lovely language, but also an exploration of balance. As the light shifted to shadow, so the he needed a she. As his adoration of her blossomed so did her detestation of him. As the fear typically brings fear, so did that fear transcend into dancing. And so on and so forth. I’m not entirely sure if it worked all the way through, but it was actually a really fun exercise to just let the words come and see where they took me.

What did you think?

Journey

But because the quality of the light had changed from yellowish to gray, he could not. He could not encapsulate the feeling in the room. He could not step back from her or, more exactly, from the reflection of her. The light shifted to shadow and took the breath out of the whispers that had just been sent across the room in an effort to bend her ear and her heart towards him once more. The shadow skittered across the ceiling chasing the last bits of illumination out the window that had been purposefully propped open to give the sun an exit. The shadow that had at first stunned into silence now wrapped around the limbs and trunks in an embrace. Giving safety, allowing investigation. Gray fingers enticed her towards him, lured her towards his presence. His singular presence in the room full of aimlessness. Aimless wandering in the dark, aimless giggling at the chance brushes of hips and fingers. But he had not moved since the shadow had displaced the light. His gaze had focused on where he had left her, on where he had aimed his whispers. His intentions were rooted in the colors that had splashed through the crystals nestled in the nook at the base of her throat. Those colors had crept into her eyes as she smiled. That smile that had disappeared when she’d seen him across the room. But now, now she was wending her way toward him, deliberately choosing steps that would take her away from the others now waltzing across the wooden floor, in the dark. He could feel her approach and renewed his commitment to stillness. The one point of stillness in the whirl of movement. The movement that stirred the air across his neck and her wrists. The air they were now sharing. Sharing in a moment of anticipation. His eyes had adjusted to the dim and focused on the line from her cheekbones down her jaw. She caught a glimpse of the sheen across his teeth as his lips pulled into a grin. He was starting to draw comfort from her shadow being when the loud crack of her palm across his face ushered the light back in with great haste. Opening his eyes after a breath and a moment to re-grow accustomed, he found that he could.

Sorry, sorry, sorry...

Ok, well, as you can tell, my story for this week is late, late, late. Sorry about that. But I've had some family stuff arise that has kept me from my laptop and away from writing for right now. But I promise as soon as I can have time to sit and finish my story, I'll do it. I promise. Thanks for hanging in with me.

Playing and Editing

I had two points of inspiration for last week’s story: 1) self help books and 2) wanting to play with emotion and character interaction a bit. I’m fairly sure I paid tribute to both of those points, but I’m not at all sure I did it well. Which is fine, not every single story is going to be good. But it was pretty fun to write (except for the migraine I had while writing it) and I liked and could relate to the characters.

One thing I wish I could get better at is editing after I’m done with a story. I’m having an extremely hard time going back over the stories once I’ve finished them and wanting to do much of anything with them. This whole process of writing a story a week is pretty intense and also kicking my ass, which I naively was not expecting. So by the time I get done with a story, I’m done with it. Other than fixing typos and cutting obviously unneeded segments, I don’t want much else to do with it other than to post the sucker and move on to thinking about the next week. I would love to figure out a way to detach from the story a bit so I could lend a good editorial eye to it before I publish it. Maybe as I go further along I’ll get better at that, but I’d love any suggestions you might have on that point.

For this week, my dear friend sh has given me an assignment (which I asked for) – to start a story with a specific sentence and keep it to 500 words or less. So that’s where I’ll be headed this week. See you again in a few days.

Once Upon a Time, In a Bookstore...

The wind all but blew Tabitha into the small bookstore. Flyers in a rainbow of colors fluttered wildly in protest as the wind tore against their thumb tack bonds on the corkboard by the door. Leaves scurried into the store as she quickly shut the door behind her. She turned around slowly trying to remove the long strands of hair that had found their way into her mouth and eyes and resituate her scarf. Smiling in apology to the assorted customers that looked at her now, Tabitha tried to get her bearings.

Weaving her way through the huge wooden bookshelves she caught sight of a worn arm chair tucked into a nook towards the back of the store. Sitting down heavily, grateful for its refuge, she rested her hands on the thick arms trailing her fingers softly over the balding green corduroy

Tabitha opened her eyes slowly, pulling focus on the titles surrounding her. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the first one from the shelf that caught her eye: “If You’re Sad and You Know It, Clap Your Hands.”

“Back again, eh Tabby?” The voice had come out of nowhere, but it was familiar enough by this point that it didn’t make her jump.

“Yeah, so? “ She tried desperately to make her voice sound belligerent, but couldn’t help punctuating with a smile.

Tabitha looked up and locked eyes with a man who looked like he belonged on an Ivy League college campus somewhere. He gave the impression of being a solid block of brown. Tousled brown curls faded down into his brown cardigan which melded into his brown tweed pants. It was only his eyes and his shoes that gave him away. Bookending his appearance with bright blue and orange.

She hated that she had to be in this section and he had come to know this fact well.

“Come to make fun of me again Bryce?” Again, she couldn’t quite keep the smile out of her voice.

He chuckled, “Me? I’m entirely too nice a guy to make fun of you Tabby, you know that. But you’ve not started clapping yet, so perhaps you’re looking for a different book? How about this one?” Without really looking he grabbed another book off the shelf and handed it to her.

"When Depression is Your Friend: How To Bilk Sympathy From Friends, Family, and Co-Workers” Her eyes narrowed as she read the title. “Oh, so now you’re trying to insinuate something instead of just being obnoxious?”

“Ah, you give me far too much credit Tab. I’m just here to help you wade through the next section of books. Maybe one of these weeks, you’ll actually find what you’re looking for.”

This time she had no trouble keeping the laughter out of her voice as she lowered her eyes to shield herself from his vision. “That’s just wishful thinking at this point Bryce,” she muttered.

He pulled the book from her hand and let it drop softly on the fluffy armchair, simultaneously reaching for another. This one he read aloud, “’From Delinquent to Diva: How to get your Bling on a Budget!’” He managed to deliver this title with such seriousness that she could not help but laugh out loud.

She collected herself again and paused to look at him. Tabitha found that he was looking back at her with such compassion in his eyes that she was momentarily stunned. How could she keep doing this every week? Coming back to this same bookstore, looking for some semblance of sanity. Looking for anything to latch on to, something to give her a way to make it through the oversaturation of her life. Where do you start when all you’re looking for is the perfect sentence to make it all make sense? Because until recently when ever morning held a tidal wave of sensory overload, it had all been manageable. Sure she was snarky and bitchy and wielded her words like a whip, but it was manageable. And she found that mostly, people loved her for her quirks rather than not.

