Paper Heart - Part 1

Just a little something I've been working on. Hopefully it's going to build into something a lot bigger. But we'll see. Lucy is my leading lady though. I want to build on her a bit.

Paper Heart

The door vibrated with a loud bang as she shut it heavily. She turned back to it, making sure it was locked, then high-tailed it down the worn concrete steps of her apartment building. Her heels clicked on the stairs, echoing up and down the empty large stairwell. Almost running, she grabbed the banister for support, smoothing her palm down the wooden ledge, piling warm buttered toast into her mouth.

She rounded the corner to the bottom foyer and mumbled through a mouthful of toast, “Crap, crap, crap”. 
Upon hearing the racket outside her door a short, older lady, sporting a pink fluffy dressing gown, matching slippers, and hair curlers, slipped out her doorway and leaned against the frame, arms folded.

When she saw Lucy, she smiled. “Morning, Lucy,” she called.

Lucy looked up, abruptly stopping her assault on the stairs. “Morning, Mrs Finchel,” she said, through a mouthful of toast. 

“Lovely day isn’t it, deary?” Mrs Finchel smiled, barely containing her laughter at the normalcy of Lucy flying down the stairs, desperate to get to work on time.

“Yes. Yes, it is Mrs Finchel” Lucy’s voice faded as she resumed her attack on the hallway, knowing her neighbour was amused by her tardiness. “Sorry! Can’t stop, I’m going to be late for work,” Lucy said, tapping hurriedly down the stairs. She pushed the main door open with both hands, squinting her eyes at the onslaught of the morning sun.

Her nose tingled and her cheeks froze as a blast of cold winter air blew into her face. It sent shivers down her spine and pimples rising all over her body. She drew her hands up and wrapped her very long self-knitted, blue, purple and white striped scarf around her neck, cocooning it from the bristling air.

She stood, dancing on the spot, adrenaline rushing through her at the prospect of being late, yet knowing she needed to take steps to shield her now shivering body from the harsh cold air. She hated winter. It drove her insane. The constant need to always stay warm, life-threatening if you didn’t. The rise-in-the-dark and go-home-in-the-dark short winter days grated on her self-preservation. She longed for summer and flowers, and warm air kissing her face. Winter seemed so devoid of life, drab and dreary.

Her eyes followed her coat zipper from her thighs to her scarf. She burrowed her face, up to her nose, into its warm woolly barrier, then shoved her hands into her pockets, ready to take on the day. If she didn’t walk quickly then she’d be stuck in rush-hour tube station traffic into the city, and that was never fun.

She rushed past a building window, glancing at her reflection. Her eyes flew wide-open, seeing the mass of hair protruding in fuzziness out of her head. It enveloped her face in a circle of mousy-brown, half-curly, half-brushed tresses.

“Urgh, seriously?” Lucy groaned, out loud. Suddenly aware of the eyes in the shop, staring back at her. She smiled at them embarrassed. The male audience, shook his head and tipped his mug to her in greeting, smiling at her in amused response.

She rushed off, wanting nothing more than to turn around, head home, and hibernate under a pile of duvets, cushions and aromatherapy – in the form of hot chocolate or coffee.

Lucy swung her bag from her side and delved in, desperately trying to find a saviour for her hair. Her stride quickened as her fingers searched frantically into the depths of her black-hole of a bag. No bobble, but an elastic band. Anything was better than nothing. She looped her hair up into a messy bun, tendrils of fuzz and curls fell by her ears, loose hairs too short to fit into the bunch on top of her head. It made her ears cold and she realised she didn’t bring a hat. But it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

She rounded a corner, checking her phone for the time. The stupid useless thing betraying her this morning is what got her into this late mess in the first place. Everything was forgiven when she realised her mad dash out the flat, and quick on-the-move breakfast put her ahead of schedule. She sighed in relief; white cloudy mist permeated the air around her. She looked up to get her bearings, taking in where she was and how long it’d take her to get to the tube station. Just a few more streets.

That’s when she noticed it, a little note, tacked to the lamp post. It couldn’t have been there long, otherwise it would’ve blown off in the wind before now. The post-it sized fluorescent pink paper had a heart drawn in the middle, covering the whole square. She frowned; her brow furrowed in confusion. She stepped closer to inspect the paper, sure she could see something written on it.

Lucy read out loud, ‘Start here. Follow the pink hearts.’ Funnily enough this wasn’t the oddest thing she’d ever seen on a lamppost, namingly her brother, naked, the morning after his stag do. Not an image she liked to recall often. She looked around and couldn’t see anyone. The street wasn’t abnormally quiet for this time in the morning. Sure, other people with jobs lived in the area but she had a slightly later start time than most and the only school kids she’d seen walking around were either late, or skipping school. Her eyes searched up and down the street, focusing on windows and doors, looking to see if anyone was peeking out, watching her fall for their trick.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted it. Half way down the street, on the other side of the road, stuck to a lamppost was another pink square. Lucy smiled, knowing curiosity would get the better of her. She tried defending her nosy interest – the next lamppost was still on her way to work. But, she knew, if there were more that veered her off the monotonous walk to the station, then she was going to follow them. 

