Day 1 of 31

I feel I must preface this with some sort of random explanation. In my super delusional mind I think I have this army of dedicated, mindless, followers that are unsure of my daily activities. I understand that is greatly preposterous but I digress.

For whatever reason I have decided to begin NaNoWriMo a month early. I guess I just wanted an extra day to bear some of the weight from the ultimate goal of a novel length work of fiction at 50,000 words. The other thing that confuses me is why I chose to do it publicly. Already I am sweating and going crazy fearing what people will say and think. Like any good writer I'm a perfectionist.(Mother of god, what was I thinking.) But I made a broad statement on my twitter and regardless of who reads it I made a promise and I want to stick to my word.

My internal mantra has been "just do it." I'm sure anyone that has done NaNoWriMo in the past knows how it works. The basic idea is to hit the allotted number of words; which for me stands at 1,612 since I have a whole extra day. I'm not supposed to re-read, or try and fix what I've written. It's just going. Like the website says: it's a sprint, not a marathon.

This exercise is not concentrated on the ultimate goal of a polished work of fiction. That of course comes later. This is PURELY a chance to get the words down that constantly bounce about in my thoughts. So... here I go.

Day 1 of 31.
Goal: 1,612 words
Start time: 9:15

When Aidan Palmer turned onto Tarotwood Lane, facing his house that sat at the end of the cul-de-sac street, two things were glaringly wrong. His eight year old son Jeffrey sat on the curb by himself, with his knees in his chest, in front of their home and a car that did not belong to him or anyone he knew was parked in the driveway, the driver side door open. Aidan sped up for the last few feet, screeching to a halt into the space next to the stranger vehicle. He hopped out and looked in through the window. The keys still plugged in the ignition, along with a large leather purse in the passenger seat, and a can of diet soda.

Aidan rushed around the car to his son that stood when he came into view, and then met him half-way.

"Jeff," Aidan said, "What're you doing?"

"I don't want to go inside. The lady scares me."

Aidan's green eyes turned to look at the house. The front door stood only slightly ajar.

"What woman, son?"

Jeff merely shrugged, playing with his right ear, a simple clue that told his father he was upset.

"What I want you to do is to sit in my car and lock the doors. Do you understand?"

Jeffrey nodded and held his hand out for the car keys, which his father produced from his pocket and set them into his tiny palm. The young boy did as his father instructed and rounded the end of the Aidan's dinged and scratched pick-up.

Aidan faced the house and braced himself.

The next thing Aidan noticed, as he pushed open the door, was that the deadbolt still held the key in place. The very same key Aidan had just placed beneath the bear statue for Jeffrey this morning.

"Hello?" he called out, his body tensing.

Sprinkled through the house, like a trail of bread crumbs, were women's clothes. He followed them into the family room where he found the mexican woman sitting on the couch, wrapped in a purple blanket, sipping on a juice box held delicately in one hand and holding a bottle of Beer in the other.

"What're you doing?" she said, her brow furrowed.

Aiden repeated the question before he said, "This is my house!"

The woman failed to show any response that she understood. Instead she sat silently, taking another long sip from the straw.

He looked around the room with wide eyes, checking to see if anything was misplaced or taken.

"You need to leave," He said suddenly.

The woman stopped drinking and glared at him.

"Dead Pastor Skip and the ghost told me to come here."

"What?" Aidan said. "Who is pastor skip?"

The woman stood, the blanket falling off of her curved shoulders. Luckily she still wore a red set of bra and panties. In any other circumstance he may have found this exciting but in this very moment he could not. Then there was the fact that she was definitely older than his taste.

"You don't go to Soul Factory?"

"No I don't." He stumbled over words as he tried to find the right ones. "This is my house. Please get dressed and go home."

"The ghost told me to come here."

"I really don't care." He started to pull out his phone. "What's your name, I'm calling the police."

"Can I use the bathroom first?"

Aidan was dumbfounded and annoyed.

"Fine," he said.

The woman made her way without any instruction.

"Do they use the bathroom?" She said, turning back to him at the entry to the hall.

"Who's they?"

"The two ghosts that live here."

"Yeah," he said, "All the time, it's their room."

"Oh, okay," she said blandly. "Can I use the bathroom?"

"I told you yes," Aidan barked.

The woman ignored him and instead answered by entering the bathroom.

Aidan dialed 911 and walked into the kitchen as it rang. He went to the fridge and grabbed a beer.

"Hello, what is your emergency?"

"Yes, a strange woman walked into my house while I was gone and she's still here. She won't leave."

"Do you know the woman?"

"No."

There was a flurry of sharp clicks on the other end.

"Where are you calling from?"

He told her his location and sighed. He popped the metallic cap of the bottle and took a long gulp.

He turned and the woman stood at the end of the counter. Fully naked, her purse clutched in both hands at her chest.

"Please hurry," he said and hung up the phone.

"What happened to your underwear?"

The woman upended her purse and poured it's contents onto the tile surface. A crushed box of cigarettes, a lighter, gold earrings, necklace adorned with jewels, a leather luis vutton wallet, and a bag of a mysterious powder. Suddenly all of this made since to him.

The woman tossed her bag to the side and grabbed her wallet. She pulled out her license and held it inches from Aidan's face. He took a defensive step back. Then when she didn't move he took the card from her and looked at it. She turned and began walking around the house.

He picked up his phone and took a photo of the license and then the woman, staring into the corner of the room.

She lifted a finger and began drawing shapes in the air.

Glancing at the license again Aiden took note of the address. It was clear on the other side of town.

When he looked up again she was gone. He rushed from room to room trying to find her but she was gone, along with all of her clothes. When he went outside her car too was nowhere to be found.

Jeffrey sat in the driver's side, crouched on his knees, his body turned toward the window.



Word Count: 977
End time: 10:40

Prompt 17 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 138 "I know it sounds corny, but this is really going to be the trip of a lifetime."

Start time: 10:49

"I know it sounds corny," Michael said, he looked to the young woman standing next to him before the time vortex, "but this is really going to be the trip of a lifetime."

Tabitha rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Pun intended?" she said.

"Of course," he replied.

The two faced forward and clasped their hands together.

The swirling bright cloud before them, containing the tear in the fabric of time, beckoned them forward. All of the voices and sounds of the past echoed from it.

"How does it work," Tabitha said.

Michael laughed and shrugged.

"Hell if I know."

"Okay."

Tabitha bit her bottom lip and bowed her head.

"Do you think we'll ever come back?"

Michael's expression went from happy to blank. For a moment his eyes searched the air before him before he turned toward his time traveling companion.

"I don't know," he said.

The two pairs of eyes met.

"I don't think so."

Tabitha ripped her hand from Michael's and stepped away. Her hands were held at her chest and she fidgeted with her fingers nervously. It was then that she shook her head.

"I can't do this."

"What?" Michael said. "All the talk. The preparation. You said you would go with me."

Tabitha lifted her hands to her ears and she closed her eyes.

