Thursday morning I checked my email and the very top message was from the Editor-In-Chief of Suspense Magazine notifying me that a flash fiction piece I submitted had been accepted and will be in the June issue. I squealed, jumped up and down, slapped the door frame of the bathroom and almost caused my husband to fall in the shower. Screw coffee, all I need is an email like that one every morning and I am good to go!
Seeing my name in the table of contents and seeing my story laid out with all the fancy font treatments on the pages of the magazine was and still is such a thrill. This acceptance is a stepping stone to greater things. I love writing and maybe, just maybe, writing loves me too.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Bad Girl Blogfest
This is another scene from The Beautiful People, which is the MS I've used for all previous blogfests. Hope you like!
“Hi beautiful!” Dominic called to me. I made my way over to his bar and he met me halfway. “I missed you.” He hugged me and we kissed before he stepped back and reached into his pocket.
“I got you something to make up for last night.” He pulled out a small present, wrapped in silver paper and handed it to me.
“What did you get?”
“Open it and find out.” His eyes sparkled.
I ripped the wrapping paper off before he even finished. I opened the cream colored box and gasped. Inside a diamond solitaire stud gleamed on a cushion of white satin.
“Dominic! You shouldn’t have!”
“It’s a navel ring.”
“Is it a real diamond?”
“Of course it is, nothing but the best for my girl.”
“Thank you.” I fell against him, wrapping my arms around his waist. His lips grazed the top of my head.
I squeezed him once more before I reached for his hand and pulled him with me into a dark alcove.
“What are you doing?”
I lifted up my shirt to reveal the silver bar in my bellybutton. “Do you want to put it on?”
Dominic’s Adam’s Apple bobbed when he swallowed hard. Licking his lips, he knelt down in front of me. His fingers brushed against my stomach, tickling me and causing me to giggle.
“Hold still.” Dominic said, grabbing my hips.
Biting my lip, I kept the laughter in check while he finished. Suddenly I felt his hands move up underneath my skirt. Cupping my ass, he pulled me towards him covering my belly with soft kisses. Groaning, he released me and stood up.
“You have no idea what you do to me woman, that was the sexiest thing ever.”
“Looks good,” I said, studying my new naval ring.
“Looks better than good, I’m going to cover you in diamonds.”
“Dom, no, I’m not worth it.” His eyes grew dark when I said this, resembling Tony’s glare. Shocked, I took a step back.
“Yes you are, every diamond in the world doesn’t add up to your worth.” His eyes softened and he pulled me into his chest. Tears welled up and breathing in the spice of his cologne helped calm the swell of emotion, allowing me to savor the moment.
“Ew. Get a room!” A voice said from behind us. I jerked my head up and saw Brittany. Her normally pretty face was twisted into a sneer.
“Fuck off Brit,” Dominic said. She shot him an evil look before stalking off towards the employee lounge.
“What is her problem?”
“She’s used to getting what she wants. God help the world if she doesn’t. You know what? Keep your stuff in Miranda’s office. You don’t have to use the lounge anymore.”
“Dom, I can handle Brittany. She’ll just have to learn how to deal. I’m not afraid of her.” I wasn’t the tallest of girls and still towered over Brittany. What was the tiny blonde going to do anyway?
“Just watch your back.”
“Yes, dear.” I gave him a quick kiss and left to get ready for work.
Brittany glared at me when I entered the lounge. The heavy, dark liner around her startling blue eyes made her look meaner. Ignoring her, I went to an open locker to hang up my jacket and purse.
“Slut.”
“What did you say?” I asked, whipping around to face her.
“You heard me. I called you a slut.”
“You’re just jealous.” I slammed the locker door shut.
“It’s so obvious what you’re doing. Throwing yourself at the owner’s nephew,” she spat.
“Brittany, you’re being fucking ridiculous. Dominic doesn’t want you. Get over it!”
“He’s just using you.”
I closed my eyes, willing her to go away. Rubbing my belly I felt the navel ring and smiled.
“Let me ask you something Brittany?” I said in the sweetest voice I could muster. “Did Dominic ever give you diamonds or did he just fuck you in the back seat like a cheap whore?”
I thought I saw her blanch before she charged at me, squealing like a pig in heat. “YOU BITCH!”
Joey D. stepped into the lounge to see Brittany barreling towards me. His eyes widened and he ran after her. Just before Brittany could take a swipe at me, he yanked her back. She struggled against him, kicking and screaming. Poor Joey looked like he was wrestling an alligator. The veins on his muscular arms bulged and the chords on his thick neck stood out.
Everyone heard the commotion and came pouring in to the lounge. Dominic ran in and stood beside me. His arm wrapped protectively around my waist, setting Brittany off even more.
“What makes her so special Dominic?” Brittany yelled. Her face almost matched her red lipstick.
“Brittany, you need to stop.” Dominic turned us to leave, but the doorway was blocked. Grant and Miranda had arrived. They rushed over to me.
“Oh, I get it you’re all one big happy fucking family now!” Brittany’s rage hadn’t ebbed and Joey was still struggling to contain her. “She’s not one of us. I don’t even know why that bitch works here!”
Those words stung as if Brittany had physically slapped me. I wasn’t a Crimson girl and I hadn’t really felt like I had fit in since my first day.
“Shut up!” Grant bellowed. “Joey, get her out of here.”
“Go home Brittany. You’re not working tonight,” Miranda said. The crowd parted and let Joey through.
“Hi beautiful!” Dominic called to me. I made my way over to his bar and he met me halfway. “I missed you.” He hugged me and we kissed before he stepped back and reached into his pocket.