Worry - Writing Short 5

I think my mum has forgotten to do hers and I've been busy with editing work so didn't finish mine until today. My mum bought me a new posh writing pad and pen to put all my work in and I'm almost half-way through it. I'll be asking her to send me another one soon! This writing short is based on the feeling - worry. My hubster, Adam, chose the word so because I didn't have any ideas in mind on how to write it, it probably took me a little longer. :) I'll probably put all of these together at some point. Print them out, make them look fancy. That'd be nice.

Worry

from: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/24/13/c0/2413c0823c8128c1c6c6211100fbf13c.jpg

This was such a bad idea.

Freya knocked on the familiar door and sighed with no answer. Marne knew she was coming over so she knocked again. She knew this was insane. Why on earth had she come? Even as she asked herself she knew why. So, did he. Even after ten years had passed since she last saw him she knew as soon as the divorce was finalised she had to see him. He was always there at the end of every relationship she’d been in. And once her divorce had come through she knew this was exactly where she needed to be.

Marne opened the door in a rush, their eyes met and Freya smiled at him, trying to conceal her feelings. He looked as he always did. It warmed her body.

“Hi. Hey. Sorry. You’re early. Come in.” Marne’s hair was tousled and wet from his recent shower. He was dressed but his neck still glistened with beads of water. He must’ve rushed out of the shower to answer the door.

“Hey. Yeah, I know. My train got in on time for once and it didn’t take me long to walk up from the station.” Freya looped her scarf from around her neck and wrapped it over the bannister, hanging her coat over the top. Her eyes scanned around the open plan room, “This place hasn’t changed at all. Which is weird…considering the last time I was here was ages ago”.

Marne smirked in amusement, “Want a drink?”

“Rosé, please.” Freya pulled her boots off and kicked them to the floor. She slid over the laminate in her socks to the sofa, dropping down into the plush leather with a thud. The atmosphere was so awkward the tension could be cut with a knife. It was nauseating and made Freya feel a little sick. Now she was here she was terrified and so, so, nervous. Just like she always was around him. Right from that first kiss years ago, the one Marne planted on her in the soft rain, with one arm holding an umbrella trying to shield them from the March spring-time weather.

He never made her feel bad or awkward. He just made her feel. If he judged her back then or even now, he never said. But she did. Freya judged him, and her, and what they had together. She mostly judged herself. She never felt like she was good enough for him or that she deserved him, so, she pushed him away. That was back then. Years ago, and this is now. Freya, sat watching the fire. She remembered back to all those years ago, when he first got it installed. When he was still in the final stages of renovation on his house. Freya turned to Marne, admiring the way he poured her a glass of wine. The way, he coolly walked over and sat next to her. He handed her the glass and put his arm onto the back of the sofa; one knee folded onto the sofa whilst his other leg was placed, firmly, on the floor; keeping his balance.

Marne smiled at her, “So, how are you?”

Freya sighed, moving her attention down to her glass of wine, swirling it around in the glass as she said, “Things have been interesting…and hard. I know we made the right decision though”. She smiled, weakly, before taking a gulp of wine.

She mirrored the way he sat. Her fingers moments from touching his. The tips could brush his if she was brave enough, and ready for rejection. Why was she so worried about this? Marne didn’t say she shouldn’t come down when she asked to see him. She’d been here so many times before. Yet this time was different, they didn’t know where they ‘stood’ this time. Last time it was an agreement, one in which Freya let go of more than she’d bargained for. But they knew what they were last time. This time nothing was certain. But, at least this time, they were both in the same place, mentally, at the same time.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Marne cocked his head to one side, leaning on his arm that was on the back of the sofa. He stared into her eyes, as though searching for something, “You haven’t changed a bit,” he sighs.

“Ha! I’d like to think I have, a little at least.” Freya boldly moves her hand, to emphasise her point, lacing her fingers through his. She knew she had to be the one to make the first move this time. She couldn’t do this full of alcohol if she wanted him to know she was serious. Alcohol always used to relax her inhibitions enough to help her through her fears of being with him. “You’ve changed.” She stares at Marne. “Not in a bad way though”. God. She was skirting around this whole thing and messing up so badly. Marne meant so much to her. Too much. To Freya he’d always been the ‘one that got away’, her ‘what if’ and ‘if only’. Back then she thought he was too good for her, even though he never gave her that indication, hindsight was so cruel sometimes.

“Really? How?” Marne cut into her thoughts, up until then she hadn’t realised her attention had moved to the canvas above his fireplace. She ignored his question.

“I still can’t believe you really painted that, even if you did use masking tape to keep the lines straight, and then tried to make me believe you painstakingly drew each line really slowly with a tiny brush.” Freya rolled her eyes, looking back to Marne and to their colliding, dancing fingers.

She only just noticed he hadn’t stopped her, or pushed her hand away when she started caressing his fingers. She needed all the positive vibes she could get. It wasn’t that this felt wrong. It just felt so right that it scared her. The quietness in the air electrified her body, making her heart race. She needed to do something about it before it jumped right out of her chest. She wondered if Marne felt the same way but worried about the rejection. Just the thought of him backing down from this was killing her. It stopped her moving forward, back then and now.

