I’m Thinking of Quitting…

Blogging.

I never realized how much time I actually put into the blog and reading blogs. And it’s hard work. And I’m exhausted. All. The. Time. And it’s not fair to you if I don’t post regularly, right?

I’m back to working a regular gig, and I spend a lot of my time writing for work or commuting…and then I’m tired. And want to sleep. I have about 3 hours of free time between work and sleep. And somewhere in there I have to cook, eat, and maybe work out.

Someone talk me off the ledge here…

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Fiction Friday: The Power of a Child

This is the next in a series of short fiction pieces that all mesh together. Feel free to catch up with the previous installments or start here.

  1. Broken
  2. The Failure
  3. The Letters
  4. The Rock
  5. Wandering Thoughts
  6. Just Coffee

The Power of a Child

“I…have…to…I have to go, Jack. I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry.” Those words cut like a knife to his heart. She was leaving. She was just. Fucking. Leaving. She climbed into the car and drove away. Jack didn’t know if he’d ever see Mel again. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to call her. To tell her that his heart was breaking. To tell her how his best friend just…vanished.

He had planned to kiss her. He was going to ask her to prom. And he knew he would say yes. They were like two peas in a pod. He was going to tell her he loved her. That he had always loved her. That he wanted to be with her. She was the one.

But she was gone.

He stood there. For a minute? An hour? A day? He couldn’t be sure. At some point he stumbled home, and crashed onto his bed, alone with his thoughts. I’m all alone. Alone in the world. No friends. No Mel. No one. I’m worthless. I’ll never find anyone else. Fuck this shit.

A bleak future paraded itself through Jack’s mind for days? hours? weeks? The thoughts proceeded to get darker and deeper, until those same worries, doubts, and fears became dangerous. Terrifying. A vision of a kitchen knife flashed in his eyes. The gun in his father’s safe. He could see it so clearly. An option. A way out. The idea laid itself out in his mind, so perfectly, that he could feel its potential release.

Jack opened his eyes, and for the first time, noticed his six-year-old sister, Leah, standing over him, gazing nervously.

“Jackie?”

He looked at her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look okay. You look sad. Do you want to watch Tangled? That makes me happy.”

He looked at Leah, with a half grimace, pulled her into his chest and hugged her. Jack took in the scent of his baby sister. Felt her warmth. Soaked up her love for him. Without question. Without knowing. Just. Love.

Love.

“Jackie, are you crying?” The sound of the little girl, her concern so blatant, brought him back to reality. He pulled away from her. Looked down at the little raggedy doll in her tiny hand. Gazed into her big blue eyes. Jack saw the fear. The worry. He knew that he needed this little girl more than ever before.

“Leah, can you get mom? Now?” She looked at him, as if she were trying to see what he was thinking, but not quite sure what to do with what she saw.

“OK.” The girl hopped off the bed and ran out of the room, shouting, “Mooooooom!!!!! Jackie needs you!”

**********************************************************************************

“Good morning, Jack. This is our fifteenth session. Can you tell me why you’re here?”

“Because I have had thoughts of taking my own life.”

“Good. And can you tell me the last time you had suicidal thoughts.”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Was that in our session?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what we talked about?”

“Melanie.”

“And did we talk about her the whole time?”

“No. We also talked about Leah. And my family. And how I was not alone in this.”

“That’s right, Jack. And is Melanie the reason for your thoughts?”

“No. She was a catalyst.”

“Her actions were a catalyst, Jack. Her actions.”

“Right. Her actions.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“I’m okay. Leah is in a school play today. I’m going to see it with my parents. They’re doing some musical play about a tiny Christmas tree. Then I’m going to meet my cousin Steve for lunch. I’ve got a full plate, and I’m looking forward to the day.”

“That’s great, Jack. Tell me again about the decision to ask for help.”

“Leah. I didn’t want her to lose her brother. She just kept looking at me with those big eyes. Like I mattered. She cares so much. She’s so young. And innocent. Melanie used to be like that when I met her. Sweet. Caring. I don’t know what happened to her. She makes me so fucking angry. Whenever I start thinking about her. I know I’m not alone, but she makes me want to scream. I can’t stop thinking about how pissed off I am. She left, like a fucking bitch. A scared little brat, who didn’t have the nerve to tell me what the hell was going on.”

“Jack. We were talking about Leah.”