“I got you something to make up for last night.” He pulled out a small present, wrapped in silver paper and handed it to me.
“What did you get?”
“Open it and find out.” His eyes sparkled.
I ripped the wrapping paper off before he even finished. I opened the cream colored box and gasped. Inside a diamond solitaire stud gleamed on a cushion of white satin.
“Dominic! You shouldn’t have!”
“It’s a navel ring.”
“Is it a real diamond?”
“Of course it is, nothing but the best for my girl.”
“Thank you.” I fell against him, wrapping my arms around his waist. His lips grazed the top of my head.
I squeezed him once more before I reached for his hand and pulled him with me into a dark alcove.
“What are you doing?”
I lifted up my shirt to reveal the silver bar in my bellybutton. “Do you want to put it on?”
Dominic’s Adam’s Apple bobbed when he swallowed hard. Licking his lips, he knelt down in front of me. His fingers brushed against my stomach, tickling me and causing me to giggle.
“Hold still.” Dominic said, grabbing my hips.
Biting my lip, I kept the laughter in check while he finished. Suddenly I felt his hands move up underneath my skirt. Cupping my ass, he pulled me towards him covering my belly with soft kisses. Groaning, he released me and stood up.
“You have no idea what you do to me woman, that was the sexiest thing ever.”
“Looks good,” I said, studying my new naval ring.
“Looks better than good, I’m going to cover you in diamonds.”
“Dom, no, I’m not worth it.” His eyes grew dark when I said this, resembling Tony’s glare. Shocked, I took a step back.
“Yes you are, every diamond in the world doesn’t add up to your worth.” His eyes softened and he pulled me into his chest. Tears welled up and breathing in the spice of his cologne helped calm the swell of emotion, allowing me to savor the moment.
“Ew. Get a room!” A voice said from behind us. I jerked my head up and saw Brittany. Her normally pretty face was twisted into a sneer.
“Fuck off Brit,” Dominic said. She shot him an evil look before stalking off towards the employee lounge.
“What is her problem?”
“She’s used to getting what she wants. God help the world if she doesn’t. You know what? Keep your stuff in Miranda’s office. You don’t have to use the lounge anymore.”
“Dom, I can handle Brittany. She’ll just have to learn how to deal. I’m not afraid of her.” I wasn’t the tallest of girls and still towered over Brittany. What was the tiny blonde going to do anyway?
“Just watch your back.”
“Yes, dear.” I gave him a quick kiss and left to get ready for work.
Brittany glared at me when I entered the lounge. The heavy, dark liner around her startling blue eyes made her look meaner. Ignoring her, I went to an open locker to hang up my jacket and purse.
“Slut.”
“What did you say?” I asked, whipping around to face her.
“You heard me. I called you a slut.”
“You’re just jealous.” I slammed the locker door shut.
“It’s so obvious what you’re doing. Throwing yourself at the owner’s nephew,” she spat.
“Brittany, you’re being fucking ridiculous. Dominic doesn’t want you. Get over it!”
“He’s just using you.”
I closed my eyes, willing her to go away. Rubbing my belly I felt the navel ring and smiled.
“Let me ask you something Brittany?” I said in the sweetest voice I could muster. “Did Dominic ever give you diamonds or did he just fuck you in the back seat like a cheap whore?”
I thought I saw her blanch before she charged at me, squealing like a pig in heat. “YOU BITCH!”
Joey D. stepped into the lounge to see Brittany barreling towards me. His eyes widened and he ran after her. Just before Brittany could take a swipe at me, he yanked her back. She struggled against him, kicking and screaming. Poor Joey looked like he was wrestling an alligator. The veins on his muscular arms bulged and the chords on his thick neck stood out.
Everyone heard the commotion and came pouring in to the lounge. Dominic ran in and stood beside me. His arm wrapped protectively around my waist, setting Brittany off even more.
“What makes her so special Dominic?” Brittany yelled. Her face almost matched her red lipstick.
“Brittany, you need to stop.” Dominic turned us to leave, but the doorway was blocked. Grant and Miranda had arrived. They rushed over to me.
“Oh, I get it you’re all one big happy fucking family now!” Brittany’s rage hadn’t ebbed and Joey was still struggling to contain her. “She’s not one of us. I don’t even know why that bitch works here!”
Those words stung as if Brittany had physically slapped me. I wasn’t a Crimson girl and I hadn’t really felt like I had fit in since my first day.
“Shut up!” Grant bellowed. “Joey, get her out of here.”
“Go home Brittany. You’re not working tonight,” Miranda said. The crowd parted and let Joey through.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Body Language Blogfest
Okay, this was a challenge. I picked a scene from The Beautiful People, which has been the MS of choice for the other blogfests I have participated in. In this particular scene my MC, Natalie, is stuck in a bad situation with one of the most powerful Mafioso's in the country.
He sat on the edge of an old, bare mattress decorated with a pattern that may have been popular twenty years earlier. It might as well have been a throne the way he sat there with authority, his back straight and shoulders squared. He didn’t say anything to me, just patted the empty space next to him, inviting me to sit. I stayed rooted to the floor and didn’t budge. He smiled at my defiance. Then he stood up and walked over until he was right in my face. I held my breath and turned my head away so I wouldn’t have to inhale his noxious odor. Grabbing my chin, he dug his fingers in and forced me to look at him. I glared back. He smiled, briefly, before kissing me. He pried my lips apart and invaded with his tongue. He might as well have shoved an ashtray in my mouth. I started to gag, bile rising in my throat. I placed my hands on his chest and tried to push him away. His arousal grew the more I struggled and he made sure to press against me as I protested. I lifted my knee up and hit him square in the balls. Instead of dropping into a fetal position, which is what I expected, he backhanded me again and I felt my lip split open. The pain was sudden and surprising, but I would take that over his ashtray lips on mine.
