Posts from the ‘Words’ Category

750 Words

I miss NaNoWriMo. I had someone to kick my ass and get me to write something every day, even if it did turn out to be shit. After it ended, I kept going, riding on the tails of my own success for about a month. and then the post-NaNo slump set in.

My motivation was lost. Why write, if the only reason I did it was to cleanse the inside of my head?

I drank a lot of coffee.

I painted.

I briefly considered taking up smoking and being a hipster. Both were entirely to gross for my liking.

Last month, I saw a light at the end of my tunnel. 750 Words. I’m saved! This site is what NaNo was, only year round. As you might guess, the goal is to write 750 words a day. It’s unedited, uncensored, and completely private, so you can basically write whatever the hell you want without worrying about anything. There are even monthly challenges to enter, where you basically just write for the whole month, and at the end you earn some sort of badge that goes on your profile.

This is like finding Jesus, only it wasn’t dead.

There’s A Brick Wall Inside My Head

It’s not apparent to the naked eye.

Still, maddening.

I fret, I worry, I pull at my hair.

I hurl fruitless abuse at my computer.

Still the blank white field mocks me.

Daring me to defile its virgin page.

I wish I were not so creative.

I’m Great At Lists

I actually stole this from a thread on Scribophile, but in turn I’m pretty sure they took it from somewhere else, so I’m just spreading the love, because I think it’s awesome. It’s basically about what makes a good character, enjoy!

1-      Every scuffed shoe and stained collar provides reams of information for your reader, and makes your job easier.

2-      Every character, whether major or minor is motivated by something.

3-      Rather than describing your character through physical appearance, try creating a sense of who he is and how he looks based on what he does and how he moves.

4-      It’s only through writing and rewriting that characters finally gain their feet and become well defined.

5-      Good characters almost never see themselves as others do.

6-      Interview or observe someone who shares your character’s experience.

7-      Characters are what they do.

8-      Part of a character’s identity is what others say about him.

9-      If the circumstances change, is okay for the characters to change too.

10-  Physical description is not characterization.

11-  First impressions are important: when a character first shows up in a story, readers start to like them or dislike them right away.

12-  It is always good to give characters endearing imperfections. Humans are not perfect.

13-  Murder will only make a character into a villain if he commits the crime for selfish reasons, and if the crime harms people who don’t deserve to be hurt.

14-  No one likes to read the dull parts of a character’s life. In our own journals we tend to write down only what was interesting, skipping the boring parts of the day.

15-  Everyone alive has habits and characters should too.

16-  Don’t allow your characters to do stupid or illogical things.

17-  Character transformation can be one of the most powerful effects in any story.

18-  The highest character qualities are forgiveness and self-sacrifice.

19-  Characters shouldn’t always act in character. People are not always predictable.

20-  All stories are character driven.

Something to Share

Because I’m an attention whore, read this. 

I watched the party from the shadows. Always from the shadows now. They were my home, though I could hardly call my cloak of darkness new. Inside the pool of light men and women that had once been my peers danced and laughed. Gaily colored silk skirts fluttered in time to the rousing music and tapping of the mens’ shoes, and I drank in the human noise of laughter and clinking glassware. Closing my ruby eyes, I breathed in deeply, fighting the iron hunger in my stomach that the scent of their blood always brought. In the ten years since my passing I had gained control of my monstrous nature, though I still found more struggle than my maker, who seemed to glide effortlessly through our very unnatural life.

“You know it gives you fits to watch them, Sweet.” a familiar voice floated to my ear on a cool breath at the nape of my neck and rough fingers stroking my brunette curls, held fashionably in place by pins and ribbons. If I was in a dour mood before this unexpected visitor, it was certainly not improved with his sudden appearance.

“I’ll not have your hands on me, Jack McCray! You will ruin my hair.” I said evenly through my teeth, ducking away from his attention and turning round, only to nearly hit the solid wall of his body. In death he retained the fit frame of his enlisted youth, good looks and charm and strength brawny enough to make me feel like a child beside him, immortalized forever. Pursing my lips, I gathered the skirt of my dress and slipped past him, ignoring the cocky smirk on his handsome face.

