Happy day after Christmas!! I'm only one day behind for this holiday piece but I feel like that's alright, this holiday season has been a good one and I didn't want to ruin it by isolating myself for an hour writing this. Instead I spent time with my family and had a wonderful Christmas even though there were some rows and it got a bit too loud sometimes but that's what happens when we're all together. So I'm just going to wish all of you a Happy Christmas (though it's belated), a Merry New Year, and a Happy Reading.
*************************************************************************************************************
As Chandler woke up she could hear her parents in the kitchen, messing with Christmas morning's breakfast and her small nephew keeping them company. Stretching, Chandler's foot nudged something at the end of her bed causing it to moan out a small “mew.”
“Warren,” Chandler murmured as the large, ashy gray cat prowled up her legs to rest on her stomach, blue eyes half closed but staring in her direction. Warren was her brother Mike's cat, named after his favorite X-Men when he was younger. But the feline had taken more of a liking to Chandler, always sneaking out of Mike's room to sleep at the foot of her bed each night.
Reaching up to scratch behind his ears Chandler could hear the beginning tones of Warren purring. The vibrations running along her stomach too. “Merry Christmas.” Chandler said quietly to the cat while looking at the blue, digital numbers from her alarm clock. It was almost nine o’clock, almost time to get up and open presents. “Come on big boy,” she said as she picked up Warren and rolled out from under the covers. “Time for breakfast.”
Walking down the hallway Chandler could hear the voices in the kitchen grow louder and the smell of coffee becoming stronger. She also saw the Christmas tree in the living room. The lights were still on and the clear ornaments reflected back sun-lights of pink, green, and blue all over the brown wrapped presents under the tree. That had been a tradition in the family that Chandler's parents had started. To recycle old, brown paper bags for wrapping and tying off with a colored ribbon, each specific for one person. There were six different colored ribbons under the tree, Sadie's were always green, her favorite color. Some of Mike and Rose's gifts were wrapped with both colors, indicating that it was a gift for them as a couple.
Warren turned a little, his claws digging into the cloth shirt Chandler was wearing. “All right. All right.” Chandler said to the restless cat and walked into the kitchen, letting Warren jump from her arms onto the floor as she got his kitty bowl out and filled it with food.
“Auntie Candler!” Jay yelled, reaching for her instead of leaving his place from in front of his pancakes to hug her like he wanted to do. “Santa came! He ate the cookies and the carrots are gone!”
“Really?” Chandler asked him as she got a cup of coffee after putting away the kitty kibble. “Did you see him?”
Jay's face fell a little then, “No, I fell asleep.”
Chandler chuckled at her nephew, marveling at how he could pronounce his “r's” now and his still child-like love for Santa and Christmas.
“We're doing presents soon,” Emma, Chandler's mom said as she and the rest of the family started cleaning up their breakfast plates. “You better eat something Chandler.”
“Yes mom,” Chandler said, sitting next to Jay and half listening to him talk about what the big box under the tree could be as she grabbed a couple of pancakes and spread applesauce on them. He kept going back to a puppy.
“Jay-Bird,” Rose said to her son, extending her hand out to him so he would take it and follow her. “Let's get you cleaned up.”
Stopping mid sentence and standing up in his chair Jay leaned over and gave Chandler a sticky kiss on the cheek, “Merry Christmas Auntie.”
Smiling and ignoring the stickiness on her cheek, Chandler said “Merry Christmas Jay-Bird,” to the retreating form of Jay and returned to her pancakes, too lazy to wipe her face yet.
Warren hopped up into the now empty seat beside Chandler and mewed a little, his blue eyes half closed again.
Chandler smiled again, the syrup still on her face and her hair catching in it as she realized, in his own feline way, that Warren had just wished her a Merry Christmas too.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Rock, Paper, Turkey
Okay, here it is. I told you I would put one up...SUCCESS! I just want to throw some ground rules out for you (and myself because I keep forgetting-lol). I'm going to try and stick to Chandler and make it 3rd person point of view. I haven't really stuck to this, so hopefully by making the choice now it'll stick. Haha. So happy turkey day and happy reading!!
***********************************************************************************************************
“Umm...can you read that again?” Sadie squeaked, her disgust mingled in with surprise.
“We're suppose to clean it out and stick the veggies in there...” Chandler trailed off, her amber eyes lingering on the turkey carcass in the pan on the counter.
“I'll play you for it.” Sadie quipped, her own mossy-green eyes on the turkey.
“On three.” Chandler said, putting the cookbook on the counter and readying her right fist. “One...two...three...shoot.”
Sadie pulled paper, her gold nails playing off the light as they faced upward, and Chandler pulled scissors. “Two out of three?” Sadie asked, her voice gaining a hint of desperation as the thought of touching the cold bird became more apparent.
“No way,” Chandler backed up and went over to the potatoes on the stove, “I'm going to start on the potatoes then desserts. Don't forget to tie it off and baste it after you put in the veggies.”
******
It only took Sadie an hour to get the turkey together, her disgust for touching the turkey lessening after the cavern was filled and tied off at the legs. “I'm going to shower...with lots of hot water.” Sadie said as she left the kitchen, her hands as far away from her body as possible.
Chandler nodded and rubbed her forehead before going back to kneading the dough for the homemade rolls that night. Ten minutes passed before the doorbell rang announcing that Sadie's parents and Chandler's family had shown up. “Door's open!” Chandler called out, setting aside the rolls now so they could raise before being put into the oven.
******
The Macy Thanksgiving Parade music switched to that of a football game, the commentators remarking on different plays and passes as Chandler ran around the kitchen.
“Are you sure you don't need any help honey?” Emma, Chandler's mom asked as she hovered in the doorway of the kitchen watching her daughter move from one pot to another in a rush.
“I'm fine mom,” Chandler clipped out, her attention more focused on the meal then on her mother. “Sadie and I said we would take care of it this year--”
“Yeah,” Sadie said as she moved past her aunt to put a cooled pie into the fridge and away from people's picking fingers. “We've got this Auntie Em. Being grown up and what not. Go out an enjoy the parade.” Sadie finished, popping the fridge door closed with her hip and smiling up at her aunt.
“Alright,” Emma said before leaving the kitchen. The door swung back into place once she moved and left Chandler and Sadie to themselves.
“I can't believe we agreed to this,” Chandler frantically whispered to her cousin. Her blonde hair was loose in the hair tie causing her long fringe to hang around her face. There was a streak of flour across her forehead from when Chandler worked on the bread earlier that morning, she hadn't had time to wash it off yet.
Sadie walked over to Chandler, nudging her aside a little. Next to her cousin, Sadie looked well having been able to sneak in a quick shower before the main food needed more work. “Let me take over for a little bit. Go take a shower or something, it'll be fine Chan.”
“But--”Chandler started to protest as Sadie pushed her cousin through the door.
“Go, I've got it.”
******
Chandler stood in her bathroom, washed and dressed in something clean, and worrying about the meal that her and Sadie had been making. What if it turned out awful? What if they burned something? Did they forget anything that they had needed? Looking down, Chandler saw her thinning sheers sticking out of the open drawer. Grabbing them, she pulled a section of hair forward and snipped, this she had control over.
******
“Cute bangs,” Sadie said as she pulled the turkey out of the oven to check it's process.
“Thanks.” Chandler pulled the rest of her hair into a ponytail to keep it out of the way as she finished helping Sadie out.
Closing the oven door again Sadie walked over to Chandler and placed an arm around her shoulders. “You freaked out didn't you?” Her voice had a light tone to it.
“A little,” Chandler chuckled, “figured I could control my hair but these stupid things aren't cooperating either.”
“It'll be fine. And everything is done too.” Sadie said, tugging on Chandler’s hair and resting her head on her cousin's shoulder.
Blowing up to move the fringe from her eyes Chandler stirred the green beans once more. “Okay, let's eat.”
“Great, I can't wait to eat this! Especially that turkey, it doesn't look so gross anymore.”
Laughing, Chandler moved the green beans into a bowl. “Yeah, and we didn't blow it up like dad and Uncle Andrew did last year.”
***********************************************************************************************************
“Umm...can you read that again?” Sadie squeaked, her disgust mingled in with surprise.
“We're suppose to clean it out and stick the veggies in there...” Chandler trailed off, her amber eyes lingering on the turkey carcass in the pan on the counter.
“I'll play you for it.” Sadie quipped, her own mossy-green eyes on the turkey.
“On three.” Chandler said, putting the cookbook on the counter and readying her right fist. “One...two...three...shoot.”
Sadie pulled paper, her gold nails playing off the light as they faced upward, and Chandler pulled scissors. “Two out of three?” Sadie asked, her voice gaining a hint of desperation as the thought of touching the cold bird became more apparent.
“No way,” Chandler backed up and went over to the potatoes on the stove, “I'm going to start on the potatoes then desserts. Don't forget to tie it off and baste it after you put in the veggies.”
******
It only took Sadie an hour to get the turkey together, her disgust for touching the turkey lessening after the cavern was filled and tied off at the legs. “I'm going to shower...with lots of hot water.” Sadie said as she left the kitchen, her hands as far away from her body as possible.
Chandler nodded and rubbed her forehead before going back to kneading the dough for the homemade rolls that night. Ten minutes passed before the doorbell rang announcing that Sadie's parents and Chandler's family had shown up. “Door's open!” Chandler called out, setting aside the rolls now so they could raise before being put into the oven.
******
The Macy Thanksgiving Parade music switched to that of a football game, the commentators remarking on different plays and passes as Chandler ran around the kitchen.
“Are you sure you don't need any help honey?” Emma, Chandler's mom asked as she hovered in the doorway of the kitchen watching her daughter move from one pot to another in a rush.
“I'm fine mom,” Chandler clipped out, her attention more focused on the meal then on her mother. “Sadie and I said we would take care of it this year--”
“Yeah,” Sadie said as she moved past her aunt to put a cooled pie into the fridge and away from people's picking fingers. “We've got this Auntie Em. Being grown up and what not. Go out an enjoy the parade.” Sadie finished, popping the fridge door closed with her hip and smiling up at her aunt.
“Alright,” Emma said before leaving the kitchen. The door swung back into place once she moved and left Chandler and Sadie to themselves.
“I can't believe we agreed to this,” Chandler frantically whispered to her cousin. Her blonde hair was loose in the hair tie causing her long fringe to hang around her face. There was a streak of flour across her forehead from when Chandler worked on the bread earlier that morning, she hadn't had time to wash it off yet.
Sadie walked over to Chandler, nudging her aside a little. Next to her cousin, Sadie looked well having been able to sneak in a quick shower before the main food needed more work. “Let me take over for a little bit. Go take a shower or something, it'll be fine Chan.”
“But--”Chandler started to protest as Sadie pushed her cousin through the door.
“Go, I've got it.”
******
Chandler stood in her bathroom, washed and dressed in something clean, and worrying about the meal that her and Sadie had been making. What if it turned out awful? What if they burned something? Did they forget anything that they had needed? Looking down, Chandler saw her thinning sheers sticking out of the open drawer. Grabbing them, she pulled a section of hair forward and snipped, this she had control over.
******
“Cute bangs,” Sadie said as she pulled the turkey out of the oven to check it's process.
“Thanks.” Chandler pulled the rest of her hair into a ponytail to keep it out of the way as she finished helping Sadie out.
Closing the oven door again Sadie walked over to Chandler and placed an arm around her shoulders. “You freaked out didn't you?” Her voice had a light tone to it.
“A little,” Chandler chuckled, “figured I could control my hair but these stupid things aren't cooperating either.”
“It'll be fine. And everything is done too.” Sadie said, tugging on Chandler’s hair and resting her head on her cousin's shoulder.
Blowing up to move the fringe from her eyes Chandler stirred the green beans once more. “Okay, let's eat.”
“Great, I can't wait to eat this! Especially that turkey, it doesn't look so gross anymore.”
Laughing, Chandler moved the green beans into a bowl. “Yeah, and we didn't blow it up like dad and Uncle Andrew did last year.”
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Movember
Okay...so I totally forgot to do a Halloween piece, I'm truly sorry (blame the education system, it has been keeping me waaay too busy). So you'll get two “holiday” posts for November. No-Shave November and Thanksgiving. Here's the first one!
***********************************************************************************************************
“I'm thinking of doing that thing.” Sadie said when she walked into the kitchen, her feet catching on the him of her sweatpants.
“What thing?” Chandler asked, her voice amplifying around her as she reached into the dryer for the last, lone sock stuck in the back.
Sadie walked over to the snack bowl and grabbed a small bag of chocolate covered cashews. “That thing Josh is doing. Not shaving.”
Straightening up Chandler looked at her cousin, the sock with its mate snuggled next to it now, and raised a blond eyebrow. “You do know that not shaving is to raise awareness for testicular cancer right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Sadie murmured around a mouthful of cashews. Swallowing, she said “Yeah, but it's for other charity events too. It's cold anyways so its not like I'll be wearing shorts and stuff.”
“I guess...” Chandler drew out, giving her cousin an odd look. “I guess it makes sense.”
“I know right?! PANTS!” Sadie emphasized. Her eyes brightening at the revelation. “And my shower time will be cut in half basically. It's a win-win.”
***********************************************************************************************************
“I'm thinking of doing that thing.” Sadie said when she walked into the kitchen, her feet catching on the him of her sweatpants.
“What thing?” Chandler asked, her voice amplifying around her as she reached into the dryer for the last, lone sock stuck in the back.
Sadie walked over to the snack bowl and grabbed a small bag of chocolate covered cashews. “That thing Josh is doing. Not shaving.”
Straightening up Chandler looked at her cousin, the sock with its mate snuggled next to it now, and raised a blond eyebrow. “You do know that not shaving is to raise awareness for testicular cancer right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Sadie murmured around a mouthful of cashews. Swallowing, she said “Yeah, but it's for other charity events too. It's cold anyways so its not like I'll be wearing shorts and stuff.”
“I guess...” Chandler drew out, giving her cousin an odd look. “I guess it makes sense.”
“I know right?! PANTS!” Sadie emphasized. Her eyes brightening at the revelation. “And my shower time will be cut in half basically. It's a win-win.”
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Untitled Rough
So I'm in a fiction class right now and thought I'd post something from class. This is the beginning to the second story I'm working on now. I'll post again on Halloween for sure with Sadie and Chandler. Until then happy reading!!
******************************************************************************************************
They come every afternoon. Never twice in a row, with words and stories that they feel like I should know. And I can't remember. No matter how many times I hear about breaking my arm when I fell out of a tree. Or the silly made-up award I got during a choir banquet. I can't remember anything since the accident. My childhood, my adolescence, some of my adult life, gone.
I know the stories told and the people who come now. I just can't remember the events or who the people use to be to me.
***
It's Tuesday. Lunch today is turkey on wheat with applesauce and a snack-sized bag of potato chips that are mostly crumbs. Edna is here too. She always brings a thermos of hot cocoa. It's old with a red plaid design on the outside and a matching red cup on top. She says that it had been Jack's, my grandfather. Edna always tells me when she pulls out the thermos from her knitting bag. I just nod. I've heard it so many times that I know she's going to say it. Edna will tell me how Jack took it with him on every camping and fishing trip, how when I was younger I would always carry it out to him before he would drive off in that old, rusty pick-up of his.
I think it breaks her heart when I call her Edna. She always insists on me calling her “Gammy” but I can't. I feel no connection to this woman. Sometimes it breaks my heart too. But I don't understand the love that Edna is always trying to give me and she leaves, the thermos back in her knitting bag along with her stories of myself and Jack.
