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

A Suggestion....

I'm trying to get my life back on track after about two months of especially difficult and ridiculously trying times. I've been trying to overlook everything that's been stressing me, and trying to write. It hasn't been going so well, but whatever...ask me if I care. I'm trying.

Well, on that note, I was talking about everything that's been going on with a girl I work with, and I was pretty much telling her the vaguest details of my life post bootcamp and she looks at me incredulously and says, "You should write a book."

I laughed and she looks at me, more intent this time, and says, "No, I'm serious. You write all these other stories about things, why haven't you written about this?"

I told her I haven't because the things that happened aren't important and then I pulled the quote I have written on my computer, the one that says, "writing comes more easily if you have something to say." and I told her that, while the topic of being engaged to my now brother in law when I met my child's biological father, isn't something I want to say. I don't care about the situation any more. It's been ten years since all this happened and I really don't care about either one of them anymore. Yes, they are a part of my history, but so not worth the time and energy to capture all that time on paper.

But lately I've been thinking about how preposterous a book it would be. Even if it was highly fictionalized. People would read it and go, "Oh my god, how the hell did she come up with that?"

I know, right?!? lol.

If it wasn't so crazy, I'd be on it like white on rice, but for now, I think I'll keep on kicking it in fantasy land, where only parts of the story are real.

Non Canon couple review

Along with the interviews, they did a review of Coffee and Cigarettes. This is it.

Coffee and Cigarettes by TwilightsGrace23

In the lonely town of Capeside, the heartbroken come to rebuild their lives and for some….their hearts. Leah finds Capeside after a horrible split from her boyfriend, Sam. Just as she is getting settled and starting to accept that all men suck, the moving truck arrives at the house next door, complete with giant dog and hot man.
This AH fic is a work in progress but updates regularly and hooks you from the beginning. While most people don’t think of Leah/Paul as a good pairing…I can tell you right now that it is. I wasn’t sure either, but knowing TwilightGrace23′s other work, I had to give it a try. I am glad I did and you will be too. Go on…click the link…I dare you to try a new pairing!

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.

Rejection

Earlier this month, I submitted one of my novels to a contest Amazon was hosting. I was excited, figured, hey this could be my chance.

Turns out it wasn't. I want to say I'm not bummed, but then I'd be lying. I'm a little bummed, but I honestly expected it to get rejected. It's not my favorite story, not by a long shot, but still, it kind of stings a little bit.

Better luck next time, right?

Coffee & Cigarettes - 1/31 Weekly Writing Prompt

“No warning sign, no alibi

We faded faster than the speed of light

Took a chance, crashed and burned

No, we'll never ever learn”

The song drifted out across the patio, mingling with the steam from a hot cup of coffee and a lit cigarette resting in a thick glass ashtray. The wind blew off the beach, cool and moist against my face.

It was strange how a song could remind you of everything you lost, how the melody could rake the scabs off your wounds and make them bleed as if they were brand new.

I wrapped my arms around myself and stared out at the ocean. Even though six months had passed sometimes the pain felt as real as it had the moment I walked in to find Aiden and Bridget deep in the throes of passion, or some kind of random animal lust, on the couch in the living room of the house that he and I had shared.

Somehow I made it out of the house that afternoon and to my parent’s house without breaking down in tears or driving my car off one of the many cliffs that lined the highway. My parents weren’t happy to see me moving back in, but considering the circumstances, they remained quiet and left me to my misery.

For the first few days, my cell phone rang non-stop. Calls from Aiden, text messages from Aiden, voicemails from Aiden, it was just too much. The day I shut my phone off, he showed up in my parent’s kitchen.

I stared at him from my position across the kitchen. He sat at the table, his hands folded as if in prayer. “Lee-lee, please, let me explain-“

“No,” I hissed at him. “You don’t get to “explain.” I-you-everything we had, it’s all screwed up now. There’s no coming back from that.”

Aiden sighed, hunching his shoulders up and opened his mouth to say something. I cut him off before he had the chance to utter a word. “No,” I snapped at him. “You know what, no. Why did you do it, huh Aiden, why?

Aiden looked up at me and unfolded his hands. He laid them flat on the table and took a deep breath, his eyes while not flat, held no emotion. The look on his face told me that this was just something he wanted to be over and done with. “I just…” he sighed, his voice trailing off. “I just don’t love you anymore.”