He shoved me against the door, my skull cracked hard on the wood. Dazed I shook my head to clear my vision. Mr. Genovese used his body weight to subdue me and attempted to rip my skirt off. His bare shoulder leaned in towards me so I bit, sinking my teeth into the flesh as deep and as hard as I could. He howled in what I thought was pain, but when he looked at me I saw a tobacco stained grin and anticipation in his eyes.
He sat on the edge of an old, bare mattress decorated with a pattern that may have been popular twenty years earlier. It might as well have been a throne the way he sat there with authority, his back straight and shoulders squared. He didn’t say anything to me, just patted the empty space next to him, inviting me to sit. I stayed rooted to the floor and didn’t budge. He smiled at my defiance. Then he stood up and walked over until he was right in my face. I held my breath and turned my head away so I wouldn’t have to inhale his noxious odor. Grabbing my chin, he dug his fingers in and forced me to look at him. I glared back. He smiled, briefly, before kissing me. He pried my lips apart and invaded with his tongue. He might as well have shoved an ashtray in my mouth. I started to gag, bile rising in my throat. I placed my hands on his chest and tried to push him away. His arousal grew the more I struggled and he made sure to press against me as I protested. I lifted my knee up and hit him square in the balls. Instead of dropping into a fetal position, which is what I expected, he backhanded me again and I felt my lip split open. The pain was sudden and surprising, but I would take that over his ashtray lips on mine.
He shoved me against the door, my skull cracked hard on the wood. Dazed I shook my head to clear my vision. Mr. Genovese used his body weight to subdue me and attempted to rip my skirt off. His bare shoulder leaned in towards me so I bit, sinking my teeth into the flesh as deep and as hard as I could. He howled in what I thought was pain, but when he looked at me I saw a tobacco stained grin and anticipation in his eyes.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Bar Scene Blogfest
I participated in the Murder Scene Blogfest yesterday and this bar scene is from the same manuscript (The Beautiful People). My murder scene is where my MC discovers that her brother is a soldier for the mob an her boyfriend, Dominic, is as well. This scene takes place before Natalie knows all of this and is in the beginning stages of falling in love with Dominic.
And action!
As I sat at the bar, zoning out, it dawned on me. I was beginning to like Dominic in more ways than just lust. Not good. Maybe he was right in distancing himself. I chugged my drink and stood up.
“Well, good night,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the panic in my voice. I walked up to the employee lounge to get my things. Brittany was getting ready to leave too.
“Hey Natalie! A bunch of us are going over to Blue, wanna come with?”
“Yes!” I jumped at the opportunity, grateful for the distraction.
We passed Grant on the way out and he seemed relieved that I would be hanging out with a bunch of girls. “Be careful,” he advised. “Call me if you need anything.” I rolled my eyes, but knew he would be the first to call if things got out of hand.
A huge line of people stood outside Blue. Many swayed in place and probably should have been home sleeping the booze off and not waiting to get into another club. I recognized several customers from Crimson as I walked past the line. I thought cutting in front seemed rude, but followed Brittany’s lead and we were ushered inside by the bouncer at the door.
Blue was bursting with people and steaming hot; the air heavy with perspiration and the stench of stale booze. We checked our coats at the coat check and filtered through the crowd to the bar. Once I had my drink, I spun around to people-watch and instead came face to chest with Dominic. Gin and tonic splashed all over my shirt.
“Shit!” I gasped as an ice cube dropped down the front and became lodged in my bra. I reached down to fish it out. Dominic seemed amused at the sight.
“I would have gotten that out for you,” he teased.
“So you’re talking to me now?” I countered. The smile vanished from his face.
“Er, yeah. Sorry about earlier. Your bro didn’t like us getting so friendly in the back of Miranda’s car last night.”
“That’s Grant for you.”
“I can’t say I blame him. I’d probably do the same if my little sister started to get involved with someone like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, he’s being a big brother. I get it.” He leaned over to order a drink sandwiching me between him and the bar. His closeness made my stomach flip. I shook my head slightly in an attempt to focus. Don’t do it Nat. Don’t start liking this guy, I warned myself. The counter dug into the small of my back so I shifted. This resulted in being pressed closer to Dominic. He looked me up and down. “I owe you a drink, don’t I?” He asked his voice soft and husky.
“Um, I guess so?” Minutes passed while we waited for the bartender to return with our drinks. Dominic kept me pinned.
“So what’s your story, Natalie?”
“Nothing terribly interesting, I’m afraid. I go to the University of the Arts and I’m graduating in May.”
“What are you studying?”
“My major is sculpture and my minor is painting. What about you, do you go to college?”
“I took a couple semesters, but college didn’t appeal to me. Besides, I’m going into the family business anyway.”
“What business is that?”
The bartender arrived and I never got an answer to the question. Dominic kept me pinned beneath him and he leaned down.
“I wanted to do this last night,” he whispered in my ear. I closed my eyes, anticipating his next move. Sure enough his lips found mine and he pulled me closer to him. I grabbed his bicep, which was flexed from holding me so close. This kiss was like nothing I had ever experienced. Not wet, not sloppy, it was…incredible. I stopped holding back and fell into the moment. The loud club ceased to exist. When we pulled apart I had to catch my breath. My insides were begging and pleading for more. I could very easily have taken Dominic back to my apartment, slept with him and then be done. I was about ready to propose this, but stopped myself as another realization hit me.
I wanted more than a one night fling.