“Where would you rather I put my hands then, darlin’?” he asked as he followed, and I felt my back stiffen in offence. Whirling, I lifted a hand to slap him, only to have his fingers close round my wrist in an iron grasp, though he didn’t hurt me. Instead, I found my back against one of the stone pillars that supported the covered veranda we stood on, and Jack’s tall body entirely too close to mine for my own personal comfort. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” he murmured huskily, releasing my wrist and stroking back a stray tendril of my hair. If my heart had been beating I’m certain it would have fluttered, but it wasn’t, and I forced my interest away in favor of scowling up at him. “I’d ask why you insist on torturing yourself by watching them, but I know already.”

“And I supposed your great knowledge tells you why the sun rises and sets as well?” I replied wryly, desperately wanting to steer the subject away from my own pain. Casually, he rested an arm on the pillar above my head, bringing us within kissing distance, and for a moment I thought he would do just that. Instead, he studied me, dark eyes tracing a line from the grown of my hair, to my eyes and nose, down to the curve of my lips, to the gentle path of my throat down the valley of my breasts. He spent none of his usual crude amount of time ogling my substantial bosom before returning to my face.

“You can’t fool yourself any longer, Mateline.” he said quietly. “That life is behind you now. Far behind you. It will only end in pain if you keep skulking about the edges of their light. We are the dark, now.”

“Do not…lump me in, with you!” I pressed my lips together and looked away in distaste. One of his rough hands cupped my jaw, and forcibly turned me back to meet his blazing eyes.

“Oh that’s right, you fancy yourself a lady!” he practically sneered. “D’you think you’re above the monsters like me? Just because you take blood from- from painters and musicians and the like, you think you’re better than me and the prostitutes I take?” I blushed at the blunt truth of his words, and bit back a yelp of protest when he forced his mouth down on mine. His tongue snaked into my mouth, and a shudder took me as I tasted the fresh blood he still carried. Ashamed, I kissed him back, parting my lips willingly and feeling- savoring- the hard crush of his body on mine, demanding that I yield. My thighs were parted by one of his, rubbing crudely against my core, and with this rude intrusion came the return of my sense as well.

Shoving him back, I slapped his cheek and hissed “Don’t you ever touch me again!” As I stalked off, half driven to tears and fury, I heard his mocking laughter float through the air behind me.

“My whores taste the same as your nobles, Sweet, the sooner you realize that the better!” he called softly after me, and I was grateful that he made no move to come after me.

In the villa by the river, which I shared with my maker and a handful of mortal servants, I swept through the door to my chambers in a fit. Curtly dismissing my maid Analise, I yanked at the laces of my dress, sweeping through them like tissue paper in my anger. I was left with the shreds of my ruined dress between my trembling fingers, and as the tears came I let them fall freely down my cheeks, sobbing unashamedly and burying my face against the torn silk. After a moment, cool hands cupped my shoulders, turning me into the chest of my maker, Gaston.

“What has upset you so, my lamb?” he inquired gently, and I turned tearful eyes into his delicately featured face.

“That wretched man Jack McCray!”

“Oh, come now, what has he done this time?”

“He kissed me without permission Papa, and he said- he said some very hurtful things.” I replied. Gaston nodded, taking my dress and tossing it aside before setting me down in front of my vanity and beginning to unpin my hair. It was a soothing routine between the two of us, though our closeness was odd among our own kind. I knew he had made another before me, and lost him, and I think it was the reason he doted on me so. “I suppose that’s not entirely fair.” I muttered morosely after a moment of silence. “It was not his words that stung so much as the truth behind them.”

“That is often the case with dear Jack.” Gaston replied calmly, setting aside the last ribbon and picking up my favorite brush to begin working through my hair in long, measured strokes. “He’s a very perceptive lad. Again with the issue of your taste in blood?” I nodded, and heard him chuckle behind me. Though it made me want to scowl, I resisted, trying hard not to sound petulant as I protested, turning around in my seat to look up at him.