“Oh. Right. Leah.”

**********************************************************************************

Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales

The Fiction Prompt

The Ides of March — Your character is betrayed, hardcore, by a friend. The relationship is forever altered, “killing” a little piece inside, of our protagonist, yet empowering her/him despite the damage.Imagery, dialogue, movement…800-1500 words.

Go read some of my friends, the Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales and their blogging/writing/fiction/awesomeness.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Fiction Friday: Just Coffee

Greetings Blog Friends! I’ve got a lot to tell you about meeting The Bloggess…but you’ll have to wait until next week, because today is Fiction Friday! Enjoy!

Oh right…if you’re new…you can catch up here:

  1. Broken
  2. The Failure
  3. The Letters
  4. The Rock
  5. Wandering Thoughts

Just Coffee

Coffee. It’s just coffee. Jack kept repeating this to himself, as he nervously stepped into the coffee shop. Coffee. 20 minutes. You don’t have to be here. You’re in control. It’s just coffee.

Jack peered around the cafe, looking for her. Scanning the whole of the place, he finally spotted her sipping a cup of something in the corner. Her hair was shorter now, her facial features more defined. Melanie Jane McDaniels. All grown up. Her feet tucked under her body, she shifted uneasily in the chair as she recognized him. She stood, and he could see the swell of her unborn child. Jack shuffled his way to her, his heart racing, palms sweating, head pounding…anxiety. Coffee. It’s just coffee.

They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity. Coffee, dumbass. Go get coffee. Wait. Say hi first.

“Hi.” Dammit. She beat me to it.

“Hi.” He leaned into her…not sure whether hugging her was appropriate. She stepped awkwardly toward him, into the hug. They both wrapped their arms upward, knocking into each other, before settling into a strangely comfortable hug. And just like that, the tension disappeared. The hug became more natural. Melanie melted into Jack. He closed his eyes and remembered, breathing in her scent.

“I missed you, Jack.”

“I’m…going to go grab coffee. I’ll be right back.” He pulled away from her. Get it under control. Coffee. I need coffee.

He returned to the nook she was sitting in, two couches perpendicular to each other. He sat down on the empty couch. She was curled into the corner facing him

“Jack, I’m so sorry. For everything. I know that I can’t go back and change things…but I truly missed you. For so long. It’s been…crazy.”

“I’m married.” He blurted out. Like she didn’t already know.

“I know. I’m so happy for you. Tell me about her.” Melanie was shaking. He could see it when she held the cup to her lips. It was wavering uncontrollably.

“She’s amazing, Mel. She’s a breath of fresh air. She’s everything. Her name is Claire. She… She’s beautiful. A doctor. A pediatrician, actually. She’s so smart, Mel. I could listen to her talk about new technologies and science for days.”

Melanie smiled, “She sounds wonderful. I’d love to meet her.”

“You should.”

“So you’re a doctor, too?”

“A nurse, actually. When Mom got sick, her nurses interacted with her so much more than the doctors. I admired them. Their patience. Their kindness. They knew the whole family, and made sure that we knew what was going. There was this one nurse, the only male nurse in the bunch, and he always made me laugh. It was like it was his job or something to make me smile.

One day, I asked him why he became a nurse and not a doctor. He told me that it was the path he was meant to take. And I knew that it was the path I was meant to take, too. If that makes sense.”

“Perfectly.”

“What about you? I mean, I’ve been rambling about my life…I haven’t really heard anything about your life.”

“I got into restaurant management. I love it. I love my staff and the food. Oh, God, Jack the food is amazing. My chef is a culinary genius. You should come visit sometime. With Claire. The city is beautiful in the fall…I’d really like that, actually.”

“That would be…nice.”

The conversation seemed easier than he thought it would be…but the elephant in the room was staring right at them. Should I mention it? How would I bring it up? Should I…? No.

It’s just coffee.

**********************************************************************************

Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales

That’s all for this week! If you’re jonesin’ for more fiction, check out my companions in the Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales. Some have written fiction today, and others have not, but they are all excellent writers, so check them out!

The Fiction Prompt

Our metaphorical spring is coming ever closer although things / conditions are still mostly dormant. The theme this week is: Recovery. The “ice” has thawed a bit, revealing your character’s recovery of a memory; or s/he has recovered (this is not sought, it just appears, like a plant poking through the hard, cold earth) something that was once lost; or experiences an old habit in a new way? Better? Good? You decide. Oh: mostly dialogue.
 