We moved in at the same time for another kiss. Our lips had barely touched when Brittany emerged from the crowd, pulling me away from Dominic and onto the dance floor.
“Brittany, I was kind of in the middle of something back there,” I yelled over the music.
“Really?” She seemed oblivious, but I had a feeling she knew exactly what she was doing. I looked back towards the bar, but Dominic was gone. Damn.
And action!
As I sat at the bar, zoning out, it dawned on me. I was beginning to like Dominic in more ways than just lust. Not good. Maybe he was right in distancing himself. I chugged my drink and stood up.
“Well, good night,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the panic in my voice. I walked up to the employee lounge to get my things. Brittany was getting ready to leave too.
“Hey Natalie! A bunch of us are going over to Blue, wanna come with?”
“Yes!” I jumped at the opportunity, grateful for the distraction.
We passed Grant on the way out and he seemed relieved that I would be hanging out with a bunch of girls. “Be careful,” he advised. “Call me if you need anything.” I rolled my eyes, but knew he would be the first to call if things got out of hand.
A huge line of people stood outside Blue. Many swayed in place and probably should have been home sleeping the booze off and not waiting to get into another club. I recognized several customers from Crimson as I walked past the line. I thought cutting in front seemed rude, but followed Brittany’s lead and we were ushered inside by the bouncer at the door.
Blue was bursting with people and steaming hot; the air heavy with perspiration and the stench of stale booze. We checked our coats at the coat check and filtered through the crowd to the bar. Once I had my drink, I spun around to people-watch and instead came face to chest with Dominic. Gin and tonic splashed all over my shirt.
“Shit!” I gasped as an ice cube dropped down the front and became lodged in my bra. I reached down to fish it out. Dominic seemed amused at the sight.
“I would have gotten that out for you,” he teased.
“So you’re talking to me now?” I countered. The smile vanished from his face.
“Er, yeah. Sorry about earlier. Your bro didn’t like us getting so friendly in the back of Miranda’s car last night.”
“That’s Grant for you.”
“I can’t say I blame him. I’d probably do the same if my little sister started to get involved with someone like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, he’s being a big brother. I get it.” He leaned over to order a drink sandwiching me between him and the bar. His closeness made my stomach flip. I shook my head slightly in an attempt to focus. Don’t do it Nat. Don’t start liking this guy, I warned myself. The counter dug into the small of my back so I shifted. This resulted in being pressed closer to Dominic. He looked me up and down. “I owe you a drink, don’t I?” He asked his voice soft and husky.
“Um, I guess so?” Minutes passed while we waited for the bartender to return with our drinks. Dominic kept me pinned.
“So what’s your story, Natalie?”
“Nothing terribly interesting, I’m afraid. I go to the University of the Arts and I’m graduating in May.”
“What are you studying?”
“My major is sculpture and my minor is painting. What about you, do you go to college?”
“I took a couple semesters, but college didn’t appeal to me. Besides, I’m going into the family business anyway.”
“What business is that?”
The bartender arrived and I never got an answer to the question. Dominic kept me pinned beneath him and he leaned down.
“I wanted to do this last night,” he whispered in my ear. I closed my eyes, anticipating his next move. Sure enough his lips found mine and he pulled me closer to him. I grabbed his bicep, which was flexed from holding me so close. This kiss was like nothing I had ever experienced. Not wet, not sloppy, it was…incredible. I stopped holding back and fell into the moment. The loud club ceased to exist. When we pulled apart I had to catch my breath. My insides were begging and pleading for more. I could very easily have taken Dominic back to my apartment, slept with him and then be done. I was about ready to propose this, but stopped myself as another realization hit me.
I wanted more than a one night fling.
We moved in at the same time for another kiss. Our lips had barely touched when Brittany emerged from the crowd, pulling me away from Dominic and onto the dance floor.
“Brittany, I was kind of in the middle of something back there,” I yelled over the music.
“Really?” She seemed oblivious, but I had a feeling she knew exactly what she was doing. I looked back towards the bar, but Dominic was gone. Damn.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Murder Scene Blogfest
When I saw that Anne Riley was hosting a Murder Scene Blogfest, I became intrigued. This is my first blogfest, but since my finished manuscript is about the Philly mob, I had more than one scene to choose from. My MC, Natalie, doesn't know that her brother, Grant, is a soldier for the mafia or that her boyfriend, Dominic, is either. In fact, Dominic's uncle is the mob boss. This is Chapter 13 (fitting number) where the truth is revealed in a rather graphic manner. The setting is what appears to be a condemned building form the outside, but is really an exclusive after hours club for the mob.
The ride was quiet. Dom’s dark eyebrows creased together forming a pensive expression. There was something on his mind that much I could tell. My repeated attempts to find out didn’t yield anything, sending my imagination into overdrive. Dominic navigated his Mustang down the dimly lit street. By the time he parked in front of the now familiar condemned building I was convinced he was going to break up with me. Once inside he placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the same small table where we always sat. Dominic went up to the bar and ordered drinks. He came back with a bottle of Dom Perignon and two champagne flutes. His face was brighter and the smile he flashed, reached his eyes.
“What the hell?”
“We’re celebrating.” He said as he popped the cork and poured the bubbly. He held up his flute to toast. “To us!” He clinked his glass against mine and we sipped. After a couple of glasses I was feeling the buzz. We were both laughing uncontrollably at anything. I rested my head on his shoulder to catch my breath.
Suddenly a commotion broke out in the back room. A bunch of men were yelling and the doorman, Sam, took off down the hall. Gunshots exploded and I hit the floor. Dominic hunched over me protectively. Our champagne bottle was on the floor having been knocked over when I bumped against the table. Several other patrons were crouched down in similar positions. Dominic made sure I was okay and then stood up.
