Oh, so close.

I haven't been posting much here because I am patiently waiting for the copyright to come back for You + Me, my collection of short stories and poems.  My patience is starting to run out though because I am really excited to share the collection with all of you PLUS I am really starting to feel the itch to write the sequel to my first novella, The Awful Truth of Loving.  

One might ask: "So, why don't you just start writing it then?"

And that's a fair question, but the way my creative process works is I can't fully start to work on the next project until the current one is finished.  I know that sounds like an excuse, but I've learned over the years the way in which I as an artist and a writer work best and this is just how it works for me.  I need things to go in order.  

I have started to outline the next book and write up some character descriptions and plant little seeds of the book in my mind, but until I have You + Me published I'm stuck in my own writer's purgatory.  Keep your fingers crossed for me that the copyright comes any day now.

 And since you have all been so patient waiting along with me, I will share another story that will be included in You + Me.  It is called...

Teach Me

            Words are just words until you string them together into a sentence that gives them meaning.  And moments are just moments until there is someone there to remember when they were more.  I’m learning to let things go.  I’m trying to let things be, but no matter how many times I am forced to learn this lesson, I always seem to forget in an instant that nothing I hold is truly mine and the more I try to hold onto anything, the more slippery and elusive it becomes.  It’s like holding onto the wings of a butterfly while commanding it to fly.

            And so I stand naked again in front of my master, all of my armor and defenses lying in pathetic broken pieces on the floor.  I no longer possess the strength or arrogance to pick them up. 

“I am ready to learn,” I say.  “What is the lesson for today?”

            It amazes me how my feelings can change, how something I once believed in so strongly can suddenly become its polar opposite without a second thought or a moment of regret.  Things can seem dark and murky, but then suddenly the clouds part, shedding light on things I never even dreamed possible.  Hopeless beings we humans are. 

I see the seasons change.  Year after year, winter follows autumn and summer follows spring.  Yet, when feelings of despair visit me I latch onto them, convinced things will always be this way.  But why can’t I see that my feelings are also malleable like the seasons?  They too are always changing into what will naturally follow next.

            I was convinced it was over for me and that I would never get past certain feelings plaguing my mind, but then suddenly, I’m able to get passed them just as easily as passing through a threshold to the outside world.  And I couldn’t even tell you where the dividing line was between hopelessness and hope.  It came without warning and I was given another chance to prove that I was listening, that I had learned the lesson finally and completely that time.

            Or so I thought...but even if I didn’t fully learn the lesson or however easy it is to forget, it’s okay because the master is always there.  I will be tested again and again.  And if I should fail once more, there is always the opportunity to strip away the armor, the arrogance, to tear away my weak defenses and say, “I’m sorry I wasn’t listening, but I’m listening now.  Please teach me the lesson again.”

Paging Alfred Hitchcock!

I am so close to finishing my book and being able to send it off to be copyrighted I can smell it!

As I was editing one of the last stories in my collection I realized this particular one is a direct call back to one of my biggest childhood writing influences, Alfred Hitchcock.

Just to give you an idea of what a strange child I was, when I was in 5th grade we were given a writing assignment in which we were to explain in an essay who we would like to meet if we could meet anyone in the world.  They could be dead or alive in all of human history and who do you think it was that I picked?  Mr. Alfred Hitchcock, of course.

I said I would build a time machine so that I could go back in time to meet him.  I was obsessed with Alfred Hitchcock Presents and watched it every night on Nick at Nite (along with Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda, and The Lucy Show).  Ah, the good 'ole days.  Anyway, here's the story I will be including in the upcoming collection.

The Lottery

            The high-pitched beeping alarm rouses me from my deep sleep, the sound reminding me that the two billion dollars I won in the Georgia State Lottery was nothing but a dream. I force myself to sit up.

            Lately I’ve been waking up with a mildly terrible feeling that something is going to happen to me, like I will be struck down by a car in a crosswalk or I am going to choke to death on a crouton very soon.  Dying isn’t the scariest part for me though.  My parents would be devastated for sure, but that is the natural reaction when losing a child. I don’t have any children, so leaving any offspring behind doesn’t bother me either.  The scariest part of this being dead scenario is how absolutely positive I am that my husband, Kenny, would be able to get back to life as usual within days of becoming a widower.  He’s simply not a mourning person.  That’s why I’ve been extra careful when crossing the street and eating salads at lunch.