***
Friday, the day of my discharge. Jamie and Dean are here to pick me up and take me back to their place. The doctor says that familiar places might trigger my memories. So I'm going home. That's what Jamie and Dean are saying anyways, that they are taking me home. I imagine that they'll show me pictures that were once meant for photo albums with smiles on their faces that hold false hope. And I'll look with blank eyes and try to comprehend. But their stories make me tired and their house makes me feel out of place.
***
“I don't like raspberries.”
A glass drops. It must have slipped through Jamie's fingers. “Tessa, what is it sweetheart? What did you say?” She's next to me now, her light green eyes searching mine. It's uncomfortable.
I shrug and nudge the plate in front of me with the assortment of fruit. “I don't like raspberries.” I concentrate on my fingers, the index and middle finger are bound together, they must have broken in the accident.
Jamie's breathe catches and I can feel her hands tremble on the armrests of the wooden kitchen chair I'm sitting in. “And the others?”
I pick up a slice of a pear, the skin is a yellowish-green, and take a bite. “I'm allergic to peaches, I think.” I mumble around the meat of the fruit and pop the other half into my mouth, reaching out for a piece of an orange next.
Jamie places her arms around me, her whole upper body is trembling now, and hugs me. I turn my head away from her and see the broken glass. Jamie had poured milk into it before it hit the floor. A pool of watery white liquid runs across the tan-tilled floor.
***
It's been four months since I was discharged from the hospital. I'm remembering more now. How the mini-van had run the red-light, causing me to t-bone my motorcycle into it, helmet flying off after I first hit the ground, and me flipping over the trashed hunk of metal. That the EMT's had to cut me out of my favorite pair of light-washed jeans. That Nora, a young woman that had stopped visiting my second week in the hospital, had been my girlfriend of three months. My guess is that she couldn't handle me not remembering her.
I can recall breaking my arm now, how Dean had cursed up a storm in the ER. I know my vocabulary expanded that day and that Jamie wouldn't have cared for her eight year old little girl to know so many new four-lettered words.
I can even remember trivial things. That my favorite flowers are violet freesias. That I love cereal so much I know I could eat it for a month straight. That I prefer blue pens over black. My guilty pleasure before the accident had been Cake Boss. And I can remember that when I was younger I did want to be a legitimate princess with a stable full of ponies and a pretty golden crown.
I tell Jamie and Dean everything when I remember and write it down. Jamie always calls Edna to let her know what I'm learning about myself. Sometimes I overhear their conversation. How they both wish that I could remember more, remember them and that they're my family.
***
It's a Saturday, there's a cookout happening outside with no chance of rain. I keep to myself, wanting to stay away from the vaguely familiar people who shove their sweaty palms into mine. “Tessa, darling, please.” Dean says to me as he grabs the hotdogs and patted out hamburgers from the refrigerator for the barbeque. “Just try, for your mom's sake.”
I stir the macaroni salad, making sure to mix the onion, tomato, and cucumber cubes in with the noodles. “Dad, I can't...” I start, my spoon stopping mid-stir after the words are out of my mouth. I glance over at Dad and I can see a smile pulling at his bearded cheeks. “Alright, maybe it won't be so bad.”
******************************************************************************************************
They come every afternoon. Never twice in a row, with words and stories that they feel like I should know. And I can't remember. No matter how many times I hear about breaking my arm when I fell out of a tree. Or the silly made-up award I got during a choir banquet. I can't remember anything since the accident. My childhood, my adolescence, some of my adult life, gone.
I know the stories told and the people who come now. I just can't remember the events or who the people use to be to me.
***
It's Tuesday. Lunch today is turkey on wheat with applesauce and a snack-sized bag of potato chips that are mostly crumbs. Edna is here too. She always brings a thermos of hot cocoa. It's old with a red plaid design on the outside and a matching red cup on top. She says that it had been Jack's, my grandfather. Edna always tells me when she pulls out the thermos from her knitting bag. I just nod. I've heard it so many times that I know she's going to say it. Edna will tell me how Jack took it with him on every camping and fishing trip, how when I was younger I would always carry it out to him before he would drive off in that old, rusty pick-up of his.
I think it breaks her heart when I call her Edna. She always insists on me calling her “Gammy” but I can't. I feel no connection to this woman. Sometimes it breaks my heart too. But I don't understand the love that Edna is always trying to give me and she leaves, the thermos back in her knitting bag along with her stories of myself and Jack.
***
Friday, the day of my discharge. Jamie and Dean are here to pick me up and take me back to their place. The doctor says that familiar places might trigger my memories. So I'm going home. That's what Jamie and Dean are saying anyways, that they are taking me home. I imagine that they'll show me pictures that were once meant for photo albums with smiles on their faces that hold false hope. And I'll look with blank eyes and try to comprehend. But their stories make me tired and their house makes me feel out of place.
***
“I don't like raspberries.”
A glass drops. It must have slipped through Jamie's fingers. “Tessa, what is it sweetheart? What did you say?” She's next to me now, her light green eyes searching mine. It's uncomfortable.
I shrug and nudge the plate in front of me with the assortment of fruit. “I don't like raspberries.” I concentrate on my fingers, the index and middle finger are bound together, they must have broken in the accident.
Jamie's breathe catches and I can feel her hands tremble on the armrests of the wooden kitchen chair I'm sitting in. “And the others?”
I pick up a slice of a pear, the skin is a yellowish-green, and take a bite. “I'm allergic to peaches, I think.” I mumble around the meat of the fruit and pop the other half into my mouth, reaching out for a piece of an orange next.
Jamie places her arms around me, her whole upper body is trembling now, and hugs me. I turn my head away from her and see the broken glass. Jamie had poured milk into it before it hit the floor. A pool of watery white liquid runs across the tan-tilled floor.
***
It's been four months since I was discharged from the hospital. I'm remembering more now. How the mini-van had run the red-light, causing me to t-bone my motorcycle into it, helmet flying off after I first hit the ground, and me flipping over the trashed hunk of metal. That the EMT's had to cut me out of my favorite pair of light-washed jeans. That Nora, a young woman that had stopped visiting my second week in the hospital, had been my girlfriend of three months. My guess is that she couldn't handle me not remembering her.
I can recall breaking my arm now, how Dean had cursed up a storm in the ER. I know my vocabulary expanded that day and that Jamie wouldn't have cared for her eight year old little girl to know so many new four-lettered words.
I can even remember trivial things. That my favorite flowers are violet freesias. That I love cereal so much I know I could eat it for a month straight. That I prefer blue pens over black. My guilty pleasure before the accident had been Cake Boss. And I can remember that when I was younger I did want to be a legitimate princess with a stable full of ponies and a pretty golden crown.
I tell Jamie and Dean everything when I remember and write it down. Jamie always calls Edna to let her know what I'm learning about myself. Sometimes I overhear their conversation. How they both wish that I could remember more, remember them and that they're my family.
***
It's a Saturday, there's a cookout happening outside with no chance of rain. I keep to myself, wanting to stay away from the vaguely familiar people who shove their sweaty palms into mine. “Tessa, darling, please.” Dean says to me as he grabs the hotdogs and patted out hamburgers from the refrigerator for the barbeque. “Just try, for your mom's sake.”
I stir the macaroni salad, making sure to mix the onion, tomato, and cucumber cubes in with the noodles. “Dad, I can't...” I start, my spoon stopping mid-stir after the words are out of my mouth. I glance over at Dad and I can see a smile pulling at his bearded cheeks. “Alright, maybe it won't be so bad.”
Friday, September 2, 2011
Holiday Writings...BEGIN!!!
Happy Labor Day weekend!! Cookouts. Burgers. Pools. The “last” days of summer.
So here are Chandler and Sadie again (remember I wrote about them on Valentine’s Day this year? Well if you don’t go find it and read about them then and come back for now). I have decided to write them when holiday’s are coming up and if I need a light break once in awhile.
They’ll be like Stephon from SNL but not as funny (because really, who can beat Bill Hader’s Weekend Update character?)
Happy Reading and Holiday!!!
*********************************************************************************************************
All Chandler got as a warning was “CANNONBALL!” before being soaked by a wave of water. Stupid Bobby…
Bobby, the bane of Chandler and Sadie’s home life. Whenever Chandler and Sadie came back to their parent’s homes (which were next door to one another) Bobby would somehow get word and rush back from university as well. And ruin their much needed time of relaxation.
“Like, what is your problem?” Sadie squealed, waving her oversized lime green sunglasses in her hand like a saber and wiping the water droplets off her deep purple top. “I swear you were raised by wolves—no way your mother would have let you live long enough if she actually raised your sorry as—“
“Sadie!” I start, looking over at my family by the grill. My brother and his wife came over for today as well, bringing their three year old that had picked up the habit of mimicking everything Sadie and I said.
“Fine, whatever…” Sadie mumbled; stretching out again on her towel and placing the eyewear back on her tanned face.
“Auntie Candler,” Jay called, his small arms encased in bright orange swimmer’s wings splashed the surface of the pool. “Come pway wif me.”
Looking over at Sadie I tried to get her attention, to get her to come in the pool with me. But before I could water splashed back up on the two of us. “Come on you over sunned leather hides. Get your bikini butts in here.”
“Watch out you moron—the baby!” I said, choosing to ignore his flippant words. I walked over to where Jay was bobbing up and down and reached in to lift him up, my one-piece soaking in the water that fell off of my nephew.
Jay began to cry a little, “Auntie Candler…I want to go swimwng. Go splash splash splash.”
Sadie had gotten up now and was standing beside me. “We’ll play later Jay-Bird. Let’s go see what Grandma’s doing.”
Jay perked up when he heard “Grandma” and started to reach around Chandler towards where he thought she would be. “I guess the majority have spoken.” Chandler said as she and Sadie walked off towards the back deck.
“Hey,” Bobby called out, “Wait for me…”
“Na-uh.” Sadie called back over her shoulder, “You’re still wet and Aunt Rose will have a fit if you walk into her house.”
Bobby caught up to Chandler ad Sadie, wrapping a towel around his pasty waist. “You two are wet…and he’s soaked.”
Jay piped up for Chandler and Sadie, silencing Bobby from complaining further. “Grammy wuvs me!” He stated and buried his wet hair under Chandler’s chin.
“Looks like Jay-Bird has spoken,” Sadie said, lifting her sunglasses again so Bobby could see the smugness that hid underneath the oversized lenses.
So here are Chandler and Sadie again (remember I wrote about them on Valentine’s Day this year? Well if you don’t go find it and read about them then and come back for now). I have decided to write them when holiday’s are coming up and if I need a light break once in awhile.
They’ll be like Stephon from SNL but not as funny (because really, who can beat Bill Hader’s Weekend Update character?)
Happy Reading and Holiday!!!
*********************************************************************************************************
All Chandler got as a warning was “CANNONBALL!” before being soaked by a wave of water. Stupid Bobby…
Bobby, the bane of Chandler and Sadie’s home life. Whenever Chandler and Sadie came back to their parent’s homes (which were next door to one another) Bobby would somehow get word and rush back from university as well. And ruin their much needed time of relaxation.
“Like, what is your problem?” Sadie squealed, waving her oversized lime green sunglasses in her hand like a saber and wiping the water droplets off her deep purple top. “I swear you were raised by wolves—no way your mother would have let you live long enough if she actually raised your sorry as—“
“Sadie!” I start, looking over at my family by the grill. My brother and his wife came over for today as well, bringing their three year old that had picked up the habit of mimicking everything Sadie and I said.
“Fine, whatever…” Sadie mumbled; stretching out again on her towel and placing the eyewear back on her tanned face.
“Auntie Candler,” Jay called, his small arms encased in bright orange swimmer’s wings splashed the surface of the pool. “Come pway wif me.”
Looking over at Sadie I tried to get her attention, to get her to come in the pool with me. But before I could water splashed back up on the two of us. “Come on you over sunned leather hides. Get your bikini butts in here.”
“Watch out you moron—the baby!” I said, choosing to ignore his flippant words. I walked over to where Jay was bobbing up and down and reached in to lift him up, my one-piece soaking in the water that fell off of my nephew.
Jay began to cry a little, “Auntie Candler…I want to go swimwng. Go splash splash splash.”
Sadie had gotten up now and was standing beside me. “We’ll play later Jay-Bird. Let’s go see what Grandma’s doing.”
Jay perked up when he heard “Grandma” and started to reach around Chandler towards where he thought she would be. “I guess the majority have spoken.” Chandler said as she and Sadie walked off towards the back deck.
“Hey,” Bobby called out, “Wait for me…”
“Na-uh.” Sadie called back over her shoulder, “You’re still wet and Aunt Rose will have a fit if you walk into her house.”
Bobby caught up to Chandler ad Sadie, wrapping a towel around his pasty waist. “You two are wet…and he’s soaked.”
Jay piped up for Chandler and Sadie, silencing Bobby from complaining further. “Grammy wuvs me!” He stated and buried his wet hair under Chandler’s chin.
“Looks like Jay-Bird has spoken,” Sadie said, lifting her sunglasses again so Bobby could see the smugness that hid underneath the oversized lenses.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
New (School) Year
I'm taking another fiction writing class this semester (yeah!) but I can't work on Willowwacks there (boo!). But here's a beginning assignment that we have to do (we actually have to do three and two will be stories that we will work on through out the semester). Enjoy and I'll try and update this more frequently with assignments from class, Willowwacks work (if I'm able to get around to it), or even some Stacy bits here and there.
Happy reading :)
*********************************************************************************************************
It was still early for the pleather green seats in Madhouse to be full of college kids wanting to booze up their night or business suits wanting to distress from the office, but Callum still walked through the paint chipped door and sat in front of the bartender cleaning out glasses. “A Manhattan.” Callum sighed, kneading his eyes with his left palm and slumping over the bar top. His shoulders pulled at the seams along the light blue dress shirt, his jacket forgotten on the bar top beside his elbow. Callum still favored his right shoulder even though it had been three months since he was shot out on the field it was still in a sling.
“Tough day C?” Jason, the bartender, asked while he finished pouring the bourbon and vermouth drink into a cocktail glass.
Grasping the mouth of the stemware Callum swung back, downing half of the amber-red concoction before answering Jason. “My first day back and all I had to do was paperwork and I’m still exhausted.”
Jason chuckled and picked up the dishrag again. His tattooed arm began wiping off the top, collecting crumbs from carvings people drew into the worn wood. “I guess that’s what happens when you get yourself shot.”
Rubbing his hand through the short-cropped, auburn hair Callum grunted. “This wasn’t what I thought one of the perks of being a “hero” would’ve been.” He downed the rest of his Manhattan and fished out the maraschino cherry from the bottom of the glass, popping the steam off between his teeth.
Eyeing the empty cocktail glass, Jason quirked an eyebrow at his dejected friend. “Should I make you another?”
Shaking his head Callum chewed on the stem, “Really shouldn’t. Back to papers and filling out forms again tomorrow. Don’t want a hangover on my second day.”
“You are off the clock right man?” Jason asked, taking the empty cocktail glass and moving it to a bin under the bar for dirty dishes. “Can’t have my bartending license revoked now.” Jason chuckled, throwing the rag onto his shoulder and palming the bar top. “I guess it would be funny if you arrested me though right? Ha! Could you even do that?”
Callum’s mouth tilted up a bit causing the cherry stem to point at Jason. “No, I clocked out. No worries man.”
“Good, good,” Jason smiled his long face pulling up a bit when he did so. “I’ll go ask Shae if he could throw on a burger for you.”