“Where are you going?” I hissed, alarmed.
“To see what happened.”
“Are you crazy? You’re going to get shot!”
“Relax Nat. Everything’s fine.” He spun around and left the room.
I stood up slowly, on shaky legs to follow him. Acrid gun smoke clouded the air, tickling my throat. I peeked around the doorway and down the hall. My eyes saw the blood first. A pool crept outwards from a man lying on his back, motionless on the floor. The force of the bullet had knocked him backwards in his chair when it entered his head. What was left of his skull was the source of the pool of blood. I couldn’t look away. The slow creep hypnotized me. I could identify bits of bone; stark white islands in a red sea. Chunks of brain matter settled in the pool like gelatinous mounds. The dead man’s right arm was flung up over his head, damming the flow, which had already started to coagulate and collect in the grooves of the wooden floorboards. A gun lay a few inches from his open hand.
I wasn’t aware of the sets of eyes staring at me. The sound of my brother speaking broke my fixation, “What is she doing here?” There was an accusatory tone to his voice.
I looked up from the body and into the back room. Grant was standing on the other side of the table flanked by Dominic and Sam. All three were looking at me. Sam’s expression was of wariness, Dominic’s concern and Grant’s anger. I quickly broke eye contact and wished that I hadn’t. Two other men were lying face down on the table in smaller pools of blood. My eyes moved to Grant again, he was the only one holding a gun.
The vodka tonics and champagne I had earlier burned up the back of my throat forcing me to bend over and vomit onto the floor of the hallway. Dizzy, I reached one hand out against the wall for support. I wiped my mouth with the back of my other hand and stared at a spot on the floor that wasn’t covered in vomit or blood or brains. My heart thundered in my ears and I tried to slow my breathing. I needed to sit but was unable to move at first. Slowly, I slid down the wall and hugged my knees to my chest. I didn’t care that my skirt hiked up to reveal my thong. That really seemed inconsequential at the moment. I closed my eyes and willed myself to get a grip. The smell of the death and my barf wasn’t helping to clear my head, but I was eventually able to calm down and became vaguely aware of people talking in the bar area behind me. No one else had gotten up to investigate.
“Hey Uncle Al,” Dominic called down the hall, “Can you help Natalie for me?”
Dominic was trapped on the other side of the body and the lake of blood and couldn’t get to me. A tall, wiry man with salt and pepper hair and a goatee appeared at my side and helped me up. He wrapped his arm around my back in a fatherly gesture and helped me across to the bar. My legs were still shaking and I welcomed the bar stool. The bartender set a glass of ice water in front of me and I gingerly took a sip, grateful to wash down some of the bile residue. Uncle Al sat down next to me.
“How you doin’?” He asked.
“I…I don’t know how to answer that.” I honestly didn’t. I was scared sick, horrified at the gruesome scene I had just witnessed and in shock that my brother was responsible for the carnage. I was even more unnerved that everyone else was so calm. It was like nothing had ever happened. “I need something stronger than water.”
The bartender set a glass of cognac in front of me. I took a healthy swig and braced myself for it to come back up. Fortunately, it soothed my stomach instead and the warmth spread out through my muscles; acting as an anesthetic for my nerves.
“There. Feel better?” Uncle Al patted my hand. He must have seen me relax. I turned to look at him and saw the same green eyes as Dominic and Miranda, only lined with crow’s feet. His skin had an olive complexion, like Dominic.
“I do. Thank you.”
“You just sit here. That mess will be cleaned up in no time.” My hands started shaking again and I quickly took another sip. “I’m Dominic’s Uncle, Al Grabano.” He shook my trembling hand.
“I’m Natalie Ross.” It seemed to be an odd time for introductions. He was looking at my profile and I could feel him evaluating my behavior. Now that the initial shock had worn off and the booze had started to kick in I thought I was ready to process the situation, a little bit at a time. “What happened?” I asked, hesitantly.
“I think we better wait for Grant and Dominic to answer your questions.” We sat in silence. The smell of bleach wafted into the room and soon filled it up completely. Scrubbing sounds drifted down the hall and a door slammed a couple of times. The other men in the room carried on their conversations over drinks, oblivious to the activities around them. After the second glass of cognac my stomach burned a little and my eyelids grew heavy. I rested my head against my hand and dozed off.
The ride was quiet. Dom’s dark eyebrows creased together forming a pensive expression. There was something on his mind that much I could tell. My repeated attempts to find out didn’t yield anything, sending my imagination into overdrive. Dominic navigated his Mustang down the dimly lit street. By the time he parked in front of the now familiar condemned building I was convinced he was going to break up with me. Once inside he placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the same small table where we always sat. Dominic went up to the bar and ordered drinks. He came back with a bottle of Dom Perignon and two champagne flutes. His face was brighter and the smile he flashed, reached his eyes.
“What the hell?”
“We’re celebrating.” He said as he popped the cork and poured the bubbly. He held up his flute to toast. “To us!” He clinked his glass against mine and we sipped. After a couple of glasses I was feeling the buzz. We were both laughing uncontrollably at anything. I rested my head on his shoulder to catch my breath.
Suddenly a commotion broke out in the back room. A bunch of men were yelling and the doorman, Sam, took off down the hall. Gunshots exploded and I hit the floor. Dominic hunched over me protectively. Our champagne bottle was on the floor having been knocked over when I bumped against the table. Several other patrons were crouched down in similar positions. Dominic made sure I was okay and then stood up.
“Where are you going?” I hissed, alarmed.
“To see what happened.”
“Are you crazy? You’re going to get shot!”