For the last several months, every Saturday, she had been at this bookstore. Looking for the perfect words, the perfect way to organize those words and the perfect intonation to them to say to herself over and over again so that all doubt would be stamped out of existence. So she could be left with the confidence and purpose she had known for so much of her life.

Bryce had emerged from the shadows one afternoon, his blue eyes playful and his orange shoes the very tip of his idiosyncrasy iceberg. He had handed her a book, this one carefully chosen, which she took with some reticence, but still with a glimmer of hope. She had ended up on the floor from laughing so hard after that one: “If Life’s a Bowl of Cherries, You’re Not Drinking Enough Manhattans.”

And every Saturday since then he had found her, in this bookstore, in this section, in this chair. So far he had helped her get through most of the self help section of the bookstore. She had begun to wonder what was going to happen when they ran out of books. Maybe they could move on to the travel section in the next row. But then she’d have to leave her chair. Maybe she’d just start over.

Just as Tabitha had settled herself back into the chair, swinging her legs over one broad arm, Bryce arrived with a whole armful of books and plopped them in her lap with a smug look of self satisfaction on his face.

“Wha-?”

“Well, I’m tired of this hunting and pecking routine you’ve got going. So I thought I’d introduce a little efficiency to the process by bringing you several at once.” He looked so proud of himself that she grimaced in response.

“No? Hmmmm…”

He grabbed a handful of books for himself and sat down on the floor in front of the chair and started going through each one, reading it aloud and then tossing it over his shoulder:

“If You're Waiting For Your Prince To Come, All You'll Get are Frogs"

“Go from Doormat to Dreamgirl in Five Easy Steps!”

“Turn Dump City into Trump City!”

“Get a Life, Not a Job!”

“I Moved Your Cheese Because You’re Too Fat”

“Learn How to Change the Locks: When Loving the One You’re With Just Isn’t Enough”

“Are you Sure It’s Not Time To Think About Settling?”

“Fairytales Do End: It’s Called Adultery”

She started to protest but she was caught so completely by the books titles that she just sat there getting buried deeper by the books he was so nonchalantly throwing over his shoulder directly into her lap. He finished his pile of books and turned to look back at her with a huge smile on his face. It took her a moment to realize that she was sobbing. Tears oozing down her cheeks as if they were being squeezed out of a toothpaste tube. His smile vanished.

“Oh, Tabby, I’m so sorry! I was just trying to keep you laughing. To show you how silly these books are. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He was facing her now, kneeling at eye level with her, his face so apologetic and earnest that she had a hard time looking away from him. In a split second she just decided she didn’t care anymore. In one brief moment she released the strangle hold she had on her life, her emotions and just let it all go. Her sobbing increased as she fell to the side awkwardly, trusting that he would catch her before she toppled, books and all, onto her face onto the floor. He did and she leaned heavily into him.

She let it all gush out of her. As if her tear ducts were some central line to her own private reservoir of feeling. She had committed fully to just letting it all come now. Letting herself cry for as long as she needed it. But then, out of nowhere, she found herself laughing. He tensed underneath her, thinking perhaps that she was renewing her overflow of sadness. Suddenly though, those tears of pain and loss and fear were converted to tears of laughter, joy and discovery. She took one deep breath and let out the loudest laugh she’d ever heard or uttered. Pulling back from his arms to meet his confused eyes, she continued to giggle.

“Are you ok?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m hungry”

His face melted into a smile at this response as he cupped her cheek for a moment. Bryce stood up slowly to give Tabitha a chance to regain her own balance and then gently pulled her from underneath the hill of books under which she was buried.

She laced her fingers into his as she met his eyes.

“I like your shoes.”

They both grinned and made their way back out into the wind.

Delays, Delays, Delays

I got laid flat by a massive migraine this afternoon and this week's story is still in final editing stages, so it will be up by tomorrow. Saturday by the latest.

You know, just in case you were wondering...

Working it Out

So I had a couple of methods to my madness last week. The first of which is that I wanted to play with microfiction a bit (stories with a 500 or less word count) and I wanted to see if I could make the reader feel what the character was feeling within the constriction of that word count. I wanted to see if I could take a totally benign road trip and turn into the terrifying snapshot it became when she realized that it was she and her daughter against the mountain. I don’t know if I succeeded or not, but it was sort of fun to do.

I think I’m finding myself slowly picking apart different pieces of writing fiction in an effort to figure them out. As I told a friend the other day, I need to figure out how I work before I get to work. So I’ve been playing. With words and different formats and structures within storytelling. Playing with a different range of characters and telling their stories from different points of view. I’m trying very hard to not look at the results as a success or failure, but rather what fits with me and my voice and what doesn’t. What gets across the point my characters are trying to make and what doesn’t. Basically, I’m just trying to figure out how I work and what my voice sounds like. So thanks for hanging in with me as I flail about in the process of figuring all of this out.

And thank you for the recent influx of comments! I cannot tell you how much it means to me to get comments on here.

So I’ll see you again tomorrow with a new story.

White Out

By the time I noticed the first snowflakes brushing the windshield we were more than halfway to our destination. Giving the sky a cursory glance, I cranked up the music and pushed my SUV a little faster knowing how quickly the weather could turn in this area.

I looked in my rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of my daughter's strawberry blonde curls bouncing in time to the music. I smiled to myself once again, grateful that my children liked real music instead of that kiddie tunes crap.

The slush yielded to snow pack and I crept my way up one side of the mountain, certain that the other side wouldn’t be nearly as bad. I passed the snowfall marker at the top of the mountain noticing that there was an additional three feet of snow present that had not been there the last time I had done this drive a mere two weeks ago. By the time my car reached the top of the pass, the sky was a frigid gray with streaks of purple slashed across it. Any daylight that had served as solace had been sucked into the swirling snow that stood before me.

Cresting the last small hill before starting my descent from the pass I realized that there were no marks in the snow before me. There was no sign of plow or tire tracks anywhere on the road. I was completely alone. The farther I went the deeper the snow got, until finally as I looked out at the valley beneath me all I could see was one solid swath of white. There was no delineation between road, rock and the sheer cliffs lining the road that would take me, and my daughter, to our certain deaths.