Callum didn’t respond when Jason went into the kitchen to place the order. Once gone, Callum sunk into himself. Every moment he relived the shooting. His dreams were the worst though; his subconscious would shift the events, causing them to be more terrible then what they truly were. He wasn’t even a certified cop until eleven months ago, not even a full year before getting a bullet to his shoulder. Getting shot, even though it wasn’t an injury that was too serious, still shook Callum up when he thought about it. He didn’t like doing paper work but the idea of going back out into the streets of Buffalo now was more terrifying. It wouldn’t take long until Officer Morrison ordered Callum to take a psyche evaluation.
Jason came back out when Callum was reliving the incident and placed the cooked burger in front of the pensive officer. “Hey Cal,” Jason said in a somber voice, leaning in front of Callum to look up into his downturned eyes, “it’s going to be alright. You know that right?”
Callum didn’t know if anything would be alright but he forced a false smile on his face, “Yeah,” and grabbed his burger taking a large bite out of it so he wouldn’t have to talk to Jason about it further.
The door to Madhouse opened again welcoming a new customer. They sat one seat down from Callum, “What ‘cha got on tap limbs?” a female voice asked. Her voice was rich and warm, like honey. Looking over Callum saw a mass of dark hair, curling in every way. She looked over at him, her nose twitching a bit and pointed to his mouth “You got some on your face there sugah.”
Jason barked, “Here ya’ go man.” And handed a napkin to Callum.
Turing forward again Callum wiped his face, a glob of mayo and ketchup smearing across the folded paper product.
“I’m Nina,” the woman says, scorching over to sit beside Callum.
“Callum Gentry.”
Jason placed a pint of Budweiser in front of Nina and took her order of hot wings into the back. Callum didn’t say anything else.
After taking a long draft from her glass Nina turned towards Callum, her knee knocking against his trouser-clad leg. “Not much of a talker are you?”
“…”
“Ooo-kay then. So, how’d you get your arm hammock?”
Callum placed his burger down and waved two fingers at Jason to get him to bring over a glass of water. But Jason answered for him while placing the water in front of Callum’s half eaten burger.
Happy reading :)
*********************************************************************************************************
It was still early for the pleather green seats in Madhouse to be full of college kids wanting to booze up their night or business suits wanting to distress from the office, but Callum still walked through the paint chipped door and sat in front of the bartender cleaning out glasses. “A Manhattan.” Callum sighed, kneading his eyes with his left palm and slumping over the bar top. His shoulders pulled at the seams along the light blue dress shirt, his jacket forgotten on the bar top beside his elbow. Callum still favored his right shoulder even though it had been three months since he was shot out on the field it was still in a sling.
“Tough day C?” Jason, the bartender, asked while he finished pouring the bourbon and vermouth drink into a cocktail glass.
Grasping the mouth of the stemware Callum swung back, downing half of the amber-red concoction before answering Jason. “My first day back and all I had to do was paperwork and I’m still exhausted.”
Jason chuckled and picked up the dishrag again. His tattooed arm began wiping off the top, collecting crumbs from carvings people drew into the worn wood. “I guess that’s what happens when you get yourself shot.”
Rubbing his hand through the short-cropped, auburn hair Callum grunted. “This wasn’t what I thought one of the perks of being a “hero” would’ve been.” He downed the rest of his Manhattan and fished out the maraschino cherry from the bottom of the glass, popping the steam off between his teeth.
Eyeing the empty cocktail glass, Jason quirked an eyebrow at his dejected friend. “Should I make you another?”
Shaking his head Callum chewed on the stem, “Really shouldn’t. Back to papers and filling out forms again tomorrow. Don’t want a hangover on my second day.”
“You are off the clock right man?” Jason asked, taking the empty cocktail glass and moving it to a bin under the bar for dirty dishes. “Can’t have my bartending license revoked now.” Jason chuckled, throwing the rag onto his shoulder and palming the bar top. “I guess it would be funny if you arrested me though right? Ha! Could you even do that?”
Callum’s mouth tilted up a bit causing the cherry stem to point at Jason. “No, I clocked out. No worries man.”
“Good, good,” Jason smiled his long face pulling up a bit when he did so. “I’ll go ask Shae if he could throw on a burger for you.”
Callum didn’t respond when Jason went into the kitchen to place the order. Once gone, Callum sunk into himself. Every moment he relived the shooting. His dreams were the worst though; his subconscious would shift the events, causing them to be more terrible then what they truly were. He wasn’t even a certified cop until eleven months ago, not even a full year before getting a bullet to his shoulder. Getting shot, even though it wasn’t an injury that was too serious, still shook Callum up when he thought about it. He didn’t like doing paper work but the idea of going back out into the streets of Buffalo now was more terrifying. It wouldn’t take long until Officer Morrison ordered Callum to take a psyche evaluation.
Jason came back out when Callum was reliving the incident and placed the cooked burger in front of the pensive officer. “Hey Cal,” Jason said in a somber voice, leaning in front of Callum to look up into his downturned eyes, “it’s going to be alright. You know that right?”
Callum didn’t know if anything would be alright but he forced a false smile on his face, “Yeah,” and grabbed his burger taking a large bite out of it so he wouldn’t have to talk to Jason about it further.
The door to Madhouse opened again welcoming a new customer. They sat one seat down from Callum, “What ‘cha got on tap limbs?” a female voice asked. Her voice was rich and warm, like honey. Looking over Callum saw a mass of dark hair, curling in every way. She looked over at him, her nose twitching a bit and pointed to his mouth “You got some on your face there sugah.”
Jason barked, “Here ya’ go man.” And handed a napkin to Callum.
Turing forward again Callum wiped his face, a glob of mayo and ketchup smearing across the folded paper product.
“I’m Nina,” the woman says, scorching over to sit beside Callum.
“Callum Gentry.”
Jason placed a pint of Budweiser in front of Nina and took her order of hot wings into the back. Callum didn’t say anything else.
After taking a long draft from her glass Nina turned towards Callum, her knee knocking against his trouser-clad leg. “Not much of a talker are you?”
“…”
“Ooo-kay then. So, how’d you get your arm hammock?”
Callum placed his burger down and waved two fingers at Jason to get him to bring over a glass of water. But Jason answered for him while placing the water in front of Callum’s half eaten burger.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Introducing
Something inspired all by simple (yet amusing) word...WILLOWWACKS. So here's a little sneak peek into what I am now wanting to run with until term starts again on the 22nd.
So when I discovered this fabulous word last night I quickly jotted down a couple of blurbs. Hope this gets you excited for Willowwacks because I get excited when I glance through it when I need a reboot.
Take One:
Welcome to the Willowwacks, home to Fáelán, our unsuspecting hero…
Before I get ahead of myself, let’s establish some things first. One: Fáelán does not know of his importance or the circumstances that have been triggered by what he has done. (EXPAND)
Second: Willowwacks is an institution of sorts in the middle of town (NAME TOWN, DESCRIBE TOWN).
And finally C: I only take one lump of sugar in my tea.
Let the story commences!
A/N: My first take was just a rough so here's the second shot at it.
Take Two:
Welcome to the Willowwacks, home to Fáelán, our unsuspecting hero…
Before I get ahead of myself, let’s establish some things first. One: Fáelán does not know of his importance or the circumstances that have been triggered by what he has done. (REWORD/EXPAND)
Second: This all started when Fáelán strode into The Billet (the local pub in Willowwacks) and DID SOMETHING (NAME TOWN, DESCRIBE TOWN).
And finally C: So you don’t screw up a proper cup of tea, I only take one lump of sugar.
Let the story commences!
A/N: Still a little rough but both (I think) can lead me to the right path down to the town of Willowwacks :)
Almost more excited about this then flushing out Stacy who's been living in my head for three+ years :P
So when I discovered this fabulous word last night I quickly jotted down a couple of blurbs. Hope this gets you excited for Willowwacks because I get excited when I glance through it when I need a reboot.
Take One:
Welcome to the Willowwacks, home to Fáelán, our unsuspecting hero…
Before I get ahead of myself, let’s establish some things first. One: Fáelán does not know of his importance or the circumstances that have been triggered by what he has done. (EXPAND)
Second: Willowwacks is an institution of sorts in the middle of town (NAME TOWN, DESCRIBE TOWN).
And finally C: I only take one lump of sugar in my tea.
Let the story commences!
A/N: My first take was just a rough so here's the second shot at it.
Take Two:
Welcome to the Willowwacks, home to Fáelán, our unsuspecting hero…
Before I get ahead of myself, let’s establish some things first. One: Fáelán does not know of his importance or the circumstances that have been triggered by what he has done. (REWORD/EXPAND)
Second: This all started when Fáelán strode into The Billet (the local pub in Willowwacks) and DID SOMETHING (NAME TOWN, DESCRIBE TOWN).
And finally C: So you don’t screw up a proper cup of tea, I only take one lump of sugar.
Let the story commences!
A/N: Still a little rough but both (I think) can lead me to the right path down to the town of Willowwacks :)
Almost more excited about this then flushing out Stacy who's been living in my head for three+ years :P
Thursday, July 28, 2011
My summer
has been filled with fun, adventure, reading, and some work…I seem to have started making these bookmarks that are cute, really cute. But last night (when I should have been going to sleep) I made a HUGE improvement to them so go and look, see for yourself the growing process (there is a link at the end of this)!!
I AM selling these little place markers so bloggers, if you would like any just let me know!!! Prices vary from $2.50-3.50 depending on which design you would like (the “monster”, “cutesy character”, or “realistic-like character”). I can also do cut outs on the back and front for a cool look when you slide it in place and I can also make them double sided so you get two in one and can choose which side you want at the moment.
This maybe a slow process because I am the only one doing them and school starts back up for me in the middle of August so get them while they’re hot (and I’m free—lol).
But please, do not let this discourage you!! Just send me a message if you want to place an order and if you reblog please, let people know where they can buy theses little guys :)
So go here (BOOKMARKS) to look and browse!
(And sorry about the lack of fictionalized posts-lol, hopefully I will post again soon)
I AM selling these little place markers so bloggers, if you would like any just let me know!!! Prices vary from $2.50-3.50 depending on which design you would like (the “monster”, “cutesy character”, or “realistic-like character”). I can also do cut outs on the back and front for a cool look when you slide it in place and I can also make them double sided so you get two in one and can choose which side you want at the moment.
This maybe a slow process because I am the only one doing them and school starts back up for me in the middle of August so get them while they’re hot (and I’m free—lol).
But please, do not let this discourage you!! Just send me a message if you want to place an order and if you reblog please, let people know where they can buy theses little guys :)
So go here (BOOKMARKS) to look and browse!
(And sorry about the lack of fictionalized posts-lol, hopefully I will post again soon)
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Slow Story
Gentlemen:
match this water with [the] rain.
Little girl:
follow [forth] in[to] the world
Friend:
fly like a storm cloud [above the sea]
Good boy:
create and write [a masterpiece] from sound
We will taste [that] which you read today
match this water with [the] rain.
Little girl:
follow [forth] in[to] the world
Friend:
fly like a storm cloud [above the sea]
Good boy:
create and write [a masterpiece] from sound
We will taste [that] which you read today
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Conflict
So here are my final pieces before I post my synopsis and the beginning of chapter one. The first one is a conflict between Stacy and her mom when she is around fifteen years old, the second is between Stacy and her brother Hunter when she is a senior and he's a sophomore in high school. The only thing I can say is that I have a hard time with dialogue so both may seen a little choppy so just bear with me!
********************************************************************************************************
(Stacy and her Mom)
“Finally, Friday oh how I’ve waited for you anxiously.” Stacy murmured while stripping her book bag and charcoal pea coat off along with the purple gloves and scarf. “I thought you had left me…no Dear John letter or nothing.”
“Stace, you are way weird sis.” Hunter’s wet boots thunked down by the door. His hair was wet from refusing to carry an umbrella earlier that morning.
Stacy rolled her eyes and scrunched up her face. “Whateva bro . Like you’re one to talk…coloring and scribbling away like its this new fad, people have been doing it for ages Hunt—” The house was hushed. Mom normally had Josh Groban or something or the kind playing softly in the background, it wasn’t on now.
Hunter stepped in front of Stacy. Did he notice the change in the house? “Mom, got any snackage? Kind of starved here being a growing boy and all.” He joked.
“Kitchen counter, there’s some peanut butter and crackers.” Stacy and Hunter’s mom’s voice called down from upstairs. “Stacy,” her voice is strained, “can you come up here for a bit?
Stacy starts up the stairs. Does she know? I only just told Rosalyn. Do you know? Stacy muses to a picture of her mom from her early years. Stacy moves past the picture, the carpet latches onto her checkered socks as she turns to the left towards her room. The door is open but Stacy closes it when she gets inside. If she knows Hunter doesn’t need to know. Stacy’s hand stays on the handle for a moment deciding if she really should close the outside off to her.
No. Not anymore. These things happen and I’m not doing it again. Nothing to worry about.
Stacy turns from the door to see her mom standing by the window; she was gray like the stormy sky outside, it’s the oldest I’ve seen her. Mom straightened up. Stacy noted as she shuffled towards her bed, throwing the comforter aside to sit on the sheets, they were cool to her hand. It was shaking. How long had she been here then? Her heart lurched forward. Were there any other secrets hiding under the piles of dirty socks and t-shirts that Stacy didn’t know about?
“Rosalyn called me today.” Stacy’s mom started. Her voice was tight, pulling on the rubber band of dread that wrapped around Stacy. “Mentioned that I should talk to you, there are some things that I should know now about the party you sneaked off to two weeks ago.” She knows!
“How’d you find out?” Stacy’s voice is small. I wish I was small; we wouldn’t be having this talk then. Rosalyn wouldn’t have ratted me out. Her brows drew down, changing her soft face into a hard plain. The poor sheets didn’t deserve such rage.
The silence was growing heavy, almost gaining a voice of its own. Just spit it out. Somebody. Anybody.
I can feel her eyes on me. Stacy looks up, she’s not mad…maybe? They just stare. I wish she would say something, anything. This quiet and watching is killing me. Stacy pulls at the threads harder. One gives.
Crash. “SORRY!” Hunter called out from downstairs. It sounded like he had dropped a glass and something else. At least it broke the silence.
“Stacy, please! Just tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Stacy’s voice clips. That was harsher then I meant it to be. Mom doesn’t deserve this. It’s not her fault that I’m hiding. Stacy looks up at her mother, Stacy’s words had hurt her, her sharp features are taunt. Stacy can see her mom worrying the inside of her cheek, Stacy does the same.
“Stacy,” Mom tries again. “Rosalyn said that something was wrong. That you aren’t ok. Pleas Stacy,” Stacy looks up, her bottom lip loosens and her eyes tear a little. She’s always so caring. “I want to know what I can do to help, you need to tell me.”
Stacy looks down again, picking away more at the comforter. I can’t look at her. “Please just drop it.” Stacy’s voice stops. Maybe I should tell her. It was sort of an accident, she’ll understand.
“Stacy,” Mom says. Another approach, soft and gentle. She doesn’t want to scare me off. I’m already scared. What if there are consequences? What if something happens, I’m not ready for any of this? Mom comes and sits by Stacy, taking away one of the hands tearing away at the blanket. “You’re making me worry dear. Honey, just tell me what’s wrong.”
She’s too caring. A tear slips, Stacy lets it roll down. Her hands itch, Stacy stops messing the comforter. Now…tell her now! “I told you, nothing’s wrong.” I’m a coward, Stacy thinks. I’m a liar.
“This is foolish Stacy.” Mom’s voice rises as she squeezes Stacy’s hand tighter. “I can tell something is the matter—”
“Nothing is the matter!” Stacy breaks through, shouting at her mother. There’s no need for this, Stacy thinks but she can’t help it. Its fight or flight and Stacy feels like she has been backed into a corner. Fight. Fight!
