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Friday, March 30, 2012

I ended up writing almost 3,000 words on the plot bunny I got distracted by... 3,000! I haven't written that many words (other than on Twitter and rambling emails... or notes for my never-ending classes) in ages! And I have to tell you that it felt fan-freaking-tastic.


What feels even better? Sending those words to an author that I love/respect/admire the hell out of (at her request - we're friends, I'm not stalking her, I swear! ...ok, maybe I am a little bit, lol) and having her her tell me:


Your story is fun, intriguing and full of promise. I’m not going to suggest any kind of “edity” stuff right now because really you’re doing great on your own. I’m amazed this is your first novel! I mean it when I say that you’ve got something here that I’d enjoy reading more of. There’s tension jumping from the page from the get-go. I believe in and like your hero and heroine. I’ve been drawn into the conflict quickly and smoothly. It reads as fresh and engaging, and your prose is clean and has an easy-to-read style.  Thank you for letting me read it. I’m looking forward to seeing what happens next. You really do have me on the edge of my seat! Good work! *grin*


Do you have any idea what it feels like to have an author that you admire as much as I admire her tell you that you - someone who's never been published, who's never written anything except fanfic and never had any plans to make anything they wrote public - on the edge of their seat? I might be suffering from sleep deprivation/exhaustion/delirium, but I'm almost on the verge of tears right now because I'm pretty freaking happy right now.... and utterly terrified, because I have no idea where I'm taking this story. 


I have a basic idea of where I want it to go. I know what's going to happen in the end, but I don't know how to get it there. The characters need to start talking to me again. After I get some sleep. Because I only got about 4 hours last night and my eyes are starting to burn.


So, I'm gonna go pick up the Monkey from daycare and we're going to take a nap, since I know neither one of us is going to want to go to bed early tonight. Hey, it's the weekend. We can stay up late if we want to. :) I fully intend on sitting down with this MS and seeing where I can take it. I don't see it as being longer than a novella at this point, but you never know. I'm pretty freaking long-winded, so I might be able to stretch this thing out.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Plot bunnies/distractions

iTunes: "Arms of A Woman" - Amos Lee
Mood: frazzled

I got back from my sister-in-law's wedding in New Orleans today and promptly began studying for the exam I have tomorrow. Before you say what a good student I am, I took my books with me to NOLA on Thursday and didn't even look at them ONCE. Now, I'm sitting here listening to the Norah Jones playlist on Pandora (it's my favorite) and rather than focusing on Principles of Radiographic Imaging, I'm daydreaming about all the plot bunnies popping into my head as each song plays and scribbling down the ones that fit into the soundtrack for the MS I'm working on. I wish I could say I'm complaining, since I really do need to study, but I haven't written in so long that this is a nice welcome home in more ways than one. :)

Monday, June 20, 2011

Walking away..... for now.



No, I'm not walking away from writing. Nor am I walking away from the stressors in my life that are currently keeping me from writing (namely: school, work, blogging, and family). But I have to make a choice, and as of now, that choice is to take an official hiatus from writing.

I feel bad because I'm not writing or blogging, and I can't go on hiatus from school, work, or family. I'm this close to going on hiatus from reviewing, simply because it's becoming more of a hassle than the pleasure it used to be and the "help" I begged for that was promised hasn't come through.

I don't mean to bitch and I don't want to sound like I'm not grateful for the help that has been given to me thusfar. But if you offer to do something, don't do it half-heartedly when you see how much I'm drowning (and mention that when you're offering the help). If you don't have the time or the energy to do something, DON'T OFFER.

As for my writing, I have the desire to write, but I don't have the time or the energy. When I sit down with a pen in hand or my laptop ready to go, I usually either fall asleep within minutes or I'm interrupted with 10,000 things to do. "Mommy can I have some juice?" "Baby where's ____?" "What's for dinner?" "When is _____?" "Will you spend time with me?" "Did you do your homework yet?" "Will you help me with my homework?" "Do we have any clean laundry?"

It was my choice to have a family, and I'll never regret it, but sometimes I really wish I had more than 5 seconds of quiet time to myself.