After showering and getting dressed I go to the kitchen.  The only signal I need to know that Kenny is awake is the sound of the morning news report at full volume coming from the dining room.  I told him I didn’t want a TV in the room where we eat, but did he listen?  No, because Kenny makes most of the money, so Kenny makes all of the decisions.

            We’ve been married for the better part of ten years.  This year will be number nine.  Our relationship is mechanical at this point.  Name a time of day and I can tell you where Kenny and I are and what each of us is doing. 

            At 2:40 p.m. Monday – Friday I am just getting back from my lunch break.  I’m sitting down in my cubicle, headset on my head, and I’m logging into the phone system.  Kenny is looking at pornography in his big shot corner office downtown.  Our marriage, it’s like clockwork.

            Sometimes I lay awake at night and watch as the shadows of leaves from the fur tree outside of our bedroom window catch the moonlight and wash over Kenny’s peaceful face.  When he’s awake he’s always so serious, so burdened by me, by life, but when he’s asleep he looks almost dead and so he looks almost...happy. 

            Did you know he used to call me “fancy face”?  Yeah, back at the beginning of our relationship, all our friends said we were co-dependent on each other.  No one would accuse us of that now though.  Over the years we’ve gained our own independence and learned we can do this “marriage” thing all by ourselves.

            My cell phone rings beside me on the kitchen counter.  The vibrations coming from it startle me into spilling some coffee from the too-full mug I’m holding.  I pick up the phone to answer it.

            “Hello”, I say. 

            “Hello, angel.”

            It’s my mother.  God love her, but damned if she doesn’t sound like some adult from one of the Charlie Brown specials.  Luckily she doesn’t have much time to talk, so I’m off the phone before I know it.  I grab my purse by the back door and slip on some black flats.  Kenny doesn’t say a word as the back door creaks open and then shuts behind me.  He knows exactly where I’m going and exactly when I’ll be home.  Like clockwork, remember?

            The elevator in my office building is unusually crowded today.  There must be an important meeting or something.  As soon as I settle into my cubicle in the back corner I look over to see Caelum.  We both started at the company the same year and we’ve sat next to each other ever since.  We also went to the same high school, but we weren’t friends then.  I don’t know if you would say we are friends now, but we’re friendly. 

            On this particular morning something is different about him.  He looks either tanner or toner.  I can’t decide, which doesn’t stop me from staring.  He just looks so dreamy all of a sudden.  Listen to me!  Did I, an intelligent woman in my 40’s, just use the word “dreamy” to describe someone I’ve known for over a decade?  I must be losing my marbles.

            “Good morning, Caelum,” I say in a too-high-school-girl-giddy tone.

            “Morning, Lillian,” he replies with just the corners of his lips turned up in a smile. 

            We both sit at our desks and log into the phone system.  It’s hard for me not to eavesdrop on Caelum’s phone calls all morning.  He sounds so pleasant, so masculine, so darn sexy!  I get goose bumps when I hear him tell a customer he’s transferring them to our supervisor.  I don’t know what’s come over me!

            “What’s got you all smiley today, missy?” Caelum asks as he stands up and takes off his headset to go to lunch.  Before I can answer, he grabs the blazer off the back of his swivel chair and says, “Let’s go eat,” and I nearly faint.

            We’re sitting in the break room surrounded by the inane chatter of office managers and co-workers.  I didn’t feel like risking the salad today with all those hazardous croutons, so all I brought was an apple. 

Caelum looks up from the large spread of food he got from the cafeteria.  “That’s all you’re eating?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say trying to laugh it off.  “Diet starts today!”

He gives me a confused look and then digs into his food.  We are quiet through most of lunch.  Slowly the tables around us empty until it’s just Caelum and I sitting across from one another.  After finishing what seems like the fifth course of his meal, he gets up to throw away his trash.  I pull out my phone to look at the time and I hear the break room door open and then close.  I assume he’s gone back to work, but when I put my phone away I am surprised to see Caelum standing right in front of me. 

I’m speechless as he reaches out and caresses the side of my face.  I can’t remember the last time anyone has done this to me.  It feels 10,000 times better than nice.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, blushing uncontrollably.

He leans down to me and says quietly, “Lillian, haven’t you seen the way I’ve been looking at you?”  Still speechless, I shake my head.  “Well, you should start paying more attention.”