Stunned, I fought back the tears that flooded my eyes and threatened to spill. There was no way I was going to let him see just how terribly he hurt me. “Well then, I guess that’s that. You can leave now.” I turned around and busied myself with the canisters on the counter. Behind me, the chair scraped the floor and Aiden’s heavy footsteps echoed across the floor. In the other room, the front door opened and closed and just like that, he was gone and I was alone. I turned away from the counter, wiped the tears from my eyes. Life carries on, I told myself. Some way, somehow, life marches on. That night I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, at the posters of boy bands from the 90’s, smiling and happy, stared back at me.

The next morning, I quit my job, packed my things and then drove until I ran out of gas. As I laid, cramps making my calf muscles twitch, across the backseat, I told myself that what I had done was stupid and clichéd – the woman scorned running away from all her problems instead of facing them head on.

It’s only for a little while, my subconscious had responded. At least until your heart isn’t so broken. Then you can go back to Seattle.

In the early morning darkness, the flashing lights and groaning engine of a tow truck woke me. I opened my eyes and groggily blinked against the beam of the flashlight being shined in my eyes.

I sat and climbed out of the car. “I ran out of gas,” I sheepishly told the driver.

He nodded wordlessly. “Have a seat in the truck. I’ll get you hooked up and tow you into town. There’s a gas station where you can fill up.”

Through the murky fog, a small town appeared. A weathered sign welcomed me to Capeside, Oregon. At the gas station, I paid the tow fee and refueled my car. As the gas pump chugged along, I considered continuing south towards the unknown, but something about Capeside, and the fact that I ran out of gas here, made my decision to stay that much easier.

I checked into a picturesque little bed and breakfast and spent the day wandering around Capeside. With each step I took, it seemed like I was destined to be here. I found a job in a local boutique, working for an eccentric woman who wore dried roses pinned to her massive up-do, and a small bungalow overlooking the ocean. Days passed slowly, each one melting easily into the next.

Most days I could say I was happy, working in the boutique and coming home to my cozy little seaside bungalow, most days I could go on as if Aiden never existed, but then the night would come and that nagging pain would settle deep down in the chambers of my heart.

In the ashtray, the last bit of tobacco burned down the cigarette smoke dissipating on the wind. I picked up the newspaper and cold cup of coffee and turned to head back inside.

The scent of hazelnut coffee still permeated the kitchen. I dropped the newspaper into the recycling bin and flicked off the coffeepot. I pulled back the curtain as I set the coffee cup in the sink. A moving van was parked in the driveway of the house next door.

New neighbors, I thought. Probably a ridiculously happy family with their two point five kids and perfectly groomed pup which will, no doubt, bark at all hours of the goddamn day and night.

I dropped the curtain. I had no desire to get to know the new neighbors or be a part of their happy beachfront existence. Glancing at the clock on the stove, I frowned, not realizing the hour. Hurrying toward the bathroom, I grabbed a towel from the hall closet and stopped at the radio playing in the bedroom.

30 Seconds to Mars had given way to Coldplay and Chris Martin whining about it being a shame for us to part, no one said it was easy, no one ever said it would be so hard. Well no crap, you pompous British a-hole, I thought, angrily sending the cd skipping forward to the next track.

It went from bad to worse with the singer on the next track crooning about how he would never leave her, about always wanting to be with her. This day, I decided, was officially starting to suck. Hard.

I shut the radio off before it had the chance to drive me even deeper into my rising depression. I grabbed my towel and headed into the bathroom to shower. As I washed my hair I forced myself to clear my mind, to not think about Aiden. The more I tried not to think about him the more vividly I remember him. His smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the god awful music he listened to when he worked on his car, the way he would hold me tight against his chest when we slept.

The spray of cold water shocked me out of my reverie, also signaling the end of the hot water. I jumped out of the way of the icy spray and silently cursed the small water heater. Shutting of the water I pulled the curtain back and wrapped my towel around me. The clock on the night stand read 8:30. “Crap,” I muttered and hurried into the bedroom looking in the closet for something to wear to work.  

Fifteen minutes later, in a semi-wrinkled pair of black slacks and a lightweight sweater, I dashed out of the house, already late for work. As I tossed my purse onto the passenger seat, a man unloading the moving van caught my eyes. Tall and lean, the muscles in his back rippled as he hefted a box out of the truck, the waist of track pants hanging low on his hips. I stood there, keys in hand, transfixed until he disappeared around the van.

A dog, albeit not a small yappy one, bounded across the lawn headed right for me, a slobbery tennis ball poking out of the dog’s jowls. Skidding to a stop, the Lab dropped the ball at my feet and eyed me expectantly. I glanced from the ball, to the dog, back to the ball. The dog dipped his head as if to say, “go on and throw it, if you don't I'm not going away.”