Sparks ignited through their fingers; their only point of physical contact. Marne moved to stand up, withdrawing from her touch, crouching to start some music on the PC. Kings of Leon surrounded them and she closed her eyes to the song. It’d been years since she’d heard it. The wine warmed Freya’s throat as she took another long slow sip. She opened her eyes and gazed at Marne’s back as he got up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing the food from the hob. She loved this house. The open plan downstairs was so different to all the other houses in the area. She loved Marne’s personal touches on the house; knowing he’d done most of it himself. Freya looked at him, knowing what she’d always known, she loved him.

She watched as he had his back to her sorting plates and gathering utensils to sort food. She adored his back. Freya used to sit, cross-legged, on the bed in the spare bedroom, as he laid across the bed, on his stomach while they watched a film. She knew Marne liked it when she stroked his back, she liked being able to do that for him. So, whenever she could, she would. He never knew it, but she’d always trace “I love you” onto his back. She was so scared back then, of what being with him might mean, so always pushed it away.

‘Revelry’ played through the speakers whilst Marne served dinner. She stood, reluctantly, feeling the bobbled rug under her feet, she once joked that walking on it felt like tiny bobbled hamsters. It was a gorgeous rug. She went to perch herself on one of his breakfast bar stools as he came around the counter to sit down next to her. Their faces were so close Freya could smell his breath; fruity and alcoholic, his cologne; strong and dizzying. In less than a second she moved forward to kiss him.

His hand came up to cradle her face as he gently kissed her back. Slowly to emphasise everything she was feeling through their interlocked mouths. The kiss wasn’t half-assed as it sometimes had been in the past. She knew Marne, and knew when he was just going through the motions. This wasn’t one of those times. Freya put her arms around his back, pulling him closer. She arched into him, moulding her body to his. Just like they used to.

They pulled back, faces flush and her lips were tingling. She smiled at him. He searched her eyes and kissed her again, his hands on either side of her face. It was everything she’d dreamt of over the years, everything she remembered. They moved apart at the same time.

“Your eyes are still as green as I remembered them.” Marne ran a finger over her lips, her mouth parted slightly.

“Thank you,” Freya smiled, widely. He remembered her eyes? Suddenly, she wasn’t as worried as she used to be. Her fear of him leaving and rejecting what she’d always wanted, was almost gone. It still niggled in her mind but that kind of worry is what she’d lost in her ex. The kind that keeps you on your toes, trying to do everything you can to keep the other person happy. Freya had lost that with her ex because every time she fought to keep him happy he never did the same for her. But, with Marne, she already knew how considerate he was. She’d burnt her hand once at work, and went by his place afterwards to chill-out. He noticed her burn and walked over to the ice-dispenser in his fridge, balled it up in a towel and popped it on her burn. She’d gotten too drunk one night and he nursed her back to sobriety.

The worry of wanting him to be happy was always there but the worry of unreciprocated love wasn’t. She knew he loved her. Marne knew how Freya needed to be loved, shown and not told, and he did that for her. Ten years ago, and now. The words weren’t needed.

Book Review: The Evolution of Kate by Alice B Ryder

The Evolution of Kate by Alice B Ryder

image taken from amazon.com

Type: 

Fiction. No strong language, small references of sexual nature, nothing explicit. 

Themes: 

Courage, Deception, Fear, Freedom, Love, Security. A novel of opposites.

General issues the book addresses: 

Main character has social anxiety and social phobia; with no way of overcoming it she has friends around her who help her to deal with it by accepting her for who she is.

Summary:
Kate is a successful author, selling her novel about a woman with social phobia. She has book signings all over the world, only problem is, she has major social anxiety. It is so bad, that for her to show up to her own signings she has to pretend to be Kate – the PA, to ‘Emma’ – the worldwide best-selling author of a novel about a woman with social phobia. And ‘Emma’ is an actress called Casey, employed by Kate to keep up the charade.

That is until one of Kate’s heroes, and the man she bases the main character of her book on, walks into one of her book signings, hot famous actor Luke Owen. He talks to Kate to praise ‘Emma’ for her work and forms a relationship with ‘Emma’ because of his love for her novel. Kate sees the relationship between Casey and Luke growing and pretends she doesn’t want to be with him, when really, she does.

Kate’s housemate, and agent, Rowen, pushes Kate to try and form a friendship with Luke but Kate’s social anxiety stops her. She doesn’t want to cause a fuss. But when ‘Emma’ aka Casey tries to make a pass at Luke’s brother-in-law, Luke is back on the market. Problem is, Kate can never tell Luke that she is really the writer of the book that he loves so much. As her relationship with him develops she finds it harder to keep pretending. But Luke is a lot more perceptive that Kate realises. He knows she is not good in crowds and finds it strange that ‘Emma’ could be so fine when her novel is based on herself and having social anxiety issues.