Today’s Blog Post is Dedicated to…

Molly Field of Grass Oil

Lily digitally introduced me to Molly and soon after, I joined her crew of Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales. Not only is Molly an incredibly talented blogger, writer, and creative, she’s a wonderfully inspiring human being. She gave up Facebook and Twitter for Lent (don’t worry, I informed her that Sundays don’t count in Lent, so she can check in for Fiction Friday updates on Sundays.) She’s documenting the journey on her blog, and she’s just overall awesome. So go visit Molly.

Tell me Blog Friends, What do you want to see happening with Jack and Mel?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Fiction Friday: Wandering Thoughts

I apologize profusely for skipping out on Fiction last week. Things were a little on the crazy side, so I thought something fun and lighthearted would be appreciated in the spirit of creative writing.

In case you don’t remember, I’ve been writing fiction since January, with the Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales, and each week, we’re given a prompt. The last two pieces I wrote were for Project Fairy Tale, and so they were two parts of my own Rumpelstiltskin story. Prior to that, I had been weaving a web of drama with Jack and Mel and Claire. These are short blurbs of fiction, so if you’d like to catch up, I’ve listed the pieces below.

  1. Broken
  2. The Failure
  3. The Letters
  4. The Rock

Wandering Thoughts

Giddy. That was the only way that she could describe her feelings when she was around him.  At first. Ben was a breath of fresh air after a long hot drought. He was smart, funny, and incredibly gorgeous. Mel could barely remember how it started. She just knew that she was glad it had. Their relationship had progressed rapidly. After a series of non-dates, they became inseparable. She knew that this was it. He was the guy.

They weren’t living together, but he spent 5-6 nights a week in her apartment on Lake Avenue. He had certainly marked his territory. She looked around the bedroom, noting some of his clothes hanging in her closet, his toothbrush peeking on the sink peeking out the bathroom door, his guitar on the chaise by the window, and finally landed her gaze on him, asleep in her bed. Yep, he’s definitely made his mark. She leaned down and kissed his sleeping forehead. I think he loves me.

**********************************************************************************

Mel sat in her living room, waiting for Ben. He had said he was closing his restaurant, but he would stop by to see her after. At midnight, she started to get that panicky feeling. Why hasn’t he called? The restaurant closed at 10. He should be here by now. She glared at the clock as the minutes ticked by. The background noise of the TV could not distract her from the wandering thoughts.

He used to bring me flowers. He used to compliment me and tell me I was beautiful. We used to go out… He used to call me when he would be just a few minutes late. Now he’s…

She started to think about it and scolded herself internally, You’re beyond that part of a relationship, MEL. This is what happens. It’s not as magical. It’s life. Life’s not a fucking fairy tale. He’ll bring you flowers for special occasions, just not to “woo” you. He’s already got you. You’re his.

Right. Right. She tried to agree with herself, but she just kept wondering, what if he wants to leave me? What if he’s cheating on me? What if something happens?

MELANIE JANE MCDANIELS. She screamed at the thoughts deep in her mind. Relax. You always over-analyze EVERYTHING. It’s because you love him. You’re afraid that if you love him, he’ll leave you. RE-fucking-LAX. Do you want to live alone for the rest of your life? No friends. No love. Completely alone? Maybe a few cats? Just go with it.

Mel texted him, asking what his ETA was. 20 minutes later, he responded, “I’m on my way, Cupcake.” Her heart lifted. She knew it was silly, but she loved that he called her, Cupcake. The way it rolled off his tongue made her melt, and even though it was a text, Mel could hear the sound of it in her mind. She stared at the phone, then at the clock, then the door. He’ll be here. He loves me too. It’ll be great.

**********************************************************************************

I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to start over. I love him. I love Ben. I do. And he loves me. Mel’s thoughts were starting to sound less and less convincing, even to herself. He loves me. I’ll never find someone else who loves me like Ben does.

The internal argument began again, But does he really love you? You work a few blocks away from each other. You live in the same city. And yet, you only see him a couple nights a week?

We’re both busy. We have restaurants to run. He texts me. He calls me. We talk.

Yeah, for like 5 minutes.

“Stop it!” She found herself yelling out loud, her assistant manager staring at her blankly. Suddenly, she was back at work, cell phone in hand, staring at it.