“I do not choose artists out of disdain! I love what their blood brings me. There’s nothing compared to drinking from a high musician and spending the rest of the evening lost in the notes of symphony.” I said, a faint smile touching my face as I remembered so many warm evenings spent in just that manner. “It is hardly my fault that a simpleton like Jack McCray can’t appreciate such pleasure.” That made Gaston laugh out loud, and he cupped my face, smiling down at me.

“Oh lamb, you do bring me such joy.” he said. “Try not to let Jack upset you. I will speak with his maker tomorrow evening at the soiree our dear friend Delilah is having. She returned to our city this past night, and wishes to greet her old friends.” I smiled, as Delilah was a favorite of mine despite being well over a hundred years old, and nodded. Putting the evening’s events out of mind, I stood and kissed his cheek, bidding him a restful day’s sleep before finally allowing my maid to help me into my evening gown in preparation for the coming dawn.

The next evening found me in my best silk gown, an affair done in shades of cream and pink that complimented my figure quite nicely. In the years since my turning I had only seen Delilah a handful of times, but she still greeted me warmly, taking my hands in hers and kissing each of my cheeks.

“Darling girl! It has been too long!” she cooed. “If I get a moment of time you must tell me all about the latest news and fashions.” Smiling graciously, I nodded, and we moved on into the small gathering of our kin that had come to her lavish mansion. Gaston soon pardoned himself to go and stand by the fire with the other men, lighting a pipe and smoothly joining whatever mechanical conversation they were having. That left me to the womenfolk, and I was soon immersed in talk of silk merchants and gossip until it was time for the dancing to start. At that point I drifted to the row of plush chairs along the wall, dropping neatly into one and sitting with my back straight like mother had taught me, fanning myself lightly. Barely a beat went past before a handsome man blocked my view of the floor. Tall and well formed, he kept his suit immaculate as well as his pale blond hair, tied back loosely. Bowing formally, he gave me a charming smile along with his introduction.

“Pardon the intrusion, but you are far too lovely to remain seated. My name is Colin Cromwell, may I have the pleasure of this dance?” Flattered, I gave him my hand and stood, fighting back a girlish blush as he pressed his lips ever so briefly against my knuckles.

“You may.” I replied, joining him on the polished marble floor where other couples were waltzing. Placing a hand on one of his shoulders, I allowed him to cup my other hand in his, and followed his lead gracefully. “Gracious, where are my manners. I am Mateline DeLuc, present with my maker, Gaston Echarpe.” Colin smiled again, showing off a delightful set of dimples in his cheeks, and inclined his head to my maker over my shoulder.

“Truly, your maker shows excellent taste. Am I wrong in guessing your country of origin is France? My mistress Delilah and I were recently there on holiday. Lovely place, if I do say so myself.” For the rest of the song we were immersed in quiet conversation, and it wasn’t until the middle of our second dance that I finally realized what had been bothering me. We were being watched. In the process of my natural movements I happened to meet a familiar set of eyes, and found Jack positively glowering at Colin! Now what was that about? Dismissing it, I focused on my enchanting partner, determined not to let Jack ruin a good thing. At the end of the dance I begged pardon from a third, claiming pain in my feet, and Colin, delightfully mannered as he was, escorted me to a chair along the side and left with another gentle kiss to the back of my hand. Almost immediately he was snatched up eagerly by one of the other young ladies in attendance, and I was pleased to see that though he was polite, he showed her none of the special interest he’d taken in me. Abruptly, my glowing mood was halted though, as Jack appeared in front of me.

“Have a word with me.” he said tersely, and I frowned lightly at him.

“Not with that tone I won’t!” I sniffed, folding my arms and looking away. There was the distinct sound of him grinding his teeth, and a short sigh escaped him.

“Very well then.” he said. “May I request a short walk in the garden with you…please?”

“That’s better.” I replied, standing and accepting his arm in order to escort me outside. The night was warm, pressing intimately against my skin almost like a living thing, and I breathed in the perfume of Delilah’s garden with a smile as we walked among the rose bushes and carefully groomed flowers. For awhile Jack didn’t say anything, until we were far back among the shadows. There, he turned me to face him, and I gave him an expectant look.