I have 2 more weeks left in this semester, and then I'll have 5 weeks off, 2 of which will be spent in Italy. I'll have a notebook with me, along with a camera so I can capture all the beautiful & inspiring images so I'm hoping I'll be able to get some writing done while I'm there. I'll also be bringing my Kindle with me so I can get some reading done.

What? Like you've never gone on a romantic vacation and brought along a few dozen books with you to read while your husband snores next to you. ;)

Next semester promises to be very exciting, but also very busy and tiring. I'm taking culinary classes because I didn't make it into my medical program and I have to be in classes for the GI Bill (long story short - it's how I make my money). From what I've been told, I'll be on my feet all day, and it's exhausting and hot and I'll be "icky" by the time I get home, but it'll be very worth it.

Fingers crossed that it'll all be worth it in the end. Who knows? Maybe I'll get bitten by the culinary bug and end up like Louisa Edwards (if you haven't read her, you really have to - she's a fantastic writer and she obviously knows her way around the kitchen too!)  :)

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Work work work

My first part of my portfolio is due next Thursday for my Creative Writing class. It's supposed to be something you're working on and trying to finish. I figured that this would be a great time to submit what I have for one of the MSs I'm working on. Once I finally decided on which one to submit for my portfolio (a TwiFic I've revamped to turn it into an original piece), I had to go through and change all the names, the locations (and therefore the details of the location), and took out some of the details I thought were vital to the Edward character.

I wanted to make him different. I was really writing an original piece with the characters that were already established. But I was giving them different backgrounds to "make it my own", so I guess I was just writing an original piece with familiar names.

Anyway. I'm editing the piece to change all the names and make it even more my own. I know that I need to add character description, since I don't have anything except maybe eye color , and there are other things to add. But after reading through the first 6 chapters, I think I've done well... Even if I need to expand on the chapters a little bit or combine some of the ones I have.

I can't say that I've had a lot of fun writing the story, because it's such a sad storyline, but actually writing it has been far easier than going back and editing it. Now I know what all the authors I stalk follow on Twitter are talking about when they're bitching about edits!

Time to get back to it. Hopefully with this project I'll be able to finish this MS and fine tune it so that I can finally get something sent off to a pub.

Friday, February 18, 2011

The Morning After

Where? What? God, would someone shut that goddamn ringing off?

I burrow further into the pillows in order to shield my ears from the piercing noise. Stupid fucker won’t stop. Nine Inch Nails can only mean one person. And she won’t quit calling until she’s acknowledged.

With a silent groan—so as to not disturb the jackhammer doing the cha-cha in my head—I shoot my hand out and rip the phone off the dresser. I put the receiver to the pillow before realizing that part’s supposed to go next to my ear.

“What?”

Oops. That might’ve been a little ruder than I meant. Oh well.

“Where are you?”

Low voice. Oh that’s good. Low voices are nice. Thank you Low Voice. You are my friend.

“What—what time is it?”

Yes, sentences. Good. I still have speech. Tongue isn’t working well, but it can form words.

“It’s one-thirty—in the afternoon. Are you all right?”

Awww. Low voice cares. Nice, Low Voice.

“Hang on.” I roll over and put the phone on my stomach and rub my hand over my face. Jesus, it’s bright in here. I close my eyes and raise the phone back to my ear. “What’s up Jaime?”

“You were partying pretty hard last night.”

I grunt. “Paying for it now.”

Aw, are you hung over?” she says in her irritating singsong voice.

She’s teasing. Not sure I like that so much. Definitely don’t like that she’s raising her voice. Let’s take it down a notch—or three.

“Yes. Can I call you la—”

 I freeze as the shower I hadn’t registered before shuts off in the bathroom.

“Celeste? What’s wrong?”

“There’s someone in the bathroom.” I whisper, as though whoever is in there hasn’t heard me talking before now.

“Oh, shit! Do you need me to come get you?”

I look around the room and when I see the decidedly male clothing tossed about and the half naked women plastered on the wall, I realize I’m not in my bedroom.

“Um, I sort of don’t know where I am.”

“Celeste Anne Kincaid—”

Before she can launch into one of her patented lectures, I cut her off.

 “I’ve got bigger problems than that, Jaime. I don’t know where my clothes are, and it sounds like whoever’s in the bathroom is finishing up.”

“Wrap up in the sheet; look for your clothes if you can, but GET OUT OF THERE NOW!”