I sighed and kicked the ball. It flew past the massive dog and bounced across the yard. As the ball began its descent, the animal turned and gave chase. Quickly I got into the car and shut the door before he came back and wanted me to make a game of it.

As I reversed down the drive way, Track Pants appeared at the back of the moving truck, looking around for what I assumed was his dog. Too busy paying attention to him, I almost crashed into the mailbox. Face flushing red, I put the car in drive and steered it in the direction of the boutique.

The doors to Little Bits of Magic were open and the sea breeze set the wind chimes jingling on their hooks outside the shop. Petals, Rosaline Everson’s seriously obese Calico cat, slept the morning away on a vintage velvet chaise in the shop window.

“Good Morning!” she bellowed dramatically as I stuffed my purse in the drawer under the cash register. “The sun is shining, summer is upon us, we have new merchandise, let the tourist's come and spend their hard earned out of town money.”

I smiled at her flair for the dramatic and headed into the store room to scope out the new merchandise. Perk number one of working here, I got first dibs and a discount. My entire home was furnished with pieces I’d collected since starting here.

A stack of boxes greeted me as I opened the door. I pulled one down and opened it. It looked like clothing from first glance. As I began pulling the items out, I realized I was right. Dresses that looked like they were from the late 40's and 50's filled the box. Lovely, but definitely not my cup of tea, I placed them back in the box and set it aside, they would need to go to the dry cleaners before going on the racks in the shop.

The next box was mostly accessories, hair clips, and necklaces, Bakelite bangles in a variety of colors, shapes and designs. That could go out now. I set that box away from the first one and started in on the third.

As I opened and sorted the boxes, I found myself wondering about the new neighbors. Was it just Track Pants and Dogzilla, or was there the quaint little family? Not that it mattered, so many people came and went here, I'd had seven sets of neighbors in the almost seven months I'd been in Capeside. This place was like the consoler of the lonely, a breeding ground of people with broken hearts and shattered dreams. Take crazy Rosaline for example. The love of her life was burned to a crisp in a house fire fifteen Christmases ago. She came to Capeside after his death, set up shop, never got over her love and never left.

Mrs. Jefferson who owned the bakery across the street, her husband got pulled in by a riptide and drowned in the ocean down in California. Brokenhearted, she fled here as well. Perhaps it was something in the air, or the fact that misery loves company. Hell, maybe Capeside was the secret location of the devil’s playground. He liked to collect the souls of brokenhearted lovers and watch us suffer. Either way, it just seemed as if everyone here had some kind of story.

At six that night, after the last box had been emptied and the jewelry and accessories put on display, I loaded the box of stuff for the dry cleaner into my car and said good night Rosaline and Petals.

The night was cool as I drove down Main Street heading toward home the content feeling from day fading with the sun. The sadness began creeping back in as night pulled her starry cloak across the sky.

When I pulled into my driveway, the moving van was gone; a muddy ford F-150 was in its place. I shut the engine off and grabbed my purse from the passenger seat. The lights were on in the house next door and faint music was playing, drifting out the open windows. As I got closer to my own house, the music grew louder – a rocking bluesy song, and the gritty voice of a man singing about a full moon.

I smiled, wishing my life could be that simple, that happy, and let myself into the house.  The day was long, I was tired. I wanted a cup of coffee and a cigarette.

Dropping my keys into the bowl on the sideboard and hanging my purse on the coatrack, I kicked my shoes off and wandered into the kitchen, eyeing the coffeepot. No, I decided. I need something a little bit stronger than coffee and opened the fridge for the half empty bottle of Merlot in the back.

Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the patio, the sea breeze ruffling my hair. I sat down in my favorite chair, the one that looked out over the ocean, and poured myself a glass of wine.

A rustling in the bushes along the fence caught my attention and dogzilla came bounding across my yarn with that slobbery tennis ball gripped tightly between his teeth.

“Zeus!” a man’s voice called out, cutting through the music. “Zeus, where the hell did you run off to?”

“He’s over here,” I called back, setting the glass down.

Track Pants appeared at the edge of the bushes, his face twisted into a mask of irritation and embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “He got out before I had a chance to put a leash on him. I hope he wasn’t bothering you.”

“Oh no,” I said with a smile. “Don’t worry about it, he’s just a dog. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

“It won’t happen again,” Track Pants said, eyeing the dog. Zeus dropped his head and wiggled under the bushes back to his own yard.