“I apologize.” he said bluntly, and my brows raised in surprise. Jack McCray apologized to no one! Yet here he was, with a distinctly reluctant look on his face, like a child that had been told off. Which, in light of my maker’s words last night, the comparison was not all that far from the truth if Gaston had kept his word. “My actions last night were rude. I was right…but I probably could have found a better way to tell you so.” A short burst of laughter startled out of me, and I shook my head a little.

“I don’t think you have it in you to admit you were wrong, so I’ll take your apology at it’s best intention.” I said. “Thank you. But was it necessary to haul me all the way out here to tell me?” Still in a good mood from Colin’s conversation, I couldn’t resist teasing Jack a little. “Or were you simply trying to keep me from accepting another dance with my new friend Colin?” His expression went dark again, and I saw his shoulders stiffen at the same time as a surprising revelation struck me. “Jack…are you jealous?”

“Of that self important twat?” he snorted derisively. “Hardly!” Ignoring his language, I rolled my eyes at him and placed my hands on my hips.

“Then why were you glaring a hole in the back of his head?”

“Because a blond pretty boy like that wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you.” he replied, sarcasm creeping into his tone as he added “And I just hate to see you waste your precious time with someone who’s more’n likely to fancy your maker over you.” My mouth dropped open in outrage, and he took full advantage of that by kissing me again. While I was still reeling from the sudden contact he kept me off guard by thrusting his tongue into my mouth yet again, and this time he helped himself to a double handful of my pert bottom as well. That brought me directly against his body on more points than I cared to think about, though it didn’t seem to bother the animal part of my brain much- seeing as I was suddenly giving serious though to letting him to take me right there in the garden!

Again, as with last night, there was a merciful interruption before I was entirely lost. This time, in the form of Colin stumbling upon us. Immediately I disentangled myself, turning bright red and threatening to hit Jack.

“Will you kindly desist from kissing me every time I stand still long enough!” I scolded, seeing his usual bravado come back up at the presence of another man- especially one he seemed to have taken a dislike to.

“Sure, when you stop looking so inviting.” he replied with a wink. “And when you stop melting every time I kiss you.” I made some small noise of outrage, and Colin apparently picked up the true idea that this was not my idea, because he scowled and took my arm very gently, leading me away from Jack.

“Now, see here, that is no way to speak to a lady!” he said on my behalf, endearing himself to me further with those words.

“Ladies don’t use their tongue the way she does.” Jack replied, obviously prodding my rescuer’s good will. Indignant at the affront to my honor, Colin stiffened, a hint of fangs flashing from his mouth in anger as he spoke next.

“I will not hear another word against her.” he said in an even tone. Taking my arm again, with the same gentle insistence as before, he started us back up the path to the mansion. Silently I prayed for Jack to keep his mouth shut, but as usual that prayer went unanswered. As new as Colin was to me I still did not wish to see him hurt, and my sensibility told me that any further remark from my errant companion would incite a duel.

“Bold words from a coward.” Jack said, and I felt our progress along the trail stop. Colin didn’t even look back as he responded.

“Then find steel where your actions have none, and I’ll show you how much of a “coward” I am.” he said, and we continued on.

In the mansion, Colin announced his intention, and while servants were finding sword and clearing the dance floor, I glared at Jack, anger tight in my belly. Freeing myself from Colin, I stalked over and came within kissing distance of the ruffian.

“Take it back!” I hissed. “Stop this now! You are goading him and you know it. Why have you such a problem with Colin?”

“Easy, Sweet, because he’s interested in you.” he replied, and I had no time to respond appropriately before both men had swords in hand, and I was forced to back away as they faced each other. Colin’s face was set, while Jack was smirking as usual. I joined Gaston, and quickly found Delilah on my other side. Mortified that I was the cause of such a fight, I tried to make my apology, but she was having none of it.