I close my eyes as our lips meet.  So warm, so inviting.  It’s a good thing I’m sitting down because my legs, my arms, everything turns to jelly.  I can feel him pulling away, but I grab a hold of him suddenly.

“Please don’t leave me,” I say.

“Lillian, we have to go back to work,” he says.

“No, we don’t have to do anything, Caelum.”

“Yes we do, Lillian,” he says.  “We’re taking the jet to Belize in an hour.”

I’m sad and confused.  I feel him shaking me and when I open my eyes I see it’s actually Kenny’s face before mine.  It’s then I realize we actually did win the Georgia State Lottery and I haven’t worked or spoken to Caelum in weeks.  And everything that had happened was the same dream I’ve been having since we won all of this damn money.  Kenny and I really are billionaires and yet somehow, I still wake up every morning feeling extremely disappointed.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

I spent this morning editing and wanted to share another sample from my upcoming book with all of you.  I can't wait to publish the whole thing!!

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

            Sandy was on the couch, determined to get through dividing the rest of their DVD collection before the sun went down.  She couldn’t believe how many movies she and her soon-to-be-ex-Paul had managed to accumulate over their five-year domestic partnership.  She held up a copy of Memento and wondered which of them had wanted it more.  The irony of that thought made her smile for the first time since she had started packing.

            The back door flew open.  Paul came in and tossed a clunky set of keys on the counter, successfully disrupting the task Sandy was trying hard to accomplish.  He didn’t say anything to Sandy and she didn’t say anything to him either.  She knew he didn’t want to face the fact that they were splitting up, but he had to because it was happening.  She was leaving.

            “Do you want to keep Memento, Paul?” Sandy asked as he passed through the living room on his way to the stairs.

            “Sure, whatever,” he replied.  She noticed that he could barely look at her anymore.

            Sandy listened as he shuffled around upstairs.  It was as if he were in complete denial about the whole situation.  Granted she had made her final decision just two weeks ago, it was something she had been talking about for at least a year.  This had to be anything but a surprise to him. 

            Paul came back downstairs.  “Are you really doing this right now?” he asked.

            “Yes, I really am, Paul,” she answered.  “My parents are coming tomorrow to help with the big stuff and I want them to see that we--- that I - have made some progress in the last few days.”

            “But do we have to split our shit right now?  I mean they won’t be here until late tomorrow evening and it’s only what?  Barely 5:00?”  He slumped down on the couch next to her, resting his head on her shoulder.  “Can’t we talk about who gets what...I don’t know?  Later?”  He looked at her more hopeful.  “Never?”

            Sandy’s eyes started to well up.  “No, Paul.  We can’t put this off anymore.  I know it hurts, but we have to.  Please.”  Sandy picked up their copy of The Notebook and said, “Well, I know this one’s mine.”

            “Damn it, Sandy!” Paul exclaimed, standing up again.  He headed back to the kitchen.

            Sandy sat in silence, more frustrated than ever.  She heard cabinets open and then slam shut.  He turned on the kitchen faucet full blast.  She let out a loud sigh.

            “Hey,” Paul said, suddenly standing in the threshold of the room holding a dripping, full glass of water. 

Sandy looked up, wiping away her tears.  “What?” she asked.

“Instead of all this ‘good-bye’ stuff, do you think maybe we could say ‘hello’ again?”

            “What are you talking about?” Sandy asked, completely confused.

            He came and sat beside her again. 

            “You know, say, ‘hello,’ like we did the first day we met?  Like this.”  He took her hand and led her to the kitchen.  “Sit,” he said pointing to one of the chairs at their kitchen table.

            “Oh, my goodness, you’ve gone insane,” Sandy remarked.

            “Probably, but sit down anyway...please.”  After a moment of hesitation Sandy did what he asked of her.  Paul turned and grabbed a notepad from the counter and put it in front of her.  He then retrieved a pen from a mug full of pens and highlighters and handed that to her as well.  “Okay,” he said.  “The day we met, you were at The Safehouse Coffee Bar on Ventura.  You were sitting on the patio, despite the 100 degree weather, and you were writing feverishly.” 

            Sandy immediately protested, “I don’t know what you---.”

            “You were writing feverishly,” he repeated.  “Come on, Sand.”

            She hated to disappoint him and so she started writing on the yellow legal notepad in front of her.  He peeked over her shoulder and saw she had written:

This is stupid.