"I know what I said Michael, but I thought all of this was unachievable. Who ever thinks that their boyfriend will actually rip a whole in space and time so that they can travel to any period." she paused for an answer. "No one!"

Michael moved toward her but with every step she moved away until her back met the wall.

"Why didn't you believe me?"

"Seriously?"

A scream echoed from the tear and Michael turned toward it.

Tabitha took that moment to slide along the wall and away from him.

When he turned back around his expression was surprise.

"Love, it doesn't matter," he said, "regardless if you thought I could do it or not I have. We have the greatest opportunity before us. Many in the world would give up everything just for the chance."

"You don't know where we'll end up. That is a crap chute, Michael."

Michael laughed.

"Does it even matter?"

"Yes!" She said.

Tabitha began gathering up her things quickly.

"We could end up in a time where we could be slaves. Or we could end up where there is no running water or food. We could end up where there is no one around and it's just us." She paused. "Are you prepared for that type of situation?"

Tabitha started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Michael said.

He threw himself against the door, blocking her only route out.

"I can't believe I even entertained this idea. This is ridiculous and I would like to leave. Please, let me go."

Michael crossed his arms over his chest and slid halfway down the door, so that he was eye level with Tabitha.

"You'd really let me go on my own?"

Tabitha looked back at the rift for a moment.

"You would really go?"

"We were just about to go a few moments ago!" He said, gesturing towards the portal. "Why all of a sudden the change of heart."

Tabitha opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

It was at that moment that Michael grabbed her arms and began pulling her toward the tear in time.

"What're you doing, Michael?" she said.

Tabitha began to fight against him but he was just too strong for her to battle with.

"Whatever we encounter we will do it together. I will take care of you."

"I told you I don't want to go!"

Tabitha fought harder as Michael stood within inches from the tear.

A grin spread across his face as he stuck a foot into another time and place.

Tabitha lifted her leg and collided with the apex of Michael's legs. His arms retracted toward the pain and it was in that moment that Tabitha shoved him into the tear and it swallowed him whole. With a bolt of lightning it vanished and she stood alone in the garage.

Prompt 16 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 224 "My God, this is like that old Abbott and Costello routine, 'Who's on First?'"

Start time: 9:26

"My God, this is like that old Abbott and Costello routine, 'Who's on First?'" Garith shouted at his sister and vampire friend.

The two turned to him.

"How is this even remotely like that?" Derrick said.

Garith looked side to side.

"It doesn't," he said. He looked down at the ground. "I just wanted to be a part of the conversation."

Derrick gave a half smile showing his canine that had become longer from yesterday.

end time: 10:29

Okay... It is rather obvious that I was not feeling that one at all. It was a dud, dud, dud, dud. I tried to make it work but I really had nothing come to mind. Instead I got lost in a tumblr vortex of doom. Anyway, I'm just going to go ahead and choose another one because that was rather shameful.

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 69 "I'm here to answer the ad in the paper."

Start time: 10:44

The door to Lynette's house cracked open and a single green eye looked through to the outside world. As the door open further a head sprouted from head with dark black hair and milky white skin around a plump face. If you watch closely she moves out further and inspects her surroundings. They are foreign to her, but she is calm.

A car passes by and she is frightened. The elusive Lynette scurries back into the house and watches through the peephole until all has gotten quiet again. She sighs to herself and laughs. One can only imagine what is going through her very fragile mind at this point. It has been sometimes since the subject has been outside of her house. If it hadn't been the pressure of her online support group she would not have even decided to broach the subject now.

"You can do this," she says to herself.

The lynette tries again. At first her actions are slow going but eventually she winds up outside in a very normal suburban neighborhood. The sky is cloudless and the sun in shining. She looks around at the world's beauty. Her expression is unsure but she stands firm as another car goes by.

Once the vehicle has gone quickly around the corner she shuffles to the car and climbs into her old volkswagon bug. For a moment we see her fumble around through the purse she had packed haphazardly this morning. It has been some time since she's needed the assistance of one.

Like any red blooded woman she finds her keys at the bottom of her purse. She sticks it in the ignition and attempts to start the vehicle.

What she has neglected to think of, as any other red blooded American would, is that since her car has spent many years in the driveway without a start it does not. She tries again and again with the same success rate.

Frustrated she bangs furiously on the steering wheel and rushes back inside the house.

There she rushes about furiously trying to find her house phone. She has an appointment to make and already she will be late. Lynette must see this and has become frantic.

"Hello," she says into the phone, clutching at it with both hands. "I need a taxi. Could you send one right away?"

The voice on the other line says a few unintelligible words and she hangs up.

For the next ten minutes Lynette wanders aimlessly around the house. She checks her appearance in the mirror many times. Sighing to herself she shakes her head. Earlier we heard her feelings about her apprehension to answering the personal ad she had found in the paper.

The leader of the group seemed excited at her approach to moving outside of her confined living. She beamed back at her patient and told her to keep trying.

The driver arrives with a knock and Lynette rushes outside. She hops in the car, looking about nervously. The cabby in the driver seat furrows his thick brow and looks at her with unsure eyes.

"Where to?" He says, in an accent.

"The coffee shop on," Lynette says, she rolls her hand in a circle. It seems she has forgotten the name of the establishment she is meant to meet her date. "Harrowley?" She looks at the cabby's reflection for approval.

"Sure," he says and begins to drive.

Lynette sits back and bites at her thumbnail. She clutches her hefty purse to her stomach and taps her foot wildly.

It was explained that her decision to answer an ad was from a dream she had had a few months back. She shared in the group that it was also the wording of the man's post that had her intrigued.

"It was so," she had said. A few moments pass that elude to her not being able to find the right word. Finally she settles on, "Nice."

The others in the group had asked her to read it but for whatever reason she had refused. She blushed at the mention of it and every group since had inquired.

Lynette finally arrives at the agreed upon location. She pays the cabby who seems relieved to be rid of her and doesn't tip him. Although it is acceptable seeing as how she hasn't been accustomed to the real world for some time. He on other hand drives off in a hurry.

The young girl walks in and finds the man seated in the far corner. On the table before him is a single white daisy, per her request. She stops in her tracks and waits. For a moment it looks as though she might turn and run but the gentlemen sees her and stands, smiling.

"Lila!" He says to her waving her over.

She puts her hand to her mouth and shuffles around to tables to get to him. She immediately gives him her hand and they exchange pleasantries. The young man has tight blonde curls, bright blue eyes, and a beautiful smile.

"I have a quick confession to make," Lynette says.

The young man leans forward and steeples his arms on the table.

"Go ahead," he says.

"My name is actually Lynette. I told you that name because I wasn't sure if I was actually going got make it."

The man raises his eyebrows and he sits back in his chair. His face looks uncertain of what to make of the situation.

"Alright," he says, nodding, "Well my name is still Greg."

The two laugh.

"Good," she says.