“Relax Nat. Everything’s fine.” He spun around and left the room.
I stood up slowly, on shaky legs to follow him. Acrid gun smoke clouded the air, tickling my throat. I peeked around the doorway and down the hall. My eyes saw the blood first. A pool crept outwards from a man lying on his back, motionless on the floor. The force of the bullet had knocked him backwards in his chair when it entered his head. What was left of his skull was the source of the pool of blood. I couldn’t look away. The slow creep hypnotized me. I could identify bits of bone; stark white islands in a red sea. Chunks of brain matter settled in the pool like gelatinous mounds. The dead man’s right arm was flung up over his head, damming the flow, which had already started to coagulate and collect in the grooves of the wooden floorboards. A gun lay a few inches from his open hand.
I wasn’t aware of the sets of eyes staring at me. The sound of my brother speaking broke my fixation, “What is she doing here?” There was an accusatory tone to his voice.
I looked up from the body and into the back room. Grant was standing on the other side of the table flanked by Dominic and Sam. All three were looking at me. Sam’s expression was of wariness, Dominic’s concern and Grant’s anger. I quickly broke eye contact and wished that I hadn’t. Two other men were lying face down on the table in smaller pools of blood. My eyes moved to Grant again, he was the only one holding a gun.
The vodka tonics and champagne I had earlier burned up the back of my throat forcing me to bend over and vomit onto the floor of the hallway. Dizzy, I reached one hand out against the wall for support. I wiped my mouth with the back of my other hand and stared at a spot on the floor that wasn’t covered in vomit or blood or brains. My heart thundered in my ears and I tried to slow my breathing. I needed to sit but was unable to move at first. Slowly, I slid down the wall and hugged my knees to my chest. I didn’t care that my skirt hiked up to reveal my thong. That really seemed inconsequential at the moment. I closed my eyes and willed myself to get a grip. The smell of the death and my barf wasn’t helping to clear my head, but I was eventually able to calm down and became vaguely aware of people talking in the bar area behind me. No one else had gotten up to investigate.
“Hey Uncle Al,” Dominic called down the hall, “Can you help Natalie for me?”
Dominic was trapped on the other side of the body and the lake of blood and couldn’t get to me. A tall, wiry man with salt and pepper hair and a goatee appeared at my side and helped me up. He wrapped his arm around my back in a fatherly gesture and helped me across to the bar. My legs were still shaking and I welcomed the bar stool. The bartender set a glass of ice water in front of me and I gingerly took a sip, grateful to wash down some of the bile residue. Uncle Al sat down next to me.
“How you doin’?” He asked.
“I…I don’t know how to answer that.” I honestly didn’t. I was scared sick, horrified at the gruesome scene I had just witnessed and in shock that my brother was responsible for the carnage. I was even more unnerved that everyone else was so calm. It was like nothing had ever happened. “I need something stronger than water.”
The bartender set a glass of cognac in front of me. I took a healthy swig and braced myself for it to come back up. Fortunately, it soothed my stomach instead and the warmth spread out through my muscles; acting as an anesthetic for my nerves.
“There. Feel better?” Uncle Al patted my hand. He must have seen me relax. I turned to look at him and saw the same green eyes as Dominic and Miranda, only lined with crow’s feet. His skin had an olive complexion, like Dominic.
“I do. Thank you.”
“You just sit here. That mess will be cleaned up in no time.” My hands started shaking again and I quickly took another sip. “I’m Dominic’s Uncle, Al Grabano.” He shook my trembling hand.
“I’m Natalie Ross.” It seemed to be an odd time for introductions. He was looking at my profile and I could feel him evaluating my behavior. Now that the initial shock had worn off and the booze had started to kick in I thought I was ready to process the situation, a little bit at a time. “What happened?” I asked, hesitantly.
“I think we better wait for Grant and Dominic to answer your questions.” We sat in silence. The smell of bleach wafted into the room and soon filled it up completely. Scrubbing sounds drifted down the hall and a door slammed a couple of times. The other men in the room carried on their conversations over drinks, oblivious to the activities around them. After the second glass of cognac my stomach burned a little and my eyelids grew heavy. I rested my head against my hand and dozed off.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
The Last Storm
Aspiring Writers is a LinkedIn group that holds a monthly short story competition. At the end of the year each monthly winning story, and some of the runners up, will be compiled into a book that will be sold on www.lebrary.com. A panel of judges will select the grand winner and the winner picks a charity for the proceeds to be donated to.
My story, The Last Storm, was selected as the winning story for the March competition. I received the email first thing this morning notifying me of my win. Needless to say, I've been stoked all day. This notification came during a period of self doubt and provides the affirmation I need to keep on keepin' on.
The topic was "snow", it could be any genre and had to be 715 words or less. Here's the story:
The Last Storm
By EJ Fechenda
A loud commercial on TV woke me up. I had been watching the local news for updates on the supposed “Storm of the Century” that was barreling its way north. I yawned and creaked out of the recliner. The weatherman always blew storms out of proportion and I knew this one wouldn’t be any different. So after switching off the TV, adding more wood to woodstove for the night, I shuffled down the hall to my bedroom.
Frank had died over five years ago, but I refused to take over the whole bed and stayed on my side as if he were still slumbering next to me. Despite the howling wind and branches scraping against the side of the house, I fell asleep.
A creaking noise coming from the attic woke me in the wee hours of the morning. I went to switch on the bedside lamp, but the power was out and the generator hadn’t started. I sighed and could see my breath in the dim light. I put on my glasses before retrieving the flashlight out of the table drawer.
