Short Story Submission

So I found out about a short story competition and decided, eh why not/. Might be fun. Now, keep in mind I haven't written anything in two years. I have tried, I have dabbled and doodled and dawdled to my heart's (dis) content...but nothing really came of it. Ever.






I won't lie. It bummed me out completely. I wrote five novels in a year. Five novels, and when I say novels, I mean big honking novels, like 90-100 thousand word novels. Then I dabbled here and there over the years between 2010 and 2014...not writing much, grew upset with myself and knocked out two in January and February of 2014. They were garbage...utter and total garbage, but it was something...then I went all of 2015 with nothing. I'm sick of aspiring and not doing. So I decided to pick myself up and give it a go...that and a super amazing wonderful co-worker of mine said of one of the stories that she wanted more...she wanted to know the other character's stories...yes, she was talking about a different character, but I always wondered what Allie's story was...so I gave it a go.






Yes, this is going to seem like it's missing something...like the ending is garbage...and well, that's because it is. I'm intending to keep the story going as long as the Allie keeps telling me her story. So...without further ado..my submission...


















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When I woke up this morning the sun was glaring through the sheer pale blue curtains framing the window casting rainbows of reflection on the walls. The crashing ocean accompanied the glare, echoing the pounding in my head.






My mouth was dry and my throat felt like I’d swallowed a pound of sand. Oh my god, what did I drink last night? As I sat up in the middle of an obscenely large bed the room dipped and spun. Grabbing my head, I slid off the bed and made my way to the bathroom for aspirin.






“Hey,” a soft voice belonging to my best friend, Ivy, greeted me.






“What happened last night?” I moaned.






“Too much tequila,” she whispered. “And jagerbombs. Oh the bloody jagerbombs.”






I filled a cup with water and tossed the aspirin into my mouth. Grimacing as I swallowed, I took another drink. “Why? Why did we do that?”






“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she groaned from the floor beside the toilet.






“Please don’t puke. I hate puke.”






She rested her head on the side of the tub and closed her eyes. “I think I’m okay.”






“Okay. But if you’re gonna barf, don’t do it on the floor.”






“You’re mean when you’re hung over,” she whined.






“I feel like I licked a garbage truck,” I groaned. “Where’s the toothpaste?”






She pointed lazily towards the sink. “Make mine too Allie.”






I grabbed the brushes and squeezed ridiculous amounts of toothpaste onto each. “Here,” I said, jabbing her with the tip of hers. Ivy swiped at it, smearing green gel all over her hand and grimaced.






She pulled herself up off the floor and joined me at the sink. We brushed silently and I stared at our reflections in the mirror. We both looked like something from an episode of 48 Hours; smeared mascara, puffy eyes and hair that resembled a bird’s nest.






Ivy rinsed and set her toothbrush into the holder. “Let’s go to the beach,” she suggested.






“I don’t think you’re supposed to swim with a hangover,” I told her.






She eyed me dubiously, “Really Allie?”






“Yeah, I read it in some magazine or something.”






“No, that’s bull. Shower and suit up. We’re going to sit on the beach and soak up the sun.”






I snorted and immediately reached for my head. “Ow.”






She playfully smacked my arm. “See, that’s what you get. We’re in California for God’s sake, why wouldn’t you want to go to the beach? It’ll be fun!”






I rolled my eyes at her as she left the bathroom, flipped her the bird as I toed the door shut and started the shower.






As the hot water rushed over me, I felt the hangover beginning to ebb away. We only had a week left in California before we were supposed to head home.


God, only two more years of school, I thought as I scrubbed last night’s gel out of my hair. Two years, then I’m free to do whatever I please; even if I still had no idea what that entailed.






Go to Paris, I thought, Milan, New York. Watch beautiful people model beautiful clothes. Get inspired, start my own clothing line. Create something beautiful of my own.






“Hurry up, I need to shower too!” Ivy shouted, banging on the door.






“Alright!” I shouted back, shutting the water off and reaching for my towel. “There, go!” I threw the door open, hurrying past her into my room.






“Love you!” She hollered as I shut the door.






“Pain in the ass,” I grumbled crossing the room to the long dresser that took up an entire wall. I pulled a drawer open and pulled out a bathing suit I made myself in one of design classes last semester.






Slipping a cover up on, because I think I would forever hear my father’s voice in my head telling me that no man would buy the cow when he got the milk for free, I went to find Ivy. She met me in the hallway wearing a floppy straw hat and black oversized sunglasses. My best friend looked the part of a rising Hollywood starlet. “Ready?” She asked.






I nodded, following her as she grabbed a bag from the hallway and hoisted it onto her shoulder. “Let’s go.”


We walked out of the sliding doors and stepped onto the deck. The golden sand beaches greeted us. Ivy glanced up and down the beach, nodded, then descended the stairs. I trailed behind, inhaling the warm, salty air.






“It smells like coconut and wet dreams,” she giggled as we made our way towards the shore.






“I’m pretty sure it’s just me,” I told her.






She said laughing, “Oh yeah, I forgot. John Krasinski lives somewhere around here.”






I stuck my tongue out at her. “Shut up…. You will never understand my mock love affair with Jim,” I said, referring to the actor’s character on The Office. “He rocks that whole nerdy dude thing and I don’t care what you or anyone else says.”






“I know… leave Jim alone,” she said. “I think this is a good spot.”






I glanced around noticing a group of guys to our left playing a vicious game of volleyball. “I don’t know,” I told her pointing to the group.






“It’ll be fine,” she retorted dropping her bag in the sand. “Come on; help me set all this stuff up.”






From her bag, Ivy produced a couple of beach towels and began laying them on the ground. I stood there, torn between not wanting to be so close to flying balls, literally and figuratively, and not wanting to piss off my best friend.






“Hello, earth to Allie!” Ivy said, waving at me. “Come on, help me.”






“Fine,” I sighed, “but if I get brained by errant volleyballs I’m going to kill you.”






“Again, it will be fine. Chill out.”






Knowing a losing battle when I saw one, I grabbed one of the towels and shook it, letting it settle on the sand. Ivy flitted around the towels tugging and perfecting them until they lay perfectly on the ground. It was funny to watch, it was a thing her mother had instilled in her and she did it without even knowing she was mimicking the person she disliked most in the world. I hid my smile and turned to watch the ball players.






There were six all together; they were standing in the center having a heated argument. All were tall, at least six foot, muscled and tatted, their shorts hung low on their hips and they looked like bad asses.