Prompt 12 of 31

I'm doing everything but writing, it would seem. Especially since I missed the last four days of writing my prompts because I was in Las Vegas carousing with my two best friends. Our evenings were spent gambling, drinking, and laughing. Only a third of the entire trip is a mindless blank. Either way it was such reckless abandon that kept me from my self assigned task. Now, back in the real world of obligations and schedules I am forced to pick up where I left off and I can do little if any at all. I'm worthless right now. I want to just sit and stare off into space but that will gain me nothing. Well, it would if I was letting my mind wander through a new story but I doubt that will happen. Only through working on a new prompt will my mind and writing be tested. So thus I give you number 11 of 31 (I will most certainly pull double duty soon to get my prescribed amount.)

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 110 "A train travels from Paris to Rome. there are several interesting characters staying in the sleeping cars. Write about what happens to each of them during the night: 1)an older married couple... 2) two young women who agree to share a room... 3) a football goalie who, earlier, that evening gave up the winning goal."

Start time: 9:07

The tiny serpent, Malk, with glowing red eyes slithered through the ducts of the train. It's small ears listened intently over the soft scratches of the budding spikes on his back against the metal of the tube. He was sent on a mission to find those deemed fit for departure to another place. Yet none were viable specimens. MOst had been asleep as he passed by their portion of the sleeping car. He thought of listening to their thoughts while they dreamt but that had always proven deadly in the past and would not root out a worthy candidate anyway.

"Ridiculous," he hissed quietly to himself. "Why couldn't he do it."

Finally he came to a compartment with an elderly couple readying for bed. The man helped his wife slip off her dress and shoes and into a silk nightgown with frilly sleeves. The wife did the same for her husband.

Malk rolled his eyes and curled up to watch. They had been the first to be awake and he wanted to make sure that they weren't the ones.

"What did you think of the Eiffel tower tonight, my love?" The man asked as he sat back with care.

His wife sighed happily.

"Even more exquisite as ever. I remember when you proposed to me," she looked at him wryly, "And how on the train ride home we made love."

The old man beamed his crooked smile.

"Would you like to do that again, my sweet?"

His wife gasped and looked about the compartment as if to see if others were about.

"I don't know if we should."

"I still can," he said.

Malk's stomach gave a lurch and bile rose up through his throat. He gulped it back down and slithered away as fast as he could. He knew they would have been a waste of his time, but he had to at least make certain. One time he had missed an opportunity when the husband had descended onto his nagging wife, choking the life out of her. Afterwards he had emerged from the compartment screaming that his wife had died in her sleep. He would have been perfect. Although the two never gave any such sign of animosity.

The next compartment was bursting with activity. He viewed it through the slats in the grate. On one said sat a blonde with her knees pulled up to hide her chest, with her arms wrapped around them. On the opposite side was a girl working intently on her cell phone, her thumbs flying madly over the glass screen.

"Are you sure there's nothing else?"

The girl glanced up from her phone for only a second. "Yes," she replied tersely.

The girl shifted in her seat and lowered her legs for a moment to throw them onto the bench of the compartment.

"This is ridiculous. Why can't you ride somewhere else? Certainly you could stay in the dining car. You seem like you would enjoy that."

The girl with the phone froze in place. Through Malk's eyes he saw the tension between them growing like a black orb, pulsing and swirling like a dark sun. His scaly skin tingled with anticipation.

"Yes," he whispered.

The two girls looked up at the vent.

'What was that," the girl with the phone said.

"Probably the air kicking on. It's insanely hot in here. You take up a lot of the cool air."

The girl with the phone gave her a sour look.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes it does! I'm saying you're a fat cow."

The girl with the phone dropped it to the seat. It bounced once before settling in the crack.

"You want to say that again? I could take your skinny ass."

The other girl rose and quickly discovered that the other girl may have been bulky but she had also had height to portion it out. The two exchanged glares until the compartment door slid open and a young man poked his head in. The short girl's mouth fell open and she froze.

"Hello, Michelle, my belle," the boy said. He took a step in, while he held onto the side of the entry.

"Bonjour, mon ami," the girl with the phone replied.

"I just wanted to see how you're doing. I so appreciate you finding another car to stay in. It's not every day I get to see my family. I didn't know they were all going to come to Rome for the concert."

"no a problem."

"Do you need anything?" the boy asked.

The girl smiled and shook her head. And with that the boy left.

The shorter girl spun around furiously and rushed toward Michelle, who quickly responded with a right hook across the girl's chin. She spun around and fell into the bench seat.

Malk shifted excitedly. He knew his moment was about to arrive.

BUt the shorter girl was not deterred she quickly rose to her feet and, keeping a safe distance, smiled excitedly at Michelle.

"You know Aaron Rose? You TRAVEL with the greatest singer of all time?"

Michelle looked taken aback. Her brow met above her pointed nose.

"Perhaps." Michelle looked unsure.

The shorter girl screamed and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around the stranger and bouncing her up and down.

Malk hissed angrily and slithered to another compartment. He hated teenage girls. They were always hot and cold. One minute they were the most vicious conniving creatures and the next joyful and friendly the next.

The next few compartments were the same, filled with sleeping riders. Frustration began to buzz behind his eyes and he wanted to bite the next person he saw. But he knew if he marked an unworthy human his master would be angry. He might even punish him with eternal agony. He could hear his master's word echo across his memory. "I'll send you back to the depths where I found you if you fail."

Malk was determined and picked up his speed. The next few compartments were duds. One even had a football player in it. But all that radiated from him was disappointment and failure. Strong emotions, sure, but they would not be worthwhile to Malk's mission so he kept on. Finally he reached the end of the car and had to travel through the vent at the end and carefully make his way to the next.

Once he was safely inside he found more compartments of the same, except for one. A man quietly rose from the bed with a sleeping woman. He dressed just as carefully and slipped out the door. Malk could tell something was amiss and followed him down the hall, peeking in through the vents to make sure he still had sight of him. He found him in the restroom. The man looked both ways down the hall before he stepped in and shut the door.

The man went to the mirror and examined himself with a smile. The pride and anticipation radiated from him in red hot waves. Malk was exuberant.

"What is your secret," he hissed quietly. The man, so enraptured with his own image, didn't seem to notice.

A knock sounded at the door and he rushed to open it. He stuck his head out first and then returned with a woman in his wake. She threw herself into his arms and the two began kissing passionately. He moved his hands up her body, simultaneously lifting her dress.

"Did your wife notice," the woman said in between kisses.

"No," the man said. He pressed her up against the wall and squatted before her, kissing her as he went.

Malk couldn't believe his luck. Betrayal. Lies. Pride. HIs master would be ecstatic at such a find. With that he closed his eyes and breathed out all of the air in his body, turning his being into a dried up husk. A black cloud of smoke moved through the spaces in the grate and traveled in a whisp across the small space. He lingered for a moment, letting the man get more of his indecent pleasure in before he was marked.

The man stood again and the two kissed.

Now he thought and he dove for their heads.

The smoke gathered about their heads and set their eyes burning. The two secret lovers hacked and coughed, separating for just a moment, allowing Malk to escape out the crack at the bottom of the door.