“Of course something is the matter. You wouldn’t be acting this way if everything was okay!” Mom yelled, feeding off of Stacy’s need to fight.
She has a point, Stacy thought. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her! TELL HER!
Stacy’s heart stuttered, it wasn’t suppose to be this hard she thought why isn’t my voice working? All the words Stacy wanted to share were stuck in her throat, it felt blocked, like it was filled with scratchy cotton.
“Stacy, honey, why won’t you just talk to me?” Mom asked. Her voice catches, it’s from the yelling. We never yell at each other. Mom slumps down against the headboard letting go of Stacy’s hand. Yelling won’t accomplish anything.
“I…I…mom. Just stop,” Stacy’s voice agonized. Couldn’t she see that I can’t tell her? Stacy keeps her eyes on her rumpled bedspread, picking at the edges again. I need to fix this. A few strands unravel from the worn comforter. All of it. Her hand stops.
“Mom,” it comes out quiet, small. I feel small, Stacy thinks; I wish I was small again. “It’s about…” Breathe in, breathe out. “That night Hunt and I sneaked out…we, uh, we,” more tears. Stop crying.
“Stacy its okay honey.” Mom wraps her arms around Stacy. I don’t deserve this. She always is here to understand, how far will it go until it breaks?
“There was this guy,” Stacy’s voice cracks. The words are hard to get past her throat. They want to stick to the walls and cling to the secret. No more secrets.
********************************************************************************************************
(Stacy and Hunter)
The first round is over but Stacy feels the need to continue. This was about Hunter and his future. This was something that shouldn’t be thrown aside so easily like junk mail. Stacy felt the strong need to help Hunter see that he should move on with his idea of a life—his own hopes for his future.
Their dad had stormed outside a moment ago. Mom had followed after him. It was just her and Hunter in the living room now, the echoes of yelling still hanging in the air like dust.
Stacy snaps; something like this doesn’t make sense to her. “Grow a pair Hunt!” She starts in. “It’s about what you want not what he wants!”
Hunter sits on the edge of the sofa; his feet are turned in slightly towards one another. His hands clench, changing his powdery bronze knuckles into a papery white color.
“You’re too good to give up on this!” Stacy’s up, pacing across the cream carpet, leaving heavy size eight and a half footprints criss-crossing one another over the fibers. The flat screen wobbles on the entertainment stand a bit, swaying with the stomps. “You have so much talent…do you know how much I would give to do the things you do? Or even what Georgie could do?” Stacy’s eyes plead with Hunter. His head is down obscuring his dark cocoa eyes behind a heavy layer of charcoal lashes and curly ebony hair. “I’d give my right arm and left pinky toe!” Stacy says, half joking to try and lighten the mood a bit from the arguing that had been happening since they got home from school, that had been two hours ago.
Hunter glances up. His hands loosen a small fraction at the mention of Georgie’s name and Stacy’s half assed attempt at a joke.
“It’s just so unfair—dad—he has no right in making you give this up and—”
“Stace…” Hunter starts. His hands considerably looser now as they turn back to their bronzed complexion. He bounces one knee and worries his lower lip, some small bits of facial hair dusting the skin around his mouth. “I know but this is my choice…really.”
“You don’t know Hunt!” Stacy turns on him, tripping over the too long him of the forest green sweatpants she’s wearing.
"What don't I know Stace?" Hunter's voice throws out, his body language changing again into a harsh stance, his eyes flashing darker. "What right do you have in trying to tell me how to live my life? You--the person who takes what they want and leave everything behind?"
"Hunt!" Stacy starts.
"No, Stace you need to hear this. You can't keep playing around with people to get what you want." Hunter's voice is softer now a little nicer even with the sting that his words cause Stacy. "Just because I like sculpting doesn't mean it’s practical. Dad's right—"
"Wrong," Stacy starts. This is about Hunter now and not her issues, even with her feelings hurt. “Dad’s wrong. You can go places with this.” Her tone changes a bit. Doesn’t he see? Stacy sits on the faux suede tan couch, curling her right leg under her to sit closer to Hunter’s side. “Your art is fantastic.” Stacy pokes Hunter in his side. “You’re good kid.” Stacy gives Hunter a smile, hiding her teeth behind her lips.
Hunter breathes out a laugh and a small smile peaks out from the corners of his mouth pushing a dimple into his left check. “You and Georgie think so.” He leans back, abandoning his rigid posture all the fight out of him for now.
There’s a crash outside. Dad’s in the shed. Him and mom are probably fighting about Hunter’s art again.
“I wish it was easier, ya know?” Hunter stares out the window that looks out over the backyard, the shed can’t be seen from here. “Not just for me but for everyone. Kids who want to do their own thing and not their parents’ dreams.”
“Yeah,” Stacy mumbles absentmindedly, leaning backwards as well. She brushes his shoulder with hers, the sleeves of their cotton t-shirts catch a little.
“Hey,” Hunter says to Stacy, catching her attention with the tone of voice he decided to use.
His eyes are softer again but his brows are drawn downward, casting worry across his face. Stacy gnaws on her bottom lip, the chap stick coming off as her teeth pull along it. “Yeah?” Stacy’s voice is small, hushed after the fight and what is about to come.
“I didn’t mean what I said before,” Hunter places his hand, palm up, on Stacy’s leg next to him. “I know it’s not easy on you now with David and everyth—”
“Don’t,” Stacy starts. “But thanks anyways…” Stacy places her hand in Hunter’s, the colors varying shades of coffee, his with a dash of creamer, a caramel tone, and hers as blonde as you can get it, more cream then coffee. She snuggles into the couch more, placing her head on Hunter’s shoulder. Another crash is heard outside.
********************************************************************************************************
(Stacy and her Mom)
“Finally, Friday oh how I’ve waited for you anxiously.” Stacy murmured while stripping her book bag and charcoal pea coat off along with the purple gloves and scarf. “I thought you had left me…no Dear John letter or nothing.”
“Stace, you are way weird sis.” Hunter’s wet boots thunked down by the door. His hair was wet from refusing to carry an umbrella earlier that morning.
Stacy rolled her eyes and scrunched up her face. “Whateva bro . Like you’re one to talk…coloring and scribbling away like its this new fad, people have been doing it for ages Hunt—” The house was hushed. Mom normally had Josh Groban or something or the kind playing softly in the background, it wasn’t on now.
Hunter stepped in front of Stacy. Did he notice the change in the house? “Mom, got any snackage? Kind of starved here being a growing boy and all.” He joked.
“Kitchen counter, there’s some peanut butter and crackers.” Stacy and Hunter’s mom’s voice called down from upstairs. “Stacy,” her voice is strained, “can you come up here for a bit?
Stacy starts up the stairs. Does she know? I only just told Rosalyn. Do you know? Stacy muses to a picture of her mom from her early years. Stacy moves past the picture, the carpet latches onto her checkered socks as she turns to the left towards her room. The door is open but Stacy closes it when she gets inside. If she knows Hunter doesn’t need to know. Stacy’s hand stays on the handle for a moment deciding if she really should close the outside off to her.
No. Not anymore. These things happen and I’m not doing it again. Nothing to worry about.
Stacy turns from the door to see her mom standing by the window; she was gray like the stormy sky outside, it’s the oldest I’ve seen her. Mom straightened up. Stacy noted as she shuffled towards her bed, throwing the comforter aside to sit on the sheets, they were cool to her hand. It was shaking. How long had she been here then? Her heart lurched forward. Were there any other secrets hiding under the piles of dirty socks and t-shirts that Stacy didn’t know about?
“Rosalyn called me today.” Stacy’s mom started. Her voice was tight, pulling on the rubber band of dread that wrapped around Stacy. “Mentioned that I should talk to you, there are some things that I should know now about the party you sneaked off to two weeks ago.” She knows!
“How’d you find out?” Stacy’s voice is small. I wish I was small; we wouldn’t be having this talk then. Rosalyn wouldn’t have ratted me out. Her brows drew down, changing her soft face into a hard plain. The poor sheets didn’t deserve such rage.
The silence was growing heavy, almost gaining a voice of its own. Just spit it out. Somebody. Anybody.
I can feel her eyes on me. Stacy looks up, she’s not mad…maybe? They just stare. I wish she would say something, anything. This quiet and watching is killing me. Stacy pulls at the threads harder. One gives.
Crash. “SORRY!” Hunter called out from downstairs. It sounded like he had dropped a glass and something else. At least it broke the silence.
“Stacy, please! Just tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Stacy’s voice clips. That was harsher then I meant it to be. Mom doesn’t deserve this. It’s not her fault that I’m hiding. Stacy looks up at her mother, Stacy’s words had hurt her, her sharp features are taunt. Stacy can see her mom worrying the inside of her cheek, Stacy does the same.
“Stacy,” Mom tries again. “Rosalyn said that something was wrong. That you aren’t ok. Pleas Stacy,” Stacy looks up, her bottom lip loosens and her eyes tear a little. She’s always so caring. “I want to know what I can do to help, you need to tell me.”
Stacy looks down again, picking away more at the comforter. I can’t look at her. “Please just drop it.” Stacy’s voice stops. Maybe I should tell her. It was sort of an accident, she’ll understand.
“Stacy,” Mom says. Another approach, soft and gentle. She doesn’t want to scare me off. I’m already scared. What if there are consequences? What if something happens, I’m not ready for any of this? Mom comes and sits by Stacy, taking away one of the hands tearing away at the blanket. “You’re making me worry dear. Honey, just tell me what’s wrong.”
She’s too caring. A tear slips, Stacy lets it roll down. Her hands itch, Stacy stops messing the comforter. Now…tell her now! “I told you, nothing’s wrong.” I’m a coward, Stacy thinks. I’m a liar.
“This is foolish Stacy.” Mom’s voice rises as she squeezes Stacy’s hand tighter. “I can tell something is the matter—”
“Nothing is the matter!” Stacy breaks through, shouting at her mother. There’s no need for this, Stacy thinks but she can’t help it. Its fight or flight and Stacy feels like she has been backed into a corner. Fight. Fight!
“Of course something is the matter. You wouldn’t be acting this way if everything was okay!” Mom yelled, feeding off of Stacy’s need to fight.
She has a point, Stacy thought. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her! TELL HER!
Stacy’s heart stuttered, it wasn’t suppose to be this hard she thought why isn’t my voice working? All the words Stacy wanted to share were stuck in her throat, it felt blocked, like it was filled with scratchy cotton.
“Stacy, honey, why won’t you just talk to me?” Mom asked. Her voice catches, it’s from the yelling. We never yell at each other. Mom slumps down against the headboard letting go of Stacy’s hand. Yelling won’t accomplish anything.
“I…I…mom. Just stop,” Stacy’s voice agonized. Couldn’t she see that I can’t tell her? Stacy keeps her eyes on her rumpled bedspread, picking at the edges again. I need to fix this. A few strands unravel from the worn comforter. All of it. Her hand stops.
“Mom,” it comes out quiet, small. I feel small, Stacy thinks; I wish I was small again. “It’s about…” Breathe in, breathe out. “That night Hunt and I sneaked out…we, uh, we,” more tears. Stop crying.
“Stacy its okay honey.” Mom wraps her arms around Stacy. I don’t deserve this. She always is here to understand, how far will it go until it breaks?
“There was this guy,” Stacy’s voice cracks. The words are hard to get past her throat. They want to stick to the walls and cling to the secret. No more secrets.
********************************************************************************************************
(Stacy and Hunter)
The first round is over but Stacy feels the need to continue. This was about Hunter and his future. This was something that shouldn’t be thrown aside so easily like junk mail. Stacy felt the strong need to help Hunter see that he should move on with his idea of a life—his own hopes for his future.
Their dad had stormed outside a moment ago. Mom had followed after him. It was just her and Hunter in the living room now, the echoes of yelling still hanging in the air like dust.
Stacy snaps; something like this doesn’t make sense to her. “Grow a pair Hunt!” She starts in. “It’s about what you want not what he wants!”
Hunter sits on the edge of the sofa; his feet are turned in slightly towards one another. His hands clench, changing his powdery bronze knuckles into a papery white color.
“You’re too good to give up on this!” Stacy’s up, pacing across the cream carpet, leaving heavy size eight and a half footprints criss-crossing one another over the fibers. The flat screen wobbles on the entertainment stand a bit, swaying with the stomps. “You have so much talent…do you know how much I would give to do the things you do? Or even what Georgie could do?” Stacy’s eyes plead with Hunter. His head is down obscuring his dark cocoa eyes behind a heavy layer of charcoal lashes and curly ebony hair. “I’d give my right arm and left pinky toe!” Stacy says, half joking to try and lighten the mood a bit from the arguing that had been happening since they got home from school, that had been two hours ago.
Hunter glances up. His hands loosen a small fraction at the mention of Georgie’s name and Stacy’s half assed attempt at a joke.
“It’s just so unfair—dad—he has no right in making you give this up and—”
“Stace…” Hunter starts. His hands considerably looser now as they turn back to their bronzed complexion. He bounces one knee and worries his lower lip, some small bits of facial hair dusting the skin around his mouth. “I know but this is my choice…really.”
“You don’t know Hunt!” Stacy turns on him, tripping over the too long him of the forest green sweatpants she’s wearing.
"What don't I know Stace?" Hunter's voice throws out, his body language changing again into a harsh stance, his eyes flashing darker. "What right do you have in trying to tell me how to live my life? You--the person who takes what they want and leave everything behind?"
"Hunt!" Stacy starts.
"No, Stace you need to hear this. You can't keep playing around with people to get what you want." Hunter's voice is softer now a little nicer even with the sting that his words cause Stacy. "Just because I like sculpting doesn't mean it’s practical. Dad's right—"
"Wrong," Stacy starts. This is about Hunter now and not her issues, even with her feelings hurt. “Dad’s wrong. You can go places with this.” Her tone changes a bit. Doesn’t he see? Stacy sits on the faux suede tan couch, curling her right leg under her to sit closer to Hunter’s side. “Your art is fantastic.” Stacy pokes Hunter in his side. “You’re good kid.” Stacy gives Hunter a smile, hiding her teeth behind her lips.
Hunter breathes out a laugh and a small smile peaks out from the corners of his mouth pushing a dimple into his left check. “You and Georgie think so.” He leans back, abandoning his rigid posture all the fight out of him for now.
There’s a crash outside. Dad’s in the shed. Him and mom are probably fighting about Hunter’s art again.
“I wish it was easier, ya know?” Hunter stares out the window that looks out over the backyard, the shed can’t be seen from here. “Not just for me but for everyone. Kids who want to do their own thing and not their parents’ dreams.”
“Yeah,” Stacy mumbles absentmindedly, leaning backwards as well. She brushes his shoulder with hers, the sleeves of their cotton t-shirts catch a little.
“Hey,” Hunter says to Stacy, catching her attention with the tone of voice he decided to use.
His eyes are softer again but his brows are drawn downward, casting worry across his face. Stacy gnaws on her bottom lip, the chap stick coming off as her teeth pull along it. “Yeah?” Stacy’s voice is small, hushed after the fight and what is about to come.
“I didn’t mean what I said before,” Hunter places his hand, palm up, on Stacy’s leg next to him. “I know it’s not easy on you now with David and everyth—”
“Don’t,” Stacy starts. “But thanks anyways…” Stacy places her hand in Hunter’s, the colors varying shades of coffee, his with a dash of creamer, a caramel tone, and hers as blonde as you can get it, more cream then coffee. She snuggles into the couch more, placing her head on Hunter’s shoulder. Another crash is heard outside.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Setting: School (Art Wing)
So here's the follow up mirror to setting. I know the last one had a lot of errors hopefully this one isn't as bad :P I may not be updating as fast now, finals are coming up (what?!? o.O) haha, hope you enjoy. Happy Reading!