An arm came across my shoulders. “Eye candy,” Ivy murmured as we watched them.






“Whatever. I wasn’t watching them,” I muttered.






“Sure you weren’t.”






“I wasn’t,” I replied, slipping out of her arm. “What do we do now?”






Ivy shrugged, momentarily looking lost. “Um. Well, I’m not sure. I brought some magazines.”






I laughed and headed toward the beach towels. Sitting on the edge, I drew my knees up and stared out at the ocean. Waves crashed onto the shore and rushed towards me. Sitting beside me, Ivy said, “What’s going on with you?”






“What do you mean?”






“You were kind snippy the last few days. What’s wrong?”






I shrugged, hugging my knees closer. “We have two years left of school and I have no idea what to do after


graduation. I want to do something in design, but that’s such a vague notion. I don’t know what happens after college, you know?”






“You’re scared,” Ivy clarified. I nodded, biting my lip. “Al, we have two years left to figure it out. Two years worth of classes to help us choose what we want to do for the rest of our lives, to decide what our passions are, how we can use them to never work a day in our lives because we’ll be doing something that we rock at and that we totally love.”






I nodded because I didn’t know what else to say. Two years seemed so long, but so short at the same time. I was worried that I’d never find the thing that I loved, the thing that would make a passion a career, the thing I could wake up and do every day for the rest of my life and never get bored doing. I wanted that, a job that challenged me creatively, that made me strive to be the very best in whatever industry I chose, a job-






“Incoming!” A deep male voice shouted.






I looked up as a spherical object flew towards my head, then nothing. Utter darkness.






“Allie?”






I felt my body being shaken violently. “Allie! Oh my God, you killed her. You killed my best friend! Can you hear me? Allie, if you can hear me open your eyes.”






My eyelids fluttered open. Dark shadows hovered at my peripheral. “Oh my god,” I moaned. “I’m dead. I’m dead and in heaven. Oh god, I don’t want to be dead.”






“Look at me,” Ivy commanded. I blinked a few times, letting everything come into focus. “Breathe, okay. You’re not dead. Not even close. Like I’d ever let you leave me,” she snorts. “You kind of passed out, or something; but you’re okay. Okay?”






I nodded slowly. “What happened?” I pushed myself up and rub my forehead.






“Sorry,” one of the volleyball players says. “This genius slammed the ball too hard. I tried to stop it, but it was way too high, I couldn’t reach it. I tried to warn you, but I guess I was too late.”






“I’m really sorry,” the tallest of the group said having the decency to look ashamed.






“Tell it to the giant lump on my head,” I snapped at him.






He reached out, and with tender fingers, probed at the lump on my head. “It’s not so bad,” he said.






I looked up at him. Whoa. Perfect hazel eyes, brown at the iris framed by the most intense blue-green I’d ever seen, a full sleeve of tattoos covered his right arm and most of his left. His sideburns melted into a well kept beard from the most perfect set of heart shaped lips id ever seen on a man. “Hi,” I breathed.






“Hey,” he exhaled.






The guy next to him elbowed him in the ribs. “Look at Nicky, knocking chicks out both literally and physically.”






“Shut up dickwad,” another one muttered. “And it’s figuratively, not physically.” He turned to me and said, “Ignore Mal, he’s a dumbass. I’m Jonah, are you okay?”






I nodded, feeling around the lump on my head. “I think I’ll survive. Thanks.”






The remaining three whose names I still didn’t know stood and wandered back toward their side of the beach.






“Okay, well, I’m gonna… yeah.” The one Jonah called Mal stood and followed the other three.






“Are you sure you’re okay?” the one Mal called Nicky asked.






I nodded. “Yeah.”






“Ok-ay,” he said drawing out the simple word. “I’m Nick, by the way.”






“Allie,” I said trying not to smile one of those stupid girl smiles.






“Yeah, I caught that,” he said dipping his head, smiling at me from under his lashes. “Your friend was really worried about you.”






“I can hear you,” Ivy muttered. “I thought you goons killed her.”






“Goons?” Jonah asked looking confused.






“You look like a bunch of criminals,” she sneered motioning their multiple tattoos.






Nick snorted, slapping Jonah on the back. “I’m sure Uncle Sam would love that one. We look like criminals. I bet they’re gonna want the thousands they spent training us back.”






Now it was Ivy’s turn to look confused. “What are you talking about? Wait, are you guy’s military?”






Nick and Jonah both smiled smugly, nodding.






“No way,” she said incredulously. “There isn’t a military base around here.”






“Sure there is,” Jonah said. “Point Mugu. It’s just up the road.”






“Oh wow, I’m so sorry.” She sank down next to me looking ashamed. “I’m sorry. I’m emotional; I jumped to conclusions.”






“It’s all good,” Nick said. “Happens all the time. It’s the tats.”






“Yeah, people always assume we’re trouble makers because of them.”






“So why do it then?” I asked.






Nick sat down next to me. I could feel the heat radiating from his tanned skin. “This one here,” he said pointing to a fraction, “is my unit, the first fourth, this one,” he said pointing to a set of dog tags, one blank, one with seven slashes on it, “is all the friends I’ve lost during my time in Iraq. This one,” he points to a bleeding rose, “is for my mom. Each drip marks a deployment. Every tattoo on my body represents or means something. The Corps doesn’t care much for it, but as long as I do my job there ain't much they say about it.”






Jonah nodded. “Same. I don’t put random bullshit on my body. If I’m gonna mark up the body my momma gave me it damn well better mean something. Her words, not mine.” His bashful smile gave away how much he loved his mom.






“That’s…cool, I guess. I’m not a fan of needles.” I glanced down at my flawless skin, free of any marks not introduced by life.






“It only hurts a little,” Nick said. He twisted his arm, showing me the underside of bicep where a gun stood, a helmet on top supported by a pair of boots. “This one hurt like a motherfu- uh, I mean, well yeah. It was sore for a while.”






I nodded as if I knew what he was talking about. I didn’t, I just wanted to hear him keep talking, needed a reason to keep him next to me.






“Hey, what are you guys doing later?” Ivy asked looking between Nick and Jonah.






The two exchanged a glance, shrugging. “Not much, why?”






“How about, to show there’s no hard feeling about almost killing my best friend, we grab dinner. We found this awesome dive bar with the best burgers last night.”






“I’m game,” Jonah said smiling at Ivy. She blushed and smiled back, dipping her head, hiding her face with her hair. “Nick?”






“I’m not doing anything. I’ll have to go back to base and shower, but yeah, I’m down for killer burgers.”