In a heated argument, Kate reveals everything and loses Luke. She is too scared to admit her feelings for him and when she finally does accept them her social anxiety pushes him and herself away from maybe the only true happiness she’s ever thought she could have. But now that Luke knows who she is and how he feels about her will he let her social anxiety get in the way of what he knows they both want?

Reactions to Book: 

(For purposes of the review I will only cover the few characters who stood out to me, there were other key characters that helped the plot line flow along but weren’t instrumental in my overall view of the book).

Kate’s character gives the reader a basic understanding of what it means to have social anxiety, showing that even true love can’t always conquer your worst nightmares/fears. But there is a lack of depth in explaining how and why Kate developed these anxieties. I think I would have had more empathy with her if there had been a little insight into her background.

Luke is your normal hot-blooded, good-looking, male who portrays most of the usual stereotypes of an actor – one difference being, instead of pushing to live in the limelight, he chooses to cosy away in a village with his family, where everyone knows him and respects his right to privacy. He has a relaxed and slightly sarcastic sense of humour, bringing quick-wit and small smirks to an enjoyable read.

Rowan, Kate’s agent is a flamboyant gay man. He is hilarious and really tries to bring Kate out of her shell by accepting her social anxiety but not letting her live her life on it. I like that he has a crush on Luke because it makes his time around Luke more amusing. 

The book delves slightly into the mindset of someone with social anxiety but realises that it is isn’t something you can just ‘get over’. Kate goes through all kinds of mental struggles due to her anxiety, battling with her inner self for what she wants, yet having an overwhelming fear of what will happen if she does. As someone who has a form of social anxiety I can see how the writer has tried to convey Kate’s social anxiety by the way she argues with herself in her mind.

Overall Enjoyment: 3.5/5
Besides for the unfortunate formatting of the book, making it hard to read sometimes due to line spaces every two lines of writing, I thoroughly enjoyed most of this book. The characters were believable and relatable. The novel was an ‘easy read’ filled with romance, personal struggle, friendship and enough turmoil to keep you turning the pages.

I only had one issue with the plot/ storyline further on into the book. Luke seemingly gives reference in two different places to knowing about Kate’s identity as the writer of the book he loves, before she tells him the truth. At first I thought it was because Luke was trying to tell Kate that he knew her secret identity. But, he clearly does not know when she eventually tells him and he is outraged by the revelation. Up until this point in the story, I was really enjoying the book but this displacement in the plot really confused me. I had to go back through the story a few times to see if I had missed something. Since the revelation of who she really is, is so monumental in the disagreements in the book it would have been better to either go down the path of Luke secretly knowing who she was or cutting those displacements entirely. That said, I really did enjoy this read. I love nothing more than a good romance story and Alice B Ryder gave us all of that.

I gave it 3.5 out of 5 because of the formatting and plot issue. I felt like it didn't deserve a 4 because of these issues but I loved the story line so felt it needed to be awarded more than 3.

I was provided with a complimentary copy of this book so I could give an honest review. 

About the Author:

Alice B Ryder is a self-published author currently living in Staffordshire, England. She has written other novels which can be found via the links below. One in particular is her sequel to The Evolution of Kate called Losing Captain Wentworth

For more information on Alice B Ryder please visit:
http://alicebryder.blogspot.co.uk/
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Alice-B.-Ryder/e/B00JE6W16M
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8120819.Alice_B_Ryder

https://twitter.com/AliceBRyder1

Apple - Writing Short 4

My Mum likes to taunt me with random words. I chose a nice noun, window. She chose apple. It's taken me a good few days to get my head around this. I couldn't decide on an angle that wasn't romantic. I wanted to try and do something a little different. So, here we go. I hope you like it. Doing these shorts have also prompted me start notes for a novel. It's in very basic mode right now so might take years to sort out. We'll see. 

Apple

  

“I can’t do it,” Casey sighed.

“What? What’s wrong?” Mina was confused.

“Well, look at it! It’s a mess. The lines are all over the place, the colours don’t match, my eyes are blurring from staring at this for too long. It’s such a disaster.” Casey drags her fingers over her eyes, rubbing them in circles to shake her tiredness.

“It’s not a disaster.”

“Easy for you to say, Case.”

“Look…They didn’t say it had to be life-like or perfect, did they? They gave you a subject and told you to be ‘artistic’ with it.”

“Yeah, but an apple? Seriously? I mean really…” said Casey.

“There’s nothing wrong with using the word apple. You’ve got plenty of work done out of it.” Mina turns, spreading her arm wide, showing her friend the expanse of work she’d produced in only a short few months.

The light from the morning sun shone through the floor to ceiling industrial windows of the artistically explosive studio. Paint splashes and clay lay strewn about, thick and dry, pasted on to wooden tables; engrained from years of creative use. Art easels were propped open, holding finished canvases, drying on their stands.

Mina turned back to her friend, “You can’t say all of this isn’t amazing?”

Casey sighed, “Can’t I? I’m the artist. I’m allowed to be self-depreciative. It’s in my artistic genes.”

