March 16, 2011

Here is what I wrote today (a portion anyway). I did manage to write 1355 words. This is a snippet of the scene I wrote. Hope you like it.

Morgan swallowed. “So this is breaking the rule? Coming out here with me?”

“Pretty much.” I took a small bite of the bread.

He didn’t look at me. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I’ll only make it worse on you.”

“Nah. My parents—“ Here I was at a loss for words. I couldn’t explain they weren’t really my parents, and it didn’t matter that I had broken their rules. At this point in my existence, I wasn’t sure where I stood and if I was accountable to anyone. For that matter, I supposed I could go back to Terabound anytime I chose. So why was I staying here to be tormented? Who ultimately had control of my life? Me.

“Let’s hurry and finish up.” Morgan gathered up the uneaten food. “I’ll get you home before anyone knows you’re gone.” The panic in his voice began to rise. They were a family of goodie-goodies. How endearing of him to be so worried about me.

I put my hand on his, the bottle of cider clutched in his fist. “We don’t have to hurry. Mom won’t be home for hours, and who knows where Dad is. When he takes off in the morning he never returns until after his shift.” I pulled the bottle from his hand and twisted the cap. The fizz squirted out the top. I aimed it away from us, and it spewed for a few seconds onto the ground. I had to dig the cups back out of the basket.

“To us.” I raised my half filled cup. The look on his face held more than panic, terror might have been a better word. He clutched his cup, but neither raised it to mine, nor took a drink. “It’s considered rude not to drink when someone toasts.”

The glass met his lips, but I doubted whether he drank any.

I set my cup down, leaned in and pressed my lips against Morgan’s. He didn’t respond, didn’t pull away, didn’t kiss back. My lips sought his again, this time with more urgency. I drew my hand up around his neck, and pulled his head, leveraging myself against his chest. Although he kissed me back, I sensed the hesitancy. Breathlessly, I whispered between kisses. “I’ll go with you to Winter Formal.”

J.W. chose this exact moment to hit me on the head with his sippy cup. “Moke.”

Morgan pushed me away, I tumbled, off-balanced by the quick movement. On my back like a bug, J.W. pounced on me. “Moke, moke, moke.”

In the background I heard Morgan dump the cider from our cups, put the rest of our picnic items in the basket.

“Okay, we’ll go home and get you some milk.” I rolled him over, kissed his neck with loud blubbery noises. His giggles pealed through the trees.

March 7, 2011

357 Words tonight. Here is in except:

If Dale hadn’t been so annoying, or so pushy, or so…I don’t know…just Dale, then I probably wouldn't have been so easily provoked. I always thought being one of the plain girls was a problem. Pretty was even harder. How I longed for my days of anonymity. The only people who paid attention were my friends—when it was just the four of us.

Now that I was the center of attention, I didn’t like it. Not that I’d ever longed for it. A part of me always wished I’d be popular, get asked out. Who would have thought it was so difficult.

I sat cross legged on the top step of the front porch. J.W. sat on my lap playing with a little black beetle, a tickle bug. He giggled where it crawled over the back of his hand.

The air was the stillest it had been in days, and the sun shined brightly through the trees, casting deep shadows. Even still the afternoon was chilly making J.W.’s cheeks rosy. I felt his chubby fingers. They still felt warm in spite of the air.

I heard the car turn onto the road before I saw it. School wasn’t out, so it probably wasn’t anyone I knew. Too late to move inside with J.W. on my lap, it rounded the corner and our eyes met. Morgan’s truck crackled across the gravel drive.

The wheels came to a stop at the railroad tie dad used to mark parking spacing. He gave a quick wave through the side window and killed the engine.

J.W. waved back. “Ducky man.” He slid off my lap, gripped the post and taking toddler steps off the porch. He tottered toward Morgan.

Morgan picked him up in his giant hands and tossed him in the air, to which J.W. squealed. “Again! Again!” To which Morgan continued to pitch him up.

After several minutes, Morgan set him down. “Enough. You’re makin’ arms hurt.”

With his arms wrapped tight around Morgan’s legs, it made it difficult for Diana’s brother to move. He put J.W.’s feet on top of his and hobbled over to me. “Hi.” He plunked down on the top step next to me. 