The hem of my flannel nightgown brushed the tops of my slippers, trapping warmth against my bare legs. I made my way through the house, the creaking noise growing louder as I reached the kitchen. I pointed the flashlight up and noticed a crack had formed. Part of the ceiling was on the verge of collapse. Alarmed, I backed out of the room, unable to take my eyes off of the damage.
With the power out, the heat hadn’t kicked on after the fire in the woodstove had burnt out. I opened the back door to get more firewood off of the small porch and faced a wall of white. The entire doorframe was packed with snow. I had never seen so much. A small avalanche tumbled into the house, covering my slippers. Snow slipped down the sides, freezing my already cold feet.
Cursing under my breath I stomped and shook the icy powder loose before walking back to the bedroom. I changed into pants, a turtleneck and a thick Irish cable knit sweater that used to belong to Frank. With my feet encased in warm wool socks, I slipped on boots and prepared to walk onto the porch.
Initially, I thought the wall was caused by drifting and the accumulation wouldn’t be that deep beyond the door. I was partially right. Yes, drifting had caused the excess amount, but at least four feet of fresh snow had fallen overnight, which explained the roof caving in. The firewood was buried and wet and in order to get to the shed that housed the generator, I would have to make my way the length of half a football field through chest high snow. My old body balked at the challenge.
With the phones out, the house growing colder by the minute and the generator closer than any neighbor, I decided to give it a try. I spent a good ten minutes feeling around for the shovel usually propped against the side of the house, but couldn’t find it. Assuming the wind had blown it out of reach, I went without. After twenty feet I was winded, sweaty and…had to pee.
“Well, crap!” I muttered to myself and debated going back to the house. No one was around and the snow provided privacy, so I pulled up my parka, dropped my drawers and squatted.
I didn’t plan on falling. I landed hard and felt my hip shatter. Pain ripped through my body and I tried to get up, but the agony was too immense. I lay on the ground and tried to calm down. Never had I missed Frank more. He always handled the woodpile and the generator. I tried to crawl, but each movement made me quiver with pain. I yelled for help, but nobody came. It was well below freezing and with my pants stuck around my knees the cold sank in fast. I could feel my heart rate slow and imagined the blood in my veins getting sluggish. I struggled to stay awake and knew with hypothermia, once you succumbed to the sleep, you rarely woke up.
I thought of this as my eyelids closed.
My story, The Last Storm, was selected as the winning story for the March competition. I received the email first thing this morning notifying me of my win. Needless to say, I've been stoked all day. This notification came during a period of self doubt and provides the affirmation I need to keep on keepin' on.
The topic was "snow", it could be any genre and had to be 715 words or less. Here's the story:
The Last Storm
By EJ Fechenda
A loud commercial on TV woke me up. I had been watching the local news for updates on the supposed “Storm of the Century” that was barreling its way north. I yawned and creaked out of the recliner. The weatherman always blew storms out of proportion and I knew this one wouldn’t be any different. So after switching off the TV, adding more wood to woodstove for the night, I shuffled down the hall to my bedroom.
Frank had died over five years ago, but I refused to take over the whole bed and stayed on my side as if he were still slumbering next to me. Despite the howling wind and branches scraping against the side of the house, I fell asleep.
A creaking noise coming from the attic woke me in the wee hours of the morning. I went to switch on the bedside lamp, but the power was out and the generator hadn’t started. I sighed and could see my breath in the dim light. I put on my glasses before retrieving the flashlight out of the table drawer.
The hem of my flannel nightgown brushed the tops of my slippers, trapping warmth against my bare legs. I made my way through the house, the creaking noise growing louder as I reached the kitchen. I pointed the flashlight up and noticed a crack had formed. Part of the ceiling was on the verge of collapse. Alarmed, I backed out of the room, unable to take my eyes off of the damage.
With the power out, the heat hadn’t kicked on after the fire in the woodstove had burnt out. I opened the back door to get more firewood off of the small porch and faced a wall of white. The entire doorframe was packed with snow. I had never seen so much. A small avalanche tumbled into the house, covering my slippers. Snow slipped down the sides, freezing my already cold feet.
Cursing under my breath I stomped and shook the icy powder loose before walking back to the bedroom. I changed into pants, a turtleneck and a thick Irish cable knit sweater that used to belong to Frank. With my feet encased in warm wool socks, I slipped on boots and prepared to walk onto the porch.
Initially, I thought the wall was caused by drifting and the accumulation wouldn’t be that deep beyond the door. I was partially right. Yes, drifting had caused the excess amount, but at least four feet of fresh snow had fallen overnight, which explained the roof caving in. The firewood was buried and wet and in order to get to the shed that housed the generator, I would have to make my way the length of half a football field through chest high snow. My old body balked at the challenge.
With the phones out, the house growing colder by the minute and the generator closer than any neighbor, I decided to give it a try. I spent a good ten minutes feeling around for the shovel usually propped against the side of the house, but couldn’t find it. Assuming the wind had blown it out of reach, I went without. After twenty feet I was winded, sweaty and…had to pee.
“Well, crap!” I muttered to myself and debated going back to the house. No one was around and the snow provided privacy, so I pulled up my parka, dropped my drawers and squatted.
I didn’t plan on falling. I landed hard and felt my hip shatter. Pain ripped through my body and I tried to get up, but the agony was too immense. I lay on the ground and tried to calm down. Never had I missed Frank more. He always handled the woodpile and the generator. I tried to crawl, but each movement made me quiver with pain. I yelled for help, but nobody came. It was well below freezing and with my pants stuck around my knees the cold sank in fast. I could feel my heart rate slow and imagined the blood in my veins getting sluggish. I struggled to stay awake and knew with hypothermia, once you succumbed to the sleep, you rarely woke up.