I glance frantically around the room while trying to wrap myself in the bed sheets. Unfortunately, I was absent the day they were handing out coordination. I end up flat on my face. Bathroom Guy must’ve heard the commotion, because the door flies open. He rushes to my side to help me stand.

Jaime yells for me to pick up the phone and tell her I’m ok. But I’m paralyzed at the sight of the man in front of me.


“Oh, fuck.”



-30-

Thursday, February 17, 2011

The Break Up

Eric promised to come to practice with me today. I know it can’t be very exciting, I’m just the assistant coach, but it’s important to me. I’m actually helping out my boss and I get to introduce my very hot boyfriend to my co-workers. Win.

When I pick him from his apartment, he seems very quiet. Unusual for him, but I remember that one of his patients today was a child. Thinking of the last time things went badly when a little kid was on the table, I stay quiet. I don’t even mention anything when he doesn’t want to hold my hand. It’s hot out, and I wouldn’t want to touch someone’s sweaty palm either.

He sits high up in the bleachers, and we can’t talk in between plays, but this way he’s able to see the entire field. I smile as I wave to him from the first base line, he gives me a half-hearted wave back, and I feel a little guilty because I’m sure he’s tired after a long day in the OR. I should have let him stay home to rest.

After practice is over, we ride back to his apartment, the radio breaking the silence between us. I’m starting to wonder what happened in the OR today – usually he talks to me about whatever’s bothering him. It must’ve been a really tough surgery.

He doesn’t say anything as I grab my suit from the back seat, just gives me a blank stare, and my heart sinks to my gut as we walk inside. He only gets this way when a patient didn’t make it. I decide I’m going to make his favorite comfort food for dinner as we go inside and I hang the suit I plan to wear to work tomorrow in the closet.

We sit down to watch TV as the cube steaks for my famous chicken fried steak thaw in the sink. It’s not until Family Guy comes on and he doesn’t change the channel, even though we never watch that show because he hates it that I realize he hasn’t said a word in more than 3 hours.

I scoot closer to him and take his hand in mine, “Are you okay, baby? Do you want to talk about it?”

He pulls his hand from mine and moves away from me with a sigh, “We… we need to talk.”

We need to talk. The worst four words in the English language. Nothing good ever follows.

“What’s up?” I try to be cheerful, but my hands are suddenly shaking and it’s difficult to breathe.

“Liza, I love you. You know I do. But… I can’t do this anymore.”

The bile that has risen in my throat is nearly impossible to swallow, and for a minute I’m afraid I’m 
going to vomit on the couch we picked out together last month, “Wh… what do you mean?”

“Us. I can’t be with you anymore.”

His voice breaks, and it gives me hope that he might change his mind if I remind him of how much we love each other. But the words won’t come. They’re blocked by the tears that are choking me. I sit there for nearly half an hour, crying quietly and trying to come up with something, anything, that will make him change his mind.

“Why?” I manage to choke out. It sounds like a frog has taken up residence in my throat.

He won’t meet my eyes, “I just can’t do this anymore. I’m not ready for the level that we’re at. We’ve only been together a year.”

“But… you were the one who pushed for this relationship!”

I’m desperate for him to remember the way he begged me to say I was his girlfriend. How he beamed when he introduced me to his mother. How he looked me in the eyes and told me he loved me while we lay in his bed together on his birthday. How he used to talk about us sitting in rocking chairs on the porch of our house 50 years from now. These memories have to count for something… Don’t they?

“I know,” he says sadly, “and I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I led you on. I do love you, but I’m just not ready.”

I’m a blubbering mess by now and I swipe at the tears that won’t stop, “Don’t I get a say in this?”

He shakes his head, still refusing to meet my eyes, “That’s not how a breakup works.”

The sudden pain in my chest nearly cripples me, and I reach up to make sure my heart hasn’t actually launched itself from my body. Breakup. He said it. He really means it. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“Please,” I whisper. It’s pathetic, but I’m begging.

He finally looks over at me, and the misery in his chocolate eyes is the final nail in our coffin. He’s serious. It’s over.

