Guilty As Charged

(Song: “Johnny Boy” by Twenty Øne Piløts)

The title gives it all away. I have not been writing as much as I could and should be. There. I said it. The thing is, I’m okay with taking my time. Obviously not this much time, but I think you catch my drift. I’d much rather write Absolution in a year and have thirteen plot holes as opposed to writing it in four months and having seventy-five trillion plot holes. I’m not exaggerating very much. That’s what will happen if I force myself to write a story I want to be perfect.

I haven’t done much poetry writing recently but have no fear! There are still a few sitting in my “EtherealPens Poetry” folder, and there should be a short one up next Thursday. It’s called “Monster” or “Monsters” but I can’t remember exactly.

Something new I’m working on in my writing (when I actually do write) is writing more than I need. Basically, I’m writing extraneous material. There are scenes I’m positive an editor would cut out in a heartbeat. As long as I keep my chapter’s role in the plot fresh in my mind, I take the story for a spin. I’ve got extensive dialogue or interactions between characters that doesn’t really mean much.

When I say it doesn’t mean much, I mean that it doesn’t push the plot. It’s just a transition scene. For example, Graham and Rio have a conversation in the back of a truck on the way to the military base. If I didn’t let myself write that scene, the temptation to keep driving the story would cut out some perhaps important character development. I know that less is more in most instances. I know that an editor would rather cut out as much as possible. Still, it’s important for me to have the flexibility to cut scenes. If my whole story is go go go, there won’t be enough time to show my characters’ personalities and relationships and friendships. Who knows how many of those scenes will stay? Not me, that’s for sure. I think I’m okay with not knowing, though. Having random scenes drives me to write more often and gets me into a habit of writing, even if the scenes aren’t very crucial to the plot.

Until next Thursday,

Indy

I Miss You

Hours go by like minutes

Whenever I’m with you.

There’s always something new to share

Or something new to do.

 

We pass the time with laughter

And wish of days gone by.

I always feel my heart grow warm

Whenever I’m with you.

 

But when you say goodbye to me

And I goodbye to you,

I feel the warmth leaving my soul

For I have no longer you.

 

Minutes pass like years

As I sit all alone.

Nothing really matters now

Because I’m not with you.

Not Today, Writer’s Block

(Song: “Paper Parachute” by Ninet Tayeb)

“Not today, writer’s block,” she said, staring triumphantly at the screen. Two sentences. Two. Sentences. “Oh my gosh, I actually wrote something!”

Who am I kidding? I haven’t written even that much. I am officially (it was official before but it’s now official again) the worst aspiring novelist ever. Hooray for being the best at what I do! Or don’t do. I’m the best at procrastinating.

**EDIT**

So funny story! I always like to write a post and then put it on a schedule. That’s the only reason I consistently post at 8:00 AM on Thursdays. This past week, I only wrote up to the point before “**EDIT**” and then freaked because I forgot to finish the post. Short story summarized, never put something on a schedule without finishing it. Or at least getting it to a reasonable length and a good stopping point.

Back to the world of writing/literature: Today I finished Cress, the third book in Marissa Meyer’s fantastic sci-fi-meets-fairytales series. For me, Cinder moved a little slowly, and I didn’t really get into her stories until Scarlet. I have to say, Cress is my favorite. Unfortunately, I do not yet have Winter, so I can’t speak for the final book.

Would anyone be interested in me doing the occasional book/book series review? I was just thinking about it today, and I think it would definitely motivate me to read more and improve my semi-serious-posting skills. Comment below if you’re interested in reading about what I’ve been reading!

I recently put up a writing tips post on Whimsical Wordsmiths (a collaborative writing blog) so if you are interested in my semi-serious stuff, go check that out and give the blog a quick follow!

Next week, if I can correctly remember what I put up in the schedule, there will be another poem! Lookin’ forward to you folks reading that.

Until next time,

Indy

…But I Don’t Want Them Anymore

Break my heart

Break my soul

Leave me to lie on the ground so cold

 

I won’t beg for your love anymore

I just want it all to stop

You said you could make it all okay

But I don’t think you can do anything

 

Don’t make me empty promises

They just won’t make me heal

Let go of my shaking hands

Cause they don’t belong to you

 

I was yours to cherish

I was yours to hold

I’m now more broken than I was before

Thanks for the Tears…

At first I didn’t see what you saw in me.

Why did you care?

Why was it me for you?

I didn’t see the “light in my eyes”

Or the “way I laugh until I cry”.

You told me this and more.

 

Then I started to believe in me.

Why didn’t I realize?

Why had I become so blind?