I thought of this as my eyelids closed.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Lean on Me
Last night as I was cooking dinner, the phone rang. My sister-in-law needed a favor. I instantly thought that she needed my son to watch her son or something of that nature. Nothing could have prepared me for what she said next.
"Your brother cut off his finger at work and it's being reattached."
"WHAT?"
"He cut off one of his fingers and is in the ER at Mercy Hospital. I need to meet him there. The kids aren't answering the phone at the house. Can you go check on them?"
We live about 5 blocks away from each other and I was already looking for my car keys.
"They will need to fend for themselves for dinner."
"Nonsense," I said. "I'm cooking spaghetti and there's enough for everyone, I'll bring them here and feed them."
Within minutes of hanging up, I had my two nieces, my nephew and my stepson piled into the car. The kids were excited for spaghetti and meatballs and only mildly concerned that their father had chopped his finger off. They were debating how many stitches he was going to need while shoveling pasta into their mouths. Bless their hearts.
An hour later my brother and sister-in-law showed up at the house. Apparently it was the tip of his finger (right above the first knuckle) and it was only 3/4 of the way cut-off. Gruesome details such as the skin being peeled back, exposing raw flesh, were revealed, much to the disgusted delight of the kids. Our dog was more excited about the new chew toy attached to my brother's hand. "No, Bullwinkle! Bad dog!"
"It could have been worse," my brother said.
"Yes, it could have been your middle finger," I responded. Many laughs ensued. We could laugh about it because it wasn't as bad as we all had imagined.
How does this tie into writing?
Today I kept thinking about support systems. My sister-in-law was able to call on me in her time of need and I was there for her. The security of knowing one person (or a couple people) you would trust with your life and who will be there to bail you out, no questions asked, is important.
The same applies for writing. All writers go through periods of self-doubt where we are convinced anything we've ever written is crap (also explains why Poe and Hemmingway had a problem with the drink). Having someone you can call during these dark periods is essential. Even if it's one other person, this person is your writing lifeline.
My writing lifeline is my friend Nicole. We found each other by accident (or maybe fate brought us together), when Nicole posted on a forum she wanted to start a writer's group. This is when I discovered we already knew each other through a project at work, which we outsource to her company. We had worked together for a year and neither of us knew the other was a writer. After our first writer's group meeting we realized we had the same goals, the same drive and even gave ourselves the same nickname, "Hard Core" (no not porn). Fortunately, we write different genres and aren't competition, otherwise we'd probably have to kill each other. He he.
She understands when I begin to hate every word I've written or I start to doubt I'll ever attain my dream. She pushes me through and encourages me to stay the course. When she begins to doubt herself, I'm there for her. We can vent to each other and share new ideas without the fear of criticism.
Also, through Twitter and shewrites.com, I've found a great group of writers who experience the same growing pains. It's nice to know a support system is out there; a net has been cast to catch me when I fall.
Who is your safety net? I'd love to hear about how they've helped you with your writing.
"Your brother cut off his finger at work and it's being reattached."
"WHAT?"
"He cut off one of his fingers and is in the ER at Mercy Hospital. I need to meet him there. The kids aren't answering the phone at the house. Can you go check on them?"
We live about 5 blocks away from each other and I was already looking for my car keys.
"They will need to fend for themselves for dinner."
"Nonsense," I said. "I'm cooking spaghetti and there's enough for everyone, I'll bring them here and feed them."
Within minutes of hanging up, I had my two nieces, my nephew and my stepson piled into the car. The kids were excited for spaghetti and meatballs and only mildly concerned that their father had chopped his finger off. They were debating how many stitches he was going to need while shoveling pasta into their mouths. Bless their hearts.
An hour later my brother and sister-in-law showed up at the house. Apparently it was the tip of his finger (right above the first knuckle) and it was only 3/4 of the way cut-off. Gruesome details such as the skin being peeled back, exposing raw flesh, were revealed, much to the disgusted delight of the kids. Our dog was more excited about the new chew toy attached to my brother's hand. "No, Bullwinkle! Bad dog!"
"It could have been worse," my brother said.
"Yes, it could have been your middle finger," I responded. Many laughs ensued. We could laugh about it because it wasn't as bad as we all had imagined.
How does this tie into writing?
Today I kept thinking about support systems. My sister-in-law was able to call on me in her time of need and I was there for her. The security of knowing one person (or a couple people) you would trust with your life and who will be there to bail you out, no questions asked, is important.
The same applies for writing. All writers go through periods of self-doubt where we are convinced anything we've ever written is crap (also explains why Poe and Hemmingway had a problem with the drink). Having someone you can call during these dark periods is essential. Even if it's one other person, this person is your writing lifeline.
My writing lifeline is my friend Nicole. We found each other by accident (or maybe fate brought us together), when Nicole posted on a forum she wanted to start a writer's group. This is when I discovered we already knew each other through a project at work, which we outsource to her company. We had worked together for a year and neither of us knew the other was a writer. After our first writer's group meeting we realized we had the same goals, the same drive and even gave ourselves the same nickname, "Hard Core" (no not porn). Fortunately, we write different genres and aren't competition, otherwise we'd probably have to kill each other. He he.
She understands when I begin to hate every word I've written or I start to doubt I'll ever attain my dream. She pushes me through and encourages me to stay the course. When she begins to doubt herself, I'm there for her. We can vent to each other and share new ideas without the fear of criticism.
Also, through Twitter and shewrites.com, I've found a great group of writers who experience the same growing pains. It's nice to know a support system is out there; a net has been cast to catch me when I fall.
Who is your safety net? I'd love to hear about how they've helped you with your writing.
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