            Paul frowned.

“Then what?” she asked.

            Paul thought for a moment and snapped his fingers, saying, “Then I came up and was---.”  He dumped the mug of pens on the counter.  “I was holding a hot cup of coffee---.”

            “Despite the 100 degree weather.”

            “You’re supposed to drink hot stuff when it’s hot!  I know you’ve never believed me, but it cools me off.”  Sandy nodded, having heard him say this a thousand times before.  “Anyway,” he continued, “I came up and I said---.”

            “’Hello,’” Sandy interrupted, completing his sentence.  Paul nodded excitedly.  “And even though all of the other tables were open you asked me---.”

            “’Is anyone sitting here?’  And do you remember what you told me?”

            “I said, ‘Nope.  I’m alone.’”

            “Thank God!”  Paul exclaimed, taking the seat across from her.  “To which I replied---.”

            “’Aren’t we all?’”  Paul was lost for a moment, seeing in his mind the both of them sitting on The Safehouse Coffee Bar patio that summer’s day.

“What happened next, Paul?” asked Sandy, finally giving in to Paul’s walk down memory lane.

            He searched her eyes for a moment to remember.  “I asked you what you were writing and you said, ‘The greatest story never told.’”  They both laughed.  “God damn, you were clever, Sand.”

            “Thanks!  Then what?”

            Paul tilted his head back, pretending to drink the rest of his imaginary coffee.  He slammed the mug down on the wooden table with a loud thud and took Sandy by the hand, leading her back to the living room couch.

            “I took you to a movie,” Paul said, sitting them both down.

            “Oh, yeah, that awful Chainsaw Massacre movie.”

            “Right!  And I covered your eyes to protect you from the scenes I thought might give you nightmares.”

            Sandy pulled Paul’s hands away from her eyes, replying, “But I got them anyway.”

            “Hey, at least I tried!”

            Sandy decided to cut him some slack.  “Okay, then what happened?”

            Paul arched his eyebrows suggestively and answered, “Why, my dear, sweet Sandy, don’t you remember?”

            It was apparent she did not and so Paul got up and ran to the bedroom.  She followed right behind him.  He put a hand on each of her shoulders and lightly pushed her back onto their bed.  Her legs dangled off the edge as he spread them so that he could stand between them.

            “Then I charmed the pants off you,” he said, adding, “Quite literally I’m afraid.”

            Sandy nodded as the memories of that night and all that followed for the next five years came flooding into her mind.  “Then what, Paul?” she asked.

            Paul lay down next to her, running his hand through her soft, dark hair.  “And then, sweet lady, we fell in love,” he said.

            “Was it easy?” she asked.

            “It was too easy, Sand.”  He wiped a tear from her eye.  “And then we moved in together.  We lived here in this house through earthquakes, auditions, concerts, camping trips, too many cancelled TV pilots to count, and...”

            “Five trips to rehab,” added Sandy.

            Paul nodded and finally broke down, allowing himself to cry for the first time.  Sandy got up from the bed, leaving him to weep alone, not knowing how to comfort him anymore.           

            “I’m sorry, Paul,” she said. 

He nodded because he understood she had reached her breaking point.  Sandy went downstairs and started to sort their DVD collection again.

Gettin' busy

This morning I printed out all of the stories and poems I am planning to include in the You + Me Collection I've been working on (give or take a few) and I am going to start arranging them in the order I want them to appear in the book.  I'm super-excited and I hope you are too!

 Stay tuned and have a great weekend!!

Newly Revised Story

Happy New Year, everyone!  It's been a while since I've posted anything here, but I am happy to report I am making headway on the collection of short stories and poems I've been working on for the last year.  I'm almost done with the revisions and after that just comes the editing phase.  I am so lucky to have friends helping me with that part.  Thanks, guys!!  I couldn't do this without you!

Anyway, Here's the latest story I've revised.  I'm really happy with how it's turned out!  Let me know what you think!

Want

            I sat staring at my phone intently as if willing it to ring with my mind.  It was just so like Andrew to avoid a problem so long as it wasn’t his.  I picked it up off the table and pushed the button to illuminate the screen.  The empty status bar only seemed to mock me.  I slammed it back down on the table and looked out the window of the restaurant. 

“That’s no way to treat a phone,” said a familiar voice as it approached.  I looked up and saw Jack. 