“Why you stop the car mama?”

I couldn’t talk. Not without scaring her. Not without the shock strangling my voice. I tried to breathe. To calm the terror clawing its way up my throat.

“Where my music go mama?”

The silence was worse than the distraction of the music. The silence was suffocating in its unquestionable finality.

The scenery laid out before me was stark and terrifyingly beautiful. The natural topography of the land had been filled in and made uniform by the relentlessly piling snow. It blunted any landmark to the point where I had little idea of where I was. I knew I couldn’t be far from a town but I had no idea how I would make it there.

“I love you Violet.”

“My love you too mama.”

The car started to inch forward once more as my foot slowly eased off the brake.

Every Day is A New Day

Monday

The sun gleamed brightly through the door as she slid across the threshold, the door slamming shut behind her abruptly cutting off the light. She immediately missed the heat on her face, but resigned herself to another day at work.

As she absent mindedly grabbed her time card and looked critically into the mirror hanging above the loud time stamp machine to make sure her pale peach lipstick had not gravitated to her teeth, making sure her bobby pins were holding as they should, making sure she was ready to face the customers. With one last adjustment of her name tag, she ran the time card through the slot, jammed it back into its slot and headed for her locker to stow her purse. She tied her apron behind her back and reached for her order pad and pen. Spinning around, she slammed her locker door shut, straightened out her uniform under the apron and arranged her features into the approachable and yet slightly vapid look she reserved for her days as the waitress.

Giving a passing look around the restaurant and a brilliant smile to the cook (who growled in return) she strode to her first table.

“Hi, my name is Daphne, ya’ll ready to order?”

She blinked twice quickly and settled into her best Southern Belle.

Wednesday

She awoke slowly, stretching a little bit at a time. Each time hoping that her fingertips would find their way to the sun that usually splashed across her bed by early morning. But she knew she wouldn’t find its warmth today. The sun had disappeared yesterday behind an enormous bank of clouds that had gotten progressively angrier as the day had gone on. She knew today would find the outside draped in a cold fog of indeterminate grey.

She shrugged and rolled to the side of the bed, stretching her legs to the wood floor and standing lithely. Taking a moment for one last toe to fingertip stretch, back arching in pleasure. She let a gust of wind escape her mouth as her eyes focused on her naked body looking back at her in the full length mirror. She grinned slightly, showing appreciation for the glory that was her body, and headed for the shower. There was no time for anything more as she had allowed herself to oversleep this morning and knew the data entry she was due at would not be waiting patiently.

Arriving at the tall office building, she walked quickly across the distance to the elevators, glancing swiftly at the huge clock hanging just over the lobby’s security guard desk. She was, indeed, late. The elevator arrived just as she was about to push the button and she wedged herself into the back left corner of the box, paying little attention to with whom she happened to be sharing space. The elevator stopped on the 5^th floor and she firmly nudged her way out, walking almost directly to the receptionist’s desk in the grand office laid out in front of her.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked in a clipped but professional tone.

“Yes, I’m Nancy, here from the Temp Agency assigned to Data Entry today.”

The receptionist’s eyes lingered on the electric blue scarf that stood out starkly against Nancy’s dark grey suit as she said “Head to office 204, they’ll have your instructions there.”

Nancy barely nodded and headed down the hall. Settling into her desk a few minutes later, she gave one last look to the dreary outside before immersing herself in drudgery.

Thursday

She wrapped her hands around the huge coffee cup sitting on the table in front of her before bringing it to her mouth to gingerly test the temperature. Relishing in the nearly scorching heat of the coffee trickling down her throat she took one moment to survey the coffee shop she was in. At some point it had gotten busy. The wind whipped clouds of dust into the already dingy looking air and rain drops streamed down the huge front window.

Putting her cup down, her fingers caressed the page of the book lying on the table next to her emerald green purse. Allowing herself to become engrossed in her book once more, she didn’t even notice the man walk up to her table.

“Um, hi,” he said. His tone apologetic for interrupting her.

She took her time looking up, not wanting to drag her eyes off the page yet again. Eventually, her eyes met his and although she recognized him immediately, her expression did not register that recognition.

“I’m James, my desk is a few down from yours at the office? You were doing data entry yesterday I think? I meant to introduce myself then, but I never got the chance.”

She allowed her face to widen into a warm smile, but she did not speak.

“I was hoping that I would see you again today, but was someone else there. When I saw you here, I wanted to make sure to meet you.” He smiled in an uncomfortable way. As if he knew that she really did not care one whit about the words coming out of his mouth.

She refreshed the smile on her face, held out her hand and said, “I’m Veronica.”

He momentarily looked taken aback and said, “Oh, I thought Mary said your name was Nancy. I guess she got it wrong.”

“It looks that way,” Veronica said as her eyes flashed quickly back down to her book and then back to his face.

“Well, um, I’m really glad to have met you. I, uh, don’t suppose you’d like to have dinner with me tomorrow night, would you?”

She looked at him for so long he started to squirm under the weight of her stare. His eyes fluttered around the coffee shop, checking to see if anyone was watching or listening to this strange conversation he was having with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He finally cleared his throat, took a deep breath and returned her stare.

Veronica held his eyes for the length of one breath, batted her eyes at him twice and said “Sure, I’ll meet you at The Bistro at 8pm.”

With that, she smiled quickly at him and immediately dropped her eyes back down to her book.

“Great, I’ll, uh, see you then,” James stammered before slowly turning and wandering away from her table. Summarily dismissed.

Friday

She took great pleasure in smoothing the bright red lipstick across her full lips. As she pulled back slightly from the mirror she watched her pupils dilate subtly as a slight flush colored her cheekbones. She was looking forward to the evening.

Slowly she pulled her red dress, matching her lipstick perfectly, up over the perfectly proportioned curves of her body and pulled the zipper up. She stepped lithely into her red stiletto heels, grabbed her shiny black purse and walked out the door hooking her keys and pashmina on her way out the door.

The cab pulled up in front of the restaurant and she stepped out with incredible care so as to miss all of the scattered puddles studded with hail.

She crossed the threshold to the restaurant and was immediately met by James.

“Hi Veronica! Wow, you look amazing!”

She took her time appraising him, found him satisfactory enough and shed the pashmina into his waiting hand. Taking great joy from his audible gasp as his eyes found her bare shoulders and skimmed the territory of her cleavage; she turned to him with a huge smile.