“Hmm. Sure,” sighed Mina. She looked around at the rows of drawings, sketches, paintings – oil, acrylic, pastel, chalk; papier mache and clay models of apples. All different shapes and sizes and colours. Her view was of a rainbow of greens and reds, some even slightly yellow. Casey’s work was incredible. Mina walked over to her favourite piece of Casey’s work and stared at the delicate details laid out before her. The clay model was of a bowl of apples. Each apple individually shaped and coloured. They almost looked real enough to eat.

“How did you get them to look so real?” She stared closely, eyes only inches from the masterpiece.

Casey shrugged, “Spray paint… with varying nozzle sizes”

“You’re a genius, you know that, right?”

“So, you keep telling me…” Casey says, rolling her eyes. She looks back to the current almost finished piece of work in front of her. She’d had enough of apples to last her life time. If she never saw, ate, or smelt another apple again that would be quite alright with her. This one was red, deep burgundy red, the ‘Snow-White’ kind of, poisonous apple, red. Only it wasn’t just burgundy. In her mind and on her canvas the apple was flecked with black to portray shadows and baby pinks were used to convey the light shining on its glossy surface. She’d painted it, on its own, on a table in the middle. The background was a blank white space. It gave the apple a look of authority, standing out from anything else in the image. As much as she was never really satisfied with her work she was proud of her latest achievements.

Before her lay, fifteen, if not more, pieces of apple artistry. She hated it and loved it, all at the same time. The focus of one subject matter had given her mind free reign to pay attention to details in her work that she would’ve overlooked when pushing more than one subject matter into an art assessment. Even she had to admit, to an untrained eye, her work was exquisite.

She looked at her aptly named ‘Deathly Apple’ and decided adding more to it would ruin it, so she jumped up, grabbed her friend by the shoulder and headed towards the door.

“I seriously need a drink. My tutor is coming in the morning. My work here is done. Let’s go celebrate!”

“I couldn’t agree more. But first, you should probably go get a shower,” Mina laughs, looking at Casey.

“What? Why?”

“Burgundy, black and peach splotches aren’t great colours for contouring make-up these days.”

Window - Short 3

This time I chose window. I had an idea in my head that I was going with then halfway through writing, my brain kinda went away and my imagination was like, "Hey, what about this idea?" I wrote it and read it and loved it. I hope you do too.

photo from: www.homestratosphere.com/entrance-hall-designs/

Window

                “Do you like it?”
                “It’s beautiful”, she looked up, above the entrance way.
                “You’re sure?” He came behind her, wrapping her in his arms, his chin resting on her head.

                “Yes. Honestly. It’s beautiful.”

                “Beautiful…But you didn’t say you liked it”.

                She turned to face him and sighed, “It’s just bigger than I expected it to be”.

                He brought his hands from the small of her back to her shoulders and lowered himself to look straight into her eyes. “We can change it if you want?”
                “No. No…honestly. It’s big but it’s fine. You’d have to tear the wall down to change it, wouldn’t you?”
                “Yes. But that’s not an issue. You know cost isn’t a problem”.
                She sighed and looked into his eyes, “It’s times like these I wish we could go into some sort of virtual reality machine to see what the window would’ve looked like before it was all built in.

                “It’s really that bad?” He asked, dejectedly.

                She turned back to the window above the doorway in the foyer of their new home. The house was finally finished. This was the first time they’d stepped inside since it was complete. The rooms still bare and undecorated. Her heels clicked over the concrete floor.

                “But we’ve changed the plans so much already. I think our architect would hate me if I did it again”, she looked his way, her eyes betrayed how she really felt.

                “If it’s what you want then she’ll have to accept it. I don’t see why she’d complain. It’s more money for her in the long run.” He smirked, money wasn’t the question, making her happy was.

                She wafted her hand towards his face, pushing his idea away, “It’s just a window. I’m being far too picky and silly”. She walked over to the bottom of the stairs and twirled her fingers around the deep oak bannister at the bottom, looking up into the open plan foyer, lost in thought.

                He was stood, watching her, by the front door, hands in pockets and smiling at her. She was beautiful. She’d always been his dream. This house was hers. He’d been living his dream for 25 years and the kids were all grown up and had moved onto their own lives. She’d put her dream aside for him, and them, so now it was her turn.

                “I’ll call the architect in the morning and get the window changed. It’s nothing my love”, he reassured her.

                She turned to him from the stairwell, “The light hits the window at the perfect spot to make the entire space glow. Imagine the colours that would bounce around in here once we have the chandelier up. Imagine the sunsets…” She walked to him, “…it’s perfect”. The sun shone behind her, filling her body in a glowing light.
                He smiled, “Yes, it is”.
                His phone rang, interrupting their moment, “Hey, Sweetie!” He smiled.
                “Hey, Dad, how’s the house? You like it?”
                He looked at his wife, “It’s perfect”
                “I’m glad…” she breathed into the phone, she must’ve held her breath until she’d known the house was okay, “…It took ages but we finally got there. I’ll be over tomorrow with Ben and the kids. Got to make sure you don’t starve”. There was a smirk to her voice and he laughed.
                “I’m not going to starve”, his wife smiled at the remark from their daughter.