“Awesome,” Ivy clapped. “Go ask the others if they want to come too.”






Jonah hopped up and jogged across the beach towards his friends.






“I’m gonna go shower and change. Allie do you want me to take our stuff with us or will you grab it?”






“I’ll get it,” I told her as I sent her the look, the one all girls, especially friends as good as Ivy and I, knew. The one that said we needed just five minutes with the hot, mysterious stranger. Ivy nodded and stood, dusting the sand from her behind.






“I’ll give her a hand,” Nick offered.






Ivy gave him a thumbs up as she walked backward to our house. “Thank you Nick!” she called sweetly, then with a laugh, turned toward the house. “I’ve got a pocket, got a pocket full of sunshine!” she sang as she went.






My cheeks flashed red as Nick chuckled quietly. “Ignore her,” I told him. “She’s weird.”






“She loves the hell out of you though,” he said.






“She’s my best friend,” I said digging my fingers into the sand. Scooping up a handful, I let it pour through my hand. “You don’t have to do the dinner thing if you don’t want to.”






“What if I want to?”






“Oh.”






“You sound surprised,” he stated.






“Well, I mean, yeah. I’m pretty sure there are a million things you’d rather do than-“






“Hang out with a pretty girl?”






“Don’t do that,” I told him.






“Do what?”






“Act like you’re into me. I don’t need you to pity me or try to make me feel better for freaking out.”






“Hey Allie?”






“Yeah?”






“Shut up and go with it.”






We met up with Jonah, Nick, Mal and another guy they introduced as Ben, for burgers at the dive bar that we found the night before. The bartender spotted us, calling out, “Double Trouble! Back so soon?”






Ivy flipped him off and led the way to a table big enough for the six of us. Jonah snagged the seat beside Ivy, Mal and Ben sat beside them. I stood back for just a minute wondering what I was doing here right now.


Nick leaned down, whispering in my ear, “shut up and go with it,” then pulled out a chair, motioning for me to sit.


Oh Jesus why was this so hard? I sat my face hot. Nick sat and turned toward me. “So are you guys from around here?”






I shook my head no. “We’re on vacation. We go to school in Washington.”






“What’s your major?”






“Fashion design,” I mumbled.






“Do you like it?”






I nodded. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just talk to him? He seemed like he was into me and I was being a total ice queen.






“You know, I’m not really in the mood for burgers. Do you wanna go for a drive?”






I breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.






“Come on.”






Nick grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my chair. He made his way through the bar and burst through the door. I could hear our friends shouting after us as we made our escape.






He led the way to an old black Jeep with no roof and opened the door. I climbed in and buckled my seat belt as he jogged around and jumped behind the wheel.






“Allie!” Ivy called from the door of the bar as Nick cranked the Jeep. It came to life with a deep grumbling from the engine and a whiny guitar from the radio.






“I’ll bring her back!” he called to Ivy as he peeled out of the parking lot.






Wind whipped through my hair as he sped down the Pacific Coast Highway. Nick reached over and grabbed my hand. “How’s your head?” he asked.






“I’m fine,” I said automatically.






We drove in silence, nothing but the radio between us all the while his thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. After a while he turned off and parked the jeep. The headlights shining out over a bluff illuminating the night, below, the ocean crashed against the rock.






“We should probably start over,” he said turning towards me. “Hi, my name is Nick, I’m twenty four, from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and I am a Marine. I didn’t go to college, joined the corps after high school. I have three older brothers and my parents are still happily married after 38 years. I like alt rock and sushi, and I’ve never seen a Star Wars movie.”






I smiled and instantly relaxed. “Allie,” I said. “I’m 21 and from Seattle, Washington. I am currently enrolled in college. Only child, parents are relatively happily married after 25 years. I like boy bands and h ate sushi and I’ve seen every Star Wars movie.”






“Well now I know where not to take you on our next date,” he joked.






“Who said you get a next date?” I shot back.






“Who said I don’t?”






“Touché.”






Nick got a next date. And another, and another. What started out as just a two week stay in Malibu turned into an entire summer in Malibu. By Labor Day I was suffering from a severe case of puppy love. The night before I was to leave, there was a knock on the door. Figuring it was Ivy, who’d went out earlier to shoot pool with Jonah, I opened the door to find Nick standing there in a tight gray t-shirt that had Keep Calm, I’m a Girl Scout, emblazoned across the front, hands shoved deep into his pockets, a black beanie he wore sometimes was haphazardly hanging on his head.






“Hey,” I said warmly. “What are you doing here?”






“Can I come in?” he asked softly. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”






Fear coursed through my veins colder than ice. Gripping the door, I nodded and pulled it open wider. Nick stopped in the foyer and shut the door. When the lock clicked, he pulled me toward him, holding me close to his chest. I could hear his heart beating rapidly through his shirt. “Nick, what’s wrong?”






“I got some news today. I think we should sit down before we talk about it.”






I nodded dumbly and followed him to the living room. When he sat down on the couch, I sank down next to him, curling up and leaning into his chest.






“I’m being deployed.” His voice was hollow and numb.






“To where?”






“Iraq. Again.”






Tears flooded my eyes. No, this wasn’t happening. He wasn’t supposed to go back for another year. “When?” I whispered.






“I ship out tomorrow.”






“So soon? What? Why?”






“There’s been rumors flying for weeks, whispers that we would be going back sooner than we’d thought. Things there are out of control. Someone has to fix it.”






“Yeah, but…”






“It’s the job, Allie. I know this. I signed up for this. Can you promise me something?”






“Of course.”






“Promise you’ll wait for me.”






I leaned back and looked up at him. “Nick, I would wait for you forever if you asked me to.”






“I know, love. I think I just needed to hear you say it.”






The next morning I drove him to what he called the rendezvous point which turned out to just be an airfield where six green buses waited. As we sat in the car, I fought the tears that threatened the entire drive up from Malibu. Hand in hand we walked across the tarmac. When he stopped, the tears broke free.






Nick gently held my face in his hands, gazing down at me. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’ll be back. It’ll be nine months, a year tops. And when I get back it’ll be as if none of this ever happened.”






I grabbed the front of his uniform and pulled him to me, wrapping him around me like a shield. “Promise,” I sobbed into his chest, “Promise me you’ll come home to me. And promise you’ll write me.”






“Allie, I swear on all that I am and all that I could ever hope to be, that I will write to you every day and at the end of this I will come home to you.”






He said the last part with such conviction that I immediately believed him. He would come home to me and we would spend the rest of our lives together just as happy and as in love as we were in this moment.






