Rejection

At this point, I cannot count the number of rejections I’ve gotten on my short horror stories.

It’s disheartening to say the least, but I think the fact that they haven’t kept me from writing shows how I’ve grown as an author. I used to get really down about it and, really, I still do. But the fact that I’m still working on my book days later, despite the little voice in the back of my head that is telling me to give up, is a good sign.

I’m eleven chapters into my novella and I plan on finishing the final couple of chapters tonight so I can start editing. That voice is still going to be there, but at this point, I’m just going to keep at it. Even if my writing is terrible, even if the book gets finished and no one wants it, at least it’ll be done and I’ll have accomplished this monster task. I’ve never finished a book before, always giving up halfway through.Just getting it done, at this point, will be enough.

Writing is my life and if I want to do it, seriously, as a career, I need to push on, even when others are telling me no.

Prologue

pexels-photo-673862[Photo by it’s me neosiam from Pexels ]

 

Music drifted through the peaceful halls of the house, winding its way through the open basement door and down the stairs. It wrapped around the two of us and I couldn’t help humming along.

This magic moment, so different and so new…

Was like any other until I kissed you…

It was magic how the scalpel in my hand, caressed by my fingertips, pressed into him, sharp enough to part the flesh like cutting butter. Crimson weeping wounds kissed his skin and making him shake. For joy, I told myself. He was just as happy as I was that this was happening. My love, my dear. Staying with me in the most permanent of ways.

And then it happened, it took me by surprise…

The Drifters crooned, making my heart melt. You took me by surprise. Each new incarnation of you that I took captive. Each new man that wears your face, that smiles your smile, that laughs your laugh.

I knew that you felt it too, by the look in your eyes…

He was weeping. I almost was too. Each time felt like the first. Each time new, yet the same. Each time pure. Each kill a retelling of the same old story, the same tragedy that I live. The tragedy that is me without you.

Sweeter than wine

Softer than the summer night

Everything I want, I have…

I have you, even if you aren’t here. You on this table, letting me carve you up. He has a different name, but he tastes like you when we’ve kissed. He makes the same soft sounds low in his throat. Sort of like the keening sounds he’s making now, though not nearly as high-pitched.

Already I’m thinking of how I’ll prepare him, after I’ve cut him into fillets.

Whenever I hold you tight…

    How many times had I held him tight, pretending he was you? And then he was going to leave, just as you did, just like all of the others. I couldn’t let him. Of course I couldn’t. I wasn’t going to be left behind, some forgotten memory.

Blood gushed up around my fingers, warm wet coating the tips and making me hum.

This magic moment while your lips are close to mine…

I couldn’t help having a tiny taste. I didn’t want to spoil my appetite, but a little self-indulgence wouldn’t hurt. I flicked my tongue over the mess he’d made, a burst of copper hitting my taste buds and the metallic scent that hung heavy in the air filling my nostrils.

Will last forever, forever till the end of time…

I’ll keep you like this.

Break

So, NaNoWriMo got me down for a while because though I wrote for the first day, life got in the way and kept me from writing much. Which caused what I call a ‘failure spiral’. I don’t complete the goals I set for myself, feel like a failure and then sink into a crappy depression. So I’ve been avoiding working on anything as a sort of self-flagellation.

But! I’m back to work on my Novella and I am very excited about it!

The main character and I have worked out exactly how this is going to be formatted. It’s a bit disheartening to struggle through half of it only to have my MC hate everything I’m writing and resisting the whole way. I’ve scrapped what I wrote before and we’re starting again. He’s being much more cooperative, which is great, and I’m much more excited to write now.

I’ll probably post little snippets here of things that I like most, so keep an eye out for them~

Journaling

I said before that I didn’t want to making this a journal/blogging type outlet, but I was recently challenged to start journaling in the form of short stories or little drabbles, writing about myself as if I were writing fiction, which actually seems like a fun way to do it. I don’t necessarily like writing about myself, but I intend to find prompts and whatever comes out of this little project I will post here. I realize I’ve been neglecting this site a lot, but that should changed in the months to come. I’ve joined a local writing group and though it’s small I’m hoping that being around other writers will inspire me to get back to working on what I love. I’ve hit another dead patch and I sorta hate it. Between that and this little personal project, hopefully I’ll have some decent new content to offer~

Routines

Sera runs.

She’s one of four pet rats kept in this little apartment, in a cage far too big, or perhaps not entirely big enough. Her little feet rush over the cheap plastic of her ever turning wheel as the others sleep and eat. I wonder what her day is like. Running but going nowhere. Does she know how stuck she is or is it enough to keep the wheel spinning, that wheel that’s started to squeak from age and wear.

It’s still early, early for me anyway. It’s noon and I’ve just woken up. I’ll be stay up until three or four in the morning. The rats will too. I have a cup of coffee next to me and my laptop open. Work first, like always. There’s a schedule I follow every day; work, school, play. I pull up my browser, check work notifications, reacheck my time card, then get down to business. SIx hours of work, from noon to six, sitting there toiling over various tasks. I can’t sit still. My computer chair moves, wheels spin, back and forth absently as my eyes are fixed on the screen.

 

Sera runs.

 

I get up for bathroom breaks, to eat, or to pause at the cage to watch the other girls napping in their hammock, the three of them together making a ball of fur and pink ears and long tails. I always return to that chair. After work is school. All there in front of the monitor. Endless rows of text. Maybe I can get some writing done later if I’m not too tired. The chair is starting to squeak in time with the turning of the wheel. My fingers are tapping away at the keys, pausing now and again to use the mouse. More coffee. I’m getting somewhere. Once school is taken care of then I can play a little. Gaming, writing, chatting with friends. More text on a screen. I pause long enough to make dinner. I fill a large pot of water with pasta and watch the coils on the stove turn from black to a bright orange before dumping the noodles in. Rigatoni. It’s my favorite kind, long and round. The best for trapping sauce, I think as I stir now the bubbling water, watching the contents spin.

I get back to my seat with a steaming bowl of food, back to wiggling the chair, rolling it too and fro on the carpet, and Sera runs.