“Oh no no no Mateline this is quite exciting!” she brushed it off in the same whisper as I had been using, so as not to jar the pair’s concentration. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes lit up like an eager schoolgirl’s. “Colin is a master swordsman, I do hope your boy gives him a sporting fight. It would be a lovely change from the usual quick defeat he serves.” Crossing my fingers, though I didn’t know in whose favor I did it, I watched the men circle each other. From the way his mistress spoke Colin had a clear advantage with a blade in his hand, but if I knew Jack- and I did- he would quickly even the field by cheating and going for a boxing match instead. No one bested Jack at bare knuckles.

Jack moved first, rocking smoothly into a thrust which Colin quickly rebounded, spinning the sword blade off easily and countering it. Thus began the intricate dance of swordplay, bringing with it the music of clashing steel and rapid steps. True to my expectation, barely five minutes in, Jack was disarmed, sending his sword skittering across the floor. Colin leveled his blade at Jack’s throat, but instead of surrendering the other man merely chuckled.

“Jack don’t you dare!” I spoke, though it was out of place. “Please, just admit you were wrong!” I pleaded, not wanting to see either of them hurt, though they would heal back to perfection with a round of blood and a good day’s rest. He ignored me though, batting the blade aside and moving in with lightning fast blow to Colin’s gut, doubling him over in surprise. I gasped, along with several other onlookers, but Colin would not be fazed. Tossing his own sword aside, he went after Jack, driving a hard fist into his mouth and bloodying them both against the sharp fangs there.

“I see you’ll take your whipping by doubles then!” he crowed, shortly before Jack put a hard shoulder into his stomach and drove them both to the ground. I pressed my hands to my mouth in dismay, watching in stunned silence as Colin rolled them over, pinning Jack down by the collar of his shirt and using the other hand to batter his face with well placed blows that made me cringe with the accuracy of their strikes, drawing the ugly crunch of breaking bones. Jack finally managed to get a grip on Colin, half tearing his shirt open in the process as he swung the man to one side, locking their legs together and swinging at him, making contact in several places until Colin swung forward and actually headbutted him! Jack’s eyes rolled back, grasp going limp, and Colin disentangled himself, barely breathing hard. His lip was bleeding, fangs extended, and blood streaked the front of his white shirt, torn down to his belt and exposing an indecent amount of his toned chest and belly- which I could not for the life of me tear my eyes away from.

“Oh good show Colin!” Delilah cooed, clapping her hands and going to meet her offspring. My torn mind was made as my eyes darted between the victor- standing surrounded by admirers- and poor Jack, who was just regaining consciousness. Lifting my skirt, I rushed to his side, dropping to my knees and cushioning his head in my lap, stroking away strands of his dark hair and peering down in worry. Catching the eye of a servant, I snapped my fingers.

“Fetch my carriage boy- quickly now!” He scurried away with a clumsy bow, and I returned my attention to the man bleeding all over my favorite dress. “Stupid man, why didn’t you listen to me?” I murmured as his maker joined us. Martha was one of the few of our kind from the Colonies, newly migrated several years ago, bringing Jack with her.

“You know he’s far too stubborn for such common sense.” she told me, taking his hand in her own. “Try not to speak darling, I do believe he may have broken your jaw.” Jack made some sort of mushy sound, more blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, and she sighed, pursing her lips briefly at him, though I could see my own worry mirrored in her pretty features.

“If you will allow it, Martha, I’ll tend him tonight.” I murmured as I spotted the servant boy heading our direction. “After all, it was my fault this silly duel even took place.”

“Are you sure, dear? I’m more than happy to drag this sorry lout home to do it myself.” she replied, ever practical, but I insisted, helping him to his feet and looping one of his arms around my neck to help him keep balance. Colin gave me a surprised look as he placed me in the crowd, and I gave him an apologetic smile before helping the staggering Jack out into the carriage awaiting us outside.