A gruff shout from the head of the buses caught our attention. Nick turned, glancing over his should. He let out a groan and pressed his forehead to mine. “I love you, Allie,” he said against my lips. “I love you so much.”






Tears flooded my eyes, dripping down my cheeks. The pain in my chest was indescribable; each heartbeat caused me pain; like the broken shards were ramming themselves into my chest. “I love you too,” I sobbed.






“Good, now give your man a kiss.”






I leaned up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips softly to his briefly. “Hanson! Quit smooching on your girlfriend and get your ass on the bus. Daylights burning!”






“That’s my cue,” he said with a sad smile. “I’ll see you soon.” Nick dropped a last kiss on my forehead, hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and turned towards the buses. I wrapped my hands around my body and let the tears come.






Nick dropped his bag on top of the growing pile then turned and blew me a kiss before mounting the bus. I held up a hand, waving good bye and stood there until the very last bus departed. I stood there until a M.P. escorted me back to my car.






Things slowly went back to normal. Classes resumed, letters from Nick started to arrive; a new one almost every day for almost three months.






Then a letter a day turned into a letter a week. I tried not to panic, to not let the fear consume me but it was a losing battle. My grades started to slip and by Valentine’s Day Nick’s letters stopped coming altogether.


Not knowing what to do, I kept writing. Page after page filled with rambling nonsense, tidbits about my bad, a professor who made me angry or called my designs horrible.






I wrote a letter a day for three weeks and convinced myself Nick was fine, he was busy, that something made it


impossible for him to write me back.






The first Wednesday of March all my letters started coming back. The day the first one came back will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. I opened the mailbox and saw my pale pink envelope sitting inside. With trembling hands I reached for it, my eyes seeing but not understanding the words stamped in blood red ink across the front.






Return to sender, recipient is deceased.






I carried it like a baby back to the dorm room and was met at the door by Ivy. “What’s that?” she asked as her eyes skimmed the envelope. They widened in horror as she grabbed the letter from me. “Nick?” she whispered.






As I shook my head yes, she vehemently shook her head no.






The next day, Ivy started getting the mail. When she came in one afternoon after class, her face white and her hands shaking, I knew she was about to say something important. “I don’t know if I should give this to you,” she whispered, her hands concealing whatever it was that she had. “I seriously thought about not giving it to you. I had made the choice not to, but then when I came in and saw your face I knew that if I didn’t and you found out you would never forgive me. I hope that after you read it you can forgive me for giving it to you.”






My heart slammed in my chest as I eyed her hands. Swallowing past the lump in my throat I held out my hand. When she placed a plain white envelope in my hands the first thing I thought was that it was from the dean’s office, officially telling me I’d been kicked out of school, but when I saw the familiar slanted handwriting, my heart caught in my throat.






Nick






My brain leapt to no less than fifty inconceivable notions. He’s alive! He’s been a P.O.W and they finally found him! Those were the two that I will always remember. I lay in bed, clutching the unopened letter to my chest crying as my heart broke all over again. I knew he wasn’t alive, I knew it in my soul. Finally, after lying there for hours, sobbing all over it, I opened his final letter.






Allie, the letter began.






I don’t know how else to tell you this, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my promise to you. I wish that I could, god there is nothing in the world I want more. I want to come home to you, to hold you in my arms and look into your eyes for the rest of my life, but I guess fate had another plan for us. I think we were supposed to meet Allie. I think I was supposed to knock you out with that volley ball. I don’t know why but I think it was one of those things that were just supposed to happen. I think I needed to fall in love with you so I could be okay with not living to see twenty five.






You should know that when the end comes, and its coming soon, yours is the only face I’m gonna be seeing. Your name is the one I’ll cry out for when my last breath comes. You made this life worth living, the thought of forever with you kept me going when all I wanted to do was give up. And I hate giving up. I hate that I’m not gonna make it out of this. I hate this war and I hate that we have to be the ones who are giving up our lives for people who don’t want to change. I hate it. I hate that I’ll never get to see you again. I hate that you get to be my forever, but I don’t get to be yours.






The only thing I don’t hate is being able to call you mine. You have made my life complete Allie. I hope you know that. I can die knowing that I had the unconditional love of an amazing woman. And you can get up tomorrow and get back to your life knowing that I loved you until the very end. I want you to get up tomorrow and get back to your life Allie. You are too bright to let your light die. The world needs it. The world needs people like you, people like you can combat the darkness.






And baby, someday you are going to meet someone who needs your light. And when you do meet him, I need you to let him in. I need you to love again, because I can’t go unless I know you aren’t going to let this be the thing that you cling to. I need you to promise me Allie, I need you to promise that this won’t be the end for you.






Promise?






I want to say so much more, but I just don’t have the words. I’m a jarhead, not a poet. All I have in the way of pretty words is I love you. I have and always will. Now go and live your life, Allie, don’t forget about me, but don’t let this define the rest of your life.






I love you, always, forever and even longer,


Nick

Character Interview

This is the character interview Sparkling Citrus did with the character Paul from Coffee and Cigarettes

1.           Someone once said that people usually move to small towns to run away from something; such as the case with Leah. Do you think that’s true of most people?

Movies and television shows would like for you to believe that people who move to small towns are running from something, but I think most of the time if they are moving to a small town it’s because they need a change of pace or scenery.

2.           One of the first things you noticed about Leah was that she was pretty despite her attitude. Did you see it as a challenge to tame her or a pity that she wasn’t a kinder person?

I wasn’t trying to “tame” her, I’m not Shakespeare. I was just trying to be myself, be nice to someone I was going to live next door to. I also thought it was sad that she let her ex get the better of her, and became so angry about it.

3.           What was it about Leah that made you decide to pursue her, even with her whiplash like attitude?

Even under her attitude, her anger and her ability to isolate herself, something about her called to me. It was kind of like she wanted help even if she didn’t say. She needed someone to be nice to her just to prove that there were still decent men in the world, that not everyone was out to get her, that people could care about her without wanting anything in return. And she was just so damn pretty.

4.           Did you ever understand why Angela waiting until your wedding day to tell you she was in love with someone else?

I will never understand that, but part of me respects her for it I guess. She could have waited until after we were already married. Then again on the flip side she could have just told me and saved everyone involved a lot of grief and heartache. And aggravation.

5.           Do you think throwing out everything that reminded you of Angela really help you?

Of course not, but it did help me focus on other things. Without her presence constantly reminding me of what happened, I found it easier not to think about her.