I stand on legs made of jello and make my way out the door. It’s not until I get to my own apartment that I realize I’ve left my suit at Eric’s, but by then I can’t see through the haze of tears and won’t allow myself to return to the apartment I spent the majority of the last 12 months in. When my roommate gets in, I hear her make a joke about the fact that I’m actually home for once, but she stops short when she sees me lying on the bed. My face is tear-stained, but I’m staring at the wall, unmoving.

“Liza, what happened? Are you ok?” Lynn immediately crawls on the bed next to me. When I don’t respond, she puts her hand on my arm and shakes me, “Liza, talk to me, honey. You’re scaring me.”
I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.

“Liza!” she shouts in my ear, but I don’t react. I can’t.

She reaches for her cellphone, “I’m calling Eric. He’ll know-”

At the mention of his name, I let out a wail. The blood drains from Lynn’s face, “Is Eric ok? What happened, Liza?”

I can’t reply because I’m crying too hard, and the bile that I fought off at Eric’s refuses to be pushed back any further. Somehow I just barely make it to the toilet before I’m emptying the contents of my stomach. I feel Lynn pull my hair away from my face and begin to rub my back. She’s talking, trying to comfort me, but I can’t hear what she’s saying - my head is throbbing and all I can hear is my heart beating in my ears.

“Liza, you have to tell me what happened,” she’s pleading with me as she presses a cool washcloth to the back of my neck, “I’m really worried about you, and now I’m worried about Eric.”

I whimper. I want to beg her never to say his name again, but speech is impossible at this moment.

“Something happened to Eric?”

I manage to shake my head.

“Did something happen at work?”

I shake my head again.

“Liza, you have to tell me what’s wrong! I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong!”

Just say it. Like a Band Aid. Rip the fucker off and maybe it won’t hurt so much.

“He broke up with me,” I whisper, and dissolve into hysterical sobbing again.

I was wrong. Band Aids still hurt even when you rip them off.

She pulls me into her arms, and I know she’s resisting the urge to curse him seven ways from Sunday. She was never his biggest fan, and she’s fiercely protective of her friends. The part of me that’s still in love with him wants to tell her not to blame him, but the part of me that’s dying inside wants her to go over there and tear into him.

Somehow, she manages to pick me up off the floor. She forces me to brush my teeth and drags me to the living room, where she sets me up on the couch and drapes her favorite Mickey Mouse blanket over me. She goes to the kitchen and grabs the emergency bag of Cheetos before cuddling up next to me, and turning on the TV. As she queues up an episode of Charmed, our favorite show, I curl up into a ball and lay my head on her lap as I lose myself in the oblivion of familiarity.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Rainin' You

He woke up reaching for her.

After a particularly good dream, he would always pull her into his arms and slowly wake her up by making gentle, but passionate love to her. He’d tangle his fingers in her hair, claim her mouth with his own, and slip inside her, never able to be close enough to her, never able to get enough.

But this morning, his arms were empty. The sheets remained cold in the place where she used to sleep. She hadn’t even been to his place in more than a year. He might’ve reached for her pillow, but it had long ago lost the scent of her shampoo that had lingered there after she left and he didn't see the point of trying to breathe in a ghost again.

Instead, he lay there staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the distant thunder, lost in his memories.

“Perfect,” he muttered aloud to the empty apartment, “Perfect way to start the day.”

He closed his eyes and let himself remember the last time he’d woken up with her hungry mouth on his, her hands exploring every inch of his muscular body. Waking up to the rain always made her want him.

God, he missed her.

He grudgingly climbed out of bed and made his way to the bathroom to get in the shower. He went to turn on the radio, but stopped himself with his hand on the button. He’d gotten into the habit of showering with music on because of her. She’d laughingly told him that she needed the noise to distract herself from her thoughts.

“I have all my best ideas in the shower. But it’s almost like I can’t stop thinking and I lose all my good ideas among the jumble of thoughts, so I listen to the radio to distract myself,” at his blank look, she smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “It doesn’t make much sense to me, either.”

He turned the water on as hot as it would go -something she never did since the hot water dried out her skin- and got into the shower. He let the water beat down on him, the steam rising all around as he methodically washed his hair and body.

When he got out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped a hand through the steam-fogged mirror so he could shave. There was another clap of thunder, closer this time, and it brought back another wave of memories.