********************************************************************************************************
It’s weird that the art wing of Hartford Public has the left over classes thrown in here too. There’s European History with Mr. Causey and Spanish with Senoria Stark (who isn’t really Hispanic but insists that her students call her by “Senora”) and Agriculture with Miss Bangerhimer (what an awful name). The only classes in the art wing that make since are the art classes. Theater, band, art, sculpting, and choir thrive in this hallway. There’s always noise thumping down the hall that spills out towards the cafeteria. Some teachers are surprised that anyone ever got anything done, especially in the unfortunate classes that teach practical things and not frivolous tricks like how to draw or act or sing. None of those things are practical.
Hunter and Georgie live in this wing. If Stacy and Rosalyn need either one of them this is the first place to look. They’re always doing something, Hunter wildling away on his latest sculpture and Georgie shuffling between after school sketching and the theater and choral department. It’s the only way Hunter has been able to reconnect with Georgie after middle school—their love for art allows him to redeem himself from being the jerk he had been in their past.
Sometimes Stacy and Rosalyn would be witness to Hunter and Georgie’s flirting. The way they become so involved with painting and each other was intense. Stacy always thinks of the scene from "Benny and Joon" where Joon and Sam finger-paint with oils, mixing the colors along the canvas and their hands, only going as far as touching one another’s fingers. But even with such a simple and un-provocative gesture the chemistry would rise to almost an uncomfortable level for outside viewers. Stacy and Rosalyn would feel intrusive sometimes during late afternoons in the art wing with the two younger teens because of the intimate connection they share for the other but refuse to admit.
When you first enter the wing there’s paint splashed against the wall from an angry student teacher (that’s what Hunter says), the mauve blemish seeps onto the floor leading away from it is the trail of an angry left shoe. The right must have not stepped into the pigment. The school board wanted to repaint the hall to have it back in the uniform white and blue of Hartford Public High School but the art students got a petition together and persuaded the board to leave it as is. Art is expression and emotion; you shouldn’t try to keep it silent. The students won and have been adding their own mark on the splash. Theater and music students have written their musings in black sharpie each using the language that they have learned over the years. Other colors join it and rough sketches bleed across the colors of blues, greens, and yellows. It seems to have been a rule not to add any colors similar to the original stain. It’s as if the hazy pink is the statement that others build off of and don’t want to remove from the original. It’s the art wings own torch, always kept lit.
Stacy likes coming down here, to see all the different people. She isn’t talented like the students that thrive and grow here but she loves the way they view life. Knee-jerk reactions and impulsive decisions. The art wing makes Rosalyn’s skin crawl; she likes an order to everything and the art wing, even with the thrown away classes meeting here, is far from that. Rosalyn is always a bundle of nerves down this wing. There are too many people being too impulsive, she can handle Stacy and Georgie just fine but sometimes it’s too much when surrounded by the spontaneous.
It smells of spit and primer all the time, the spit students could do without but the primer gives off different kinds of highs. There’s creation here—people’s ideas are allowed to run amuck down the hall and in-between the classrooms. Creatures inhabit the theater students changing life while notes and melody charge out of the mouths of the choral and band kids while the others capture it in their own type of firefly jar.
It’s quiet now as Stacy walks by the mauve badge of honor surrounded by the markings that pay homage. There are no flutes piping or potter wheels turning. There is a boy standing at the end of the hall, his back is turned as he rummages through his locker by the band room. Theses are the lockers that all of the band students use, some are bigger then others so the students instruments can fit in alongside their books and lunches. His is the biggest because he plays the tuba. Stacy never noticed his appearance before. When they had met both were kind of been past the point of coherent thoughts. He is broad on top, odd for needing a tuba to wrap around oneself during marching season. His right arm reaches into his locker pulling out a cumbersome case. It flexes under the weight, strong arms.
A Spanish book falls out on the ground. The noise being the only thing heard in the hallway. He bends down and notices Stacy. He stops. They stare. “Hi,” Stacy says. Small and timid. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
********************************************************************************************************
It’s weird that the art wing of Hartford Public has the left over classes thrown in here too. There’s European History with Mr. Causey and Spanish with Senoria Stark (who isn’t really Hispanic but insists that her students call her by “Senora”) and Agriculture with Miss Bangerhimer (what an awful name). The only classes in the art wing that make since are the art classes. Theater, band, art, sculpting, and choir thrive in this hallway. There’s always noise thumping down the hall that spills out towards the cafeteria. Some teachers are surprised that anyone ever got anything done, especially in the unfortunate classes that teach practical things and not frivolous tricks like how to draw or act or sing. None of those things are practical.
Hunter and Georgie live in this wing. If Stacy and Rosalyn need either one of them this is the first place to look. They’re always doing something, Hunter wildling away on his latest sculpture and Georgie shuffling between after school sketching and the theater and choral department. It’s the only way Hunter has been able to reconnect with Georgie after middle school—their love for art allows him to redeem himself from being the jerk he had been in their past.
Sometimes Stacy and Rosalyn would be witness to Hunter and Georgie’s flirting. The way they become so involved with painting and each other was intense. Stacy always thinks of the scene from "Benny and Joon" where Joon and Sam finger-paint with oils, mixing the colors along the canvas and their hands, only going as far as touching one another’s fingers. But even with such a simple and un-provocative gesture the chemistry would rise to almost an uncomfortable level for outside viewers. Stacy and Rosalyn would feel intrusive sometimes during late afternoons in the art wing with the two younger teens because of the intimate connection they share for the other but refuse to admit.
When you first enter the wing there’s paint splashed against the wall from an angry student teacher (that’s what Hunter says), the mauve blemish seeps onto the floor leading away from it is the trail of an angry left shoe. The right must have not stepped into the pigment. The school board wanted to repaint the hall to have it back in the uniform white and blue of Hartford Public High School but the art students got a petition together and persuaded the board to leave it as is. Art is expression and emotion; you shouldn’t try to keep it silent. The students won and have been adding their own mark on the splash. Theater and music students have written their musings in black sharpie each using the language that they have learned over the years. Other colors join it and rough sketches bleed across the colors of blues, greens, and yellows. It seems to have been a rule not to add any colors similar to the original stain. It’s as if the hazy pink is the statement that others build off of and don’t want to remove from the original. It’s the art wings own torch, always kept lit.
Stacy likes coming down here, to see all the different people. She isn’t talented like the students that thrive and grow here but she loves the way they view life. Knee-jerk reactions and impulsive decisions. The art wing makes Rosalyn’s skin crawl; she likes an order to everything and the art wing, even with the thrown away classes meeting here, is far from that. Rosalyn is always a bundle of nerves down this wing. There are too many people being too impulsive, she can handle Stacy and Georgie just fine but sometimes it’s too much when surrounded by the spontaneous.
It smells of spit and primer all the time, the spit students could do without but the primer gives off different kinds of highs. There’s creation here—people’s ideas are allowed to run amuck down the hall and in-between the classrooms. Creatures inhabit the theater students changing life while notes and melody charge out of the mouths of the choral and band kids while the others capture it in their own type of firefly jar.
It’s quiet now as Stacy walks by the mauve badge of honor surrounded by the markings that pay homage. There are no flutes piping or potter wheels turning. There is a boy standing at the end of the hall, his back is turned as he rummages through his locker by the band room. Theses are the lockers that all of the band students use, some are bigger then others so the students instruments can fit in alongside their books and lunches. His is the biggest because he plays the tuba. Stacy never noticed his appearance before. When they had met both were kind of been past the point of coherent thoughts. He is broad on top, odd for needing a tuba to wrap around oneself during marching season. His right arm reaches into his locker pulling out a cumbersome case. It flexes under the weight, strong arms.
A Spanish book falls out on the ground. The noise being the only thing heard in the hallway. He bends down and notices Stacy. He stops. They stare. “Hi,” Stacy says. Small and timid. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Setting and Description Assignment: Character's Room
The next assignment...setting!! So here it is. I'll actually slow the roll a smidge up here and post the mirror later this week since I have a bit more time to spread things out! Happy reading :)
********************************************************************************************************
Stacy’s room was always a mess. That’s what her mom and Rosalyn thought anyways. Stacy thought it was just an elaborate way of organizing things. She knew where everything was. The clean clothes were on the side of her bed she didn’t use while the dirty were on the floor (accept for the path that leads from the door to her unmade bed). What bit of the carpet you could see Stacy cleaned it, or actually Hunter did for ten bucks when Stacy had the cash. It wasn’t that hard to do Hunter always thought, you’re in then you’re out but it was easy money.
Her homework and other important things, like Stacy’s Vogue magazines and the Entertainment Weekly with the cast of Harry Potter interviews inside, were layered on top of each other and covered the surface of the faux wood top of her desk. The papers thrown across the surface rushed down into the chair positioned in front of the desk. Stacy still needed to change the light bulb for her desk lamp, it had gone out last month. Her shoes were thrown in the mouth of her closet, mismatching and integrating with one another, her left gym sneaker being the only one not present. It was poking out from under her bed and some clothes as if exiled from Shoe Mountain that lived in the recess of her closet.
There was a shelf up top of the empty close rack in the closet where one box lived. Her box of keepsakes that Stacy had squirreled away when her mother insisted on donating some items when Stacy was thirteen. Gert lives up there. His green fur is flattened from the loved he received before Stacy put him away next to school pictures and an old diary from when she was ten. Next to the box were her old yearbooks ranging from elementary school when Stacy had crossed Jordan’s face out with a black sharpie because he tried to kiss her during recess to the fake sentimental notes from high school students that really had no intention on calling the Stacy over the summer break.
Some of Stacy’s dresser drawers were open to relive nothing but one sock, whose partner had long been taken hostage by the dryer, and an old, ratty t-shirt that she had snatched from her dad’s drawer one day when she had needed to paint the house with Hunter. Everything else had already escaped or been thrown out in haste to find something to wear when Stacy felt that there wasn’t anything at all.
But her room was warm and a sanctuary for Stacy when she felt the world around her was moving too fast. The colors rose in the east their strength in hue welcoming and inviting to new hopes and dreams. Her accomplishments hung in the west, the wall covered in captured memories and posters. This wall stood beside her bed being a constant reminder of who she was and that was good enough, people loved her for who she was, the faces full of white teeth and the edges filled with laughter was a constant reminder.
Her favorite pictures were near her head so when she rolled over she was awoken by their faces. There was one from the night Rosalyn, Georgie, and Stacy were playing in the backyard in mud puddles after the rain when they were younger, if Stacy looked real close she could make out tiny lights from the fireflies that decided to join them that night dancing around their streaked faces. Next to this one was one taken last month when Rosalyn finally got her braces removed. All three girls were latched onto one another grinning so big that Stacy would smile looking at it—Rosalyn’s teeth were finally straightened. There were more of Stacy with Rosalyn and Georgie and some of her family but one that stuck out was of her and grandparents, all four of them trying to hug her and Hunter’s small forms. It was the only picture she had where all four were still alive and together with her and her brother. Only Stacy’s nanny was still alive but was struggling with her failing age and body.
The one thing that was neat in the whole room was the bookcase that sat at the foot of her bed. The books lined up in order, alphabetized by the author’s last name. Their heights varied, moving over the literature landscape with valleys and mountains that grew in the confines of the oak shelves. A lone figure swam along the dusty levels of Stacy’s bookcase. It was the dolphin trinket box that Stacy’s nanny had given her when she came back from a visit to Greece. The light would reflect off of the aqua incrusted top keeping a pair of earrings safe in the depths of its stomach. A few scented candles were rooted in front of her Narnia Series and Jane Austen Collection. They lived here when Stacy didn’t transplant them to other areas of her room, burning them while exploring a new world through the eyes of heroes and heroines or just to get rid of the odor that she thought came from the piles of dirty clothes and shoes.
Stacy would sometimes clean, organizing everything so it was neat and tidy. Her clothes folded and put away properly, color coded, her shoes lined up in neat rows along the bottom of her closet allowing easy access in snatching a pair up in a hurry, and her desk would have papers stacked and pens put away instead of it being a large mess of recyclable materials. This would only last a week, then the drawers and closet would reject the order and explode the articles that were neat out into the open
********************************************************************************************************
Stacy’s room was always a mess. That’s what her mom and Rosalyn thought anyways. Stacy thought it was just an elaborate way of organizing things. She knew where everything was. The clean clothes were on the side of her bed she didn’t use while the dirty were on the floor (accept for the path that leads from the door to her unmade bed). What bit of the carpet you could see Stacy cleaned it, or actually Hunter did for ten bucks when Stacy had the cash. It wasn’t that hard to do Hunter always thought, you’re in then you’re out but it was easy money.
Her homework and other important things, like Stacy’s Vogue magazines and the Entertainment Weekly with the cast of Harry Potter interviews inside, were layered on top of each other and covered the surface of the faux wood top of her desk. The papers thrown across the surface rushed down into the chair positioned in front of the desk. Stacy still needed to change the light bulb for her desk lamp, it had gone out last month. Her shoes were thrown in the mouth of her closet, mismatching and integrating with one another, her left gym sneaker being the only one not present. It was poking out from under her bed and some clothes as if exiled from Shoe Mountain that lived in the recess of her closet.
There was a shelf up top of the empty close rack in the closet where one box lived. Her box of keepsakes that Stacy had squirreled away when her mother insisted on donating some items when Stacy was thirteen. Gert lives up there. His green fur is flattened from the loved he received before Stacy put him away next to school pictures and an old diary from when she was ten. Next to the box were her old yearbooks ranging from elementary school when Stacy had crossed Jordan’s face out with a black sharpie because he tried to kiss her during recess to the fake sentimental notes from high school students that really had no intention on calling the Stacy over the summer break.
Some of Stacy’s dresser drawers were open to relive nothing but one sock, whose partner had long been taken hostage by the dryer, and an old, ratty t-shirt that she had snatched from her dad’s drawer one day when she had needed to paint the house with Hunter. Everything else had already escaped or been thrown out in haste to find something to wear when Stacy felt that there wasn’t anything at all.
But her room was warm and a sanctuary for Stacy when she felt the world around her was moving too fast. The colors rose in the east their strength in hue welcoming and inviting to new hopes and dreams. Her accomplishments hung in the west, the wall covered in captured memories and posters. This wall stood beside her bed being a constant reminder of who she was and that was good enough, people loved her for who she was, the faces full of white teeth and the edges filled with laughter was a constant reminder.
Her favorite pictures were near her head so when she rolled over she was awoken by their faces. There was one from the night Rosalyn, Georgie, and Stacy were playing in the backyard in mud puddles after the rain when they were younger, if Stacy looked real close she could make out tiny lights from the fireflies that decided to join them that night dancing around their streaked faces. Next to this one was one taken last month when Rosalyn finally got her braces removed. All three girls were latched onto one another grinning so big that Stacy would smile looking at it—Rosalyn’s teeth were finally straightened. There were more of Stacy with Rosalyn and Georgie and some of her family but one that stuck out was of her and grandparents, all four of them trying to hug her and Hunter’s small forms. It was the only picture she had where all four were still alive and together with her and her brother. Only Stacy’s nanny was still alive but was struggling with her failing age and body.
The one thing that was neat in the whole room was the bookcase that sat at the foot of her bed. The books lined up in order, alphabetized by the author’s last name. Their heights varied, moving over the literature landscape with valleys and mountains that grew in the confines of the oak shelves. A lone figure swam along the dusty levels of Stacy’s bookcase. It was the dolphin trinket box that Stacy’s nanny had given her when she came back from a visit to Greece. The light would reflect off of the aqua incrusted top keeping a pair of earrings safe in the depths of its stomach. A few scented candles were rooted in front of her Narnia Series and Jane Austen Collection. They lived here when Stacy didn’t transplant them to other areas of her room, burning them while exploring a new world through the eyes of heroes and heroines or just to get rid of the odor that she thought came from the piles of dirty clothes and shoes.