“You okay, boss?”

“I’m fine, Jessica. Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just mean…um…stop…um…”

Jessica looked at her strangely. “Maybe you should go splash some cool water on your face. You look like you’re about to cry.” Jess was the closest thing she had to a friend here, other than Ben. But she was her employee…so Mel had trouble confiding in her.

“Thanks, I think I will.” Mel made her way to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Black splotches under her reddened eyes. She barely recognized herself. She turned the faucet on and pushed the cool water into her face. Draining. Ben is draining me. Maybe I should…

No. Stop. He loves you. You love him. You do. Remember what dating was like? You’re never going to find someone like Ben. You understand him. He loves that about you. He’s handsome and smart. The other day, remember? Oh! What did he do? It was so funny. He makes you laugh. He makes you happy.

Yeah, when he’s around. If only he would just…call me. I just need to see him. That’s it. It’ll all be okay if I just see him. Maybe he’ll come over tonight. Jess is closing the restaurant, so I can go home…shower…get ready…maybe I’ll surprise him.

Keep telling yourself that. See where it gets you. Maybe you should go buy the first cat now. After drying her face, she looked at herself once more in the mirror. She put on a big fake smile, and walked out the bathroom door.

When she returned to the hostess stand, her phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the incoming text. “Sneak away with me for dinner, Cupcake?” A smile spread across her face. See, self, he still loves me.

**********************************************************************************

Fearless Fiction Femmes FatalesNow go on and check out my partners in crime, the Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales. Some are writing fiction this week. Some are taking a break. But all are worth your time. Go visit their blogs! And PLEASE take a moment to visit DeBie Hive, because she’s posting about cutting her hair off for cancer. And as we all know, cancer sucks.

The Fiction Writing Prompt

Stuck in a Rut
March is green, but winter still comprises 2/3 of the month. Spring is not until the tail end. So this prompt ensures our character is stuck in a (metaphorical or literal, you decide) muddy rut: frozen in a place that despite all his/her inner urgings, s/he can’t move forward or look backward.
Why?

 

Shameless Plug: Please go and vote for the Bloggies (fancy People’s Choice Style Blog Awards)! I’m a finalist (Along with my blog friends, Katie from Words for Worms, Joules from Pocketful of Joules, and April from First Time Mom and Dad).

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Fiction Friday: The Letters

I’m really having a lot of fun writing fiction, but I’m also super insecure about it, because it is quite new to me. Other than some creative writing classes almost a decade ago (in which I mostly wrote non-fiction stories from my life or silly sonnets about Chiclets and poems about my hatred for Snood and such), my experience in fiction is minimal. So if you read this…and like this…PLEASE tell me! 🙂 If you don’t like this…you can tell me that too. Just, you know…be nice about it. No one likes a Debbie Downer.

 The Letters

She waited patiently at the airport gate. Home. I’m going home. She hadn’t been home in years. She worked so hard to get here. The person she was as a teenager was long gone. The girl she was before Sam…Who? I don’t even remember her. He will. He’ll want me to be her. He’s married. Admitting them for the first time, even in her head, the words hit her like a ton of bricks.

She heard over the loud speakers, Boarding flight 1-9-2-5. Last call for boarding flight 1-9-2-5. Mel stood and walked toward the gate. Home.

She had written two letters last week. Two carefully penned letters. Two very different
letters to Jack.

Jack,

It’s been so long, I hardly know where to begin. I know that I left abruptly. I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I got into some trouble and I didn’t want you to know. I spent a year in a juvenile detention center for the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

I graduated with honors, though, and went on to a community college. I worked so
hard, Jack. Just like you. Just like you always thought I would. You would have been so proud of me, I know it. After I got my associate’s degree, I found a really great job. I was working for a generous and patient guy, who taught me everything there is to know about restaurant management.

And then I fucked up again, Jack. My boss, Michael, was something of a player. He only hit on me once, and I told him that a better use of his time was to teach me the how to run a restaurant or seven. I thought of how proud you would be. He admired my aspirations and drive, so he never tried anything again. But he had a little brother…who learned from the master of players.

When Michael lost the manager of one of his restaurants, he gave me the position. I
trained officially with his brother, Ben. I think I fell in love, Jack. But Ben was bad news. I just…I didn’t know it then.

I’m sorry; I’ve gotten away with my thoughts. I’m coming home. I really want to see you, Jack. I miss you.