He quickly traveled to the end car of the train where his master sat amongst the luggage and other things. He was crumpled up weak in the corner. A blanket over his bony shoulders. His skin was tight against his skull and pale white. His purple eyes protruded from their sockets, staring emptily into space.

"Master," Malk hissed.

The shadow of a man moved only his eyes to the whisp of cloud moving through the car.

"Is it done," he said, with a hoarse voice.

"Yes," Malk hissed.

The ceatures master stood up slowly.

"Join me," he said.

Malk's Master made his way to the marked strangers with his hand against one thing or another, with the other clutching his shawl.

When he reached them he threw open the door and stepped inside.

The woman screamed and man got angry.

"Get the fuck out of here," he screamed shoving Malk's master against the door.

The feeble man began to chuckle and then plunged his hand, with it's sharp talons, into the man's chest and wrapped his fingers around the man's beating heart. The cheating man gasped as a dark matter coursed through Malk's Master's veins. The man turned to dust and fell to the floor. The woman screamed again as her blue eyes looked in terror at the man that had turned a deep hue of blood and sprouted tiny horns from his forhead.

"Your turn," he said and descended upon the woman.

Malk watched from the corner as a thin whisp of cloud praying to his Master that he would be rewarded.

Standing before the whisp of cloud was a fully formed monster, the likes the world hadn't seen for over centuries.

"Did I did well," Malk said.

The purple eyes of his master settled on him. He grinned, revealing a mouthful of dagger-like teeth.

"Yes," he said.

He opened his mouth and stuck out a forked tounge that tasted the air. In a tiny explosion Malk returned to his former serpent form over ten times the size. He landed on a toilet that crumbled beaneath him.

"Let's take the rest of them," his master said and stepped into the hall.

Prompt 11 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 107 "An elderly woman decides to rebel against the conventions of socially acceptable behavior."

"It happened in church, Bella May, it surely did." Clara Anne said, while she daintily fanned herself in the shade of her massive hat.

"Oh, my," Bella May said, clutching at her pearls.

The two elderly ladies, with broad brimmed hats of vibrant colors, with matching dresses and pumps, sat out on a fine spring afternoon in Clara Anne's beautifully kept garden. Beneath a gazebo she begged George to build for her, the two ladies shared the local gossip of the small parish of Jefkey.

Placed before them were two large glasses with sweet tea and cookies baked fresh that morning.

"The ruckus she must have caused," Bella May took a sip of her tea. He pinky held up ever so delicately. "And that poor Reverend Smith."

"It's Smithe, Bella May. Smah-Eye-the."

"Yes, him too."

Clara Anne rolled her eyes and fanned herself ever faster.

"Sissy Jons stood up in the midst of a full congregation and began speaking at the top of her voice."

"-Oooh-"

"Jabbering on. We thought she was drunk on the spirit the way she was carrying on so. George thought she was speaking in tounges. Turns our she didn't have her teeth in at first."

Bella May snorted from a stifled burst of laughter, causing a gob of snot to run out of her nostril. She quickly grabbed her laced hanky from her purse and wiped it away.

"Did you hear what she had to say?"

"Darlin', you know you would have known if you had been there." Clara Anne raised and eyebrow over the glass she set to her lips.

Bella May wiped the subject from air.

"Preparation for the Ladies Society function. Being head chair has it's obligations."

"Surely," Clara Anne replied.

"Well obviously you didn't hear-"

"You must be pulling my leg, Bella May. The congregation was so overtook by her sudden outburst that every one got utterly silent. You could have heard a church mouse fart."

"Oh, Lord."

"Once her teeth were placed securely in her jowls she knocked her large caboose around to get to the end of the aisle. Poor Mr. Longley got a mouthful of buttock."

"I daresay he probably liked it." Bella May said. She smiled mischeviously.

"Oh, Bella," she swatted at her playfully, "How dare you. He's currently caught betwixt the widow Douglas and Ambbey. They are totally in the dark. I even heard," Clara leaned in closer, "That Mrs. Douglas arrived with a platter of finger sandwhiches right after a very vocal love making session."

Bella's eyes widened.

"I heard it from Yvonne Smirk after the book club."

Bella took a cook and ate away. She waved her hand at her dear friend and sad with a mouthful of cookie, crumbs flying all over the lovely lace table cloth, "Back to Sissy!"

"I'm getting there," Clara said, "DOn't stretch out your girdle." She took a deep breath. "Well once the poor woman finally freed herself from the pew she bustled up to the head of the congregation and nudged Reverened Smithe right out of place. The poor man was so overcome with shock he just stood there gaping."

Bella May chewed and shook her head absolutely enthralled.

"That's when the woman leaned against the pulpit. For a second I swear she pushed her teeth back in but George says I'm big fishing. Either way she opens her mouth and says, 'What the hell are we doing here.' I was just shocked. George still thought she was drunk on the spirit but I saw right through it. Now no one said a word so she went on. 'I have been coming here since I was born,' she said, 'and for the life of me I don't know why I kept coming. I've heard every story this book has to tell me at least three times each and not once has it made my life any better.'

"That's when the Reverend stepped in. He tried nudging her aside but Sissy just wouldn't budge. Instead she went on sayin, 'Instead of spending my days living life out with people that just enjoy life I have spent seven decades listening to all of you ladies just jabbering on about the other. One cruel thing after another. How dare you call youselves Christians. If there was a God I don't think he would want to spend a minute with you.'"

"I can't believe she could say such a thing."

Clara tucked her tongue behind her bottom lip and nodded, her eyes intense.

"And can you believe it, I look at George and he has this puzzled look on his face as if he's thinking it over. I give him a quick smack and he looks at me as if I'd been the one sayin such horrible things. The nerve.

"Sissy goes on to say, 'If there was a god I don't think he'd even want us to be reading from a book so easily manipulated by mankind. The verses are so generic they can be twisted and turned into anything you people feel petty enough to complain about. It's despicable.'

"Can you believe she has the gall to call us despicable."

"How do you know she was talking to you?" Bella May inquired.

Clara Anne's mouth hung open like a caught fish.

"She was gesturing to everyone in the church," she assured her companion.

Bella nodded.

"Finally someone takes it upon themselves to stand up and say something, but before old Mr. Clekney could get a word in edgewise Sissy swoops on in and cuts him off. 'Do you agree Mr. Clekney? I have heard you many a time tell me how tiring you get of your wife and her friends gossip. And how you feel that we should be taking on the poor people of our parish and caring for the poor. Has this place ever given you the opportunity or the chance?'

"the poor man was dumbfounded. Probably because he's been smoking the marijuana. I smell it, wafting into my bedroom window night after night."

"You don't think it might be your grandson Michael? His parents were very liberal ones. His mind might have been poisoned."

Clara's eyes and mouth narrowed to thin, severe, lines.

"My Michael is a holy man of God."

Bella held up her hands, "I meant no offense, Clara. It wouldn't be your doing. But his parents. May they rest in peace."

Clara turned her head to the side.