Betsy

489 words...

Okay, 489 words that I may, or may not keep...not sure I can use this story angle, but maybe...here's a small portion of it:

“Do you miss your dad’s old boat?” Jasmine yelled over the loud motor.

El gave her a quick sideways glance, and called back, “Oh, yeah.” She zoomed across the lake and then idled down cupping her hand over her eyes and searching the shore front. “I think it’s that way.” She pointed towards a mountain in the distance. “I remember seeing Borestone Mountain from the water, until you get too close to the shore, and then the trees block it. The trees block everything!”

Jasmine's lips smacked, “I have a feeling that you could see it from quite a lot of the shore front, El.”

“I suppose that’s true, except I remember a bunch of large rocks huddled together in a small alcove—like those." She pointed to a small grouping of large rocks nestled in the secluded bay. "We had to dock our boat a few miles down shore because of the rocks, and walk in to the camp from there.”

“Oh.” Jasmine's mouth curled into a sour pucker, “How much of a walk?”

“It took us a long while, maybe thirty, forty minutes—but that was five years ago, and I was much younger. It probably just felt like that long” She shook her head and scanned the trees. “I'm not sure that this is even the right place. I think it’s around here, but I don’t know—maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Jas.”

Jasmine frowned, “Hey—what’s the worst that could happen? We go for a nice hike and if we don’t find anything, we'll come back to the boat and still have an hour or so to play on the water before we have to return it.”

“I guess so.” El killed the motor and coasted towards the wooded shoreline. “Help me hoist the motor up, Jas.”

           As the neared the shore, the clear water revealed tiny pebbles and deep brown sand. El stuck an oar in the water and tested the depth and then slipped over the side with the tow line and wrapped it around the nearest tree. They pulled the boat up onto a narrow beach and secured it with the line tied to the tree.
          “Haven’t you seen any movies, El?” Jasmine pushed the small boat further up the shore between two larger trees. She stepped back, “hmmm, you can still see it.” She reached up and broke a thin evergreen bough and leaned it up against the hull. “Well, it’s not completely covered, but at least you’d have to squint to make it out from a distance.”

“You’re such a nerd, Jas—why don’t you want anyone to see the boat?”

The corner of Jasmine’s lip curled, “Oh come on now, El—do I have to explain everything to you? Who knows what dangers could befall two babes like us alone in the Maine woods?”

El swallowed. She didn’t like the sound of that, even though she knew that Jasmine was joking.

March 4, 2011

371 for tonight. I managed to create an addition to my scene before she knocks the stool out from under him, just to help the reader to see how much she dislikes him. I also wanted to show him as being a little bit creepy. Although that didn't quite come across that way. I'm sure I will add more about him later, either that or rewrite this section all together.

But here is a portion of what I wrote:

In the cafeteria during lunch, Dale glided up beside me and put his good arm around my waist. His injured arm sported a sling. “Still don’t know who it is, right?”

I pulled away, shifted my backpack so it blocked any more advances. “Nope, and I don’t really care.”

“Sure you do.” He picked up a tray and began putting food on it.

Handing the cashier my voucher, I ignored his comment. “Thank you,” I said after she stamped it. Diana waved me over to her table. I turned my back on the creep and joined her.

“Hey, Diana, who are you going to winter formal with?” Dale slid in next to her, opposite me. His tray bumped mine and tipped my milk over into my plate. Great, mushy mashed potatoes. Just what I wanted for lunch. I glared him and removed my lunch and myself to another table. I heard him say to her as I left, “I should just quit.” What I didn’t hear was Diana’s reply. Sometimes I really missed my easy friendship with James and Claudia. At least I didn’t have to play games—I could say what I wanted to say, no pretending, no backstabbing. That was before—I screwed my face into a grimace—Romeleo, Na’Omiri, netherbeasts and Terabound.

Across the room I saw Mr. Smith, the math teacher sitting with a group of freshmen. Dale was headed toward them on his way to the garbage can. Get even. Get him to stop pestering me. Get him in trouble. These thoughts echoed in my head. This time, in control of my abilities, I jerked my head, and Dale’s half eaten food flew out of his good hand and landed in Mr. Smith’s lap. The shocked teacher jumped up and shook clumps of beans from his trousers.