“Please, James, call me Eva,” she lowered her eyes slightly and looked up at him with her mouth in full pout and her eyelashes batting.

“Oh, ok, yeah sure, that’s great.” He seemed to be mildly confused now, but was willing to do just about anything she asked.

She led the way behind the maitre d’ to their table and took the chair facing the wall. Eva played with her earring for a moment while her napkin was placed in her lap. By the time she looked up James was seated next to her eyeing her with open admiration. She coaxed another slight blush into her cheeks under his stare. He smiled widely in response.

Dinner went as she expected. Making small talk, mostly about him, enjoying the food and watching him rev himself up after the check was paid to ask her back to his place.

“Oh, silly James,” she crooned “of course I’d love to have a drink at your place.”

He beamed as he draped her pashmina back over her shoulders and guided her back outside to hail a cab. The rain was streaming down in sheets now.

The cab ride was short and she waited in the car while he ran inside to grab an umbrella to shield her from the downpour on the walk into his apartment.

She slowed her pace to squeeze against him in the doorway into his apartment locking eye contact for a moment. His eyes widened as he drew in a sharp breath in surprise.

Eva dropped her head coyly and walked all the way into his apartment, shrugging off her pashmina onto a chair in the entry. She looked over her shoulder at James who was looking at her with wide eyes.

“James, why don’t you make us drinks while I tidy myself back up.”

“O-of course Eva.”

She coasted in the direction he pointed her and easily found the small, but well lit, bathroom. She could hear the rain battering against the window as she tucked a few stray hairs back into place and reapplied her lipstick. As she stood staring at her reflection in the mirror she thought through how the rest of this evening would probably evolve. James would stutter and stammer his way closer to her on the couch, nervously sipping his drink while she tried to remain patient. No. She simply did not have the self restraint tonight. The buffeting wind and rain had all but driven her insane already.

Quickly, she made the decision to take the remnants of the evening into her own hands as she teased her dress off and let it drop to the bright white tiled floor. She smiled seductively at her own reflection, picking up her purse but leaving her dress where it lay.

Boldly, she walked back out into the living room and strode directly over to James who had started audibly panting at the sight of her. She gave him a mildly amused smirk in return as she grabbed both of his hands to lead him to the bedroom.

She reached the bedroom and turned to face him, her own breath coming faster now, in anticipation.

“Lie down, and close your eyes,” Eva whispered into his ear.

James shivered and did as he was told.

Eva watched James as he clumsily climbed onto his tall bed, hastily laying down in the middle and snapping his eyes shut with a growing smile on his face. Grabbing her purse she moved to the bed and with nimble fingers unbuttoned his shirt. She pulled him up into a seated position as she stripped his shirt from him. “Hm, he’s actually quite nice to look at,” Eva thought to herself, pleased that she had chosen him.

With one finger pressed firmly to his chest she pushed him back down into a prone position. She paused to look at him for a moment, taking in his glee laced with the smallest hint of apprehension. Her fingers traced the curves of his face, angling down his neck and along his collar bones. She felt goose bumps rise beneath her touch as her fingers slide down his ribs. Out of her purse she slid a long gleaming blade and with utter relish she slid it gracefully into the space between his third and fourth ribs angled just slightly so as to guide the blade directly into James’ heart.

His eyes flew wide and a gasp escaped his lips as he tried, and failed, to scream. All the air that had been present in the lung the knife had punctured bubbled out around the blade.

She beamed as she slowly leaned over him to kiss him, long and lusciously, on the lips, simultaneously delighting in the feeling of the warm blood rushing over her hand, pooling deliberately at the point of her knee.

Saturday

Her face was ablaze with joy as she pulled the curtains back to allow the bright sunlight to splash across the bright yellow walls in her bedroom. She stood for a moment, basking in the warmth and then turned back to her mirror.

Grinning lazily, she pulled focus on her reflection in the mirror, “Hello Sara, how are you today?”

Struggle and Expansion

I struggled with last week’s story for days. I went through at least four different drafts before I got it heading in a direction I thought might work.

For the second week in a row I was writing a story that started out as a dream. The difference is that A Pig Gets His Day flowed out of me with no hesitation. Unconscious Blindness however was so crystal clear in my head but I could not for the life figure out how to transcribe that clarity into a coherent story. It was absolutely infuriating. So even after working with it every single day for a week and going through multiple drafts, I still didn’t get what I wanted from it, but it was close.

I think however that I’m getting better at containing the stories instead of starting unwieldy novels in such a short period of time, which feels pretty good. And I think I’m playing with the flow of language and story progression a bit, which is pretty fun. And I think the characters I’m coming up with are fairly clear and fun to read about.

But I seem to be drawn to writing stories that exist in a genre that I don’t really read. So I’m working hard to expand my reading to encompass more sci-fi/fantasy and mystery/suspense books in an effort to get some insight into story flow and character development within those genres. And the biggest thing, I think, is that I just need practice. So it’s a good thing I’ve got 48 more weeks with this project, if nothing else, at the end I’ll be vastly better read.

So, if you have recommendations for me for books to read, bring them on!!

Unconscious Blindness

“There is no coming to consciousness without pain.” – Carl Jung

Why the hell can’t I open my eyes?!

I know I’m awake, somewhere. My body appears to be intact. Whole. Functional. But there is light, I can see light through my eyelids. Dim, a lamp in a far corner of the room. I’m trying to ignore the panic rolling through my stomach like a tidal wave, trying to ignore it out of existence before it can come crashing down and leave me in hysterics.

The surface under me is hard, too hard to sleep on comfortably and yet I am strangely well rested. Stiff in the pressure point spots, but relatively refreshed. It is quiet but for the sounds of my own breathing. The current in the room has shifted ever so slightly, perhaps the air conditioning turning on? The movement in the air brings to me the dull smell of flowers long since wilted.

Where the hell am I?!

I’m shocked to find my voice sounds strangled. I must reel it in. I must find a way to contain this terror. Here I am with no imminent danger and I am flying to pieces. Breathe. Just breathe. In and out. 700 or so breaths later…

Now. How the hell do I get out of here?

Better. Growing accustomed to the quiet, to the sightlessness of my new existence. Better.