"It was that husband of my daughters. He corrupted her."

The two sat in silence for some time. The wind blew through the weeping branches of the willow creating a high pitched chorus that went along perfectly with the birds chirping in it's bows.

"Was that all?" Bella asked finally.

"Oh no, the woman went on and on bad mouthing the lord and the bible. It was amazing that more people didn't get up and storm out."

"You didn't?"

"Lord, no. I had to see the train wreck til the end."

"You know, Clare, I don't think it was such a thing. She just had an opinion and needed to get it out."

Bella May readjusted herself in the wicker chair.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She's right, I don't know why we've gone to that church for so long. We were just raised that way."

Clara sat up straight in her chair and looked down her charp nose at her table mate.

"We?"

"Sissy and I."

Clara was stunned.

"She and I have had it with all of you. It's finally time that we just come out with it. We're tired of you busy bodies. I'm just ashamed that I wasn't there to see her finally stand up and do what is right. I for one am proud of her."

"Surely you are joshing me."

"No, as a matter of fact."

Bella May stood up, her bag already in hand.

"Thank you for the tea and cookies."

Prompt 10 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 223 "While eating at the counter of a busy diner, a deaf man reads the lips of a fry cook who's telling a co-worker about the broken glass he folded into the omelet of a belligerent customer."

Start time: 11:19

"What're we doing here?" Garith said, as they stepped into the diner.

His sister, who had been looking at her feet, bumped into his back and nearly knocked him down.

Derrick strode in with all the confidence of the world and looked at him.

"Are you both okay?" Derrick asked.

Janithyn half smiled and nodded her head. Her black hair hanging like curtains about her face.

"I'll be fine," Garith said, waving his hand through the air to dismiss the topic.

"Do vampires eat food?" Garith said.

Derrick looked around nervously. He put one hand on Garith's shoulder and a finger on his lips. HIs friend pulled his head away and rubbed the bottom half of his face.

"Damn you're cold," He said.

"Be quiet," Jan said, "You don't want to give it away. Do you know what these people would do to him?"

She glanced around the diner.

Everyone in the joint was engrossed in their own lives not even paying attention to the strange patrons that had entered. Derrick nodded with approval and walked to the last booth and slid in. Garith took the other side and Jan stood at the end for a moment before she took a spot next to her brother.

"So the book wasn't at your place," Derrick spat out. He rubbed his cheek and blinked furiously as his mind processed and formed a new plan.

"What do you think could have happened to it?" Jan said. She brushed her hair behind her ear.

Derrick shrugged.

"At this point I don't know."

"How are you even sure that this book could have undone," Garith struggled to explain without stating the obvious. He gestured at Derrick with his right. "This."

"I went to see a psychic."

Garith rolled his eyes.

"You have got to be kidding." He said. His brow met above his hooked nose. "They're nothing but phonies, charlatains, and fakes. DOn't believe a word they say. There advice is as useless as... Well, I don't know what but it's not worth a damn."

"I understand that," Derrick said, "But it was the only thing I could think of."

A commotion drew the attention of the friends to the opposite end of the café. An unkempt man had trapsed into the establishment with two of his friends, his arms draped around their shoulders. It was obvious by the dull expression with a pirate's smile that he was three sheets to the wind. His friends weren't as far gone but just as annoying. They were talking too loud and making far more noise that was necessary.

"Where the hostess," the drunkest of the three said.

The waitress behind the counter attempted to get their attention to no avail.

"You seat yourself," one of the patrons said.

The two others had been locked in a giggle fest of a joke of their own and no one heard him.

Finally after more needless explanation they took a seat. Much to derrick's dismay it was next to them.

"Great," Garith said.

"Ignore them," Jan said in her usual quiet way.

The three tried to do just that but the moment the conversation found some sort of potential destination the three men would begin to hoot and holler, banging their fists on the table. When the waitress finally took their order one of them grabbed her ass, and when she jerked away from his rough hand she neglected to think of the other on the opposite side of him. He instead slid his hand up her dress.

"Excuse me, sir," she said, pointing her pencil threateningly in his direction.

The three men burst out laughing. The whole situation was a hilarious joke to them.

"I wonder what they're like when they're not wasted," Derrick said, more for himself.

"Exactly the same I Imagine," Garith said.

Derrick thought back on his living life. He had been one of those guys at some point or another. Liquor did things to him he couldn't quite explain. It was dark and wonderful and made every one of his pains disappear. Now if he wanted to drink it would taste like ash in his mouth. He could do it if he wanted but there would be no point.

A sense of guilt and shame draped over Derrick's shoulders. He wondered if he had ever crossed such lines with his friends. He wasn't a bad guy. During any sober moment he would have been a gentleman. At least, he thought.

"Maybe we should go," Jan said. She had pulled herself tight, almost as if she was trying to disappear

"Guys could you keep it down?" Garith said.

The three men looked at them with puffy red eyes.

"Shut the fuck up," one of them said, and all three burst out into laughter.

"Yeah, let's go," Garith said.

It was at that moment that Derrick heard before the man at the bar did. The cooks in the kitchen pointed fingers at the men and laughed. Their eyes were watching mischievously as the waitress brought out their plates of food.

"That was fast," one of them said.

The man at the bar had watched her the whole way. He jumped up from his barstool and bolted to the man that was about to shove the entire breakfast burrito into his face. He knocked it out of his hand and sent all of it's contents across the café floor. The man was so angry by the situation that he didn't notice the pieces of glass tinkling to the floor amongst the egg and sausage.

"You got a lot of fucking nerve," the man said, rising menacingly from his seat.

The man opened his mouth to speak but made no noise. Instead he began to sign to the man. He tried to emphasize what had almost happened.

Derrick watched enthralled. The man was being a hero. He didn't know that these men deserved to be punished, but not like that.

The man pulled back his arm and threw a right hook at the deaf stranger, knocking him straight to the floor.

Derrick was on his feet gripping the man's arm before the drunkard could blink. He squeezed his arm with all the strength her could muster.

"Do you know what he just did?" Derrick said through gritted teeth. "He just saved you from stuffing your pie hole to death."

The man screamed in agony as he dropped to a knee. Derrick twisted his arm behind his back. He shoved him down and forced him to look at the contents of his late night meal.

"See what was in there," He said.

Sadly the man couldn't have been able to since his eyes were shut tight from the pain Derrick was inflicting upon him.

"Please let go of my arm," He screamed.

Derrick shoved him down and released his arm.

The three men quickly got to their feet and scuttled from the diner.

Prompt 8 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 47 "As two teenagers sit on the front porch of a house, a car with tinted windows pulls up. The doors open, and two men in black suite get out and start walking toward them."

Start time: 10:52

Jeremy threw tiny pebbles at Foster's window. His head darted back and forth to make sure no one noticed his efforts at this ungodly hour. They had planned to meet secretly in the meadow on the other side of town but Foster failed to show. Jeremy was certain that he wouldn't have done it on his own. Something had stopped him. He was taking a giant risk coming but he had some resolution.