                “I know, I know. But, living in a caravan on the lot can’t have been easy. I’m sure the meals haven’t been the greatest”.

                “It’ll do for now Liddy. The decorating will be done in no time”.

                She sighed, resigned in her father’s hope, “Okay, Dad. Well, we love you okay?”

                “I know. Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow baby girl”.             

                “Okay, and Dad…”
                “…Hmm?”
                “We miss her too”, she sighed.

                “I know. Me too. This is her house more than mine.” He looked at his wife, smiling and looking at him in pure adoration, the sun bouncing off her beautiful face.

                “You think she’d have liked it, Dad?”

                He smiles back at his wife, responding to his daughter on the phone, “I know she would have done, sweetie.”

                “Good. We’ll see you tomorrow then…”, strain was laced in her voice as she whispered, “…I’m sorry it had to be this way”.
                His body relaxed into the call, “Don’t be Liddy. Nobody saw it coming. Your mum fought, just as any survivor would, to see this place finished. We just put her getting ill down to the exhaustion of waiting for this place to be done. We didn’t even think it could be the Cancer coming back”, he was saying what he could to try and calm his daughter’s voice with his words. “I’ll see you tomorrow. You’ll love the house. Bye sweetie”.

                “Bye, Daddy”.

                He put the phone down and placed it back into his pocket and looked up at Elizabeth. She was stood on the bottom of the stairs, light now shining in through the same window she’d said she wanted changing.

                Her hair dazzled in the Autumn sun. Her eyes wide and full of promise, and her smile was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. She looked happy, at peace. It was almost as though they were 25 years younger and right back where they began. Life full of love and promise.
                He choked, “I’m sorry you couldn’t be here with me to see this place finished”.

                “I’m here”, she smiled, looking up to the window, “Don’t change the window, Stephen. I love it”.

                He looked up to the window behind him, “I won’t. I promise”. He turned back, she’d gone. His face fell and his body crumpled under the weight of her absence. He walked to the steps trying to gain back the feeling of what it would’ve been like to have her standing there with him. He fell to the bottom step and sat hunched over in grief. His head between his hands resting on his knees.

                “I miss you so much”, he cried to the air around him.

                It whispered back, “I’m always here”. 

Writing Short 2 - Shame

So, I was watching an episode of Girls the other night and one of the main characters, Hannah, is a budding writer. She's been trying since way before the programme began to be a writer. In this one episode I was watching she goes to a library, book store and has to stand in a queue to get her name into a hat. If her name is pulled out of the hat she has to improvise a short story based around a certain word. The word for the evening was: Jealousy.
I repeated the idea of this episode to my mum and told her we should choose a word next time for one of our shorts. She chose SHAME. Shame. I mean seriously... shame?! It's taken me a good couple days to get my brain around it. She wrote hers the same day! I couldn't. But then the other night, it came to me... whilst I may have been doing something similar to the short that I've written. :) Hope you like.

Shame

Amber slumped back, moulding into the sofa, relaxed and stress-free. The kids were in bed and the hubby was snoring away, loudly, upstairs. Her fingers drummed over the remote looking for something to watch, mind focused on the kitchen.

What could she munch on?

Was there anything munchable even in?

Settling for the latest Criminal Minds episode; she hauled herself off the sofa, grunting as she went. Amber loved her sofa but it was such hard work getting off it when she was so comfortable. Amber flicked the lights on in the kitchen, making her jump as one popped. Two of the five were already out. Great.

She scanned the fridge; yoghurt – too healthy; ham – no bread; apples – who can be bothered with the crunch?

The cupboards didn’t bring much relief either. Nothing; eyes scanning the shelves, nadda, zilch. She couldn’t be bothered with anything that required a cook time. This night owl wanted some snacking fuel. It was payday tomorrow, hence the fridge and cupboards being practically empty.

Urgh, this was torture! What could she eat?

Then she saw it. Purple packing, glistening at her in the soft kitchen lights. Frog smiling happily up at her, begging to be eaten. She knew the chocolate belonged to her kids but who cared? This is clearly an emergency. How many times had she given up her chocolate to one whinging child or another? Amber deserved this!

Usually with her kids, if the chocolate was out of sight then it was out of mind. They wouldn’t ask for it if they didn’t remember it was there. That is until Amber was sat trying to peacefully enjoy some to herself.

To be honest, there wasn’t too much internal debate, they were getting paid tomorrow so she could always buy them some more then.

Amber sat back, happy in her decision, taking less than a minute to devour it. She tried to swirl it round her mouth and let it melt on her tongue to last longer. Alas, it took only seconds to disappear, seconds that were worth it.

Suddenly, there was a shuffle in the hallway and Amber turned her head. One of the kids had woken up – probably moaning for a drink or some food. Amber stuffed the evidence of her naughty excursion down the sofa as Maisie padded into the living room. She was rubbing her eyes of sleep and looking a little bewildered stepping gently into the light.

“Hey baby, you okay?”

“Want some food Mummy”, Maisie said, climbing onto Amber’s lap.