Suddenly there is a bright burst of light that knocks me back into my too hard seat. It’s coming from my right. At first the panic threatens, but there is something about this light. It’s friendly. Natural in some way. More breath. And I’m standing, hands outstretched, feet shuffling slowly one in front of the other so I don’t dent my shins or nose on something in my path. The light is so bright in front of me that I can see the veins in my eyelids, bright blue in a webbed pattern across my vision. This must be sunlight. It feels almost cheery.

I’m close now, to what must be a doorway. It’s channeling the light right into my face, concentrating it into one firm beam. As I cross the threshold, the faint sound of birds chirping reaches me, the distant smell of laundry baking under the hot sun. But there’s something wrong. I can’t feel it. There’s no warmth, there’s no relief to be in this light. There is just a new kind of dread. Because it doesn’t make any sense. Where is the heat? Where is the sense of security that comes from looking up into the sun?

Without introduction, there is someone with me now. I can feel him next to me. Him? Yes definitely, he smells like water. Ethan! It’s Ethan! What the hell is he doing here?

Ethan!! Please, I can’t see, my love, I can’t open my eyes, please help me, you’ve got to help me!

My hands raise to find his face and find his hair instead, all urgency erased I take a moment to revel in just running my fingers through his short hair. Grateful for his presence in this place that makes no sense. I can hear water dripping somewhere and I think maybe he’s just gotten out of the shower, but his hair isn’t wet. But he smells so completely like water, my favorite smell on him. Just the soft scent of his skin rising up through my nose and going straight to my head. I let my fingers dig deeper through his hair trying to trace my way down to the features on his face. But I can feel him disappearing before he’s actually gone.

Distress bubbles up through my throat in the form of a hoarse scream. There are tears in my eyes and flowing down my cheeks. I am scrambling for him before he’s faded completely away. I cannot hold him.

I’m on my feet, running wildly, trying to follow him. But he’s gone. There is no trace that he was ever here with me. I’m on my knees now, my legs no longer strong enough to carry me.

I don’t understand any of this. None of this makes any sense.

There is a jolting smell coming to me now. Bleach I think. It’s burning my nose and throat to the point where I’m starting to wonder if I’m actually drinking the stuff. I’m crawling away from its source, trying to find my way back to the light, trying to get away from the clinical coldness of this smell. I can feel the hardness against my bare legs and the palms of my hands, as if I never really left my original spot, just crawled up onto it. But I have moved, haven’t I? I remember walking, I remember going through the threshold into the room of light, don’t I? I must have, Ethan was here, he was with me. But I have no proof of that, the bleach has scrubbed every smell out of my memory.

I don’t know how long I’ve sat here. I stopped counting my breaths at about 500. Lost count in an effort to bring myself back to present tense. Above my breaths I can hear a beeping now. It’s so faint at first that I’m fairly sure I’ve made the whole thing up. But as I hold my breath I can definitely hear it and it’s growing louder. Moving towards me? Or just turning up the volume?

I’m going to stand up now, I’m going to find that noise and figure out where the hell it’s coming from. I’m not entirely sure I can trust my legs though, so I opt for crawling instead. Safer. Plus I’ve got myself talked into thinking that I’ll be able to prove I’ve actually moved if I crawl.

Holding my breath again I think I’ve got the sound pinpointed. Off to my left now, but higher. Maybe coming from the ceiling? If there is one. Panic, the panic is back. NO. I will move my left hand. Then I will move my right leg. Then I will move my right hand and then my left leg. Here I go. I’m moving. And the beeping is getting louder. And I’m making progress, hell yes, I’m making progress!!

There is one final, deafening beep then and everything is quiet. And utterly black. My toes are going numb. I can’t feel my fingers. The darkness is starting to trickle down my throat and fill in my ears. It’s like getting swallowed by some creature forgotten by time; I cannot believe what is happening. And I can’t breathe.

Wait! Wait, why the hell can’t I breathe?!

I bend my entire will to the sole purpose of taking in breath. I will breathe. NOW. I will breathe RIGHT NOW!

And suddenly, my eyes pop wide and the breath screeches down my throat to fill my depleted lungs.

Before I am able to pull focus on anything there is a tremendous amount of noise, clattering around me, a whirl of colors. But there, just there, it smells like water…

I cannot allow myself to blink. I cannot go back to the swallowing depths. I can feel my eyes wheeling in their sockets looking for something, but I can’t see anything yet. Just light and there is so much noise. But the breath is coming more easily now, it doesn’t hurt quite as badly so I focus on smoothing out the rhythm of my intake, attempting to temper the expulsion of exhausted breath into a less ragged pattern.

The noise is starting to organize itself now. The beeping is back now and there are voices, clamoring to be heard. Finally, there is but one voice and I do not recognize it.

“Kara? Kara, you’ve been in a coma. Can you hear me?”

Topographically Speaking

I’m here! Whew, been snowed in for the past few days in New Mexico, but I’m here.

And you’ll have to excuse my excessive excitement here, but I really love last week’s story. I can totally understand now why people write fiction. If I could always write stories like that, have the process work like that, be as enthused and energized by the act of writing like that, I’d never want to do anything else! As Sh noted in the comments, it needs a fair bit of editing, but all in all I’m thrilled with how it turned out.

Now here’s the buzz kill of this week though. I’ve got nothing. I’m travelling this week, but by car with just my daughter, so no people watching opportunities. I guess the major thing I failed to consider when undertaking this challenge was the idea of writer’s block. What the hell do I do if/when writer’s block hits and I’m unable to do anything but watch my weekly deadline creep closer and closer as I stare at a blank open document?

Well, I am currently sitting in very possibly the busiest library I’ve ever been in, so hopefully something intriguing will happen shortly. Or at least the shadow of something interesting that can lead to a made up something intriguing.

I’m still trying to get my bearings here in the land of fiction, but so far I’m totally enjoying the scenery.

A Pig Gets His Day

Sebastian sat on the floor of the bank vault shoving coins and dollars into his mouth as efficiently as possible. He focused on one point on the opposite wall and tried to keep his breathing even and constant. Every time he felt the chill of another quarter sliding down his gullet, his cold, green eyes tightened slightly, waiting for the one coin that was going to cause him problems. Or top him off. Although that was ridiculous. He knew that what he had done had no limit. He could swallow the whole world and still walk around as the tall, bean pole of a man he had always been. He knew there was no technical limit to his ability to cart everything with him, but he wondered if there was a limit to how much he could carry. He knew the difference was slim, but it was still a difference.