“No worries. I think he just wanted to introduce himself. I’m Leah, by the way.”

“Zeus,” he said, pointing behind him. “I’m Gabe. We just moved in this morning.”

“Yeah I saw that. Well, welcome to Capeside.”

“Thanks. Well, sorry my dog interrupted your evening. Like I said, it won’t happen again. Have a good night.”

“You too,” I replied and picked up my glass. Track Pants, I mean Gabe, turned and headed back toward his own patio. Thank you, I thought. Now please leave me alone so I can enjoy my misery in private. I sipped the wine and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table beside the chaise.

Night had fully settled on the beach. I closed my eyes and lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply. The waves crashed along the shore, drowning out the other sounds of the night. As I listened to the pounding, one of the last lines from the first song I heard this morning played in my head:

So here we are, witching hour, the quickest turn to divide and devour. Divide and devour.

Starting line came from the 30 Seconds To Mars song, Alibi.

The Scientist by Coldplay

Forever by Breaking Benjamin

The Moon Is Full by The Jeff Healey Band

Often By Water

Often By Water

When I was a girl, I tacked posters of foreign places to my bedroom walls and would often times fall asleep dreaming of these exotic places –the South of France, London’s infamous Piccadilly Circus, Bali, Vietnam, the Amazon Rain Forest. Each was a different from next as night was from day, but they all held a certain appeal.

In the moments before sleep would engulf me, id often plan trips to these places, clinging to the last bits of lingering consciousness, I’d tell myself I’d start in London, work my way south to Paris, hitting Bali and Vietnam before ending my journey lost in a different kind of wilderness also known as the rain forest.
My mother would scoff at my plans and say condescendingly, “You’ll never see those places, you're living a fool’s errand if you believe differently.”

For a while, I ignored her. I could see places she’d only dreamed about if I wanted to, what was to stop me.
Then I grew up. I grew up and I realized that only special people were able to go to these special places.

Disenchanted, I removed the posters from my walls and stored them in the back of the closet for safekeeping.
Later, after high school, I went to college, I met the requisite man, got the required degree, and then ultimately married said man. Things were fun at first, being a newlywed is all glittery and bright – sex in the shower before work and sex on the counter as that nights dinner bubbles over the edge of the pot and burns on the stove, but who cares, right? You can live on love.

Well, maybe for a little while. Eventually, the flame flickers out and leaves a solitary plume of smoke permeating the air, leaving an acrid and bitter smell. That’s what happened with said man. The flame fizzled and suddenly we weren’t newlyweds anymore. We were two people with a mortgage and a car payment; two people who said they wanted a family, wanted kids and pets, but never made time to make the family.

Eventually, those two people realize that sometime during the course of the years, they have become two very different people. They are now strangers to one another. You look at him as he shaves in the mirror and notice the first streaks of grey infuse his brown temples and instead of finding him attractive you find yourself something along the lines of repulsed so you go out of your way to avoid him.

The mundane, everyday pace of life drove me nuts. I needed to get out, to get away. But there was never any escape, nowhere to go and nothing new to do. Then one rainy day in May, my whole life changed.

I’d gone into work that morning like every morning before. In my mail box in the main office of the high school where I taught freshman English was a notice, there was to be a staff meeting that day after school, the topic: a trip to Ecuador to teach students there the English language.

I felt my heart rise in my chest as the opportunity presented itself. A year overseas, in some probably remote Ecuadorian village where three teachers would be given the opportunity to share the wealth of knowing the English language.

I went through the day in a haze as I pondered the possibility of fulfilling my dream of travelling. Ecuador wasn’t on my list of places I wanted to see before I died, but hell, it was a start. Eventually the last bell of the day rang and I passed through the throngs of students clogging the hallways, some heading toward hulking yellow buses waiting to ferry them home for the afternoon, some collecting books, and heading to after school study groups. A few of my students called out hello as I passed by and I waved distracted.

In the faculty room, half the teachers waited looking bored or distracted. As I took in their faces I couldn’t help but wonder, was I the only one excited by this opportunity?

As it turned out, I was, in fact, the only one. Principal Reynolds stared at the other teachers disappointedly.

“Don’t you people know what an opportunity this is?” he emphasized the word opportunity. “Chances like this don’t come around very often.”

“Come on now Hank,” the crotchety old history teacher, Mrs. Goff said from beside me. “a lot of these people have families, husbands, and children to think about. They’re not going to go running off to the Amazon jungle with a bunch of spear wielding pygmies creating havoc. Why did you even think this was a good idea?”