She used to sit on the counter next to him and watch him shave before a game, always teasing him for “missing a spot”. He’d laugh as he rinsed off the razor and ask what the fans would think if he showed up without the small strip of hair on his chin.

She’d giggle as she reacted with a mock gasp, “Oh, the horror! Little old ladies everywhere will be hospitalized when they have massive coronaries because you don’t have that little bit of hair on your chin!”

Then he’d playfully glare at her, pick her up off the sink, carry her into his room, and unceremoniously dump her onto the bed. Most of the time, she’d pull him on top of her and they’d spend the rest of the morning wrapped up in each other.

Doesn’t do you a damn bit of good to sit here and dwell on the past. She’s gone. She’s moved on. She’s happy.

He finished shaving, put mousse in his hair –which he’d only grown back because she told him she liked it better that way- and threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, unconsciously picking out her favorite.

He drove into town to run some errands since it was his day off. As he pulled into a spot at Target, the drizzling rain suddenly became a torrential downpour.

“More to add to the perfection of my day,” he muttered to himself as he climbed out of his truck.

He slowly made his way into the store, watching as other shoppers ran inside and still managing to get soaked through despite their attempts to dodge the droplets. Glancing up at the sky, he saw how dark the clouds were and realized it would probably rain all day.

“She would’ve loved this,” he said to himself, “We would’ve spent most of the morning in bed, then drank coffee while we sat on the balcony and talked. Later, when she got hyper, she’d go do cartwheels in the parking lot and convince me to dance with her... everyone must’ve thought we were insane. Like now, when I’m standing in the pouring rain and talking to myself. Get a fucking grip, man!” He shook his head, jolting himself from his thoughts. He almost turned around and went back to his car, but there were a lot of things he needed to get. Ok, not so much needed as, they’d be nice to have around and he hoped the mindless act of shopping would get his mind off her for a while.

He wandered up and down each aisle, grabbing a few things here and there. He loaded up on DVDs, got some new sheets, another bookshelf for his office, 3 books he’d probably never read, and a lamp for his room, which she'd always told him was too dark. At some point, he found himself in kitchenwares contemplating on whether or not he should get a Crock Pot and a cookbook to learn how to make things in it.

“You should go with the bigger one,” an all-too-familiar voice said from behind him, “With the way you eat, you’ll need it.”

Hallucination, right? He turned around and came face-to-face with the woman who'd haunted his thoughts for the past two years. Forcing a smile, he answered, “Hey, stranger.”

She grinned as he stood there, obviously at a loss in this section, “Need help?”

“I think I’ll take your advice on the size, but I’m...”

“Lost on what to make in it?” she laughed when he nodded, “There’ll be a mini-cookbook in the instruction booklet. But if you go to the book section, there should be dozens there.”

“Thanks, Erin.”

“Not a problem,” she turned like she was going to leave and he found himself wanting to stall her. After all, he’d been thinking about her since he’d woken up that morning.

“What brings you here?” he stopped himself short of shuffling his feet while he mentally berated himself for the corny ass pickup line he hand't intentionally used on her.

“Parker’s baby shower. I’m getting a gift and decorations.”

“Oh, is it soon?” he hadn't realized Parker, Erin's best friend and his teammate's new wife, was so far along in her pregnancy already.

“Tomorrow. I procrastinated again.”

He smiled as she grabbed some utensils for her undoubtedly overstocked kitchen, “You were always great at that, and yet you still managed to pull everything off.”

She shrugged, “If you’re gonna do something, you might as well be great at it.” The glint of her wedding band caught his eye, and he hated himself just a little bit more for his complete inability to move on.

He nodded as she spoke, wishing that he could prolong his time with her, even if it was wrong of him. He missed her so much.

They heard a crash in the distance, followed by an “Oh, shit!” She laughed, “Sounds like Marcos found the toy aisle. I guess I’d better go before security kicks him out of the store and Beth dies of embarrassment. It was nice to see you again, David. Take care of yourself, ok?”

“Yeah, you too, Erin. Tell everyone I say hi.”

“I will,” she waved as she hurried off to find her brother-in-law and his wife. He watched her retreating form, watching the space between them grow. His heart sunk lower with every step she took. Glancing down at the cart, then back to where she’d disappeared from view, he shook his head sadly and turned to leave.

God, he missed her.