He pulled his mind back into focus. Looking at the slowly dwindling mounds around him. He had planned on starting with the gold bars housed at the very back of the vault sitting on their wooden pallets. But the first one had given him so much trouble he knew he’d never get out of the vault before the cops showed up if he only focused on the bars. So he had moved on to the large denomination bills first and worked his way down from there. He was now working on the last of the coinage and the dollar bills. Those were the biggest piles and he wondered how much time he had left.

As he paused for one moment to look at his watch, the door of the vault blew open laying him flat on his back from the whoosh of the wind. When he was able to pull himself back up into a sitting position, he was surrounded by the swat team with their guns trained solely on him. He sighed heavily and allowed them to wrestle him to his feet with no contest.

They transported him back to the station house and put him in one of those classic interview rooms. Too bright, too clean and too empty. One large mirror taking up half of the wall opposite to the door. The light overhead glaring off the stainless steel table and chair in the middle of the room. He sighed heavily and cursed himself for his own greediness. How did he get so stupid? Coins?! Seriously?!?

He sat down in one corner and waited. Finally a detective entered the room.

“Hi there Sebastian, how you feeling?”

“Fine thanks, although I’d love a glass of water.”

“Yeah, we’ll see what we can do about that.” The detective snickered slightly as he hooked one thumb into his belt. Sebastian noticed that the cop’s belt buckle was an aberration to the rest of his staid and dress code friendly attire. The man’s belt buckle was a large, bronze pig. No other adornment or decoration, just a fully grown, well fed, highly polished pig.

Sebastian knitted his eyebrows together a bit over that one, pondering its significance to this man’s character. If there was one.

“So,” the cop said “did you enjoy your midnight snack?”

Sebastian’s head popped up almost painfully with the knowledge that this cop knew what he had been doing. He knew he had been ingesting the money. That he was not just an ordinary bank robber caught in the act.

He blinked a few times and said slowly “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

The cop smiled slowly and with one finger started to pet his pig in an absentminded way.

“Yeah, ok. You can go that way if you want. But I just thought you should know, since this is your first time out…oh yeah, I know that too Sebastian.”

Sebastian was nearing panic at this point. Who the hell was this guy? How did he know so much about him already? Beads of sweat had started to form along Sebastian’s hairline and his breathing was picking up speed, along with his heart. He could feel the adrenaline starting to flow readily through his blood stream and he welcomed it, until…

“I know, I know. I’m being rude aren’t I? I haven’t even introduced myself properly and here I am flaunting all these facts that I already know about you. Sorry about that, but there has always been one point I’ve wondered about with all of this. Did you know what you were doing?” The cop asked the last question with genuine interest, all charades put down in place of curiosity.

Sebastian considered that for a moment and with the clarity the adrenaline was lending him he decided to also lay down his charade as he knew he had already lost with this guy.

“Yes. I knew.” He was being honest, but there was no need to go over the top.

The cop took that in and walked around the room a couple of times, squeezing his girth in between the wall and Sebastian’s chair each time he passed behind him. Sebastian could hear the bronze pig scrape against the back of his chair and wondered if the cop would have to polish it again tonight to remove any scuffs left there.

The cop finally stopped walking and turned back to Sebastian, his face friendly and open again.

“I’m Jones. “ He thrust out his hand as if to shake, but Sebastian just eyed his plump digits with care and jingled his handcuffs against the back of the chair.

“Oh! Right! Sorry about that.” Jones produced a tiny key from somewhere in his jacket pocket and wedged himself behind Sebastian’s chair again to unlock his handcuffs.

Sebastian brought his freed hands to the table, gingerly rubbing his wrists. He had always thought all of those actors on TV who made such a big deal about being in handcuffs were being overly dramatic, but now he was rubbing the red indentations left behind by the metal manacles.

“Thanks,” Sebastian muttered as Jones walked back around the table and stuck out his hand again to shake.

This time Sebastian slowly put out his own hand and placed it in Jones’ hand preparing to be crushed in the man’s thick paw. But for all of Jones’ size, he was a remarkable gentleman as he shook Sebastian’s hand with only the required amount of pressure and force.

Jones smiled widely then and with a slight chuckle in his voice said, “So Sebastian, what are we going to do with you now?”

Sebastian just stared at him then. All trace of games wiped away from his face. His mind raced to find an answer that would appease them both, but before he could Jones spoke again.

“You know, I’m just curious, what were you going to do with all the money?”

“Pay my mom back and go to the beach. For the rest of my life.” Sebastian smiled at the idea of the last part. Being able to extricate himself from his mother’s guilt and do nothing but lay on a warm beach in Fiji, sipping umbrella drinks and watching the waves.

Jones looked at him for a moment then allowed a broad smile to race back across his face as he shook his head slowly with understanding.

“Yeah, I figured it was something like that. You seem like such a nice guy Sebastian. Like a normal kind of guy. A guys who pays his debts and says good bye to his mother before he leaves the country with a belly full of stolen money,” Jones said with growing animation.

Sebastian grew cautious again as he was once again struck by how much this guy knew.

“Had you given any thought to how you were going to get the money out of your stomach Sebastian?” The way Jones asked this question made Sebastian feel like he already knew the answer, he was just leading Sebastian into something. And he was growing quickly uncomfortable with the turn this conversation had taken.

“Well, I figured I would just do the opposite. I mean I was planning to wash it all before using it.” For some reason it was important to Sebastian that Jones knew he wasn’t going to be handing out stomach acid covered bills across town.

Jones nodded his head slowly then, “Yeah, that’s what I figured you’d say Sebastian. That’s what they all say. But I am afraid you were misled. It’s not quite so simple you see.” Jones was working up to a roll now. “You probably thought that this, ah, procedure was simply to allow your stomach to expand to accommodate anything you put in it, right?” He looked at Sebastian expectantly.

“Um, yeah.”

“Yeah. Well it turns out that’s not how it works. So you could puke your guts out until you had nothing left and you’d never even get one measly little quarter back Sebastian. No, it seems as though this somehow actually allows your body to absorb whatever you can fit down your throat and stores it an entirely other place until it can be fully absorbed.”

Sebastian’s eyes flew wide as the ideas flew through his head. He couldn’t just get the money back out? How was he going to pay his mother back? His perfect beach image was fading quickly now. He looked back to Jones with undisguised panic on his face now as the final realization came to him.

“You’re here to get the money back aren’t you?”