Reynolds flushed a deep crimson, his lips sputtered a rebuttal that never quite formed on his plump, earthy wormy lips.

“I’d like to go,” I said tentatively, my voice soft and weak.

The other teachers crowded around the table gaped at me. Reynolds shut his lips forming a tight, thin line. “That’s the spirit I was looking for,” he said, quickly regaining his composure. “Anyone else?”

Reynolds looked around the room for other volunteers. The other faculty members avoided his gaze, looking down at the table, and their laps. “fine,” he said trying to hide the note of disappointment in his voice. “Mrs. Uley please see me after the meeting.”

I nodded and felt the heat rise in my cheeks after being singled out like that. The remainder of the meeting was about budget cuts and the steady decline in half the student body’s grade point average. Then it was over. The other staff members filed silently out of the room until Principal Reynolds and I were the only two left.

“So,” he said as the door closed behind the last teacher. “why do you want to spend a year in Ecuador?”

I took a deep breath and clasped my hands together. “Honestly?” I said looking him right in the eye. “I’m bored to tears. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job here, but the challenge went out of it years ago. I need a change of pace, a change of scenery. I need to go somewhere and do something that is going to make a difference in someone’s life. Not only that, but I think that going to Ecuador and teaching English to the kids there would be a greatly rewarding experience.”

“What about your husband?”

I shrugged. “What about him?”

“Well, he wouldn’t be able to go with you, is that going to be a problem?”

“I shouldn’t be,” I said. “the truth is, my marriage probably needs something like this just as much as my personal state of mind needs it.”

Reynolds nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, well it’s going to cost you a little bit of money, you know, airfare, and things like that. The school district has taken care of accommodations and three meals a day, but anything else will be your responsibility. Is that going to be a problem?”

I shook my head no. with no kids and Sam never having time to take vacation, we’d saved up quite a bit of money over the years.

“Alright. You’re going to need a few vaccines before you can go. Oh, and a passport as well. You’ll leave for Ecuador the last week of August and start the new school year there. That should give you enough time to get your affairs in order.”

I nodded. “thank you. you really have no idea how much this means to me.”

“It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Enjoy it.”

That night, as we sat at the dinner table silently eating roast beef, I wondered how to best break the news to Sam. I knew he wouldn’t give me permission to go – not that I was asking for it, I was going whether he approved or not – I just didn’t want to rock our already shaky boat, which was exactly what news of this magnitude was going to do. So instead of saying anything, I sat there silently chewing my green beans and planned.

As school ended and the summer began, I taught summer school classes during the morning and took care of all the things that needed to be done before I left the country. I got the necessary vaccinations, got my passport, packed, and began slowly taking money from the savings account, stashing it away in an empty tampon box – the one place I knew Sam would never go near, let alone touch.

The night before I was set to leave for Ecuador, I sat down with Sam and told him that I received a call earlier that morning while he was at work. My mother had a stroke and needed to be cared for. I would be going to take care of her until I could get her settled into a nursing home.

Turning back to ESPN, he picked up the remote and just shrugged nonchalantly. I don’t care, the shrug said, do what you have to.

I rose off the couch and headed down the hall to our small bedroom. Pulling a suitcase from the closet, I began to stuff clothes inside that would be more suitable for the Amazon than the Oregon coast. Retrieving the tampon box of cash from the medicine cabinet, I stuffed it into a small duffel bag and zip is shut and set it on top of the suitcase just inside the door, anxious butterflies beating in my stomach.

I found it hard to sleep that night as my husband snored fitfully beside me. my mind kept wandering to the small South American country and what I would find there. Would it be as beautiful as all the pictures on the internet promised it to be? Or would I find it to be a disgustingly inhabitable wasteland; a place I would be sentenced to spend a year mucking through filthy streets and unlivable conditions.

No way, my mind whispered. It’s going to be gorgeous, the experience of a lifetime. Just wait and see.

Memories Like Moonlight

Because the memories are like moonlight baby

They come and go with the sun

You let me live with all I've done

I never thought you'd be the one

But you're standing there, watching me

As all my love comes undone

The memories are like moonlight

They're fading with the sun

I saw you then, that day in the bakery

Your eyes went wide

As you turned to leave

I never meant to hurt you baby

I never meant to make you leave

But your loves to strong for me to hold

I let it go and came undone

And I hope you know

The memories are like moonlight baby

They come and go with the sun

You let me live with all I've done

I never thought you'd be the one

But you're standing there, watching me

As all my love comes undone

The memories are like moonlight, oh yeah moonlight

They're fading with the sun

Just a little song/poem that I wrote...