A white blur moved in the darkened bedroom and grew larger through the window. It opened slowly and without a sound.

Foster looked through the small opening. He pointed a finger to the front.

"The porch," he whispered.

Jeremy ran around the side of the house eagerly. Hew didn't stop his wariness of his surroundings. Anyone could be watching.

He reached the steps and stopped. The wood was faded and old. He feared that if he walked upon them that it would make a sound so he waited. His heart raced in his chest. His mouth went dry and his head swirled with worry and panic.

Foster slowly opened the door and snuck outside. He took the steps of the porch like a cat, soundless. He lifted his arm to Jeremy who took it without thinking. Foster led him up the steps and to the far corner. When they reached the beam holding up the porch Foster threw Jeremy against it and the two kissed.

Even though he didn't want their moment to end Jeremy had to know. He had to.

He pushed him away gently, his hands sprawled on his chest; but he got one more kiss in before he spoke.

"Where were you."

Foster's overjoyed expression fell away. Replacing it was regret.

"I tried to tell my father that I had to work late with inventory. But he insisted that the mandated curfew negated that and my boss was being a tyrant."

Jeremy's brow furrowed. "He'd risk you losing your job?"

"He said the likelihood of that happening was one in a million. The curfew is iron clad." Foster suddenly became aware they were in the open. He looked around nervously.

Jeremy hated seeing the pain on his face. He leaned in and kissed him. In that moment only the two of them existed. The world around them fell away and it was bliss.

"Let's leave tonight," Jeremy said slightly above a whisper.

Foster put his fingers to Jeremy's lips and looked around.

"I don't think I should," he said, "At least not tonight. It's nearly dawn. We would most surely get caught."

"Not if we run."

Foster pondered for a moment, chewing his bottom lip.

"We can just say we are brothers. No one will know."

Foster looked back at the house.

"What if they put out an alert?"

Jeremy followed his line of sight.

He hoped that wouldn't happen but in all likelihood Foster's father would notify the authorities.

"I don't care," Jeremy said, "I have to be with you. We can make it on our own."

The two looked into the other's eyes.

A smile spread across Foster's face.

"Let's go."

Foster lead them down the steps and when they reached the bottom they kissed. With their foreheads pressed together Jeremy said: "We can do anything."

The black sedan with tinted windows roared up the road and screeched to a halt before the house. The boys instinctively parted but it was too late. They knew that the driver's had seen.

"Go, Foster, run."

Jeremy shoved on his lover's chest but he stood there frozen. Horror was etched on his face.

"Run!" He screamed.

The doors flew open and four men got out of the car, their weapons drawn.

"Get on the floor sodomites," said one.

Jeremy complied without a fight.

The men wore white plastic masks over their face, concealing their identities. Large red crosses were sewn on the right chest of their long black pea coats, tightly buttoned against their bodies. And their feet were encased in thick, shiny, black leather boots with spikes on the toe, and cleats on the bottom.

Foster decided then to run. He made it halfway around the porch until two of the men broke off and bounded after him with haste.

Jeremy realized that it was true. The selice were in fact genetically advanced.

The two grabbed each of foster's arms and threw him to his knees. He tried to fight against them but it was feckless. They were too strong. They didn't even have to fight to keep him in place. The moment they strapped the metallic collar about each of their necks Jeremy knew it was over. They were doomed.

"On your feet faggot," one of Jeremy's guards said.

He had heard stories of those that had followed without complaint and their less painful treatment.

The men bound the two boys to the roof of the car with magnetic bindings about their wrists and ankles. Once they were certain that they were unable to escape once they departed they got back in the car.

Jeremy heard muffled speech and managed to hear every other word. But he didn't need to know what was to happen to them now. They would be stricken from memory and record. IN the morning the authority would alert their parents of their disgusting ways and the members of their family would be forced to wear symbols to prove they were spreaders of the degeneration. Then the men would be sterilized to prevent any further offspring.

Everything that happened after was a blur to Jeremy.

The men drove the car through the city to the airport on the south end. Once they were there the boys were loaded onto a plane which was bound for the island. It was there that they would be exposed to hell on earth. But before they took off they were given a short film with footage of what they were to expect.

To Jeremy's surprise they were not the only ones on the flight.

end time: 11:45

Prompt 7 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 68 "You are riding a crowded subway with a huge wad of cash in your inside pocket."

start time: 10:24

I know I shouldn't, but I keep looking down regardless. I check and recheck to make sure that the bump isn't visible from the outside. The more I look the more in begins to protrude from my left breast pocket, hidden within my trench coat. My heart starts to pound in my ears and my breathing is quick and deep.

I look up and around at the subway. I try not to meet anyone's eye but I invariably do. People have that sensor in their brain that tells me they're being looked at. I meet the eye of a pregnant woman nursing another baby in her arms. The cloudy eyes of a man looks up at me from behind his crime novel. Then a man leaning against the banister by the automatic doors. His hands are tucked securely into his armpits, his arms tight around his chest. Each one acknowledges my glare and returns to their task.

They know. I know they know.

BUt do they? They don't know that I had stabbed a man in the alley to get it. NO one would expect a man with a suite and tie, pressed slacks, and a cashmere scarf to be a culprit of such evil. Neither would I if I saw such a man. But as I catch the look of my own eyes in the reflection in the glass across the crowded subway car I see a killer.

I quickly look away. I see the evil lurking in the eyes. If I can see it as can they. I look down and keep it down.

This is my second kill. Completely at random. I've watched so many crime dramas and I wonder what my motive it. What is my M.O.

I shake my head. I don't have one. I'm not going to do this again. I said I would do it til I had enough money to put back in the petty cash.

I close my eyes tight.

Fuck. I am an imbezzeler too. To top it off I used the cash to pay the credit card I had used on the business retreat in Las Vegas. I was supposed to be building a bond with my team instead I built a bond with the madam and three of her girls. Crystal. Revy. Caramel.

God, if my wife finds out...

I shift nervously.

The elderly woman in front of me glances at me out of the corner of her eye. I look at her and force a smile and nod. She does the same before moving her shopping bag to the other hand.

"I'm not a bad guy," I tell her.

She looks at me confused.

"I know what you're thinking and I mean you no harm."

"Good," she says and takes a small step away from me.

I look up and around. Everyone is looking at me.

"I'm a good guy." I say to everyone.

Everyone is still. There eyes blinking like Christmas lights.

I lower my head again. I shut my eyes tight and stare into the darkness.

The subway begins to screech to a halt. The overhead speaker announces the stop under the sound of static. If I didn't hear it everyday I wouldn't have known it was my stop. I quickly get off. Shoving my hands into my coat pockets I rush through the station and up the steps to the streets above. The winter chill is growing. My breath steams out of my like a locomotive as I scurry through the streets.

Then in a blur I see a hand shoot out like a viper and grip my arm. It rips me into the alley.

The hand multiplies and grip my lapels and throw me up against the wall.

"Hey there, Justin," Big Bowie says.