Stacy would sometimes clean, organizing everything so it was neat and tidy. Her clothes folded and put away properly, color coded, her shoes lined up in neat rows along the bottom of her closet allowing easy access in snatching a pair up in a hurry, and her desk would have papers stacked and pens put away instead of it being a large mess of recyclable materials. This would only last a week, then the drawers and closet would reject the order and explode the articles that were neat out into the open
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Voice and Age: Adulthood Assignment
Here is the "mirror" assignment with Stacy at forty years old receiving a gift of sorts. The next two will pop up over the weekend/beginning of the week. Happy reading!!
********************************************************************************************************
My blood pounds, fueling heat through my veins. I still feel cold—shocked, my fingers are numb, and the can of Lysol spray and sponge fall from their tips. This could not be happening. This can’t be here, not with my baby girl.
I can barley look at it. The plastic instrument sprouting up from among the empty toilet paper rolls, loose hair, and used q-tips. I could be over thinking this. It could be an applicator to a new brand of tampons. I almost allowed myself to believe it. The fumes from the disinfectant can I was using to scrub the shower allowed me to for a moment. My fingers shook as I reached out towards the nightmare that was in the wastebasket there was a roaring in my ears.
The front doors open, the screen one closing with a swish and click. I hear Rachel drop her bag down by the door with a thump; she was only a child—still going to high school, my hand stopped. Maggie’s nails click click click along the hardwood floor her tail thumping on the wall as she makes her way to great Rachel. I can hear Rachel mumble to the old Irish Retriever. “Mom, I’m going to Ben’s, just wanted to drop off my book bag and grab a snack.”
The screen door opens again as Rachel calls out to her ride outside, the front door closing with a whap while Maggie cries a little. She misses Rachel. She always does when Rachel is gone for too long. Maggie’s whimpers remind me that Rachel is growing up. My eyes shift back towards the waste basket. I have to know. To make sure she is still my little girl, still growing and not grown.
There’s the plus sign. Positive.
My heart jumps up to my throat, suffocating me, making me nauseas. I lean my head against the enamel, the coolness from the water fixated in the bowl doing nothing in easing the heat that’s rushing through my body, up my face. I’m having a hot flash.
“Rachel,” I call out. No...not her. “Rachel!” My voice is hysterical; I can't seem to calm down. I rush out of the bathroom that she shares with her little sister Kate.
“Mom? Are you ok?” Rachel calls out from the bottom of the stairs.
I rush down; the Pregnacy Test clinched in my fingers. Rachel is in the doorway to the kitchen, a bag of popped popcorn in her hands and Maggie circling around Rachel's feet trying to get a popped kernel or two.
She's so young, my little girl. “Rachel, is there something you should tell me?” I ask, looking pointedly at the bag of Act II Popcorn in my daughter's hands.
Rachel opens the bag, steam rising up and one last kernel popped. “Umm…well I got my history paper back. The one on the Crusades and stuff. Mrs. Tarantino gave me a—”
“Anything else?” How can she ignore the situation like this? “Anything that you have that’s been weighing you down?”
“Nooo…” Rachel chokes out through a mouthful of crunchy and soggy, buttery popcorn. “Not bat I can bink of.”
“Rachel, honey. Come with me please.” I say, it’s taking all of my calm to not rip into this situation. I thought we had raised her better then this. Smarter then this. What if it’s Bens? I stop short of sitting in the chair at the kitchen table. The light oak wood accents in the kitchen don’t warm me like they use to, like I had intended them to when dad had remodeled for me as a birthday gift three years ago.
She sits across from me, “Are you alright mom?” The snack now forgotten on the edge of the table, I move it as Maggie’s nose reaches up to try and take a sniff. She’s only fourteen and not done growing how can she house something inside of her that needs to sprout as well?
“I’m fine honey, are you?” I reach up and tug her caramel curls, they’re like baby curls.
“Mom. You’re starting to freak me out.” Rachel scoots her chair closer to mine. “Just say it. We can talk, I haven’t chang—”
I blurt it out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”
I watch Rachel closely, watching for any sudden changes or if she decides to bolt out to the car still waiting on her outside. Rachel’s tawny skin pales a little, the freckles along her nose and check bones jump out a bit. She opens her mouth, a look of confusion and hurt flash through her gray-green eyes. “I—I’m n-not!! I swear mom! It’s not mine.” Rachel says, sitting forward and looking me in the eyes. “I haven’t even, oh god! Mom you know I wouldn’t, I’m a virgin!”
My heartbeat returns to normal. Thank goodness I’m not going to be a grandmother yet. But then it catches again, “Who’s is it Rachel?”
Rachel’s back stiffens a smidge. Her voice is smaller but still as pleading, “I can’t tell you. Not right now. I promise I will when I can.”
“Rachel, this is serious. Whoever’s this is their parent needs to know.”
“I know—but I just can’t”
“Yes. You. Can. Rachel! I’m your mother and—”
A car horn shouts from outside. Rachel’s friends having a difficult time with waiting. “I can’t mom,” Rachel says in a rush, snatching the popcorn up and bolting out the door.
Maggie gets up from where she was laying down under the table to eat the spilled popcorn off the floor.
********************************************************************************************************
My blood pounds, fueling heat through my veins. I still feel cold—shocked, my fingers are numb, and the can of Lysol spray and sponge fall from their tips. This could not be happening. This can’t be here, not with my baby girl.
I can barley look at it. The plastic instrument sprouting up from among the empty toilet paper rolls, loose hair, and used q-tips. I could be over thinking this. It could be an applicator to a new brand of tampons. I almost allowed myself to believe it. The fumes from the disinfectant can I was using to scrub the shower allowed me to for a moment. My fingers shook as I reached out towards the nightmare that was in the wastebasket there was a roaring in my ears.
The front doors open, the screen one closing with a swish and click. I hear Rachel drop her bag down by the door with a thump; she was only a child—still going to high school, my hand stopped. Maggie’s nails click click click along the hardwood floor her tail thumping on the wall as she makes her way to great Rachel. I can hear Rachel mumble to the old Irish Retriever. “Mom, I’m going to Ben’s, just wanted to drop off my book bag and grab a snack.”
The screen door opens again as Rachel calls out to her ride outside, the front door closing with a whap while Maggie cries a little. She misses Rachel. She always does when Rachel is gone for too long. Maggie’s whimpers remind me that Rachel is growing up. My eyes shift back towards the waste basket. I have to know. To make sure she is still my little girl, still growing and not grown.
There’s the plus sign. Positive.
My heart jumps up to my throat, suffocating me, making me nauseas. I lean my head against the enamel, the coolness from the water fixated in the bowl doing nothing in easing the heat that’s rushing through my body, up my face. I’m having a hot flash.
“Rachel,” I call out. No...not her. “Rachel!” My voice is hysterical; I can't seem to calm down. I rush out of the bathroom that she shares with her little sister Kate.
“Mom? Are you ok?” Rachel calls out from the bottom of the stairs.
I rush down; the Pregnacy Test clinched in my fingers. Rachel is in the doorway to the kitchen, a bag of popped popcorn in her hands and Maggie circling around Rachel's feet trying to get a popped kernel or two.
She's so young, my little girl. “Rachel, is there something you should tell me?” I ask, looking pointedly at the bag of Act II Popcorn in my daughter's hands.
Rachel opens the bag, steam rising up and one last kernel popped. “Umm…well I got my history paper back. The one on the Crusades and stuff. Mrs. Tarantino gave me a—”
“Anything else?” How can she ignore the situation like this? “Anything that you have that’s been weighing you down?”
“Nooo…” Rachel chokes out through a mouthful of crunchy and soggy, buttery popcorn. “Not bat I can bink of.”
“Rachel, honey. Come with me please.” I say, it’s taking all of my calm to not rip into this situation. I thought we had raised her better then this. Smarter then this. What if it’s Bens? I stop short of sitting in the chair at the kitchen table. The light oak wood accents in the kitchen don’t warm me like they use to, like I had intended them to when dad had remodeled for me as a birthday gift three years ago.
She sits across from me, “Are you alright mom?” The snack now forgotten on the edge of the table, I move it as Maggie’s nose reaches up to try and take a sniff. She’s only fourteen and not done growing how can she house something inside of her that needs to sprout as well?
“I’m fine honey, are you?” I reach up and tug her caramel curls, they’re like baby curls.
“Mom. You’re starting to freak me out.” Rachel scoots her chair closer to mine. “Just say it. We can talk, I haven’t chang—”
I blurt it out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”
I watch Rachel closely, watching for any sudden changes or if she decides to bolt out to the car still waiting on her outside. Rachel’s tawny skin pales a little, the freckles along her nose and check bones jump out a bit. She opens her mouth, a look of confusion and hurt flash through her gray-green eyes. “I—I’m n-not!! I swear mom! It’s not mine.” Rachel says, sitting forward and looking me in the eyes. “I haven’t even, oh god! Mom you know I wouldn’t, I’m a virgin!”
My heartbeat returns to normal. Thank goodness I’m not going to be a grandmother yet. But then it catches again, “Who’s is it Rachel?”
Rachel’s back stiffens a smidge. Her voice is smaller but still as pleading, “I can’t tell you. Not right now. I promise I will when I can.”
“Rachel, this is serious. Whoever’s this is their parent needs to know.”
“I know—but I just can’t”
“Yes. You. Can. Rachel! I’m your mother and—”
A car horn shouts from outside. Rachel’s friends having a difficult time with waiting. “I can’t mom,” Rachel says in a rush, snatching the popcorn up and bolting out the door.
Maggie gets up from where she was laying down under the table to eat the spilled popcorn off the floor.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Voice and Age: Childhood Assignment
Our first assignment in YA fiction. I had to write Stacy receiving a present from her point of view as a five year old. I'll try and post the "mirror" to this one (its a similar assignment that's in our journal) soon and some more over the weekend. Happy reading!
********************************************************************************************************
“When will Grandma get here?” I ask. Hunter is crying, again. I want to plug his mouth with a roll Mommy took out earlier. He’d look like a piggy with an apple in his mouth. Maybe an apple would be better…
“…Daddy should be at the airport now.” Mommy says. She has the potatoes under water “washing” them. But they always stay brown. And brown is dirty—like Daddy’s fingers and boots when he comes home.
Hunter screams. I didn’t do it!
Mommy calls me over. “Give Hunter his paci.”
“Here Hunter,” I stuff the icky wet paci back in his mouth. Gross! “No Hunter!” I cry, pulling Gert back towards me. Away from Hunter’s drool and safer by me. My Gert! Mine!
“Stacy, please.” Mommy says, the water is still running.
I squeeze Gert closer to my chest, my arms hurt and I shut my eyes. “No!” I feel funny, warm and mean. “Gert—my hippo.”
Something brushes past my arm. It tickles. “Goodness Stacy.”
I open my eye—everything is squinty. Then there she is. “Grandma!”
“Shhh…” Grandma whispers. Her finger on her lips, like the teacher in school when we get too loud. “Come with me Stacy.” She whispers. Her hand is smooth and stretches under her wedding rings. I like holding her hand, I can play with the rings and watch them sparkle. Grandma’s hands are always soft, like the blanket Mommy wraps me in when I’m not feeling well.
Grandma holds me close. She smells like Hunter after Mommy or Daddy change him. Fluffy. Her clothes are cool though, smooth, like her hands. I love Grandma. “What did you bring me?”
Grandma laughs softly, it feels like my tummy is growling. “Let me hug you Stacy-Bear.” Her arms wrap around me. My eyes close, they feel heavy. Sleepy.
Grandma hums a song to me. Its pretty. It moves up and down, softly. “Stacy,” she says. I can feel it in my fingers, Gert feels it in his toes. “would you like your gift now?”
My present?! I jerk up, clutching Gert to me again. Presents! “Yeah!” I squeal, bouncing up and down on her lap. “Presents!!”
Grandma sets me on the couch, “Wait here Stacey-Bear.” And she moves away. Her bags are by the door still, she picks up a small brown bag with a green ribbon on top. I like green. Gert is green. Apples are green. Mommy says that Hunter is green but I don’t know how—he’s Daddy’s color.
The bag is crackly under my hands. “Can I open it Grandma?” I ask, I want to rip it open. Gert can help, but he’s on the floor now.
Grandma’s hand is on my head, petting my hair. It’s tangled. “Of course Stacy.” My smile is big—hurting my cheeks. I can’t wait! The ribbon is tight. Grandma has to help me open it.
********************************************************************************************************
“When will Grandma get here?” I ask. Hunter is crying, again. I want to plug his mouth with a roll Mommy took out earlier. He’d look like a piggy with an apple in his mouth. Maybe an apple would be better…
“…Daddy should be at the airport now.” Mommy says. She has the potatoes under water “washing” them. But they always stay brown. And brown is dirty—like Daddy’s fingers and boots when he comes home.
Hunter screams. I didn’t do it!
Mommy calls me over. “Give Hunter his paci.”
“Here Hunter,” I stuff the icky wet paci back in his mouth. Gross! “No Hunter!” I cry, pulling Gert back towards me. Away from Hunter’s drool and safer by me. My Gert! Mine!
“Stacy, please.” Mommy says, the water is still running.
I squeeze Gert closer to my chest, my arms hurt and I shut my eyes. “No!” I feel funny, warm and mean. “Gert—my hippo.”
Something brushes past my arm. It tickles. “Goodness Stacy.”
I open my eye—everything is squinty. Then there she is. “Grandma!”
“Shhh…” Grandma whispers. Her finger on her lips, like the teacher in school when we get too loud. “Come with me Stacy.” She whispers. Her hand is smooth and stretches under her wedding rings. I like holding her hand, I can play with the rings and watch them sparkle. Grandma’s hands are always soft, like the blanket Mommy wraps me in when I’m not feeling well.
Grandma holds me close. She smells like Hunter after Mommy or Daddy change him. Fluffy. Her clothes are cool though, smooth, like her hands. I love Grandma. “What did you bring me?”
Grandma laughs softly, it feels like my tummy is growling. “Let me hug you Stacy-Bear.” Her arms wrap around me. My eyes close, they feel heavy. Sleepy.
Grandma hums a song to me. Its pretty. It moves up and down, softly. “Stacy,” she says. I can feel it in my fingers, Gert feels it in his toes. “would you like your gift now?”
My present?! I jerk up, clutching Gert to me again. Presents! “Yeah!” I squeal, bouncing up and down on her lap. “Presents!!”
Grandma sets me on the couch, “Wait here Stacey-Bear.” And she moves away. Her bags are by the door still, she picks up a small brown bag with a green ribbon on top. I like green. Gert is green. Apples are green. Mommy says that Hunter is green but I don’t know how—he’s Daddy’s color.
The bag is crackly under my hands. “Can I open it Grandma?” I ask, I want to rip it open. Gert can help, but he’s on the floor now.
Grandma’s hand is on my head, petting my hair. It’s tangled. “Of course Stacy.” My smile is big—hurting my cheeks. I can’t wait! The ribbon is tight. Grandma has to help me open it.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Fiction for Young Adolescents
So, right now I'm taking a writing class for "Young Adolescent" Fiction. It's so great because for the next month I'll be updating at least once a week (maybe TWICE)! So our first assignment was to create a character "mug shot" and flush out a character that we plan on sticking with for the rest of the term. I actually created Stacy two years ago but for the purpose of this class, I'm working with a younger version of her (I might post her "older" self after this project is done). I always liked her but couldn't figure out where she was going so maybe if I can figure out where she has been I can figure out where she will be in ten years (that felt like it went in a round about way-lol). Hope you like the basics of Stacy and everything to follow!!