“Ah, see, I told them you weren’t stupid Sebastian. Thank you so much for not making a liar out of me. “

Jones’ entire demeanor shifted then. The friendly face was gone, replaced by a look of sinister determination. But what made Sebastian really go cold was the glimmer of satisfaction in Jones’ eyes. He was looking forward to what he was about to do.

Sebastian took a deep breath and tried to sound nonchalant as he asked, “So what do we have to do to get the money out?”

Jones’ head cocked slightly to the side as he deftly slid a gigantic knife out of a holster Sebastian presumed was somehow concealed on his back. He looked at the blade for a moment, enjoying the way the light from the over head bulb splashed its reflection across the blade. He slowly lowered the blade until it was positioned directly, intentionally, under the chin of the pig on his belt buckle. If Sebastian didn’t know any better, he could have sworn that bronze pig was smiling.

“Well, we’re going to have to cut it out of you, of course.”

The Ideal Reader

I’m reading Stephen King’s On Writing right now and he has been spending a great deal of time talking about the Ideal Reader. Or rather, writing for your own personal Ideal Reader. It’s an intriguing concept for me because I’m not sure what my Ideal Reader looks like. I don’t really have any clue as to who they are or what they’re looking for in a story. Perhaps because I’ve never written fiction before? Whatever the cause, I wish I did have an Ideal Reader because maybe they would have saved you all from the drivel I wrote last week.

Joe was about three dimensional as his name. Sorry about that. I just had this idea about this guy who was a campus security guard who loses his job after many years on his particular beat and I started wondering what would happen to him next. But instead of focusing on that next piece, I got sucked into the previous. I got distracted by his needy wife and his absolute adoration of her. And I lost my original idea. Which would have been fine if what replaced it was interesting. But it wasn’t really.

The past two weeks I’ve been focusing on allowing my writing to be driven by a character. But I think maybe this week I’ll focus on a situation (hopefully an interesting one) and then take a look around to see who happens to be the most engaging character in the room I’m already in. We’ll see how that works.

Oh, and if any of you have any ideas about how I can get more of you here, reading whatever I’m churning out, I’d love to hear them. I need more feedback!! Self critique will only get me so far I’m afraid.

The Beat's End

Joe surveyed his beat as he cinched up the scarf that his wife had made him around his neck. He smiled briefly, warmed by the idea that the very thought of her could still make him smile after all these years. The warmth faded quickly in the face of the incessant tone and tenor of his daily routine however. He had been informed that his position as head of campus security was soon going to be eliminated in an effort to trim the university’s budget.

When he had started this job 20 years ago he was straight out of the police academy, bright and willing to work hard. He had chosen this beat instead of one on the street at his wife’s request. She had begged him to stay away from real police duty because of deep fear that she would lose him. How could he refuse her? She had supported him all the way through the academy without fear or trepidation, but on that day when he was to begin interviewing with the city police department, she had dissolved into tears at the thought of him patrolling the streets that were getting more and more dangerous by the day.

“Please Joe, I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Please. Please. You can help people in other ways, just not this way. You can’t protect your community unless you protect yourself first. Please Joe, there has to be another way.”

He had never seen her like this. So utterly consumed with fear. He couldn’t refuse her. So he had cancelled all of his interviews in the various departments and reached out to friends at the academy for new options. He had gotten this job at the biggest university in the region quickly and had risen through the ranks of the security guard rapidly to his current position as “Captain of the Guard” as he jokingly called it.

When he had taken the job he had been excited to be continually surrounded by youth. To always be dually immersed in the naiveté that comes with college kids as well as the constant search for knowledge. He thought it would keep him young, keep him vibrant. Instead the daily grind wore down his brightness until it was just a toothless maw of routine.

He patrolled the rolling campus day after day making eye contact with the bullies to let them know someone was paying attention, avoiding eye contact with the slutty girls to avoid paying attention, keeping track of the timid ones to make sure they weren’t getting dealt blows off anyone else’s radar.

In the beginning he had treated it as a way to train himself in human nature. He studied the students with keen attention, picking apart their ticks and oddities as well as cataloging their sweetness and meanness. He didn’t keep track of faces, he kept track of behavior. He probably couldn’t pick out a handful of the thousands of students he had seen over the years, but he could write a book on their behavior. How they carried themselves, how they spoke to one another, how they showed off and how they tried so hard to disappear.

The scenery changed every day with the comings and goings of the student body. The seasons changed the landscape dramatically. Even his own ranks turned over as its members either drifted into something else or finally saved enough money to get into the police academy. Initially, maybe even for the first 10 years or so, the constant change had kept him sharp and allowed him to see some of what he had so studiously learned. But ultimately he grew accustomed to the change. Because even change gets monotonous after a while.

Debrief

And here we go into week 2. Writing my first story was not nearly as hard or harsh as I expected it to be. I think there was some nice language in the first story, some decent character development and my writing was not nearly as self conscious as I thought it might be. All in all, I’m pretty happy with how it turned out.

For this week I’m considering one story that has to do with a Christmas tree graveyard that I had dream about not too long ago that has some interesting images in it. But I haven’t quite decided yet, so I guess we’ll just have to see what happens when I sit down to write.

In the meantime, please keep the feedback coming!

Secret Santa

As he was buttoning up his shirt he couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to the bushy white beard arranged meticulously on the foam head on the dresser. From there it was an easy jump to the array of hats hung just within arm’s reach on the otherwise empty wall. And by then he had turned completely around to face the half open closet. One French door stood wide open revealing the everyday clothes of this businessman who had long ago outgrown the requirement to wear ties to the office. But peeking out one of the slats of the closed door came the sheen from where the pearl button caught hold of the light from the bright overhead lamp. He sighed and smiled briefly before turning back to the mirror to make sure he hadn’t missed any buttons on his plaid shirt.

Today was a normal day. Today his calendar was full of things like conference calls, staff meetings and the monthly long lunch with his wife. It would be a good, productive day. But normal all the same.

But tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow would be the beginning of something new. Something to temper the normalcy. Something to up the ante.

He pictured the beginning as if it were yesterday. He had stopped at the corner diner for a cup of coffee to warm up on his way home from a long day. As he stared out the window lost in thought he caught a glimpse of a child as he was ducking back behind the counter. His waitress had quickly shooed and shushed the little boy away into the cupboard with the straws and napkins. Hurriedly looking around to make sure no one saw his bright red train and too small overalls split in the knees. She locked with the man’s gaze long enough to know he had indeed seen. Her face flushed scarlet as she smiled apologetically and scooted over to his table with a coffee refill.