Wanderlust - 1/2 Updated

Here is the playlist for my newest story, Wanderlust.

Teenage Dream by Katy Perry (song that inspired the story)
Summer Again by The Afters
Never Going Back To Okay by The Afters
Cold Flame by Band of Skulls
Half Of Something Else (Acoustic Version) by The Airborne Toxic Event
Love's To Blame by Joel and Luke
In My Veins by Andrew Belle
I Was Wrong by Sleeperstar

12/29 chapter two update
Landslide by Fleetwood Mac
The River by Joni Mitchell
If I leave by (woot woot for Ocala) A Day To Remember
I Know Its Over by The Smiths
As It Must Be by Joey Ryan
The Lovers Are Losing by Keane

1/2 chapter three update
American Girl by Tom Petty
Free Fallin' by Tom Petty
You don't know how it feels by Tom Petty
Hope You Never by Tom Petty (the song Kate sent Bella)

Dear Ghost Hunters and the month of October....

Dear Ghost Hunters,

Thank you for inspiring my next story. Without your show every week I probably never would have come up with an idea for NaNoWriMo and that would have sucked.

srsly.

Dear month of October,

Please hurry up and be over already. Plots, characters, setting, and a million other little things clamoring in my head to be released is very distracting. I've almost gotten into about four accidents because my attention wanders while driving down the interstate. trying to hold creativity captive is like microwaving aluminum foil.

its just a bad idea.

for realz.

So that being said....I have officially decided on my NaNoWriMo story. It will be awesomely and completely freaking epic.

in my head.

I have this inane ability to write epicness in my head that somehow does not translate well to written thought and I do not know why that is. I am a good (fiction) writer, but the epicness of these stories never translates. I don't know why.

So I'm going to leave you with this tiny piece of epic story telling.

the name of the story is Two Promises (its a working title) which comes from Chapter X (which is titled, Two Promises) of a Tale of Two Cities. There is a line in the chapter that goes, "I well understand that, without you, I could have no hope."

After reading that, the story bum rushed me and I grabbed a grocery list and started making notes, little details, the reasoning behind the title Two Promises. Then I wrote a short short story for my Cafemom group and the rest is history.

Here is a quick idea of what the story will be about:

 Emmalynn Cain and her husband Will, purchase a crumbling old Queen Anne-style home in brisk New England with the hopes of renovating and turning it into a bed and breakfast. Emmalynn, a writer, finds an old diary in the attic one afternoon during the renovation. At first, she doesn’t want to read it, but something draws her to the old journal. Perhaps it’s the tale of romance contained within the yellowed pages, or the name of the author’s boat, Two Promises.

Emmalynn finally gives in succumbs to the turn of the century romance unfurling in the pages of the diary, a romance filled with wealth and riches, love and heartbreak and two promises that were never kept.

Epic right?

Two Promises

I wrote this, first because it's been rolling around in my head for a few weeks now, and also because it fit in with the October Creative Short Story Challenge in The Written Voice. I'm thinking that it might be my next story.

Who knows, I sure don't.

Check it out and let me know what you think.

* * *

Dear Diary, the book began. Closing it, I placed the weathered, leather bound book on the floor beside the gaping hole. I glanced into the hole, wondering what other treasures the darkness withheld.

"What'd you find?" Will asked, peeking down at the floor.

I shrugged and picked up the diary, handing it to Will. He turned it over, running his fingers over the cracked spine.

I reached into the hole, feeling around for more hidden treasures. My fingers closed over empty air, the diary being the only treasure hidden within this secret space. Will opened the cover, flipping through the pages. "This looks interesting. Listen: Nicholas set sail this morning, the sky was grey and angry as the Two Promises sailed into the harbor."

"Will," I said, brushing the dirt from my hands onto the leg of my jeans. "You shouldn't read that, its...personal." I reached for the diary, but Will was quicker, he held the diary just out of my reach.

"Emmalyn," he said. "It's just an old journal, what harm could it cause?"

"None," I said reluctantly. "It just feels wrong. Whoever wrote this, well, they're her personal thoughts. We have no right to read it."

Will sighed and handed me the journal. "If you say so. I just think that maybe you might find some good info in there, you know, for your next novel."

I frowned, taking the book, turning it over in my hand. It was old; the yellowed pages told me as much. What harm would it do if I were to read it?

None, my subconscious answered.  So find a comfortable chair and dive right in.

