Writing - Bus Stop

Bus Stop

Day Five of 30 Day Challenge – The Male Perspective

Writing prompt from www.shesnovel.com
One evening, no editing.

There she was. Finally.

I’d been waiting at the bus stop for an hour so I could “accidentally” bump into her there. I’d let six buses go by.

She came and stood in the bus shelter beside me. Beside me? Or just near me? Was there a difference? Why was my heart pounding so much already?

She must have sensed my anxiety because she looked over at me and smiled that body-melting smile. If she had a super power, it would be turning men’s legs into Jell-O.

That was my chance.

“Hey, so I know we’ve been chatting for weeks but I don’t think I actually know your name. Mine is Tim.”

“Well hi Tim, it’s nice to meet you. My name is June.”

June. So fitting. So perfect. Of course her name was summer and heat and fun.

Now what? What else am I supposed to say?

“So… where are you going today June?”

“Oh just heading off to work! What about you, Tim?”

Quick. I had to think of something. Something good. Something exciting. But not too exciting. Something that would make me seem smart. I looked up into her Jolly Rancher green eyes.

“The library!”

“Well that’s interesting.”

Nailed it.

Shoot. The bus was coming. It was now or never.

“Actually the library is quite interesting. Maybe you would like to come with me some time? We could grab coffee afterwards? Maybe dinner?”

The way her eyes sparkled and the ends of her lips curled into a smile I knew I was getting somewhere.

“Why Tim that is so nice of you to ask. You seem like such a great guy.”

Good, good. Keep going.

“But I just don’t know if that would work out. We’re very different, you and I.”

That’s where I interjected. “Different is good! Different keeps things exciting.”

She actually broke into a laugh. And broke my heart.

“It definitely would be exciting.” She grinned. “How about we make a deal? In six years if you’re still interested you can give me a call. I’m very flattered. Really. Have a fantastic time at the library, Tim.”

And just like that she was gone. It was the first time I had ever been rejected. The first time I had let my heart out of its cage, and the first time it was shattered.

I had started the day a twelve year old boy. I ended it a man. 

Writing - The Dance

The Dance

Day Three of 30 Day Challenge – Third Person Omniscient

Writing prompt from www.shesnovel.com
One evening, no editing.

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This was it. Donald’s moment to shine. As he stepped onto the dance floor a quiet hush fell across the room. Even the bride and groom reverently vacated their prime position in the center of the hall for him.

He was nervous. Nervous, yes, but also exhilarated. Sixteen months he had waited for this chance. 

Sixteen long months since his niece Tiffany and her fiancée James had been married. Sixteen excruciating months of suffering through the soul-crushing jokes and unnecessarily cruel taunts from his family. Sixteen eternal months of embarrassment.

He could dance! Of course he could dance! He was a master dancer!

He slowly took his position, lowered his head, and waited.

The first beat started his feet. The second, his knees. The third, his hips. The music was his puppet master and he its marionette. As he looked up for a quick glance at his audience he caught the eye of his daughter, Brielle.

She was beaming. She had never been as proud of her Daddy as she was right now. He was doing it! All the hours she had put in to teaching him were paying off. She watched as he nailed each pivot turn, landed each jump. She couldn’t believe how well he was doing.

After the last wedding her Dad had come to her with one request:

“Help me.”

She had spent hours on Google trying to figure out how to teach someone to dance. Daddy was her project. She would fix him. They had practiced this routine until he could do it in his sleep. One time she needed a glass of water in the middle of the night and thought she actually did catch him doing it in his sleep. He was that determined. She was that great a teacher.

In the weeks leading up to the wedding Brielle had even missed a sleepover at Ashley Clarke’s house so she could help her Dad master his moves. Ashley. Clarke. This was that important to her.

Brielle turned to her mother.

“Isn’t Daddy the best, Mom?”

Susan smiled grimly down at her daughter.

“He’s sure something else!”

She was mortified. As if it wasn’t enough that she had to live with an aspiring Fred Astaire who danced more like he was falling down stairs, but did it have to be so public? So loud? So in front of so many people?

Susan looked behind her and saw the smug self-satisfied grin on her sister Joan’s face. Perfect. Why did her husband have to be the embarrassing one? Joan’s husband was having a serious discussion in a corner of the room with an important looking businessman. Why couldn’t her husband be talking politics instead of gettin’ jiggy with it?

And that’s when it happened.

Donald zigged when he should have zagged.

As he tripped over himself and landed in a tragic heap on the floor, Susan knew it was more than just his ankle that was crushed. As he struggled to stand, Susan heard a tiny cry from somewhere near her elbow. She looked down to see Brielle’s hands clasped around her throat. She saw the defeated, mortified, apologetic look Donald gave their daughter. She watched as a single tear formed in Brielle’s eye.

No.

They had worked too hard and for too long for this to be the end of it. She grabbed Brielle’s hand and marched her into the center of the room, directly beneath the sparkling disco ball.

“Brielle, let’s do this.”

And with Susan and Brielle supporting him under his armpit and elbow, respectively, the little family proceeded to dance their hearts out.

