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?”