I look into his cold blue eyes. They narrow at me as he sneers.

I look to my right at the foot traffic hustling past uncaring.

"Where is my money?" he says close to me. HIs breath hot and humid fills my visison and nostrils. It reeks of garlic, cheese, and bile.

I gag.

He shoves me against the wall again and repeats himself, louder. As if that will somehow produce better results. I never understood that.

"Let me go," I say.

"Oh," he says cheerily, "So you do. That's good to hear."

"I didn't-"

"I know that Mickey wouldn't like to know you flaked on him for a third time." He holds up three fingers. "You're out."

He begins to reach into his pocket.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the wad of cash. This wasn't what it was for but I could die.

I slap the wad to his chest. He fails to grab them and they flutter to the damp asphalt.

He sniffs and leans forward to pick it up. That's when I pull the knife from my pocket it and plunge it into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

He screams and the passerbys look into the dim light of the alley, but they fail to stop.

I quickly pull it out and he stands up. I shove the knife into his gut and use my free hand to remove him from the blade and simultaneously shoving him backward. He stumbles and falls.

I drop to my hands and knees and pick up the money. I shove each bill into my pocket.

I crawl like a dog to him and dig into his pockets. He tries to fight me but groans and screams in agony.

"Help!" He screams.

My hands slither up to his mouth and muffle his screams. I follow them up and climb onto his chest. That's when I start to punch him with a left and right. I hit one after the other putting every ounce of fear, panic, pain, suffering, anger into that his cries begin to stop and his eyes begin to bleed.

I pull back exhausted. My arms stiff. I catch my breath and catch sight of the crowd gathering at the mouth of the alley.

"What're you doing?" Someone says.

"Someone call 9-1-1!"

I get to my feet and head down the alley.

I hear footsteps of someone chasing after me. Two sets. There pattern becomes intermitten.

I try to look but I can't see. I stumble over some debris but catch myself before I can fall.

Their paces match mine. I can even hear them huffing away.

There is a grunt and I am tackled to the street. The money gushes out of my as a fall. They flutter all around me as green confetti. The man spins me around and I look up into the face of my neighbor and brother-in-law.

"Justin?" He says, his eyes wide.

I am caught.

Prompt 4 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg.74 "If we have this conversation, it's going to end badly for you. Consider that a fair warning."

Start time: 12:23

"Believe me, Tristan, if we have this conversation, again, it's going to end badly for you. Consider that fair-"

"But, Jonathon," Tristan cut in, "I need some sort of hope or conclusion. I made an agreement with myself that I would decide, by the time I was thirty, whether or not I am going to have kids."

"We're gay, Trist, we can't have kids. We don't have the parts for that. Remember?"

"I understand that," Tristan said, he ran his fingers through his hair. "But there are other options. We could do surrogacy. Hell you could even have sex with a woman. I wouldn't care, as long as it resulted in a kid."

Jon looked at Tristan with disgusted disbelief.

"You must be out of your mind! I'm not going to do that. And let's just forget the fact that I physically couldn't, since my little general won't salute to the pussy platoon, I won't have a biological child. I won't."

"Why?" Tristan said, throwing his hands in the air. They landed on their white sofa with a muffled thud.

"HOw long have we been together, Trist?" He paused but not really for any sort of answer. "Twelve years. You know what my family is like. We have diabetes, schizophrenia, obesity, obsessive compulsive disorder, colon cancer. Why would I want to potentially pass on these fucked up genes to another living being? That's insane. It's a miracle I have dodged as many genetic bullets."

"The likelihood of that-"

"Is too much if even a chance that it could."

The two sat in silence. Their eyes locked in an invisible bond.

"Wanting kids as gay men is so selfish if it's biological."

Tristan opened his mouth to reply but didn't. His bottom jaw just hung slack.

"Think of it, Trist, there are so many kids in the system that have no one to love them. How callous, conceited, and cruel must you be to want to bring another life into this world when someone out there could use parents to love them. Anyone, to love them."

"But what about your family's troubles with adopted kids? Didn't Andrew try to burn down the house with everyone in it?"

"Try to, are you kidding. He tried once and succeeded the other."

"That's what I'm talking about!"

"That is an isolated incident."

Tristan rolled his eyes.

"Regardless it's still a risk."

Jon laughed and shook his head.

"Trist, that's a risk with any child. You know how mental illness runs in my family? What if our kid ends up schizophrenic? Or even if the kid is yours biologically, you yourself have a high risk of cancer and alcoholism. No one is immune. Us as gay men have to take into account so much more when it comes to having kids. It's not like a heterosexual couple that can bang and it results in a child. It just doesn't work that way for us. It just doesn't."

Tristan pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow.

"Trist, believe me I would love to see a little me running around. I would. But I would just feel guilty when I know there is probably a kid that wants so desperately to be loved that he would do anything. Most of the time that kid grows up and has other issues to contend with. Don't you want to save a kid? Wouldn't you want to look at our child and know that we took him in and gave him everything he could have ever wanted because we could do that. We may not be able to give them life, Tristan, but we can sure as hell give them love and a heightened chance at a successful life."

end time: 12:40

Prompt 2 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 57 "Okay, it's true. I believe in vampires. But I have proof, okay?"

(P.S. these are all chosen at random.)

Start time: 11:13

"Okay, it's true. I believe in vampires. But I have proof, okay?" Derrick Trund said, running a hand through his long black hair. He leaned over the table closer to his friends, Janithyn and Garith. For the past thirty minutes he had been bombarded with questions from his comrades about his shifty appearance at the metaphysical section of the book store in downtown Boston.

"Well where is this evidence?" Garith said. He casually took a sip of beer from the half empty pint glass.

Jan leaned closer to Derrick. Her eyes wide behind her cat eye glasses.

Derrick's dark brown eyes flicked from one friend to the next before he opened his mouth and showed them his teeth. His canines were a little longer than normal.

Garith laughed, choking on his beer.

"That's your proof? My aunt Cecilia had abnormally long teeth too. You've proven nothing."

Derrick's face soured.

"They're not long enough because I'm new. I am a vampire. Not even a year old."

Jan gaped.

Garith just shook his head and chuckled.

With an uneasy hand Jan touched Derrick's hand. Immediately she retracted it.

"You feel like ice."

"You're imagining things, sis." Garith said.

Jan determinedly wrenched her brother's hand away from his beer and stretched it to Derrick's hand. He knew he could have met them half way but he couldn't have cared less about proving his point. He had other things to worry about.

Garith's finger tips rested on Derrick's hand for less than a nanosecond. He pulled his hand to his chest and stood up, the wooden chair scraped across the barroom floor.

"What the fuck," Garith said.

Derrick rolled his eyes and motioned for his friend to sit.

"I've been a vampire for the past six months and haven't hurt either of you yet. You have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, now." Garith said, he took a step back, his voice getting louder.

Derrick could feel the eyes scattered around the bar looking at him. He had to nip this in the bud. He quickly stood and with sweeping moves, grabbed Jan's wrist, and hook his arm around Garith's and pulled them to the exit.