6.           Do you think your substituting your pain with your attraction to Leah?

No. I know Leah isn’t Angela. They aren’t anything alike. Leah is a spitfire where Angela is a docile. I’ve acknowledged what Angela did to me, I’ve worked through the pain and I’m ready to move on.

7.           What drew you to Leah?

Well first there was the physical attraction, but as I got to know her, I saw flashes of the person she probably used to be before her ex did a number on her. I was curious, I wanted to know who she was, what made her tick and why.

8.           Would you ever use her as a model for your photographs?

It’s a possibility. I photograph things that inspire me, things I find beautiful.

9.           If things keep progressing with Leah, do you still plan on going back to Seattle when the summer is over?

I don’t think I’ll go back to Seattle. It has little to do with my relationship with Leah and more to do with the fact that I feel like I belong in Capeside. I spent many summers here, and those summers here helped define me as a person. I always felt welcome and at home in Capeside.

10.        Where do you hope to be in 5 years time?

I honestly don’t know. I don’t think I want to be married, I don’t think I could go through that again, the fear has me there. If I had to hope to be anywhere, I hope to be happy. That’s all a person can really hope for at the end of the day.

Author Interview with Sparking Citrus

Last month Rosalynn, who runs Sparkling Citrus asked me if I'd like to do an author interview and a character interview. She also did a rec of Coffee and Cigarettes. I said sure, why not. Yeah, it's shameless self promotion, but whatever, you have to put yourself out there sometimes.

So, anyways, that being said, this is the interview.


1. I saw in the A/N of chapter 1 that this started as a one shot as original fiction? Why did you decide to continue it?
It did start as an original story, and with each chapter has continued to be an original story. I post two versions of it. One with my original characters and one with Paul and Leah. I decided to continue because I felt like there was more there, a story that needed to be explored and told. On the original side, there was a lot of feedback and people wanted to know what happened next, so I kept going.

2. Do you have any desired to be published?

I do want to be published, but I don’t feel like the stories I have to tell are very good, or original. I’m a big scaredy cat and will probably never even attempt it.

3. How did you find Twilight?

Back when Myspace was cool, they had lists of the top 100 hottest books at the moment. Twilight was one of them. I saw the cover and read the short description they had, and I wanted to read it. Little did I know how irrevocably it would change my life.

4. How did you get into Fanfiction?

It started with the ever popular fic by Psymom, Stranger Than Fiction. Everybody was talking about it; raving about it. I jumped aboard the band wagon and read along. After I finished reading it, I read a few more and thought, Hey, I can do that. At the time, I was going through some stuff and feeling downright depressed about my own writing. I figured, I’d write one story and see how it turned out. I never expected anyone to read it, but they did. And as they say, it was all downhill from there. Lol.

5. What made you decide to be on the pro-wolf side of the fandom?

When I started writing, it felt like the fandom was flooded with Edward and Bella or Jasper and Bella stories. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it wasn’t really something I wanted to read. I wanted to read about Jake and Bella. When I decided what to write, I wrote what I wanted to read, what I wished more people (at the time) wrote.

6.  What is your favorite canon fic?

It’s a tie between Wide Awake and Master of the Universe.

7.  What is your favorite non-canon fic?

Second Chances by AugustBlack.

8. Is Capeside a real town or molded after a real town?

Capeside is a fictional town modeled after the very real town of Seaside, Oregon. Some real places of Seaside are in Coffee and Cigarettes.

9. What made you decide to have be the town for the heartbroken?

It seems like whenever you have a broken heart, everyone around you is happy and all too ready to tell you that everything will be okay, that it will work out, that one day you’ll be happy again. No one wants to hear that when they’re suffering. They want someone to sympathize, or even empathize with what they’re going through, to tell them, “You know, that really freaking sucks. Want me to kick the bastard in the nuts for you next time I see him?” After my ex and I split, my sister didn’t tell me it would be okay, that I would be fine. She offered to drag his stuff into the street, set it on fire, then mail it to him with a note that said, “Happy anniversary, shit head.” That made me feel so much better than hearing that I would be fine. In a way, a town for the heartbroken was what Leah needed because it brought her to Paul.

10. How would you deal with a broken heart?

Get really, really drunk, watch sappy chick flicks and cry until I was numb. It sounds pathetic, but it’s what I did, last time I had my heart broken. Then I tossed out everything that reminded me of him and left town. Then one day I found that it didn’t hurt so bad, and eventually it didn’t hurt at all.

11 Do you have plans for more fics?

I always have plans for more fics. Whether they work out or not is a different story. But I do have a few ideas rolling around in my noggin.

12 Of all your fics, which is your favorite?

Full Circle. Writing that fic took soo much out of me, emotionally, but it was worth it. Taking the characters from teenagers in Disenchanted and throwing them into the situations they went through was challenging, but so worth it.

13. If you could give one piece of advice to new authors, what would it be?

Write what you know and be yourself. Don’t give in to what other people want. There are going to be people out there who don’t like what you are doing and they’re going to tell you. Take it with a grain of salt and keep on trucking. For every one person who wants to break you down, there will be ten more willing to build you back up. Don’t forget that this is your story. You imagined it, you own it. Don’t be afraid of that.

Six Months, Forty Chapters, and over 130,000 words

Six months ago, on November 1st, 2009, I started writing a novel called Full Circle. It was only supposed to be 50,000 words and was only supposed to take a month, the month of November, to write. There is a competition each November called NaNoWriMo or National November Writing Month. I decided to participate because let's face it, I had nothing better to do.

I reached the 50k mark halfway through November and decided to keep going as my novel was no where near being finished. November ended, December began, and still I wrote, pecking away at the keys of my laptop as the winter months progressed, January, February, March. Then April was upon us and silly me was still writing Full Circle.

This month has been completely chaotic. Finishing Full Circle, trying to write my script for Script Frenzy, and working on my fourth novel, Unattached.

As you can see all I do, pretty much, is write. It's like therapy for me. I heap my issues on my characters and make them work it out for me and then I'm cured. Not really but you get the idea.

Yesterday I sat down with my notes and began to write, staring at my computer screen and wondering how in the world this roller coaster ride of a story was to end. Happily of course, there had already been way too many tears, but it had to be realistic. I like to think that I write fiction that could really be taken from a day in the life of "insert your name here." I hate reading a book and thinking to myself, "that could never happen."