Mel

There was so much more that she could say. Jack, I’m trying so hard to make you proud of me. I didn’t want to come home until I was worthy of your pedestal. I’m pregnant with an asshole’s child. A lying, cheating asshole who wanted to pay me off to “get rid of it?” The same guy who got me fired from the only job I was ever really good at? I have nothing and no one, so now I need you? Help me. Jack, I want to be amazing, but the only thing I’m great at is fucking up?

But she did not. She could not. She would never even send the first letter. Let alone add more to it. How do I tell my best friend that I’m not even close to the girl that he thinks I am? I always wanted to be that girl. But I couldn’t. I’m not. That’s why I left. Maybe I shouldn’t go home. There’s nothing there but an empty house and a broken heart. NO. I have to go. I WANT to go. Maybe he’ll still be there. For me. I need a friend. Desperately. 

So she wrote a shorter letter. She wrote the words that she needed to write. She told him. That’s all she needed to say.

For now.

Jack,

There is so much that I want to tell you. I know that I’ve been gone for a long time, but I’m coming home.

I really want to see you, Jack. I miss you.

Mel

************************************************************************
The second is the letter that found its way to Jack. Three sentences. Three dangerous
sentences. Three.

She is coming home. Home. Jack paused for a minute before he could breathe again. Why now? He tried so hard to keep her out of his thoughts. But sometimes, he just couldn’t. She was there. And she would be home soon.

************************************************************************

The story continues with The Rock.

I hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Now, go visit my fiction writing friends, The Fearless Fiction Femmes:

The Fiction Writing Prompt

Invent a / your character (who) has two personality traits that are completely incompatible, that don’t fit together at all. For example: this character is incredibly messy and is also a total perfectionist. Or: this character is a pacifist and also has a really explosive temper. Or: this character believes in strict, traditional family values but is promiscuous by nature. You decide. Then think of a situation in which these two sides of your character would be in direct conflict with each other. Write the story.
Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Fiction Friday: Broken

This was one of the hardest things I’ve done for my blog. After reading some of the beautifully created fiction pieces by some of my blogging buddies, I was inspired…and invited to join them in their Fiction Friday Challenge.

I’ve never been a good fiction writer. Real life? No problem. Make stuff up? WAY harder. I admire the people who can create whole worlds away from our own (Yes, even Stephanie Meyer has a place in my heart for taking vamps to their very own new level of her creation…)

So how does Fiction Friday work? Molly Field, the brainchild behind Fiction Friday, provided us with the same prompt on Wednesday night. Using the prompt, each of us has come up with our own interpretation and transformed it into fiction. I’ll post the prompt at the end of the post and link to my fellow fiction writers.

That being said, this is my first public work of fiction, so don’t be too harsh. (Also I had some formatting issues that I’m working on, but if the type is a little jacked, I promise I’m working on it!) Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Broken

He walked out of the room with purpose. The letter fluttered to the ground. Confusion, agony, hope, and memories flooded him like a tidal wave. Why now?

Mel had left him standing there. 15 years had gone by. Fifteen slow, long years. He wished that he could say he had forgotten her. But he hadn’t. Of course, he had moved on. He had to. He met Claire. He loved Claire. Claire was his wife. His love. His best friend. She was his everything. But before her was Mel. Melanie Jane McDaniels. His once best friend. The girl he thought he would love forever. The girl that ran away.

Down the stairs, out the door, and into the car, he calmly navigated himself through his daily motions. It was days like these that he wished he didn’t work the overnights. The long and painful shifts that seemed to drag for hours longer than they should have. The world was quiet at night. He needed sound. He needed energy. He needed to not be alone.

He got to work, his thoughts racing, and he went about his nightly routine. Where did she go all those years ago? Not a word. Not a letter. Not a phone call. Nothing. She just. Disappeared. Her image kept popping into his mind. The way her long brown hair fell past her shoulders in a tangled mess. Her blue-grey eyes gazing at him as they talked about life and their futures.  I loved her. She was my first love. For years, no woman could compare to Melanie. But then I met Claire. Claire. No one could ever understand me better than Claire. She loves me unconditionally. Her patience. Her kindness. Her determination. She’s strong. So much stronger than me.

Melanie was never strong. That’s why we were so great together. We understood each other. We braved the world together. But she couldn’t stay. She just. Left.