“I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to.” Dale scrambled to the floor retrieving his mess.

“It’s all right.” I heard Mr. Smith say. “Must be hard to carry that with only one good arm.”

I bit the tip of my tongue to keep from swearing.

Betsy

~sigh~ not much tonight!

Only 89 new words tonight! I spent the entire evening writing a IEP response to a student! Oh well, at least that's done!
 Here's my itty-bitty addition! (past this first paragraph)

She closed her eyes and breathed in deep—the late summer air bristled with pine and brought her back to the last time she had been at Sebec Lake—just a month before she ran away from home….

“Jasmine! Over here!” El gestured to a large boulder jutting out into the cool waters of the lake. She sat cross-legged on the rock, face-up to the warm sun, glancing down only to reprimand her friend for not hurrying, “C’mon Jas!”

Jas pulled herself up on the rock and scooted over next to El. “I love it here, El—thanks for inviting me to go with you and your family. I’ve always wanted to go to Maine, and I can’t believe I’m here!”

“Mmm, it is nice, isn’t it?”

March 3, 2011

Thank goodness the week is coming to a close. I've had a headache all week...I think it's this darn tooth. In spite of, I managed to write******Drum roll please!

741 words!

Rather pleased with myself.

Here's a brief except--there's some that happens before and some after; this is right in the middle of the scene:

“No horsey!” I kept telling him. First I wasn’t in the mood, and second I was grounded to the perimeters of the yard. Lame! I felt like a six year old told not to cross the road.

“Horsey!” His demands grew more intense.

“J.W. if you don’t stop, I’m going to put you to bed.” This was ridiculous as well. First he could climb better than any monkey I’d also seen at the zoo. And second, he would not fall asleep at ten in the morning. All I had to do was hold out for two more hours. Feed him, change him, and let Na’Omiri curl up with to get him to fall asleep.

“Horsey!” Instead of tugging, he slapped my legs.

I picked him up, tossed him up into the air. “Wee... See, better than horsey.”

Not better. He screamed, piercing my ears. Holding him against my shoulder, he reached up and yanked on my ear—the pointed end.

“Ouch.” I pulled his hands down and gave his hand a sharp yank.

When he did it again, I set him down with a resounding thunk on the carpet. “Watch Teletubbies.”

His back arched and he hollered like I’d injured him. I yelled at him—I screamed at him—I even growled at him. I wasn’t sure whose hair I wanted to yank, his or mine. Instead, I slapped him across the top of his head. In horror I drew my hand back and bit down hard on my knuckles until I drew blood.

His crying intensified. I ran to my room and stopped myself from slamming the door. I pressed my forehead into the door jam; hot tears ran down my cheek. What was wrong with me? I adored my brother. Never in my life had I ever thought of hurting him. Now I had. 

Betsy

Writing for March 2

332 words tonight! My character got suspended from school...again. This is kind of fun...dragging her through the mud.
So here's a piece of what I did tonight. Hope you enjoy.

“Ah, it’s okay. I’ve been rejected before.” He put his hand on my shoulder, either so I couldn’t get up, or so no one would see us. “About the other day…”

“I said I was sorry—“

“You didn’t make me fall. I slipped. I don’t know what happened, but it was all my fault. I should have said something, but I was in so much pain, and I wasn’t thinking right, and…”

I went back to digging in my backpack for my homework. He kept his hand on me. I tried to shrug it off without looking like I didn’t want him to touch me. “I really need to turn this in.” I pulled out the assignment, which in actuality was a half finished paper.

Before he dropped his hand, he whispered, “The offer’s still on if you want to go to winter formal with me.”

Without acknowledging I’d heard a word he said, I walked to the turn-in basket and deposited my paper.

Ms. Wilkins had mysteriously appeared. “You are tardy, Loretta.”

“I was here—I was turning in my paper.”

“You were not in your seat when the bell rang. Go to the office and get a tardy slip.”

“I was here. Dale saw me.” I looked at him, hoping he’d back me.

“Go with me to the winter formal, and…” he mouthed.

How could he blackmail me like this? “No,” I shouted at him. I'd sooner fight another Fir’Anes.