I rolled my eyes.  “Please don’t call C.P.P.S. on me,” I replied.

“C.P.P.S.?” he asked.

“Cell Phone Protective Services.”

Jack laughed assuring me, “Don’t worry, I won’t...this time.  Just try to be nicer in the future.  Mind if I have a seat?”

Before I could answer he was directly in front of me, inside my private booth next to the restaurant’s kitchen.  I liked sitting there because it was never hard to get a servers’ attention since they HAD to eventually go back there for something.  And I could make sure they didn’t do any funny stuff to my food.  I worked in a kitchen once and I knew all about doing funny stuff to people’s food.

“So, what’s up, mama?” Jack asked.  I couldn’t believe the sheer audacity of this man.  We had broken up a year ago, but his larger-than-life ego couldn’t grasp the fact that a smart, attractive girl in this world no longer wanted to be with him.  He acted as if he were the one who broke up with me.  It was kind of cute and pathetic, really.  “Wait, let me guess,” he said.  “Your subordinate is being insubordinate.”

Annoyed, I answered, “It’s really none of your business, Jack.”           

“Fine, fine.  Have it your way, Nikki.  You just looked like you might need a friend and I thought maybe I still fell into that category.”  He started to get up.  “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Rolling my eyes for the second time I said, “Wait, Jack.  I’ll talk.”  He settled back into the booth.  “It’s just hard you know.”

He nodded.  “I know, so tell me about it.”

I exhaled loudly before saying, “Where to begin?  Okay, so I met this guy Andrew at work months ago and we really hit it off.”

“Sounds familiar...” said Jack.

“And it’s like we have this explosive chemistry that seemed to come out of nowhere.”

“Also very familiar...”

“Nevermind.  You’re my ex, Jack.  I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this.  It’s weird.”

“No it’s not.  Please, continue.  You met months ago and...”

“And we hit it off great.  I mean, we have absolutely nothing in common except for where we work and the city we live in, but the’s intensely sharp and makes me laugh more than---.”  I stopped myself there.

“...more than me?” Jack asked looking wounded for the first time since the conversation started.

“Well, more than anyone ever,” I answered.

“Okay, stop.  I can’t continue to sit here and listen to how great this guy is, Nik.  Just tell me what the problem is.”

I nodded.  “The problem is I think he’s interested in someone else now.  It’s this new girl Sylvie.” 

“Yikes.”

“Right?  I mean, who since 1955 is named Sylvie anyway?”  We both laughed, but then I stopped and looked at him.  “I’m scared, Jack.  I’ve never seen him act this way around anyone since...since...”

“You.”

“Yeah.”  I picked up my phone knowing full well no one had tried to contact me, just some nervous tick. 

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“Ha!” I scoffed.  “You know I can’t do that shit.”

Jack shook his head in disapproval.  “That’s something I never got about you.”

“What is?”

“You never tell people how you feel.  Instead you wait for them to guess no matter how many times they may guess wrong.”

Suddenly I knew we weren’t talking about Andrew and I anymore. 

“Hey, I tell people how I feel,” I said in my defense.

“No you don’t, Nikki.  What you do is tiptoe around how you feel until someone is forced to drag it out of you.”

“Look, if you have something say, Jack, just say it.”  I was surprised at how heated this had become.  Jack stood up.

“The only thing I have to say is, tell this guy how you feel.  If he’s everything you say he is, he’ll be flattered.”  Jack paused before adding, “Just for once stop being afraid to make a mess, Nik.  Messes can be nice to clean up with another person if they’re willing.”

Just as quickly as Jack had appeared he was gone.  I knew he was right.  I was afraid to make a mess with Andrew or anyone I really liked and I didn’t know why.  I think it had something to do with not wanting to be vulnerable.  Lord knows that’s never worked out in my favor before.  I looked at my phone, surrendering to the fact that Andrew simply wasn’t going to call no matter how hard I stared at it.

“Just give it up,” I said out loud to no one.

I wanted to be mad at Andrew and that skank Sylvie.  I picked up the phone to call him, but stopped myself.  Instead I took a deep breath and pulled out a few dollar bills from my purse to leave on the table.  I resolved that I would call Andrew eventually when I knew exactly what I wanted from him and how best I could ask him for those things.  If he was everything I wanted him to be, he would listen.