Except of course if I was reading Twilight or Harry Potter. Then it could totally happen because let's face it: vampires ARE real AND they sparkle. Who knew? And Harry Potter? Well you'd have to be the anti-Christ to not like Harry Potter...and to all you naysayers who wrinkle your nose at Harry Potter...I am a convert. I thought the idea was lame until my friend Becky made a deal with me. Read HP and she'd read Twilight.

Anywhoo...totally getting off topic.

I write stuff that could happen to Plain Jane in Tiny Town, USA, all with a slightly fictitious twist. So as I was saying I started the epilogue, the final chapter to the beast herein known as Full Circle. It took all day and half the night as well. You see it took so long because I had it written, all nice and pretty and then gremlins stole it. I tore my room apart looking for it, only to find the alternate ending. So I had to rewrite it. No biggie, normally the re-write is seven times better than the original.

Then today I found the original. I typed it and saved it in a folder and didn't label it right. I opened it and read it. Oh wow, hot, steamy garbage. I'm seven kinds of glad that I couldn't find it. But last night around ten o'clock I finished it. It was short, sweet and to the point and my poor, formerly heart broken main character got her happily ever after.

I tried to write more of my script, it's been sitting abandoned for a few days now, patiently waiting for me to finish it, but I'm worn out. So I started messing around with Photoshop this afternoon and decided to commemorate the completion of my third "novel" (I use that term loosely as I am not a published author...yet) by making nerdy book covers.

Here's the one for Full Circle. I had the worst time with this one, the story is so chaotic that it's hard to come up with an image that can fit and encompass the story. I used an image of a solar eclipse more for the lighted circle than the eclipse. *shrugs* Like I've been saying. I'm not an artist, just a geek who can use photoshop fairly well...the title came from the title of Creed's new record Full Circle, and the title track Full Circle. I am a HUGE Creed fan and one night I was listening to the song and I told my friend Jenn it seemed like the song was written for the story. The story was inspired by Mario's song, Soundtrack to My Broken Heart. I was making lunch or dinner one night and the song started playing and the plot, scenes from the story popped into my head. I darn near sprained my wrist trying to write it all down. So much of Full Circle came so easily it should have been illegal. So much of this story is dedicated to a good friend of mine who is no longer with us. Many of the chapters in this story helped me get over not having him around any more. Some of the chapters I can't read because they make me cry so much. How odd is that, that a story I created and wrote can make me cry.

Back when the earth was new and...no I'm kidding. We're working backwards here. Disenchanted was the second novel I wrote. It was supposed to be a prequel to Full Circle, but added together, the drama and angst is unreal. That and the plot, well when I wrote it I didn't stay true to myself and I changed the plot to please other people which I never should have done. The title is taken from a song by My Chemical Romance, which is also titled Disenchanted. The plot, however, came from what happened to Jaguars football play, Richard Collier. He was shot in the street of a Jacksonville neighborhood and paralyzed from the waist down. I found, and still do find, his story extremely motivational. His dreams were dashed and he still gets up in the morning and lives his life to the best of his ability. It's very inspirational. This is also the story my script is based off of. I'm planning on rewriting this with different characters as a stand alone novel and the way I want it to be. Everyone else can take a  long walk off a short pier...just saying.

Pictures of You is my baby, its my first novel (I wrote a lot of other stuff, none of which I ever finished) so this is something I'm exceptionally proud of. The title is jacked from the song by The Cure, but the idea came from Elton John's song, Your Song. I was doodling one day, listening to the radio and that song came on and I just started writing. Like, Full Circle, Pictures of You came so easily to me it should have been illegal.

So there we have it. Three book covers and an afternoon spent doing nothing. Tomorrow is Paint with me Thursday over at Simply Feather, so check back tomorrow and hopefully I'll something some kind of arty to show off...

Life Left to Go – A Short Story

Fishing was supposed to be relaxing, but for Amy, her opinion was that it was just wrong. I mean come on really, she thought. You ram some wriggling, defenseless worm – whose only crime was being in the wrong pile of dirt at the wrong time – onto a hook, a sharp, occasionally rusty, hook, then you toss the wriggling invertebrate into the water, essentially drowning him, and using his death dance to entice a fish that you may or may not eat. It was just…wrong.

Amy risked a glance to the left, gazing at Ian who looked content, seated in his blue vinyl chair, a tattered baseball cap pulled down low over his brow. He worked the rod, reeling in the line, then letting it go a little bit, reeling it in, then letting it go again. The noise, the creak of his chair on the weathered boards of the dock, the zip, and wind of the reel, was comfortably annoying.

At least the view is nice, Amy thought to herself, casting her eyes over the sparkling lake, focusing on the cluster of pine trees just across the other side. And the company's not too bad either.

Beside her, the zip and wind sound continued as Amy stared at the water. A duck splashed down, quacking loudly in the still afternoon. The splash rippled across the lake and Ian scowled at the fowl's faux pas, his expression screamed "hey duck, I'm fishing here."

Amy bit back a grin and watched the duck swim in lazy circles. It quacked occasionally and dove under the water, upending its self, orange webbed feet kicking at the air. Amy had never seen such a sight before and found it instantly amusing, almost like the duck sensed her boredom and deemed it his job to entertain her.

Ian scowled at her. "Damn duck's scaring all the fish," he muttered.

Amy quieted her laughter and watched the duck rise up from under the surface of the lake. "He's just hungry," she said defensively. "Besides, you don't even like fish, why's it matter if you catch one or not?"

"Principle, Amy. It's all about the principle of fishing. Fishing is-"

"A sacred thing," they both said at the same time, Ian serious, Amy mocking.

"A sacred thing," Ian repeated softly. "It's just you, the lake and the fish. Not catching anything says you were outsmarted by something with a brain the size of a pebble and that's just insulting."

"Its not insulting, its evolution," Amy insisted. "How many friends and fishy family members do you have to see undone by a hook and a worm before you realize that ain't such a good combination?"

Ian chuckled, pushing the bill of his baseball cap up and set the weight of his hazel eyes on her. "Only you would apply evolution to fishing. You, my dear, are a goob."

"Why thank you. I enjoy being a goob."

They sat silently for a beat, Amy idly wondering what exactly a goob was.

"It's just a word that means you're goofy," Ian said responding to her unspoken question.

"Well then thank you. I enjoy being goofy." She turned her face to the sun and reveled in its warmth.

The warmth spread across her face and shoulders, warming her hands and fingers. "You know, aside from the fishing, this day has been pretty great. We should do it more often."

Ian nodded. "We will, you just have to get better first. We can do a lot of things when you're better."