“No?" Ms. Wilkins advanced on me.  "That’s it, young lady, go to Mr. Warren’s office. You couldn’t even last one day back?” She picked up the phone and began dialing the front office.

I gathered up my things and this time I made sure that if I was going to get suspended it was going to be for something I really did do. I kicked his stool right out from under him. In retrospect, I suppose it was a good thing he didn’t get hurt or I would have probably been expelled, but the three day suspension was well worth it.
Betsy

Whoopie!

Elizabeth circled the room and picked up the violin. She drew the bow light against its strings, so that she wouldn’t disturb Sally. Sally glanced over and smiled a few times and then focused back on the movie. Elizabeth placed the violin back in its case and yawned. What would they do to pass their time until Sam returned? She ran her fingers across the bindings of the books in Sam’s bookcase pulling one at a time to peruse, and then returning it to the shelf. Louise was right—Sam had unique interests. Her gaze lingered on Tolkien, and she pulled it out.
Tolkien’s words had always delighted her, and she retired to an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room. She didn’t budge until three chapters later, when Sally’s movie ended. She glanced over to see the credits scrolling down the screen and Sally sprawled across Ginger sound asleep. She stretched and leaned her head back against the chair. It pleased her that Louise thought she was an author, but what would she do if Louise showed up again? She groaned. She could tell that Louise was not the type to let things rest, and that she’d expect an update on her book’s progress the next time she saw her. She stood up and put the book on the chair. Where did I see that typewriter? She glanced around the room, and then remembered that she had seen one in a cabinet upstairs when she was looking for a skillet. She went up the stairs and retrieved it along with a stack of typewriter paper wedged in beside it.

The shades on the windows darkened the room just enough for her to know that dusk approached. Sam had requested that they keep all but the one light in the kitchen off upstairs after dark because that’s what he always did when he was away, and too many lights on might look out-of-place in the suppose-to-be empty cabin.

She flipped the single light on, even though it wasn’t quite needed, and sat down at the table with the typewriter. Okay—so what do I write?

She used to be pretty good at writing in those last few years in school before she ran away from home. She hadn’t been back to school since, of course. Malcolm had not permitted it when she had asked, telling her that a girl as pretty as her didn’t need to be smart, too. She shook her head at the memory and berated herself—so stupid, so, so stupid. Why didn’t I see it then? She fed a single sheet into the typewriter and stared at the empty page.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deep—the late summer air bristled with pine and brought her back to the last time she had been at Sebec Lake—just a few days before she had run away rather than face the horror she had caused.

Ah, the glories of writing again

I did great tonight writing. I started a scene that was kind of random, but seemed to work with the direction of the story. I decided that I needed to create more tension between Loretta/Arietta and her "old" friends.

Here's a section from my WIP:

The bus stopped in front of the high school and vomited us out onto the sidewalk. I did a quick search for Anthony’s new car, not that I expected it to be there. Claudia was getting out of her dad’s truck; James from the other side. My eyes met his. Did I detect a shrug before he turned around and reached for his backpack?

Someone bumped me from behind. “Don’t stop there.” Brendon gave me slight push, but backed away when I turned to face him. “Oh, sorry, Loretta. I didn’t know it was you.”

I gave him a weak smile. “No problem.” I stepped off the sidewalk and watched James and Claudia make their way across the parking lot. A lively conversation between them kept their eyes on each other. I watched them all the way to the double doors. James reached for the door, held it for Claudia, placed his hand on the small of her back before entering the school. I wasn’t sure what to make of that motion. They’d tried a kiss once—said it felt like cousins. Whatever the gesture, I was envious, even if it was nothing more than friendly.

Betsy

Hi!

Do you ever feel like you're barking up the wrong tree? I wonder if this 'lack of desire to write" is because I'm working on the wrong project...hmmm, just a thought! Okay...it's 8:57, and Bill is calling in one hour...I'll go see what I can write! Check back with you soon!

Yeah!

I'm in!
So yesterday, I kind of got a page in, although it was a rewrite of the first page of Sandee Jae...how about you?

Let's Begin!

Today we begin our journey. We will post on a regular basis (daily, except Sundays) our word count and a paragraph of our choice to hold one another accountable. Good luck, Girlfriend! 2011 is our year! Writers Rock!