*************************************************************************************

The muffled tone had made its way into his dreams.  He awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. What time is it? 2? 4? What’s that noise? Oh. Right. Phone. He looked at the number… 542-611-3754.542-611-3754. 542-611-3754. I know that number. How do I know that number? 542-611-3754.

As he stared at the number he recognized from the days of landlines and memorized phone numbers, the ringing stopped suddenly. It’s her. Well, it was her, anyways . Immediately, he knew that he had to call her back. He looked at the clock. It was 11 AM. Can I handle this on 3 hours of sleep? As if on autopilot, his hands were already pushing the call back button.

“Hello?” a quiet feminine voice pushed through the speaker.

“Mel.”

“I need…help,” she whispered softly.

“Really? With what?” Out of nowhere, anger sparked in him. Anger from the lonely little boy she left in the dust. Anger from having to do it all alone. Without her. Having to finish high school. Having to go on to college. To get a job and start a life…All without her by his side.

“I’m going through something right now, and it would be nice to have someone to talk to. I miss you.” The words she spoke were the last that he expected from her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I just need a friend, Jack.”

“You disappeared. You left. You never said where you were going. You never called. You DIS-A-FUCKING-PEARED! And now you want help? You want a friend?” His voice echoed through the house he shared with Claire.

“Yes.”

“Is that it? Is that all you have to say? 15 years and you can’t even start with some semblance of a greeting. Just a request for help…you can’t even tell me what’s wrong?”

“You sound so angry. ”

“Yes. I’m angry. ”

“You never used to get angry. You were always such a sweetheart.” She sounded wistful, as if she was longing for the days past to return.

“Well, I get angry now. It’s been 15 years. Things have changed. I have changed. But you wouldn’t know that, because you weren’t there. You left, Mel.  You left. You. Not me.”

Jack heard Mel’s stifled tears through the phone. He knew that he had made her cry…and he was…glad. He felt. Better.

“Look, Mel. If you want to talk to me, you need to understand that you broke me. You changed me. I am the person that I am partially because of you. I’m not the same guy you left standing in your front yard. I’m not the same, dammit. I’m just…not. So, if I’m not rolling out the welcome mat, you’ve got to understand why. You hurt me all those years ago. That doesn’t just go away.”

“Jack…I’m…Just listen…I…” Melanie broke off into heavy sobs. “I’m so sorry Jack. I’m…so…sorry.”

“Melanie, why don’t you breath for a minute and just tell me your fucking problem.”

“I’m all alone, Jack.” she cried into the phone. “I’m all alone and I’m pregnant.”

*************************************************************************************

The Story Continues Here.

Now that you’ve read my fiction piece, you can find some truly amazing writers by checking out the rest of the Fiction Friday Challengers:

Oh! I promised you the prompt: Years later, the character’s first love shows up on his or her doorstep again. Both your character and his/her first love are surprised at how the other person has changed (How?) This encounter causes a disruption in your character’s life (How? What does your character do about it?) Write the story.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

It’s Not a Resolution Because I Said So.

I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions.

But I do make plans.

I have BIG fucking plans this year, kids. Big ones. Huge. Rock-my-world-massive freakin’ plans.

It’s going to take some time. And a whole lot of work. But in the end, I’m going to be more awesome and super proud of it.

10 Awesome Things I’m Going to do THIS Year.

Putting on the granny panties and the British accent(catch the reference and I’ll give you a cookie):

Number 1: Obviously will lose 20 lbs.

2018 update: Hey, I may have actually done this. I may have also gained 20 pounds so the net is a little off…but I mean I lost 20 lbs somewhere…

Number 2: Always put last night’s panties in the laundry basket. Finish master’s degree. Sure, it’s a useless degree when it comes down to my future career not being teaching…but it’s still a master’s degree. And I’d like it to be completed. (I mean really…it’s one silly little thesis. How hard can it be? I write for a living.)

2018 update: It only took a couple more years, but in 2015, I graduated with a Master’s degree. And Brian framed that MOTHAFUCKA. 

Number 3: Will be published.

2018 update: Again, only took a few years, but in 2016, I was published in Jen Mann’s anthology, I Just Want to be Perfect. And I can die happy (actually, not yet, bitches. We’ve still got work to do).

Number 4: Will publish a book. Will write a book.