Amy nodded and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. The drug addiction was something she wanted to beat, but no matter how many steps forward she always took, there was that one time when she'd stumble and spiral back down to that dark place where the only thing she could think about was her next high. The fact that the addiction hadn't ruined her marriage had yet to cease to amaze her. It said a lot about Ian's character. When everyone else abandoned her, Ian stood by her side and made her get the help she needed.

Ian glanced at his watch and sighed. "Its time to go. You have to be back soon."

Amy nodded and reeled in her line, frowning at the little worm dangling from the end of the hook, limp and lifeless. Ian stood and reached for the fishing pole. She handed it to him and turned away as he discarded the lifeless worm. She felt the blackness seeping into the light, taking over the edges of her peripheral vision. Ian noticed the change in her and placed on hand on her shoulder.

"You can do this," Ian softly said.

She gazed at him with watery eyes and nodded, squaring her shoulders, strengthening her resolve.

"That's my girl," he said and led the way back to where the truck was parked, just up the trail.

Amy climbed inside and wrapped her arms around herself. Rehab was a lot like fishing. It was supposed to be helpful or therapeutic or what have you, but to her it was just wrong. They stick you in this room and let you suffer until the drugs no longer course through you. You get sick; you scream and cry out from the pain and agony of withdrawal.

You ram needles into your arm; their only crime is being attached to your body, and let the rush of whatever you're injecting do its magic. Its rush of pleasure to the brain a sensual dance that keeps you coming back for more.

It was just wrong.

Chapter 38, oh Chapter 38 where ARE you???

It's been nine days, NINE DAYS since I wrote chapter 37 and in the days since then, chapter 38 has since eluded me. I've written several different versions, a page or so each, and scrapped each one because they suck. I'm working on it now, and it still sucks, but I'm so close to being done with this story that I'm ready to just write whatever because I'm sick of it.

If that makes sense....

Chapter 38, wherever you are, wherever you're floating around in creative space, it would be great if you could just come one down and visit my fingertips so I can write you...

Yep, I'm talking about Script Frenzy....again

If you haven't noticed by now I'm slightly obsessive-compulsive with a strong emphasis on the obsessive part. Over the years I've had many obsessions ranging from Tinkerbell and cherries to Twilight and Harry Potter novels.

I can't help it, it's my nature. I find something interesting (and it might only be interesting to me...i.e. my obsession with knitting, then my later (and current) obsession with crocheting) and then I go NUTS! I eat, sleep, drink, BREATHE the obsession.

After a while it starts to fade and then I'm on to my next zany thing. This month, my obsession is script frenzy. Its challenging in an I've-never-done-this-before kind of way, but easy in a seriously-how-is-this-a-challenge- kind of way.

I like to write so its easy, but taking away all the details is the hard part...but, on the other hand it gives you more creative freedom. You can write a scene in a novel one way, but taking it from the page to the screen forces you to perhaps look at another way of doing it.

This is what happened to me yesterday. I got to a point where Beth, the main character, was recalling what happened to her parents, and the way its written in the book is like this:


Nick sidestepped a couple making out in the middle of the hallway. “Where are you from?”

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Jacksonville, Florida,” I told him.

“Did you like it there?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding my head. “It was my favorite place to live.”

“How many places have you lived?”

“Well,” I said, “There was Chicago, Tennessee, and most recently, Florida. I lived in Florida for almost seven years. ”

Nick’s eyes widened. “Damn, are your parents criminals or something?”

“No,” I laughed. “My dad is, I mean was, a football player.”

“Anyone I might know?”

“Pete Dwyer,” I said softly. Nick stopped in the middle of the hallway and stared at me.

“You’re Pete Dwyer’s daughter?” he said incredulously.

I nodded.

“Dude, he’s a God. What the hell are you doing here?”

I stared into Nick’s sky blue eyes. “I-uh, um, you don’t know?” I whispered.

“Know what?”

We were approaching the cafeteria. I saw Josh standing on his toes searching for me. He caught my gaze and waved. “Beth!” he called and proceeded to elbow his way through a group of seniors standing on the grass outside the cafeteria.

“Hey kid!” I called.

“I thought I missed you,” he said breathlessly.

“Nope, I’m a little late. Nick was showing me how to get here. Do you mind if he sits with us?”

“What’s up man,” he said to Nick. “No Beth, I don’t mind.”

“Alright, well c’mon then,” Nick said, leading the way into the cafeteria. After we’d gone though the line and sat down, he started asking about Pete.

“So what didn’t I hear about your dad?” he asked.

I glanced at Josh; he was deep in conversation with his girlfriend from next door.

“He died,” I said numbly.

“No freaking way,” Nick breathed, his eyes looked moist, like he was going to cry. “How? When?”
“A week ago. He killed himself.  Got drunk, and wheeled himself into the pool.” I dropped a greasy fry back onto my tray.

“Why?” Nick asked.

“No one really knows for sure,” I shrugged. “I think it had to do with my mom’s death.”

He set his Pepsi can down, “I heard something about an attack on an NFL star, but I didn’t really pay much attention. What happened?”

“Three weeks ago, my mom and dad were car jacked after leaving the Jacksonville Municipal Stadium. My dad was taking a short cut, trying to avoid traffic, well he stopped at a four way stop sign, and some guy comes up and shoves a gun in my mom’s face, ordering her to get out of the car.” I stopped and took a deep breath.

You can do this, I reminded myself.

“She refused to get out of the car so he shot her, then drug her out of the car and shot her five more times. She died in the street before the paramedics even had the chance to get there. When my dad got out, the guy shot him four times in the back, paralyzing him from the waist down. He blamed himself for my mom’s death and was depressed because he was still alive, because he was paralyzed, because he would never play football again.” I twisted the lid off my bottle of water. “But what do I know? I’m just a kid,” I said sarcastically.

Nick sat there staring at me from across the cafeteria table. “Wow, Beth, I had no idea. I don’t know what to say.”

I smiled sadly. “There’s nothing you can say. It sucks, but life goes on. At least that’s what my grandmother says.”

Nick looked uncomfortable. “How are you managing to cope so well?”
“I’m not coping; I’m heavily medicated,” I snorted.




It could be better (this is just the first draft) becasuse its more like Beth is telling Nick what happened...no feeling, no emotion, just facts.



The script version goes like this (which I personally like better) (and in case you don't know V.O. stands for voice over, its where a scene is shown and you see it happening and you hear the person speaking...)

nick

It’s not really that bad. Where are you from?

Beth tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and warily looks at Nick.