“Okay baby. I’ll get you a drink too. Beep beep your butt”. She placed Maisie to the side of her and wandered into the kitchen, getting a banana and some juice. She plonked them on the sofa in front of Maisie and teared open the banana for her to eat. “Eat this then go back to bed, okay Mais’”?

Maisie looked up at her with confusion falling over her face, “Mummy, where’s my chocolate froggy?”

“Oh, I don’t know baby. Maybe the chocolate monsters came and ate it”.
Her four-year-old seemed to be satisfied with the answer and stared into space biting into her banana as she did.

Amber looked at her cute, trusting, little baby and didn’t feel one ounce of guilt at stealing her chocolate, totally unashamed at her little white lie. 

Writing Short 1 - Tree

I've just recently started working freelance on editing a friend's books and helping out with the publicity and promotion of her latest work and it got me thinking with a writing head again. I used to write a lot. Didn't we all at some point? I'm sure we've all penned a little ditty or two over the years... Anyway, I digress. I showed my mum something I'd written ages ago, when Adam and I first got married. It's not long, nor perfect. But she liked it - and my mum is not afraid to voice her opinions. So we decided to write. Both of us. I know she's been working on a book for a while trying to get her ideas together, her fibro brain being a pain. We thought it'd be good to base a short story around an inanimate object and my mum chose tree. I won't post hers here as this is a place for my shorts but if she doesn't mind me doing so then I put it up at a later date. Anyway, without further ado, here is mine.

Tree

She closes her eyes against the summer sun, air whistling past her ears as she goes higher and higher, her body almost horizontal. She opens her eyes as her body propels her backwards, face pointing towards the floor as she holds onto the ropes tightly. Loving the feel of the suns hot rays beaming down on her face through the trees; the way the fields of flowers, corn, wheat and barley intoxicate her nostrils.
            This place is home, always has been. The sun, fields, trees and this little part of the wood, all collide in her heart, making it home.
            She swings again, not touching the ground; using her legs to push her forward. She’s always loved this place.

“Hey”, a voice comes from behind her, she puts her feet down towards the ground, slowing her pendulum free-fall.

“Hey! I didn’t think you were going to make it. I was just about to leave”. She studies his face, his chest rushing to fill with air and quickly emptying again. She realises he’s bent over slightly, trying to catch his breath. “Hey…You okay? If I hadn’t seen you this afternoon I would’ve just come to your house at some point this week, you know.”

“Yeah…Yeah, I know…I just wanted…to see you...today” He breathes in quickly, trying to answer her question without being too urgent with his answer.

Aside from the almost dying, breathless, look he has on his face, she can see something else in him today, something…different. Grown-up, maybe? Her reflection into his appearance is giving him some time to catch his breath, glad of the silence. He needs to do this today. He can’t wait any longer, this is killing him.

“Mum’s cooking up some apple pie for when we get back. I told her you were coming with me, not like it wasn’t obvious.” She smiles, glad he seems to have regained his composure.

He straightens up, hands on hips, “Oh man, I love your mum’s apple pies” smiling at her in response.

“I know. Why do you think she’s making it?” She winks, swinging slowly back and forth, her feet scuffing the floor.

“Dad’s got my ass in a grinder this week, working me until my head explodes with all the information, about the garage, he’s trying to shove in there.” He walks up to her, pausing his hands on her back, pushing her forward into the air. Her golden hair splays backwards at him as she moves through the wind up to the sky, like an angel. The sun, doing nothing to quell his thoughts, each time it hit her hair it sent a bright shot of anxiety through his mind, telling him he couldn’t do this right now, knowing in his heart that he should.

After pushing her back and forth a few times she says, “Well, you did agree to work for him so it can’t be that bad. If I remember correctly, you did have the opportunity to go to Uni, you know”.

“You did too. Yet you stayed to work with your mum in the flower shop”.

“C’mon, you think I could’ve really left this place? I mean look at it”, her voice gets slightly quieter every time he pushes her away…pushes her away – how ironic.

“Yeah, it’s not all bad I suppose”. His body goes into auto pilot, slowing down the thrusts hurling her into the sky. He has rehearsed what he’s wanted to say to her so many times and yet he falters. It all sounds too dumb, now that he’s here with her. She interrupts his thoughts, obviously aware that he’s slowed down in his task of pushing her on the swing. She’s looking around at the tree.

“Remember when we used to come here as kids? Your sisters, you, my brother and me? We’d climb as high as we could on this thing”. She looks above at the gigantic tree, towering down on her, blocking the sun, except for little trickles of summer air falling through the cracks.

“Ha, yes. I don’t think my old bones could make it past the first branches now. Either that or I’d snap it with my weight!”

“Seriously, Noah? You’re not old or fat. If you’re old at the age of twenty-two, then what the hell does that make me?”

“Uhm…ancient?” She stops the swing and stands, turning to hit him on the arm; hand meeting soft cloth with a loud thud.

“Hey! That’s not fair! I’m younger than you!” She laughs at him and looks up. Her eyes are the brightest green he’s ever seen, no flecks of any other colour, just pure emerald green. He loved them. He loved her, and the freckles that crowded around her nose.