**********************************************************************************************************
VITAL STATISTICS
Name: Stacy Mason Baroque
Age: 18
Sex: Female
Height: 5’ 2”
Weight: 120 lbs give or take (maybe 130 lbs)
Address: 9409 Beaver Ave. Hartford CT, 06105
(Describe neighborhood)—A family neighborhood but kind of “rustic” (the houses are close but NOT on top of one another)
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
Hair color: Auburn (from the bottle—her natural color is a mousy brown)
Eye color: Gray-green
Face shape: Heart shape, her nose is a little round at the end and her chin is soft
Hairstyle: Curly (natural) and past the shoulders, layered
Race or ethnic background: Caucasian
Distinguishing characteristics (scars, tattoos, birthmarks, moles, etc.): Has a tattoo after a drunken night at a celebratory soccer party (its on her hip and its of a sparrow). Has freckles across her nose, shoulders, and down her arms.
HABITS, CHARACTER TRAITS, WAY OF LIFE, PASSIONS, FEARS, ETC.
Is X sloppy or neat? Very sloppy
X's favorite food(s): Tater tots, chicken, peanut butter, watermelon (any melon really), tuna, bologna and mustard sandwiches, and zucchini. Loves anything chocolate too. (Hates eggplant and pineapple. Can’t stand the smell of cooked butter)
Does X own or drive a car? If so, describe: Not right now, she’s been grounded (remember that drunken night and the tattoo-yeah that’s why). If she wasn’t grounded she would be driving a 1989 White Beretta (maroon interior) that she calls “Otis”
What time does X get up in the morning? Right before her ride leaves at the very last minute (around 8:30)
What are X's hobbies? Hanging out with Rosalyn and George, dancing in her bedroom to K-Pop, running (she doesn’t do it often but enjoys it), playing in the rain, swinging, cooking. Likes to go to open mics to listen and would love to go to a Renaissance fair one year to find herself a knight and a rouge for Rosalyn (she needs to loosen up).
What kind of underwear does X wear? Boy briefs
X's perfume, cologne, or after shave: Bath and Body Works’ White Tea and Ginger (her dad got it for her one year for Christmas and Stacy loved the scent). She also uses Vera Wang Rock Princess (for special occasions), which is a little more abrasive like Stacy is.
DESCRIBE X' PARENTS:
MOM
Name: Judith Nell (maiden name) Baroque
Age: 43
Sex: Female
Height: 5’ 4”
Weight: 150 lbs
Brief personality sketch (3 sentences)
Wants the best for her kids but has a tendency to push them too far (creates tension from the hope of them succeeding). Her and Stacy have a harder time getting along but Stacy knows she can go to her mom with things that she couldn’t with her dad. She has curls and brown hair (like Stacy) with blue-gray eyes. Her nose is pointed (more like Hunter’s) and her other features are sharp. She works at the Hilton managing and arranging rooms for guests and events. Isn’t as “rough around the edges” as her husband (they balance each other out).
DAD
Name: Thomas Lucas Baroque
Age: 40
Sex: Male
Height: 5’ 11”
Weight: 250 lbs (mot from muscles—just weight gain)
Brief personality sketch (3 sentences)
Seems to favor Stacy more (they share some common interests, like music) and pushes Hunter into sports (something that Hunter doesn’t want to pursue). Has dark features (hair, eyes, skin) with a softer face—part Grecian. He works with his hands (does construction and landscaping) so they are permanently dirty and callused.
What was X's favorite toy as a child? A green hippo named Gert
How many brothers and sisters does X have? One brother (Hunter James), younger (he is 16). Wanted to be a pilot but is colorblind. Likes art, even if he can’t see all the colors, and possibly wants to be a sculptor. His dad doesn’t like this. Has his dad’s dark features, his mom’s curls and sharp lines. Is 5’ 10” and still growing. Also harbors feelings for George but is embarrassed still by the way he has treated her before.
Does X have any illnesses or health problems? If so, what? She is slightly unhinged, weather it’s a mental problem or part of her personality it’s unclear.
What is X's favorite song? At the moment, Ingrid Michelson’s song “You and I” and SHINEE’s “Ring Ding Dong”
X's favorite books, magazines, or movies: Likes Romantic Comedies (movies and books—likes Meg Cabot’s work) but her favorite movie is Anastasia.
Who is X's hero, the person X admires most? Right now, no one really, but she does come to respect and depend on her friend Rosalyn (look at the friend bios for more info)
At what age did/will X have his/her first sexual experience? Sixteen. Stacy hooked up with a band geek at a party (he played the tuba). Told Rosalyn (and her mom, eventually) that the whole experience was surreal and all she wanted to do was laugh at how absurd it seemed. Regrets having sex with a nameless boy and wishes she had waited to have sex with someone she cared about. Hasn’t had any serious boyfriend (just serious make out buddies) since.
Does X have any pets? Her parents think that they (the family) are too busy to deal with the “hassle” of having a pet.
What is X's greatest fear? Being totally out of control
Typical clothing for X? Where does X shop for clothes? Not really into the “scene” of things. She’s a simple girl and wears what she wants for the day. Jeans and a tshirt, maybe a dress the next day. A lot of solid colors (jeweled and earthy tones) and a few patterns (plaid, striped) but no character tees. Is gradually starting to like wearing heels (she is short) but when she wants comfort she grabs her ratty converse sneakers. She shops pretty much anywhere to expand her wardrobe in interesting ways (but doesn’t really like to shop).
Where does X go to school? Briefly describe it: Hartford Public High School—the second oldest public secondary school and home of the blue and white owls. The school is motivated to make their students the best citizens that they can be through academics and athletics. There’s also a kind of “speak easy” among the students where they can get anything they want (tickets to concerts, alcohol, weed, drugs, cigarettes, ids, hall passes, etc)
Briefly describe X’s friends, focusing on at least two. Be sure to name them:
1.Rosalyn Anne Tuthe: Stacy’s best friend. She is everything Stacy is not. She is stable, predictable, reliable and not impulsive (something that is everything Stacy is). Because Rosalyn is so stable she does not think of (romantic) relationships as something important but rather a waste of time. She is extremely loyal though and when Stacy flakes out some she is there for her afterwards. Is an only child and her father is AWOL. A tall (5’ 6”-5’ 8”) blonde (straight hair-to her middle back) with a long nose, full lips, and thick eyebrows (in a fierce way) over light brown eyes. Her sense of style reflects her overall view on life—no fuss clothing. 18 ½ years old.
2.Georgiana (Georgie, George) Kate Reuben –Hunter’ former best friend. When the two went to middle school Hunter left her hanging (girls are gross mode) even though she still came over she hung out with Rosalyn and Stacy more. Likes everything and all things Asian/Korean (introduced Stacy to K-Pop) and has a huge crush on Hunter. Is like the little sister Stacy never had. Appearance: Short in stature like Stacy (5’ 2”). Has a square jaw and full bottom lip with a strong, straight nose and big blue eyes framed by long lashes and thick eyebrows. Is Caucasian (fair skinned) with dark wavy hair that is cut above her shoulders with bangs that can be styled across and to the side. Wears bright colors and loud patterns and favors an old leather jacket that was her funky aunt’s. Lives with her aunt and uncle, (her mom up and left when she was 2 and her father died in a gas explosion at work) two older brothers and a younger cousin. 16 years old.
What time does X go to bed at night? Very late—Stacy’s a night owl (around 2-3am), this is probably why she sleeps in as late as she does
When X grows up and gets a full time job, X would like to be: Stacy is unsure of what to do but by the time she’s 24 she is working with Rosalyn at a publishing company (whether she is an assistant or a fellow publisher/editor I’m not sure yet…I’ve worked with an older Stacy before for a little bit but I haven’t gone this in depth with her, I’ve always liked her but didn’t know where to continue so maybe starting over with her at a younger age can help me progress onward with her).
Does X have a current summer or after-school job? If so, describe it: Yes, works at a Popsicle shop, Henry’s Pops. Her hands are always cold and feel stiff, and she hates the hat Henry (the owner) insists on his employees to wear when he is there. Has to endure rowdy kids during the summer and parents who couldn’t care about what their children do. Enjoys her job (other then the kids) and has gained five pounds from working there because she typically sneaks one or two Popsicles each time she works.
X's most recent dream: Stacy dreamed that she was eaten up by a turtle while surfing, this is why she is going through a phase where she refuses to go to the beach.
Does X eat balanced meals? Why or why not? Not really, she does take her health into account but if there is a choice between a cheeseburger with fries over a salad she’d rather eat the burger, have it now before her body metabolism changes.
What does X do on vacations or weekends? Family vacations are few, but when they do happen her and Hunter stick together and tease their parents (good naturally). On the weekend she is typically with Rosalyn doing pretty much anything. They hang out at each others houses, do silly photo ops, go to the movies, go to open mics, play in the park, etc.
Wish fulfillment: something X has never done, but dreams of doing. At least once in his or her life, X wishes he/she can have a chance to: To be married, in love (the “real” kind in books and movies), and a mother. A/N: She is young and a spastic romantic, this lifestyle is appealing some days.
**********************************************************************************************************
VITAL STATISTICS
Name: Stacy Mason Baroque
Age: 18
Sex: Female
Height: 5’ 2”
Weight: 120 lbs give or take (maybe 130 lbs)
Address: 9409 Beaver Ave. Hartford CT, 06105
(Describe neighborhood)—A family neighborhood but kind of “rustic” (the houses are close but NOT on top of one another)
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
Hair color: Auburn (from the bottle—her natural color is a mousy brown)
Eye color: Gray-green
Face shape: Heart shape, her nose is a little round at the end and her chin is soft
Hairstyle: Curly (natural) and past the shoulders, layered
Race or ethnic background: Caucasian
Distinguishing characteristics (scars, tattoos, birthmarks, moles, etc.): Has a tattoo after a drunken night at a celebratory soccer party (its on her hip and its of a sparrow). Has freckles across her nose, shoulders, and down her arms.
HABITS, CHARACTER TRAITS, WAY OF LIFE, PASSIONS, FEARS, ETC.
Is X sloppy or neat? Very sloppy
X's favorite food(s): Tater tots, chicken, peanut butter, watermelon (any melon really), tuna, bologna and mustard sandwiches, and zucchini. Loves anything chocolate too. (Hates eggplant and pineapple. Can’t stand the smell of cooked butter)
Does X own or drive a car? If so, describe: Not right now, she’s been grounded (remember that drunken night and the tattoo-yeah that’s why). If she wasn’t grounded she would be driving a 1989 White Beretta (maroon interior) that she calls “Otis”
What time does X get up in the morning? Right before her ride leaves at the very last minute (around 8:30)
What are X's hobbies? Hanging out with Rosalyn and George, dancing in her bedroom to K-Pop, running (she doesn’t do it often but enjoys it), playing in the rain, swinging, cooking. Likes to go to open mics to listen and would love to go to a Renaissance fair one year to find herself a knight and a rouge for Rosalyn (she needs to loosen up).
What kind of underwear does X wear? Boy briefs
X's perfume, cologne, or after shave: Bath and Body Works’ White Tea and Ginger (her dad got it for her one year for Christmas and Stacy loved the scent). She also uses Vera Wang Rock Princess (for special occasions), which is a little more abrasive like Stacy is.
DESCRIBE X' PARENTS:
MOM
Name: Judith Nell (maiden name) Baroque
Age: 43
Sex: Female
Height: 5’ 4”
Weight: 150 lbs
Brief personality sketch (3 sentences)
Wants the best for her kids but has a tendency to push them too far (creates tension from the hope of them succeeding). Her and Stacy have a harder time getting along but Stacy knows she can go to her mom with things that she couldn’t with her dad. She has curls and brown hair (like Stacy) with blue-gray eyes. Her nose is pointed (more like Hunter’s) and her other features are sharp. She works at the Hilton managing and arranging rooms for guests and events. Isn’t as “rough around the edges” as her husband (they balance each other out).
DAD
Name: Thomas Lucas Baroque
Age: 40
Sex: Male
Height: 5’ 11”
Weight: 250 lbs (mot from muscles—just weight gain)
Brief personality sketch (3 sentences)
Seems to favor Stacy more (they share some common interests, like music) and pushes Hunter into sports (something that Hunter doesn’t want to pursue). Has dark features (hair, eyes, skin) with a softer face—part Grecian. He works with his hands (does construction and landscaping) so they are permanently dirty and callused.
What was X's favorite toy as a child? A green hippo named Gert
How many brothers and sisters does X have? One brother (Hunter James), younger (he is 16). Wanted to be a pilot but is colorblind. Likes art, even if he can’t see all the colors, and possibly wants to be a sculptor. His dad doesn’t like this. Has his dad’s dark features, his mom’s curls and sharp lines. Is 5’ 10” and still growing. Also harbors feelings for George but is embarrassed still by the way he has treated her before.
Does X have any illnesses or health problems? If so, what? She is slightly unhinged, weather it’s a mental problem or part of her personality it’s unclear.
What is X's favorite song? At the moment, Ingrid Michelson’s song “You and I” and SHINEE’s “Ring Ding Dong”
X's favorite books, magazines, or movies: Likes Romantic Comedies (movies and books—likes Meg Cabot’s work) but her favorite movie is Anastasia.
Who is X's hero, the person X admires most? Right now, no one really, but she does come to respect and depend on her friend Rosalyn (look at the friend bios for more info)
At what age did/will X have his/her first sexual experience? Sixteen. Stacy hooked up with a band geek at a party (he played the tuba). Told Rosalyn (and her mom, eventually) that the whole experience was surreal and all she wanted to do was laugh at how absurd it seemed. Regrets having sex with a nameless boy and wishes she had waited to have sex with someone she cared about. Hasn’t had any serious boyfriend (just serious make out buddies) since.
Does X have any pets? Her parents think that they (the family) are too busy to deal with the “hassle” of having a pet.
What is X's greatest fear? Being totally out of control
Typical clothing for X? Where does X shop for clothes? Not really into the “scene” of things. She’s a simple girl and wears what she wants for the day. Jeans and a tshirt, maybe a dress the next day. A lot of solid colors (jeweled and earthy tones) and a few patterns (plaid, striped) but no character tees. Is gradually starting to like wearing heels (she is short) but when she wants comfort she grabs her ratty converse sneakers. She shops pretty much anywhere to expand her wardrobe in interesting ways (but doesn’t really like to shop).
Where does X go to school? Briefly describe it: Hartford Public High School—the second oldest public secondary school and home of the blue and white owls. The school is motivated to make their students the best citizens that they can be through academics and athletics. There’s also a kind of “speak easy” among the students where they can get anything they want (tickets to concerts, alcohol, weed, drugs, cigarettes, ids, hall passes, etc)
Briefly describe X’s friends, focusing on at least two. Be sure to name them:
1.Rosalyn Anne Tuthe: Stacy’s best friend. She is everything Stacy is not. She is stable, predictable, reliable and not impulsive (something that is everything Stacy is). Because Rosalyn is so stable she does not think of (romantic) relationships as something important but rather a waste of time. She is extremely loyal though and when Stacy flakes out some she is there for her afterwards. Is an only child and her father is AWOL. A tall (5’ 6”-5’ 8”) blonde (straight hair-to her middle back) with a long nose, full lips, and thick eyebrows (in a fierce way) over light brown eyes. Her sense of style reflects her overall view on life—no fuss clothing. 18 ½ years old.