I began to love the scar beneath my eye

And the dimple I make without having to try.

I loved all this and more.

 

But soon you stopped talking to me.

Why didn’t you come?

Why did you just leave?

There’s a black tear in my eye

And I’m shaking as I cry.

You left me here alone.

“Vigilante”: (2nd Half of) A Short Story

You may want to reread Part 1 for a brief recap!

First Half

———-

Henry stopped beside her. “What?” he said. He held up his hands defensively. “I didn’t do anything.”

Cicely growled and turned the phone on speaker.

“Is that my brother with you? We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“For good reason,” snorted Henry.

“Where’s Ruby?” said Cicely. “Put her on the phone.”

“I propose a trade. You for Ruby Wyatts. My brother will know where to find me. You have fifteen minutes.” The line went dead.

Henry and Cicely ran down three flights of stairs and climbed into Henry’s pickup truck. He slammed on the gas pedal and they sped down the street.

Henry took a sharp left turn and finally pulled into the parking lot of Ricky’s Brunch Bar. Cicely jumped from the passenger’s side, swinging her staff from side to side while her heart pumped quickly in anticipation of the fight to come.

Roger exited the front door, left hand clutching a gun. Cicely rushed at him but didn’t even reach halfway across the parking lot before something slammed into her side and everything went black.

The hospital television screen kept playing the same footage over and over again. A black-haired, trench coat-wearing woman leapt off a roof, landed behind another young woman, and threw a bag over her head. Now Ruby Wyatts was finally safe, and the Dancer was in the hospital after being hit by a cop car. Both news anchors on the story got into a heated argument, one  saying the Dancer’s actions were unreliable and unpredictable though the other disagreed.

Cicely looked down at her wrists and strained against the thick straps. She groaned and leaned back against the lumpy mattress. The door swung open and a female officer stalked in. She picked a syringe up off the bedside table and inserted it into a clear tube.

“I’m Annabelle Saluff. I’m here to take you to the precinct.”

Cicely opened her mouth to protest but seeing the liquid from the syringe race through the tube and into her arm, she knew there was no point. She closed her eyes and let the throb in her head take her under again.

The door to her holding cell slammed shut. Cicely sat on the floor and put her head in her hands. She waited. She waited for what felt like hours. Only the incessant ticking and clicking of the clock on the wall outside her cell gave her any indication of time. Finally, when she was beginning to develop an anger towards all things clock-related, Officer Annabelle Saluff stopped directly outside the door.

“Hello, Dancer. Enjoying the change in scenery?”

“You pretended to be me,” said Cicely, piecing it together finally. “Why would you work with Reynolds? He’s a killer.”

“And you’re a vigilante who put away a man who could’ve gotten a second chance. He wants that second chance.”

“He’s been in and out of the system for a while. If he truly wanted to start over, he could’ve started before he went and killed people.” Cicely stood and put her hands on the bars. “I’m going to get out. Once I do, I’m going to bury Reynolds so far under the evidence of his crimes, he’ll never find his way out again.”

Annabelle clenched her jaw. “You’re done here. It’s too late. Reynolds is on his way and when he sees you, he’s -,”

“I’m going to kill her,” finished Henry’s older brother, stepping into the room. “Let her out, Annabelle. It’s time we finish this like rational human beings.”

The second the lock released, Cicely was out of the cell and jumping to meet Reynolds’ attack. She deflected a blow to her head with her forearm and took advantage of her close proximity to sweep her foot behind Reynolds and hit him in the back of the knees. He stumbled backwards and withdrew to catch his breath. Pain shot through Cicely’s body, reminding her of the numerous bruised and broken ribs on her right side. Before she could catch her breath, Cicely heard Annabelle give a vicious shout. She pivoted on her toes, grabbed her collar, and flung her against the walls. She flopped to the ground and did not move.

“Let’s finish this, Reynolds. You and me.”

Cicely cartwheeled over Reynolds’ low kick and aimed her back foot at his face as she landed. His ‘oomph’ echoed with the sound of his back hitting the cold precinct floor. Cicely shook her head at him as he tried to stand and knocked him unconscious with a stapler from the reception desk.

“Ouch,” said Henry, materializing from the shadows. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Cicely took a fighting stance. “Get out of my way, Reynolds.”

“Okay. But not until you tell me I can be your partner.”

Cicely raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? This again?”

“I mean, I can either testify in your defense and tell the non-traitorous police you weren’t involved in Ruby’s kidnapping or I can make sure you go to jail and tell your ‘Mommy and Me’ dance class in person what you do on your weeknights. It’s completely your choice.”

Cicely held out her right hand. “Welcome to the team.”