2018 update: Okay, I’m still working on this. BUT I’m much farther along than I’ve ever been. More than 10K farther along. It’s coming you guys, and I’m so excited about it. 

Number 5: Will self-publish the aforementioned book.

2018 update: I mean, unless I can sell it to a publisher…

Number 6: Will get an amazing job. (I feel as though I should put this one a little higher on the list…but I mean…at least it’s on the list, right?)

2018 update: Been there done that. Quit that shit to chase all the fucking dreams. 

Number 7: Crap! I still need 4 more things… Will take at least 3 internet vacations. Yes. That’s a good one. I like my internet vacations. Going off the grid. Maybe at least one will involve a beach. There’s no internet on the beach.

2018 update: Who even knows if I did this. 

Number 8: Crap! I still need 3 more… this is not as easy as I thought it would be… OH! I know! Will attend awesome blogger event…Blogher 2013. And meet bloggers. And give hugs to strangers. Done and done.

2018 update: I did that. Four times at Blogher, twice at BlogU, and twice at the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop that blew my MFing mind. 

Number 9: Will make money on blog. I don’t care if it’s $5 or $5,000…I will make dollars.

2018 update: Dudes and dudettes, I dominated this for a while. I mean, not full income dominated, but I was pretty good at the hustle…

Number 10: Will win a million dollars from McDonald’s Monopoly. 13 is my lucky number. This is the year of my golden birthday. 2013 is it, guys. I can feel it. I’m going to be a big winner this year.

2018 update: Now it’s all about the Jewel Monopoly, but a girl can dream right?

What are your big plans?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

This One Goes Out to the Chubby Girls

Pushing 30

Can you write a memoir before age 30? Hell yes, you can. Especially when it sure as hell beats staring in the mirror at all of my silver gray hairs and attempting to pluck them from my head. Every. Single. Time. Seriously. It’s that serious. Sometimes, I stare in the mirror for 15 minutes in an effort to rid myself of the aging process.

As the way of the world is now digital, why go through all of the trouble of writing everything, then waiting months or even years for it to get published (if it ever gets published) when I can do it right here, right now. Whenever I freaking want to. Plus there’s no editor telling me I use too many commas. I like my commas. I like commas. And periods. And starting sentences with the word, “and.” Unless, of course, some wonderful publisher happens upon this blog and wants to publish my stuff. Then I would probably be willing to modify the use of  commas and all of the other concessions that we could discuss. I’m down. (I want to whisper “call me” and point to an invisible phone in my hand).

Pushing 30-Call Me

Call Me!

Besides, as I begin my written journey, I’m currently unemployed (thanks to a certain company that I used to be employed by) and I need something a little more practical than Bloons Tower Defense 5, Solitaire Blitz, and Plants Vs. Zombies to use up the time that I’m not spending hunting for the perfect copywriting job and writing a little freelance copy.

So I’ll start with the important stuff. About me. And my chubby childhood. (OK and my chubby adulthood). Ok, let’s just go with this blog. And why I’m writing it. This year I will literally be pushing thirty. As May 30 is now here, I will begin the final year of my twenties. My 30th birthday, coming in 2013, will also be a celebration of my golden birthday. I remember when it seemed like an eternity away (when 30 WASN’T my scary age), but now it just seems like it’s coming much too quickly. With almost 30 years of stories and memories: some sad, some happy, some strange, some a little drunk, and some just perfect, I’ve got quite enough to write until my thirtieth birthday.

I spent the better part of my childhood as the fat kid, and even though I eventually grew into my own skin, I still sometimes feel like the fat kid. I know, I know…I’m not supposed to say “fat,” but really, that’s what I know. Not to worry, a few months of Weight Watchers and I’m on the right track to greatness (and my ideal weight/size–which will not render me twig-like scout’s honor) and will of course lead to that ideal weight by the aforementioned 30th birthday.

I’ll be honest; I’ve never seen a blog through to completion. My longest running blogs were a personal daily blog on gasp Myspace and a foodie blog, which documents my love affair with breakfast. Neither of which are currently in production. Maybe I’ll be adding to the breakfast blog of joy soon. We’ll see.

Anyways, I’m very much looking forward to sharing my life with the world, and hope that you enjoy the journey as much as I do. As a side note, all names have been changed to protect the guilty…or the innocent…or me. So if you’re reading this…and you know the story is about you…relax. No one else does.

Until tomorrow,

C

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!