2.Georgiana (Georgie, George) Kate Reuben –Hunter’ former best friend. When the two went to middle school Hunter left her hanging (girls are gross mode) even though she still came over she hung out with Rosalyn and Stacy more. Likes everything and all things Asian/Korean (introduced Stacy to K-Pop) and has a huge crush on Hunter. Is like the little sister Stacy never had. Appearance: Short in stature like Stacy (5’ 2”). Has a square jaw and full bottom lip with a strong, straight nose and big blue eyes framed by long lashes and thick eyebrows. Is Caucasian (fair skinned) with dark wavy hair that is cut above her shoulders with bangs that can be styled across and to the side. Wears bright colors and loud patterns and favors an old leather jacket that was her funky aunt’s. Lives with her aunt and uncle, (her mom up and left when she was 2 and her father died in a gas explosion at work) two older brothers and a younger cousin. 16 years old.
What time does X go to bed at night? Very late—Stacy’s a night owl (around 2-3am), this is probably why she sleeps in as late as she does
When X grows up and gets a full time job, X would like to be: Stacy is unsure of what to do but by the time she’s 24 she is working with Rosalyn at a publishing company (whether she is an assistant or a fellow publisher/editor I’m not sure yet…I’ve worked with an older Stacy before for a little bit but I haven’t gone this in depth with her, I’ve always liked her but didn’t know where to continue so maybe starting over with her at a younger age can help me progress onward with her).
Does X have a current summer or after-school job? If so, describe it: Yes, works at a Popsicle shop, Henry’s Pops. Her hands are always cold and feel stiff, and she hates the hat Henry (the owner) insists on his employees to wear when he is there. Has to endure rowdy kids during the summer and parents who couldn’t care about what their children do. Enjoys her job (other then the kids) and has gained five pounds from working there because she typically sneaks one or two Popsicles each time she works.
X's most recent dream: Stacy dreamed that she was eaten up by a turtle while surfing, this is why she is going through a phase where she refuses to go to the beach.
Does X eat balanced meals? Why or why not? Not really, she does take her health into account but if there is a choice between a cheeseburger with fries over a salad she’d rather eat the burger, have it now before her body metabolism changes.
What does X do on vacations or weekends? Family vacations are few, but when they do happen her and Hunter stick together and tease their parents (good naturally). On the weekend she is typically with Rosalyn doing pretty much anything. They hang out at each others houses, do silly photo ops, go to the movies, go to open mics, play in the park, etc.
Wish fulfillment: something X has never done, but dreams of doing. At least once in his or her life, X wishes he/she can have a chance to: To be married, in love (the “real” kind in books and movies), and a mother. A/N: She is young and a spastic romantic, this lifestyle is appealing some days.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
New Layout and an Update…
So I normally don’t write about myself here but I figured that I had some explaining to do. And the biggest thing is that I’m so bogged down by school work that when (or if rather) I have any time I’m kind of zoned out and just want to not do anything-lol. Finals and papers are coming up and will end sometime in May and then I have a month off before summer school (eck). But hopefully I’ll be able to update more frequently because in my first summer term I have a writing class for fiction!!!! And my second summer term should be lighter with absolutely no English classes to worry about!! No reading extra novels and books for quizzes (if I want to read then it’ll just be for fun!). Then I’ll be back with more English classes but that’ll be okay because then I’ll only have ONE more semester left! EVER!! MUWHAHAHAHA!!!
There have been so many changes in my life (but they have happened to other people in my life—it’s their story to tell not mine). But one thing I can share is that I got a betta the other day (he’s awesome).
His name is….Voldermort!! On nice days he’s called Voldie, when he’s feeling especially cool he calls himself Lord V, when he sees his reflection he considers it by his birth name Tom, and when he’s unreasonable he is HE-WHO-SHALL-NOT-BE-NAMED!! Haha. Because of my lovely betta he has inspired me to further my fish collection under Harry Potter names (I even have some fish picked out specifically for certain names). So excited!!
I’m going to go now…just figured I’d explain my absence here…it saddens me to not write like I enjoy to! (And by the way--credit to my sister Tiffany for the picture...check out her work here: https://www.facebook.com/Tiffany-Dyer-Photography or here: http://tbdphoto.tumblr.com/)
There have been so many changes in my life (but they have happened to other people in my life—it’s their story to tell not mine). But one thing I can share is that I got a betta the other day (he’s awesome).
His name is….Voldermort!! On nice days he’s called Voldie, when he’s feeling especially cool he calls himself Lord V, when he sees his reflection he considers it by his birth name Tom, and when he’s unreasonable he is HE-WHO-SHALL-NOT-BE-NAMED!! Haha. Because of my lovely betta he has inspired me to further my fish collection under Harry Potter names (I even have some fish picked out specifically for certain names). So excited!!
I’m going to go now…just figured I’d explain my absence here…it saddens me to not write like I enjoy to! (And by the way--credit to my sister Tiffany for the picture...check out her work here: https://www.facebook.com/Tiffany-Dyer-Photography or here: http://tbdphoto.tumblr.com/)
Monday, February 14, 2011
From Me To You (With Love)
It's been a really long time since I've posted anything but I finally had time!!! So here's my Valentine's to you!!
(and in case you can't get enough love here are two word of the days even though I didn't use them)
inveigle: to persuade or obtain by ingenuity or flattery
buss: to kiss, a kiss
************************************************************************
Stupid allergies…I can’t walk two steps without sneezing. This is so embarrassing! Looking like a sick, disease infested vermin on Valentine’s Day!! Chandler thought as her champagne colored hair blew across her face catching on her lips in the mint flavored lip balm.
“Tissue?” asked Sadie while stretching her hand out towards her runny-nosed cousin.
Chandler took the tissue and blew into it. She cringed at the noise coming from her nose and the looks she got from a group of cute guys walking past the table they were sitting at Jackson’s Java. After making sure nothing was hanging out Chandler mumbled, “I hate when the seasons change. My allergies just flare up.”
“Cheer up,” Sadie stopped to take a long sip from her caramel mocha extra whip macchiato. “It’ll be warm again soon and then I can finally wear those shots I bought from Plato’s Closet without leggings. My legs miss the sun!”
Chandler just rolled her eyes and stirred the spoon in her house coffee. Sometimes she wondered how her and Sadie could be so alike yet so different. Chandler hated the idea of warm weather. Everything was so hot and you couldn’t cool down. And if you had leather seats in your car your legs stuck to it…gross. Chandler loved the cooler temperatures, the scarves and jackets, the way one could accessorize in layers and not look obsessive. Sadie was different. She liked flirty, dreamy skirts and shorts and flip-flops. It was great that they lived together off campus together though—and that they were the same size.
“By the way, Uncle Andrew called this morning when you were in class. I think him and mom and dad are throwing a get together next weekend and wanted us to come.” Chandler said breaking off a bit of her scone.
“Is it for my dad’s work?” Sadie asked, her mossy-colored eyes snapping back towards Chandler after she ogled the cart boy from Harris Teeter.
Chandler nodded. Sometimes Sadie could be so transparent. “Yeah, Bobby and his family are probably going to be there too—”
“I have a test to study for.” Sadie said really fast and taking another long sip from her cooled coffee.
“He bothers me too Sadie. Bobby is another level of slime. But it’s also Auntie Nick’s birthday and I know your mom won’t be too happy if you decide to ditch.” Chandler said. “And you’re bluffing anyways…you know you won’t study so you might as well and come home with me.”
“Argh!!” Sadie growled out, slamming her head onto the table, her mousy ponytail flipping over and fanning out around her head. “Why do you have to be right?” She grumbled out.
Instead of feeding her cousin’s melodramatic nature Chandler changed the subject. “Wanna get a movie tonight? I got a Redbox code this morning.”
Slouching back up and placing her chin in her hand Sadie answered, “No romance. We’re single and today romance sucks. If it was tomorrow it would be ok—candy is half off and I could eat chocolate on everything and be ok with gushy love crap.”
Chandler laughed. Sadie had a point. It didn’t bother Chandler that much that she was single but today, with her runny nose, Valentine’s Day had a new level of crappiness (especially with people staring every time she blew her nose-she couldn’t help it!). “I was thinking more along the lines of Sex and the City one and two…”
“That still has love in it—” Sadie started.
“I know, but Sadie, be honest,” Chandler said, looking into the girl across from her eyes. “We’re going to go to pick out a movie and you’re going to want to watch a love story—you always do. So it’s either that or we watch Disney movies and laugh and giggle and swoon when the guy does the right thing and wish we had a lucky cricket or a hair braiding raccoon or a pet tiger because inside—we’re kind of huge romantic saps at heart.”
“You do realize that was a really long speech for just saying “Let’s go home, order hot wings, and wear our sweats while we fall asleep on the couch to cartoon musicals.” Sadie said, already getting her things in order so they could leave and start the movie marathon.
“Yeah, so that leaves me with one question,” Chandler said, throwing her empty coffee cup away and grabbing her keys off the table. “Which unrealistically prince do you want to see swan in and sweep us off our feet?”
(and in case you can't get enough love here are two word of the days even though I didn't use them)
inveigle: to persuade or obtain by ingenuity or flattery
buss: to kiss, a kiss
************************************************************************
Stupid allergies…I can’t walk two steps without sneezing. This is so embarrassing! Looking like a sick, disease infested vermin on Valentine’s Day!! Chandler thought as her champagne colored hair blew across her face catching on her lips in the mint flavored lip balm.
“Tissue?” asked Sadie while stretching her hand out towards her runny-nosed cousin.
Chandler took the tissue and blew into it. She cringed at the noise coming from her nose and the looks she got from a group of cute guys walking past the table they were sitting at Jackson’s Java. After making sure nothing was hanging out Chandler mumbled, “I hate when the seasons change. My allergies just flare up.”
“Cheer up,” Sadie stopped to take a long sip from her caramel mocha extra whip macchiato. “It’ll be warm again soon and then I can finally wear those shots I bought from Plato’s Closet without leggings. My legs miss the sun!”
Chandler just rolled her eyes and stirred the spoon in her house coffee. Sometimes she wondered how her and Sadie could be so alike yet so different. Chandler hated the idea of warm weather. Everything was so hot and you couldn’t cool down. And if you had leather seats in your car your legs stuck to it…gross. Chandler loved the cooler temperatures, the scarves and jackets, the way one could accessorize in layers and not look obsessive. Sadie was different. She liked flirty, dreamy skirts and shorts and flip-flops. It was great that they lived together off campus together though—and that they were the same size.
“By the way, Uncle Andrew called this morning when you were in class. I think him and mom and dad are throwing a get together next weekend and wanted us to come.” Chandler said breaking off a bit of her scone.
“Is it for my dad’s work?” Sadie asked, her mossy-colored eyes snapping back towards Chandler after she ogled the cart boy from Harris Teeter.
Chandler nodded. Sometimes Sadie could be so transparent. “Yeah, Bobby and his family are probably going to be there too—”
“I have a test to study for.” Sadie said really fast and taking another long sip from her cooled coffee.
“He bothers me too Sadie. Bobby is another level of slime. But it’s also Auntie Nick’s birthday and I know your mom won’t be too happy if you decide to ditch.” Chandler said. “And you’re bluffing anyways…you know you won’t study so you might as well and come home with me.”
“Argh!!” Sadie growled out, slamming her head onto the table, her mousy ponytail flipping over and fanning out around her head. “Why do you have to be right?” She grumbled out.
Instead of feeding her cousin’s melodramatic nature Chandler changed the subject. “Wanna get a movie tonight? I got a Redbox code this morning.”
Slouching back up and placing her chin in her hand Sadie answered, “No romance. We’re single and today romance sucks. If it was tomorrow it would be ok—candy is half off and I could eat chocolate on everything and be ok with gushy love crap.”
Chandler laughed. Sadie had a point. It didn’t bother Chandler that much that she was single but today, with her runny nose, Valentine’s Day had a new level of crappiness (especially with people staring every time she blew her nose-she couldn’t help it!). “I was thinking more along the lines of Sex and the City one and two…”
“That still has love in it—” Sadie started.
“I know, but Sadie, be honest,” Chandler said, looking into the girl across from her eyes. “We’re going to go to pick out a movie and you’re going to want to watch a love story—you always do. So it’s either that or we watch Disney movies and laugh and giggle and swoon when the guy does the right thing and wish we had a lucky cricket or a hair braiding raccoon or a pet tiger because inside—we’re kind of huge romantic saps at heart.”
“You do realize that was a really long speech for just saying “Let’s go home, order hot wings, and wear our sweats while we fall asleep on the couch to cartoon musicals.” Sadie said, already getting her things in order so they could leave and start the movie marathon.
“Yeah, so that leaves me with one question,” Chandler said, throwing her empty coffee cup away and grabbing her keys off the table. “Which unrealistically prince do you want to see swan in and sweep us off our feet?”
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
It's January...
Starting over…that’s the point of a new year. A clean slate. A blank canvas. It’s all for a new, bright start. So yes…a new year is a good thing.
But it reminds one of what they never did-never got to experience. Maybe it’ll push that person into a frame of mind that causes them to strive for success in the past failed endeavors. Or maybe it’ll push them into a deeper place inside themselves that makes them questions everything causing them to fail in even more possibilities.
I am NOT the later. I plan on changing things. I plan on being the blank canvas and allowing the brushstrokes of life to create a masterpiece that is worth far more than any amount of dollars. I am priceless…even now at the beginning stages.
So here are some resolutions (and none that are too unrealistic)….
1.I plan on working on that small picture book and have it finished before 2012 (since the world is ending-haha). I have the basic idea; it’s just time to finalize it all.
2.I plan on changing myself (in a good way and not in one where I throw away my old self…). I want to open up more. I want to not be miserable some days-I deserve to be happy every day and I plan on making that happen. This one is going to be harder to do…sometimes I feel as if no one is supporting me. I know my parents are but the impact (or lack of) from peers hurts and causes me to question. Encourage me and I will try to encourage you in your plans for the future.
This is the first personal post I’ve done. I hope it makes you realize as it has made me come to a few conclusions. I’ll try and post a writing next time, one that this blog was intended for. If not maybe I’ll post something old that’s not on here. Either way-next time you read my words they will transport you into a world where my heart isn’t so open. And where the characters from my mind do most of the talking.
But it reminds one of what they never did-never got to experience. Maybe it’ll push that person into a frame of mind that causes them to strive for success in the past failed endeavors. Or maybe it’ll push them into a deeper place inside themselves that makes them questions everything causing them to fail in even more possibilities.
I am NOT the later. I plan on changing things. I plan on being the blank canvas and allowing the brushstrokes of life to create a masterpiece that is worth far more than any amount of dollars. I am priceless…even now at the beginning stages.
So here are some resolutions (and none that are too unrealistic)….
1.I plan on working on that small picture book and have it finished before 2012 (since the world is ending-haha). I have the basic idea; it’s just time to finalize it all.
2.I plan on changing myself (in a good way and not in one where I throw away my old self…). I want to open up more. I want to not be miserable some days-I deserve to be happy every day and I plan on making that happen. This one is going to be harder to do…sometimes I feel as if no one is supporting me. I know my parents are but the impact (or lack of) from peers hurts and causes me to question. Encourage me and I will try to encourage you in your plans for the future.
This is the first personal post I’ve done. I hope it makes you realize as it has made me come to a few conclusions. I’ll try and post a writing next time, one that this blog was intended for. If not maybe I’ll post something old that’s not on here. Either way-next time you read my words they will transport you into a world where my heart isn’t so open. And where the characters from my mind do most of the talking.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)