Everyone agreed it was the best rendition of the Chicken Dance they had ever seen.

Writing - Potty Break

So I've decided to do the 30 Day Writing Challenge from www.shesnovel.com to get me prepped for NaNoWriMo. Each day she sends you a topic to write on or POV to write from and a prompt to get you started. It's great!

I actually wrote this first day's challenge about a month ago. I freaked out when it wasn't The Best Ever and haven't touched my keyboard since. 

Realizing how ridiculous that is, I've now come to my senses and will continue to attempt this awesome feat of creativity! 

This will definitely be a learning curve for me so bear with me as I reteach my fingers how to put interesting things down in words. Give me as much feedback as you'd like! The more brutal the honesty the better.

Okay, not better. And please don't be brutal.

I'm just going to post them as I write them - no editing!

Wish me luck, and I'll see ya on the other side, folks!

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The Dance

Day One of 30 Day Challenge – First Person

Writing prompt from www.shesnovel.com

One evening, no editing.

Walking into the club I was immediately hit with a pungent wave. A sea of alcohol, sweat, and hormones enveloped me and made me gasp for air.

“Katie! Over here!”

Sara, barely audible over the crashing music and bodies, gestured for me to join her table. I hadn’t wanted to come tonight. Especially here. Nashville is a decently sized city, so the chances of running into someone you know are really quite slim. But I was tempting fate to be here at the bar where I’d met him.

It was hard to believe it had already been four years since we’d first locked eyes. So much had happened since then. So much history had been made. So much water under the bridge.

“I’m so glad you came! I thought you were going to ditch us again…”

It was hard not to roll my eyes at her.

“Well I had to do something to stop my phone buzzing. You must have sent me 20 messages! I was about to file a restraining order.”

Her nervous laughter splashed me across the drinks. Scanning the floor I saw a few more of our friends whom she had invited. Sara was always the planner. I don’t even think she took a dump without scheduling it in her calendar.

“So we’re going to stay here till one, then head over to Mocha for karaoke night! It’s going to be super fun.”

I seriously doubted that.

I nestled myself into the corner of the table facing outwards, so I could keep an eye on who was coming over. Not only did I not want to see him, I didn’t want to see his friends either. I couldn’t stand one more condescending stare or patronizing pat on the shoulder.

Everyone knew that he had cheated on me. The real mystery however, was with whom he had done it. I yelled and screamed for hours, but he refused to give me a name. This meant, obviously, that I knew who she was. I had tried guessing to see if his face would reveal anything, but not so much as a ripple passed over it. I eventually collapsed on the floor of my kitchen, wracked with sobs. He turned and left.

Sara and I had a few drinks, with people coming, chatting, and leaving us again. Eventually she said,

“Hey, can you hold my phone for me? I need to use the potty.”

I hated that she called it that. What was she, seven? I had half a mind to ask her.

“Yeah, sure,” came out of my mouth instead.

It wasn’t even a minute later when I saw his frizzy head of hair floating through the room. A good head taller than most people he was pretty hard to miss. Great.

I thought he had seen me, so I tried to sink into my chair and become invisible. His eyes skimmed over everything he was looking at until they rested on something to my left. Thank goodness. Apparently nature was calling him as well as Sara.

On a whim I decided to check her phone and see if she had actually scheduled her potty break. I probably shouldn’t have been taking a sip of my drink at the time because when I snorted with laughter most of it came out through my nose. She actually had it written there.

Potty break. 12:35

And then I saw what was written beneath it.

Bradley. 12:40

A river of rage coursed through my body. Her? Seriously? Her? How many times had we laughed at the way she orchestrated every outing, micro-managed every detail of her life? How many times had he hid behind her, pretending to type furiously into his phone whenever she was making new plans? I had to say something.

I didn’t know what I was going to say. Screaming profanities was always a good route. Not that those had really gotten me anywhere when we broke up. Then I thought of how satisfying it would be to walk in on them and say something really mature. Take the high road. Embarrass them with my superior words.

I stood up, straightening my shirt and flattening my hair. I wanted to look good while I drowned them in humiliation. Marching straight to the bathroom and ignoring the line up, I shoved the door open, catching him with his hands tangled around her body. I took a deep breath. Put on my best holier-than-thou face. Raised my eyebrows.

“Her?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“She’s just so… punctual.”

The dam burst.

And that was the moment I decided some lessons were better taught with fists than with words.

A Brave New World

Well, I guess it was inevitable.

I'm going to write a book.

I'm going to participate in National Novel Writing Month and try to verbal diarrhoea my way to 50,000 words in 30 days!

I may lose sleep, lose track of my children, lose my hair, and lose my sanity, but by Jove I'll give 'er all I've got!

Geronimo!

Boring Lawyers

Backstory:

My brother Kevin was reading to my daughter and she asked him what all the copyright information was on the inside of the front cover. He told her it was "boring lawyer stuff." 

So now any time there's something remotely technical in our house we call it "boring lawyers."

Here's my boring lawyers stuff:

Writing graphic by Webalys from Flaticon is licensed under CC BY 3.0. Made with Logo Maker