“I’m sorry, he won’t bother you a bit, I promise,” she half whispered.

Before he could even give her a “don’t worry about it” smile, she was being cornered by a man who seemed to be encased in grease. His skin shone with a dull, gritty glaze that marked not only his face, but every inch of exposed skin. The clothes he wore crinkled in all the wrong places accenting their age and soil level. When he spoke the accumulated grease seemed to trickle out of the corners of his mouth to make way for the harsh words spilling out in an angry rush.

The waitress stood strongly for a moment and then crumpled into tears. Her eyes darted from corner to corner of the little diner attempting to pull herself together before any other customers could see her loss of dignity in the face of this dingy man. She slipped out from behind his bulk, careful not to touch any part of him, and slid across to the cupboard where her son was hiding quietly. When she opened the doors he greeted her with a beaming smile and stretched out his little arms so she could scoop him up easily. She slung him onto her hip in one fluid movement as she quickly scanned her tables for any missed tip money, threw her shoulders back and strode purposefully out of the diner without so much as a glance backwards.

There was something about the scene that had struck the man. The way she had in a matter of moments gone from destroyed at the hands of this muck of a man to confident. How she had re-arranged her features from hopeless to near haughty. So that her son could see her true face. Her happiness to see him. So he could see his adoration reflected in her eyes. Her conscious choice to be the mother he needed her to be instead of the waitress she no longer was struck him as one of the most beautiful moments he had ever seen.

He quickly grabbed his coat and ran out the door after her. He caught up to her on the corner and asked her to wait a moment.

“I’m so sorry he spoke to you that way.”

“Oh, it’s ok. I’m used to it.”

There was a glimmer of shame in her eyes, but she traded it out quickly in favor of wary expectation.

“Was there something you needed sir?”

“No. I just…I just wanted you to have this.”

He quickly dug a $50 bill out of his pocket and thrust it at her. The wariness turned into undisguised caution as she took a step back.

“Wh-why? Why would you do that sir?”

“Just please. Please take it. Please. You deserve it. And I don’t need it.”

She looked at him for a long moment, the internal debate evident on her face. Finally she slowly reached out towards his hand and curled her fingers around the bill. A flicker of a smile played around the corners of her mouth as she struggled with something to say.

Finally she just said, “Thank you.” Hitched her son back up onto her hip, turned and strode away bowing her head slightly into the wind.

He stood there for a long time. Long enough that when he realized he hadn’t moved in a while, his fingers were numbing and his eyes were stinging from the cold. He looked around quickly to get his bearings and then headed home.

The next day he had taken a personal day to sit in his study and stare out the window. He had stared for hours as plans started arranging themselves in his head. A way to come full circle. To use his own fortune to help others find theirs. But how? He couldn’t very well patrol the city’s diners in hopes of finding down-on-their luck waitresses every night after work. His wife would surely raise an eyebrow at that scheme.

After doing some cursory research on the internet to attempt to find one or two charities in town that he could get to know and coming up not quite fulfilled, an idea struck him. As he was aimlessly perusing the newspaper waiting for inspiration to hit, it did. Why couldn’t he actively search out the people who needed his help? Why couldn’t he figure out a way to find the people who just needed some help? No strings attached, perfectly timed help. He focused his eyes on the stories he had been surfing over now and found one story in particular. An electrical fire had taken a family of 5’s entire house and most of their belongings.

An anticipatory smile spread across the man’s face. He could almost imagine himself showing up at the shelter where this family was staying and giving them a stack of cash. Maybe shaking their hands, wishing them luck, and then simply walking away. Leaving them with a feeling that they really were being taken care of in their darkest hour. Leaving the man, finally, with a feeling of using his assets to truly improve his environment.

Suddenly however, his mind raced ahead to a time when he may no longer be able to do this. Not because he would run out of money. Not because his wife would mind and cut him off. But because word would get around that there was this guy walking around giving out money. People would come knocking at his door, bothering him and his family. People would, only with the best intentions, draw as much attention to him as possible. In an effort to thank him, to make sure he was recognized for his generosity.

No. He could not have that. It would be chaos and would suck the joy from the whole proposal. He had to remain anonymous. There had to be a way.

And in the weeks to come, he had found that way. Or at least he hoped he had. He had spent days combing dollar and thrift stores for clothes he would never choose to wear, hats that would cover his distinctive red hair, huge sunglasses to hide his face and a big, white fluffy fake beard. He figured that if he could hide himself; make himself unrecognizable that he could carry on with his plan longer. The other component was choosing people he did not know. That was pretty easy. His town was large enough that there was always someone in need and he almost never knew them personally.

It seemed his plan was complete.

Welcome!

Happy New Year and welcome! I thought I’d have my first post on this blog be a “here’s how it’s all going to work/intro” post to get us all accustomed to the new digs. And because I’m inviting just about everyone I know to come and take a look over here, I thought it would be good to have at a least a little something for you all to look at.

So. Here’s how it’s all going to work. At least for this week. This is all subject to change based on, well, just about anything. But for now? Here’s the plan…I’ll do an intro post at the beginning of every week to sort of introduce my inspiration for the week, or possibly do a bit of rundown from the previous week’s story. Then I’ll post the story as soon as it’s done, but no later than the end of each week (and seeing as that the first of the year is a Friday, the end of the week will be Thursday).

What’s your role in all of this? Just two little measly things really. Keep coming back and give me your honest thoughts and feedback on my stories. Easy right? You can do it, I know you can.

So, without further ado, a little something about the idea swirling in my head for this kick-off story. I read a newspaper article not too long ago about The Secret Santa of Kansas City. Apparently there was this regular guy who had spent the last 30 or so years showing up unexpectedly throughout the year, but especially at Christmas, to give people money. Always in cash, always when they needed it the most and always anonymously. I’ve been thinking about this guy since I read the article and it got me to thinking about what it must be like to have one piece of your life, the piece that you were totally in love with, be completely anonymous. What happened in the early days when he got carded at the liquor store? How did he pull it off if his neighbor, who had been looking at his face for years, was the one who was in dire need? There are so many elements of anonymity that pose problems that it’s had me thinking about this character for some time now.

Now the work begins. The mining for the character and the story that resides within him. I’ll see you at the end of the week and we’ll see how fruitful I’ve been.