She is looking at him confused, while he stares at her, because he’s gone silent and his pupils have gotten bigger. She’s never noticed them do that before. She’s noticed him before, always has. They’ve been through their young lives together, grown up in school together, passed exams and gone on double dates with each other’s significant halves. But, since their teen years she’d stepped back and aside, watching him from afar. Loving him more deeply each day, yet too scared to lose him if she ever mentioned the slightest idea of romance between them. But here he was, looking down on her, differently, in a way she’d never seen him do before.

He knew it was now or never. He knew if he didn’t tell her now then he’d mess it up forever. What was he thinking? Even if he did tell her it’d still mess things up forever. But her eyes, her face, her body, all leaning into him, pleading for him to say something. Their close stance making her temporarily mute.

He gazes into her eyes, knowing he can’t say anything. He just can’t. Everything he’s practiced for months to say just goes out of his mind, flying away in the wind, with one look from her. That look. The one he’s always wanted from her. He moves a hand up to her face, catching a stray curl waving in front of her eyes, blocking his view. He pulls it down and tucks it softly behind her ear. She closes her eyes at his touch and opens them, looking up at him with deep desire.

The summer breeze flows up around them, pulling them out of their trance. She looks away and he knows he’s lost his moment. It was gone. She moves from him towards the tree, running her hands over it’s rough, mossed edges, staring at the details in the grain, staring at anything but him. Sighing, she says, “I wonder how many lives have been lived under this tree. This swing was here way before I was. I mean, sure, it’s had a few rope replacements over the years, but I couldn’t ever imagine my life without it”, she looks up, lost in the tree’s over-bearing awe, handling the wood delicately under her fingers.

“I couldn’t ever imagine my life without you in it”. She snaps her head back quickly to face him. He realises that what he was thinking he must’ve said out loud. The shocked look on his face must’ve made her nervous because she replies with a quick laugh.

“Well, of course not, Noah. I’ve known you forever! You’re like this tree. Ha. Always in my life. I’m grateful for that, you know…” She smiles at him. Her back now leaning against the hard, unforgiving surface, legs out in front of her, perching against the tree.

The elation he’d had at telling her how he really felt about her quickly dissipates when he realised she’d laughed it off. But, having half told her what he’d desperately wanted to for so long, he couldn’t stop the thoughts in his mind from splurging out in front of him.

“No, Sophie. That’s not what I meant. I couldn’t ever imagine my life without you in it…with me. Together. Not just friends…I need you.” He takes a deep breath, realising he was holding it in, the whole time he spoke.

She looks at him, stood a few feet away from her. He’s holding on to the swing’s rope for support, balancing himself after relieving a massive weight from his heart. She realises, that’s why he looked different today. That’s why he asked to meet her at their favourite childhood spot. This place reminds them both, of the amazing times they’ve had together.

He's blown it. He knew this would happen. She’s staring at him and hasn’t said anything at all in so long. The air grows thick around them and from the shocked look on her face and the fact that she hasn’t replied to him makes him realise she doesn’t feel the same way. But, he feels better knowing that he’s said what he came here to say, and even though she doesn’t feel the same way at least he can move on now. Stop obsessing about this. Constantly building up this dream-like vacuum in his mind where they’d be together. Together, with kids and a cat, maybe a dog, or both. And, they’d come here with their children, for picnics under the tree, just like their parents did with them. The air starts to feel constricting and tight, he needs to say something, anything, to leave and collect himself. He rushes, “I’d better go. It’s getting kinda’ chilly and I didn’t bring a jacket”, deflated, he kicks at the floor and turns, walking away into the wood to his house on the other side of the clearing.

“I love you, Noah.” She says it so quietly he only hears it through the passing air, riding on the wind to his mind.

He turns and stares at her, mouth breaking into the widest smile she’s ever seen. He comes storming towards her, pulling her face into his hands as she is pushed, hard, against the tree. She grabs his waist to steady herself against his onslaught of masculine power.

Neither says anything. They know they don’t have to. He searches her eyes and follows her freckles down her nose, looking at her mouth as she breaks into the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.

“Say that again, Sophie.” He whispers, breathing onto her face.

“I love you, No…” Before she can finish he kisses her, moulding together like it was always meant to be. He moves his hands from her delicate face, whilst still kissing her, and wraps them behind her body, shielding her back from the harsh bark protecting the tree digging into her. Her arms come up to fold around his neck, pulling his body closer. She never wants to let him go and knows he’ll never make her.

Their mouths slowly part; his warm breath tickles her lips. Their eyes open, finding one another, and he moves back slightly so her arms fall from behind him. He pulls her forward off the tree and guides her over its thick roots protruding out of the ground.
He releases a little laugh and smiles at her, “I love you too, Sophie” holding out his hand he beckons her to take it. Gladly, she obliges, slipping their fingers together like they’d never been apart.

“C’mon. We’d better get back. I heard your mum’s got apple pie on for me, and nothing is going to stop me from eating that!” He winks back at her, she beams at him as they walk back to her house, hand in hand, looking at each other and the world in a completely new way, smiling at everything.