I looked around the stuffy attic for a chair. Finding none, I carried to book downstairs, passing Will as he came out of the bathroom. He took in the book with a smug smile.

"So you are going to read it," he said.

I shrugged. "Its not going to hurt anything, so what the heck. Besides, the boat name is gnawing at my curiosity."

"What's so curious about Two Promises?"

"Why two promises," I answered. "Why not one, or even five. What's the meaning?"

Will smiled and dropped a kiss on my cheek. "I love the way your mind works. Enjoy your diary."

I sat down on the sun warmed cushion of the window seat and propped my feet up. A boat gliding across the harbor caught my attention and I watched the linen white sails billowing in the crisp New England breeze.

"Okay diary," I said opening to the first page. "Let's see what've you got hidden inside."

Word Interpretation

Writing group had a cool topic this week as the word interpretation, so I decided to whip out a chapter of Full Circle that I felt was relevant to the topic to share with the group. The topic was "time" and I used a chapter where Jack is writing a sort of farewell letter to Cate. I changed it a lot from the original chapter, its shorter and is more like a short story or one shot, its easier to get the jist of what's going on without having to read the entire story.


Dear Cate,

We were young once. You came from the land of sea and sun to spread your hurt in my world. We came together and drifted apart like magnets of the same polarity often do. You can hold them in your hand, forcing them together but eventually they do pull apart.
We were like magnets, and we let go. Somehow, though, our polarity was reversed and I found you again. You, Catherine Elizabeth Buckley, made my life. You were the single greatest event ever to happen to me. Because of you, my life was whole.
But now I have to say good-bye to you. I have to leave you here, all alone and honestly Cate; I just don't know how I'm going to do that. I really don't. I can't leave you, I just...can't.
Emotion over took me. I threw the narrow pen down at the desk. It bounced and projected itself toward the wall, hitting it then clattering to the floor. Tears filled my eyes and I violently wiped them away with the back of my fist. I couldn't do this, couldn't write this letter. Writing it meant I was done - done fighting, done living, done loving - and I wasn't. No, I was far from done, but time, damn time, was running out and that wasn't something I needed a doctor to tell me.
I could feel the weariness settling in my bones, the never-ending exhausting nestling into the folds of my mental state. It wasn't just cancer I was fighting; it was the clock as well. In this case, literally and figuratively, Cate would be home soon and I did not want her to see this.
With a sigh, I bent down, retrieving my pen from the floor and continued my letter.
I want to tell you all the clichéd things, Cate. I want to write things that - when you look back and re-read this letter on the darkest of nights, your fingers gently caressing my words - will lift your spirits. But honestly Cate, I don't know what those words are.
I wish I could tell you that I'll never leave you. I wish I could say that I'll always be there, tucked away in the most sacred part of your heart, or in the lyrics of the songs on the radio; or even that soft warm ocean breeze that wraps itself around you as you sit on the balcony of the beach house and stare out at the ocean. But those aren't the things you want to hear.
I stopped, setting the pen down on the desktop. Picking up the pages, I re-read the letter. As my eyes skimmed the words written there, anger seethed in the pit of my stomach. Cate deserved something so much better than this; she deserved a husband who could pour his heart out in a final letter to her.
I closed my eyes and exhaled, ashamed that I wasn't that guy; the one who, in all the movies, always had the right things to say. Part of me wanted to be Gerard Butler and leave her notes for every month.
The mental image of Cate curled up on the couch, the last letter in her hand was too much to take. I couldn't do that to her, it would destroy her when the last letter came and she was left to face my absence literally on her own. It would be like losing me all over again. To do that to her would be selfish of me. Hell, even leaving this seemed selfish, it was one letter, though, one little token for her to cling to when things got to rough.
A photo on the desk caught my eye. I'd seen it a million times, but tonight it looked different. I reached for the silver framed and picked up the picture, holding it under the light, looking at it with new eyes.
Cate's tanned face stared back at me, the corners of her eyes crinkled, a huge grin on her face. The sun made her butterscotch highlights sparkle. Avery was propped on my lap, index finger shoved up his nose. Cate had begged me not to put this picture on display, but it was perfectly imperfect, I just had to.
My thoughts went to Avery, my son. He might not have been biologically mine, but I was the only father he ever knew and he was the only son I'd ever have. He was the second greatest thing to ever happen to me. He made my life with Cate worth it. DNA or no DNA, there was more to life than that. Family, the real kind, the kind that'll stick with you no matter what, is made up of the people you let into your heart, the people you'd do anything for. This family would never be more than this, more than just the three of us and a goofball dog.