On the way home, I leaned in close to Jack, touching his arms and chest to make sure nothing felt out of place. I was no physician, but surely if there was a bone broken or misplaced it would feel different. Nothing seemed to be amiss besides the copious amount of blood caked on his rapidly swelling face, and I soon formulated an idea to help him heal. Ordering that the carriage be stopped, I carefully helped him out, allowing him to lean on me once again as we walked along the sidewalk. Spying two men ahead, I carefully stowed us down an alley, then began calling for help. In no time the two strangers appeared at the mouth of our dark alley, silhouetted by the guttering light of the street lamp nearby.

“Please, some assistance?” I begged, wringing my hands fretfully and trying my best to look distressed. “There were beggars, poor men that robbed us as we made our way along the walk. They’ve beaten my poor husband quite soundly!” As I’d suspected, their goodwill was won over easily, and they came right to us. Jack took the one to the right, a large brawny man that looked to be some sort of dock worker; while I took his companion, thinner, but with rich enough blood to fill my belly. We struck without warning, Jack at his man’s throat with a vicious tearing noise while I retained my manners, holding my man’s head to one side and biting in delicately to pierce the artery there. As I fed I was aware that he was struggling, alternating between pushing at my body and trying to break my grip. Soon his pulse weakened, though, and his arms fell limp. Withdrawing my fangs, I leaned him against the wall beside us, as if he were merely drunk, and turned to find Jack watching me as he wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“God, you act like a proper lady even when you’re killing.” he commented, and my mouth thinned slightly as I withdrew a kerchief from my sleeve and lightly dabbed the two or three stray drops of red liquid that dotted my lips.

“That’s because I am a lady.” I replied as we made our way out oft he alley. At this hour the street was deserted, though we still took a back road to ensure no one saw the blood Jack was sporting all over his face and shirt. Silence reigned between us, broken only by the cicadas and the wind in the trees, until we reached the back step of my villa. There he caught my arm gently, and I looked up at him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly, and I purposely answered in an obtuse manner.

“I live here.”

“No, I mean here with me.” he corrected, despite the fact that he knew very well how evasive I was being at the moment. “Shouldn’t you be back with that Colin fellow? He won fair and square, even when I was cheating.”

“I am not a door prize, Jack.” I gave him a frosty look, turning back to the door dismissively. “Good night.”

“Wait- Mateline, I didn’t mean it that way.” he protested, and I allowed him to follow me inside. We made our way to the parlor, where I sent one of the servants to fetch Jack a proper shirt, and another to find a bowl of hot water and a cloth. Our hired help were mostly human, though they either loved or feared my maker and I enough to stay with us loyally despite our odd nature, which I am sure they must have noticed. Perching on a chair, I motioned Jack to sit down, and he did. “Didn’t mean offense, Sweet.” he said finally, and I raised a thin brow at him. “I just thought you might like to be with the man that fought for your honor, instead of insulting it like I did.” The maid returned with water and cloth, giving me a surprised look as I took it and dismissed her. Sitting beside Jack on the couch, I damped the cloth and began the rather tender process of cleaning the blood from his face. His condition had been vastly improved by the blood he imbibed, but there were still superficial cuts and bruises to plague him, and he winced even under my gentle fingers.

“You are one of the crassest men I know.” I murmured. “Your manners are atrocious, you have no idea of personal space, and I do believe you start fights for the good fun of it all.” He grimaced a little, and I sighed, pausing to look up at him. “However. I would not have you any other way. As much of a thorn in my side as you can be, you’ve still been a good friend in whole, always a ready reminder not to take life too seriously.” A smile crossed his face, and I returned to cleaning him up. “Besides that, hard as you may try you’ve never done me any permanent damage, and if I were with Colin you’d be licking your wounds all by yourself.”

“Thank you.” he said as I finished up, setting the bowl and cloth aside. “Any chance of a kiss to speed my healing?”