Beth

I’m from uh, Florida. Jacksonville.

nick

Did you like it there?

beth

(nodding)

Yeah, it was my favorite place to live.

nick

Have you lived a lot of places?

beth

Yeah. Chicago, Tennessee, Pittsburgh, and most recently Florida.

nick

Damn, what are you parents, criminals or something?

beth

(laughing)

No. at least I don’t think so. My dad, he um, he was a football player.

nick

Like an NFL player?

Beth nods, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation has gone in.

nick

Anyone I might know?

Beth wasn’t going to tell anyone about her father. But there’s something inviting about Nick’s demeanor, like he was the kind of guy you could tell anything to and he wouldn’t judge you.

beth

(softly)

Pete Dwyer

Nick stops in the middle of the sidewalk and stares incredulously down at Beth.

nick

You’re Pete Dwyer’s daughter.

Beth nods, tugging at a strand of hair before tucking it behind her ear.

nick

Are you for real?

Again, Beth nods.

nick

What the hell are you doing here then?

Beth stares at nick, unsure of what to say.

beth

I-uh, um, he – you didn’t hear?

nick

Hear what?

The pair approaches the cafeteria where Josh is still waiting. Josh is standing on his tip-toes waving at Beth. His appearance interrupts Nick and Beth’s conversation about her father.

josh

Beth!

Beth avoids Nick’s question and approaches Josh.

beth

Hey kid.

josh

I thought I missed you.

beth

Sorry, I was talking to Nick.

She points to Nick who joins them in front of the cafeteria.

josh

Hey Nick

beth

         (To Josh)

Do you mind if he sits with us?

josh

Nope I don’t care.

nick

Alright well c’mon then.

Nick leads the way into the cafeteria and the three get into line, quickly getting their lunch, and sitting at a half full table.

He unwraps his burger, setting the aluminum foil aside and bites into it. Beth picks up a packet of ketchup, tears it open, and squirts it onto an empty spot on her tray next to her fries.

nick

(To Beth, prodding)

So, you were telling me about your dad.

Beth glances over at Josh who is talking animated to Aubrey, waving a French fry around as he speaks. Beth realizes he isn’t paying attention to her or Nick, she turns back to Nick.

beth

(Without emotion)

He died.

Beth picks up a French fry and dips it into the ketchup on her tray, stares at it but does not eat it.

nick

(Eyes wide with disbelief)

No way! How? When?

beth

(without emotion)

He committed suicide a little over a week ago.  

Beth drops the fry onto the top of the pile of the fries on her tray and wipes her hand on a napkin.

nick

Why?

Beth shrugs and sips her soda.

nick

I heard about the attempted carjacking. The news said his wife was killed. That was your mom?

Beth takes a deep breath. Nicks line of questioning upsets her, but she steels herself, squaring her shoulders and answers his question.

beth

Yes, that was my mom. A month ago, my mom and dad were leaving the stadium and my dad decided to take a short cut through a not so kosher neighborhood.

The camera zooms in on Beth’s face as she begins to recount that fateful night.

beth

He had just won a game against San Francisco – a playoff game, and they were on their way to dinner.

The scene begins to fade, Beth’s face fades away CUT TO-

EXT. FOUR WAY INTERSECTION – EVENING

A navy blue Navigator slowly rolls to a stop at the stop sign in a rundown neighborhood. Houses line the street, their paint peeling and porches sagging. Dilapidated vehicles are parked in driveways. The nicest car on the street, aside from the Navigator is a brassy colored, 1979 Cadillac Eldorado. We see Pete and Rae Dwyer seated inside, both are happy, smiling. Rae is talking to Pete as the navigator comes to a complete stop.

beth

(V.O.)

My dad decided to take a short cut, like I said. The neighborhood he went through was dangerous. Kids are shot, people are killed there all the time, it’s just…bad.

A man comes running up to the car. He’s dressed in baggy, dark colored jeans and a oversized black hooded sweatshirt, a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. He breaks the passenger window with the butt of the gun and shoves it in Rae’s face.

Beth

(V.O.)

He ordered my mom and dad to get out of the car.

Beth pauses, taking a deep breath.

We see Rae refusing to get out of the car, she turns in her seat and yells something inaudible to Pete. The car jacker fires his gun, the black night lights up with gunfire.

beth

(V.O.)

He shot my mom then pulled her out of the car and shot her five more times.

The car jacker pulls open the car door and pulls a screaming Rae from the car. He throws her to the ground, she stumbles and falls onto the pavement, her arms shooting out to catch her fall. The car jacker stands over her, the gun aimed at Rae.

Zoom into the car jacker's face, he sneers and squeezes the trigger, flinching as each bullet is dispelled from the gun.

Pan wide to show Rae lying in the street, her body lifeless. Zoom around car to Pete quickly rushing toward Rae.

beth

(V.O.)

She died in the street before the paramedics had the chance to save her.

Pete is now at Rae’s side, he goes to kneel beside her to try to save her. The car jacker shoots at him as he runs toward the driver’s side of the car. Four bullets hit Pete, three in the upper back and shoulder, one in his lower back.

Beth

(V.O.)

When my dad went to help her the guy shot him four times. Three of the four bullets passed major arteries, he would have survived, but the last bullet severed his spinal cord.

The scene on the street fades and-

INT. CAFETERIA – LATE MORNING

beth

That was the end of life as I knew it. A month later Pete was dead, and here I am.

Nick fidgets uncomfortably in his seat across from Beth.

nick

I uh, wow I don’t know what to say.

beth

(shrugging)

There’s nothing you can say.

nick

How are you managing to cope so well?

beth

(snorting)

I’m not coping; I’m heavily medicated.

Restarting Old Projects

Wow, I start to write this post and I get blindsided by Alex O'Loughlin...pause for thirty seconds of Aussie swooning...um hey...lol..okay back to the point.

A while (and I mean A WHILE!) back I started this story called Between You and I, and it was just a mess. I mean it had no direction, it was really just a bunch of rambling. But last night, while I was lying in bed desperately trying to sleep I got an idea. It just sort of crept up on me and was like "Hi Nikki, this is how you should start the story." Which is totally exciting because I think the story is great (lol I think I have to think its great...I wrote it...ha ha). But its more than that, its deeper than a lot of the other stuff that I've written, I want to say its darker than the other stuff I've written, but I don't know if dark is the right term. Eh, I guess it doesn't really matter.

I'm excited and I can't wait to start it...once I can find five minutes to sit down and actually do it.

so go me, I rock.