"Let go of me freak," Garith said. He attempted to pull his arm free but failed miserably.

The tension, excitement, and panic of the other patrons filled the bar to the brim and Derrick could feel his urge take hold. If he remained a second longer in Trombo's bar he would become ravenous. He knew from experience.

The cold autumn air embraced them with stiff arms outside the bar.

"Calm down, Gary," Derrick said.

The vampire let go of his friends. He could sense that Gary wanted to run but couldn't. He was afraid.

"I sought you two for a reason."

Jan's eyes widened behind her glasses.

"Why?" she said softly.

"I want to undo this and I know you can help."

"Is that why you started talking to us?" Jan said. Her shoulders went slack.

Derrick's expression was pained. He knew this would eventually come to light. Yes, he had treated them worse than any other kid during high school. Yes he had thought they were a couple of freaks then but now that he had been turned he knew they would understand. But even now he couldn't bring himself to say it. He was going to have to soften the blow. Plus, it may have started out trying to use them but his heart had changed since then. It only took taking away his mortal soul to do it.

"The why isn't important. You two have become my closest friends these past few months. You're the only ones that spend your waking hours in the dark. But it's more than that." He knew he had to deliver something quick. "You two are professionals when it comes to the paranormal."

Garith crossed his arms over his chest and held his head to the side. The energy radiating from him was beyond skeptical.

Jan on the other hand, she beamed at Derrick.

"Of course we'll help," she said.

"Jan!" Garith said. "Obviously he's using us. That's why he's been spending time with us. Obviously. God, how could we be so stupid. He wanted nothing to do with us in school."

Jan turned furiously to her brother. A few strands of hair fell from her messy bun.

"What does it matter how he treated us then."

"Because he's using us, sis."

"No he's not. Think of how long he's been hanging out with us and hasn't even brought up the topic of ghosts, werewolves, or vampires once! If he wanted to use us he would have just done it."

Garith turned to Derrick and pressed his lips together into a thin line, his bushy brows formed a single line. He looked back at his sister and the two held a silent argument that ended with a punch in the chest from Jan to Garith.

"How can we help?" Jan said cheerfully.

If derrick's heart was still beating it would have began to race with excitement. Instead he was filled with even more cold.

"Coincidentally enough I was in search of a book that Mr. Nemmits said you had purchased."

The two siblings looked at each other puzzled.

"It's called the La Inverser La Mort. It was written by Pierre-Jacques Lefevre."

The two remained silent.

"Do you know what book he's talking about?" Garith said, he pointed a thumb at Derrick. "Sounds French."

"I think I know what you're talking about. Let's go to our place." Jan said.

End time: 11:53

Let's Hope, Third Time is the Charm

I have sat down to write this blog so many times but... With the pressure of being judged or scrutinized it keeps me in fear of ever posting anything. That's pathetic. I have to realize that all I can be is myself and if no one likes what they see or read then... that is just their opinion. Someone will undoubtedly hate you regardless of your story or talent. Some people will dislike me for the simple fact that it's the thing to do. (Listen to me... talking about myself like I have an image or name. I'm adorable.)

Thinking back on my previous attempts to edit my novel, I realized that i had this want in me that I refused to believe. I just wanted to write. As I sat there pouring over line after line of sentences I just wanted to open up my heart and let the words pour out onto the page. That's what I craved but I ignored it. I didn't want to take all the work I had done and set it aside to redo it and possibly make it better. No. I was being lazy. I rather go through and nip and tuck the work I had until it looked somewhat distinguishable as a piece of work. Though like plastic surgery, there is such a thing as too much work.

Of all the articles I have read (and the sage advice of my blatant lover's girlfriend) the main theme has been "follow your instincts." That voice in my head has lead me down some interesting paths without even knowing it. Half the stuff I do when I write is because of listening to that voice, and the benefits were astronomical. But as of late I have ignored it. I set up a finish line for "success" (meaning becoming a famous author) in just a few months. I figured writing a rough draft of a novel in a month span that editing and revision would be just as simple. I am learning painfully slow that is not the case. All of this is a journey, and, like in my story, I don't want to rush it and have it be shit.

So to change my process (and hopefully jump start my energy) I am going to set aside each chapter and rewrite them 3 times each. Then I will sit down and decided which one was the best and go with that.

My nip-tuck process wasn't really panning out and I found myself more irritated and exhausted by the process. I love to write. So, it stands to reason that I should just write.

It begins with an idea...

It's been exactly 2 months and 15 days since I finished my very first novel length of fiction. I met the requirement for NaNoWriMo and finished on the due date with the appropriate amount of words, although upon the finish line I didn't yet have a finished book. So after I put in my final numbers and got my groovy certificate of completion I vowed to finish it. Six days later I wrapped up the story of "The Love Immortal." I was so proud of myself that I started to cry, which is lame I know, but I am very suspect to emotional moments. Upon completion I realized that I could write a novel and that all these years at my failed attempts was because of a lack of motivation and competition. I was worried about making sure to get this idea in or that concept, never allowing myself to actually just write for the sake of writing.

I didn't believe it when I read on the NaNoWriMo website that "the story will work itself out." At times I had NO IDEA where the story was going or appeared that I ever would. Yet it was in those moments that I brought excitement to my tale. If I didn't even know where we were going on this ride how was my character going to? It was through that lack of planning that I brought out a story that kept me on my toes, even when I was reading the finished piece for the first time.

Since then I have wanted to get to editing. I want to get it somewhere near a "finished" state so that I could begin submitting it to agents to get it published. (I'll be damned if I don't get one of my books out in the world.) But every time I sat down to work on it my brain hesitated. At first I thought I was just being lazy or allowing myself to fear actually finishing something; but being an "artist" I realized that it was my mind's way of pushing me to work on the next story. Don't worry about this one just yet.

You see, when I finished "Love Immortal" I nowhere near finished the story as a whole. I brought the main plot to a tidy close but left a hole for the thread of story to continue forward.

When I thought about it I realized that I could probably wrap it up in four books, then that way when I sat down to edit and do some rewrites I would have a firmer grasp on the strory. Not to mention that it gives me a leg up on trying to sell it.

According to Writer's Digest agents and publishers are interested in a book that can be a part of a series; even better they want a finished series. And truly that is my main goal.

Thus I have decided that I am doing my own personal WriMo during four speperate months. The first being March 1st. I even downloaded an iPhone app that could keep me on track to finish the next book in the series. Then two months later I would do the next and so on... I haven't thought out the true logistics of it but I will finish four novel length works of fiction this year, or die trying.

I go into it with a shadow of an idea that may or may not have a real bearing on the plot, who knows. I like this lack of planning and I'm sure I'll write about it in future blogs.

I want to finish my protagonists story but more than anything I want him to work for me. I want to whore him out to the publishing world so that maybe, just maybe, he can help me make my mark on the world. And the characters that run around in my head can potentially make someones else life a misery, I mean joy.