“Don’t be cheeky!” I laughed, rising to meet the servant waiting with a fresh shirt. By the time I had turned back to my patient, Jack had stripped his old shirt off right there in the parlor! Blushing, I put a hand to my mouth, then drifted forward. “There are…so many scars.” I breathed, reaching out absently to trace one of the lines that marked his flesh. “What happened to you?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Before I was turned, I was a soldier.” he shrugged. “A lot of the time they just dug the bullets out of us and sent us on our way.” Now fascinated, the shirt dropped from my forgetful fingers in order for me to splay both hands on his bare chest, unable to resist the smooth skin marred with tiny bumps as my fingertips crossed one scar or another. Jack returned my touch, drawing me closer and drifting his fingers up my arms to the bare curve of my shoulders, leaving a wave of light tremors in the wake of this innocent, yet somehow terribly intimate contact. “I wish you weren’t so gentle sometimes.” he said softly. “Then I wouldn’t be so afraid of hurting you whenever I touched you.” My eyes lifted to his, and for once I was the one that stole a kiss from him. It was impulsive and soft, surprising me with the gentleness which he returned the gesture with. My hands drifted up his strong arms and broad shoulders to the back of his neck, and I clung to him, electric desire emanating from the simple merging of our lips.

“I knew you had tenderness in you.” I breathed as we finally parted, staying mere inches away from each other, the better to take more of the drugging kisses we shared, pressing together as he ardently explored the skin of my jaw and throat with his mouth, placing a row of nibbling kisses there. The very core of me was on ablaze with desire, spurring me on to new heights as I pressed his head closer in encouragement. I wanted his hands on me, bare of silk and lace. The next time he pulled away, I caught his hand in mine, nuzzling his palm and planting a small kiss there before linking our fingers and pulling him gently towards the entrance, and past that, the stairs that would lead up to my bedroom.

Jack and I made love until nearly dawn, bouts of passion intermingling with small pockets of stillness. Finally we lay back a last time, satiated and tangled together in the bind of my sheets. His head rested on my chest, my arms around him and tracing light designs on his back with my fingertips. My eyes fixed steadily above me, and among the haze of satisfaction that took my brain I wondered what I had done.

“Penny for your thoughts?” his husky voice brought me away from my inner musings, and I looked down with a smile to see Jack contemplating me from between the swells of my breasts. “Do you regret this?”

“No.” I sighed, stroking the back of his head. “It is not regret, so much as wonder. As fond of you as I’ve been I never thought we would end up here.” He chuckled, and I felt him nod.

“Truth be told I never expected you to let me share your bed either.” he murmured. “Guess we’re both in uncharted water, Sweet.” I made some small sound of agreement, and we stayed the day like that, nestled together in my bed to while the daylight hours away.


I couldn’t sleep last night. Thinking too much. 

Why do we write? What sets us apart from the rest of the world? My younger brother has little interest in books, and even less in putting pen to paper (figuratively AND literally). We are three years apart. So what do I have that he doesn’t? Where does the spark of creativity come from?

A scientist would give me some spiel about genetics and family traits that he himself only half understands- leaving me completely in the dark. 

A God fearing man might say that the Creator blessed each of with a special set of skills, and that creativity was just one of mine. 

My mother would tell me she loves me anyway, and shoo me off. 

I think a child might attribute it to magic. 

Personally I don’t have any idea about why I write. The urge has just always been there. As a child I was a story teller and an avid reader. I’d take bits and pieces from my favorite tales, borrowing from Tolkien and Milne and Poe and countless others, weaving them together in a way that left my teachers scratching their heads, while my classmates begged me to tell a story in our free-time hour. 

When I was eleven, an idea manifested itself that would not go away. I thought about it when I woke up and when I went to sleep, through class my mind drifted, and finally one day I got my hands on my mother’s old computer at her office after school. Here I finally found release for the pressing rush of ideas and voices that spun around my brain. I couldn’t type fast enough to get the words out. That was the start of something epic. 

400+ pages later, I’m still not finished with the story. I’ve written many, many pieces in the eight years since I first started it, but my first novel remains an open ended work in progress. 

Quite often I’m asked, where do I get my ideas. I have not to date found a reasonable answer. Everyone has at one point or another seen something on television, or the Internet, that made them think. But what possesses one to take that idea and run with it- spin out characters and stories and entire worlds from the pit of imagination? 


Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

I don’t know who wrote this but I love it. Source anyone?


To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the inner music the words make.

Truman Capote, McCall’s, November 1967