More tears flooded my eyes. I shut them, forcing the tears away. They spilled, hot and salty, down my face. This isn't fair, I wanted to scream petulantly. I wanted to scream period. I wanted to scream myself hoarse and I wanted to hit something. How could this happen to me? Why me? Why not some piece of crap child molesting s.o.b rotting in jail?
Fear turned to anger as I shoved the chair away from the desk. Standing above the desk, I shoved everything off the top, screaming as pens and pencils and pads of post-it notes, even the lamp, clattered to the floor in a chaotic spread.
"Why?" I roared, "why, God, why?" I screamed myself hoarse, collapsing to my knees, finally allowing the grief and tears to swallow me.
Stage 4, non-Hodkin's lymphoma was slowly exhausting the light of my life from within, one vital organ at a time. The doctors kept telling me I'd be "lucky to see Christmas," and that "Stage four, high-grade lymphomas were really aggressive, growing and spreading more quickly than other kinds of lymphomas."
Killing me more quickly was what they meant, but never said. I tried to remain optimistic, I had options, there was chemo or radiation, and something called biological therapy, not to mention clinical trials. It's kind of nuts, letting doctors inject stuff into your body that might kill you faster on the off chance that it works and makes you life that much longer.
The worst part was the toll that this was taking on Cate. I watched her walk around, a shell of her former self. She did a good job of pretending for Avery's sake, but at night, her hysterical sobs would often wake me. I tried to stay away, to hold, and comfort her, but most nights I was so tired that by the time my head hit the pillow I was already fast asleep. Her cries, and the shaking bed, would wake me and I would roll over and hold her, whispering in her ear that everything was going to be okay - even though we both knew it was a lie. I had to lie to give her hope even when hope was hopeless.
We cycled through the five stages of grief. Wake up in denial, at lunch I'd dine with anger, by mid-afternoon I was bargaining, dinner was served with a side of depression and at night, in those last few seconds before I fell asleep, acceptance would sneak its way in and I'd drift off to sleep at peace with the world.
Then the sun would rise and I'd be right back at denial. It was like one of those teacup rides at Disney world. You'd spin around so fast, the platform was spinning and your cup was spinning, it created this blurry madhouse effect on your senses and all you wanted was for it to stop, but you couldn't, the dizzying rush was to exhilarating and when the ride ended and the cup stopped spinning you were left dizzy and disoriented.
That's what a cancer diagnoses is like. At first it's the spinning platform, the doctor's mouth forms the word cancer and you see it, but the platform is spinning so it's hard to tell if that's really what he said. Then your cup starts spinning, and your world is spinning and everything is confusing, your mind swirls around and around and it's hard to believe what your eyes are showing you.
Then you're left with the after affects, the spinning head, and blurry vision. The world you know and the world you thought you knew are suddenly blurring together and the future is suddenly not as clear as it was when you woke up that morning.
And that's scary.
One minute you think you've got it all figured out, and the next minute your throwing pens and pencils around like a pissed off two year old and sobbing on the floor of your office.
Five stages of grief?
Yeah, they don't even begin to cover it.
As acceptance, at least something as close to acceptance as I was going to get to today, weaved its way around my psyche, I began collecting the fallen pens and pencils, returning all the tossed about items to their original place. A calm sadness washed over me. I needed to finish this letter. Sitting down in the microfiber office chair, I reached for my pen and pressed it to the page, the words spilling forth in a river of black ink upon the snow-white page, raw emotion tattooed the page.
So I'll tell you these things Cate. You are the most fantastic actress our high school theatre department has ever seen, that every moment I got to spend with you, being your friend and growing to love you, are the moments that I'll take with me wherever I go. I'll tell you that after waking up from surgery when I hurt my shoulder and seeing your face smiling back at me that made never playing football again worth it.  
I'll tell you that hearing you tell me I was going to be a father made life worth it. You marrying me, that made my life worth it. No matter what bad ever happened, or any of the horrible things that happened, loving you made it all worth it.  
Everything happens for a reason Cate, I know it hurts and I know it's not fair now, but at the end of all this, you'll understand that reason. Maybe our love is serving a higher purpose. Maybe we're destined for something more, maybe this was my reason for being - to love you so that I could guide you to where you needed to be.
Maybe I'm full of crap and this is the worst thing that will ever happen to you. I don't know, but I have a feeling that somehow, it will all work its self out in the end. And besides, this isn't goodbye, we will see each other again, somewhere, some day, some place, you will be mine again.
All the love my heart can hold
(and then some)
Jack