Writing 2

Ok, so I've written more. Have ideas for more. From what I hear, the good writers don't write from Chapter 1 to the end, but for now.. that's how I'm writing. Maybe one day I'll be good. :)

She made her way down the busy sidewalk to the quaint bookstore on the corner. The bookstore was her escape. As she skimmed through the old books she lost herself in the imaginations of the authors. It was so easy to forget reality here. She was easily entranced by the stories, the characters becoming her friends. She laughed as they bantered, cried as they mourned, and rejoiced as they found love. Even long after she left she would think about them, as tho they were real people in her life.
But the moment never lasted. Too soon she would be forced to go home - if you could call it that - to face the harsh reality of her life. She didn't feel sorry for herself. She estimated that her life was normal, even good compared to some. She had everything she needed, physically. Food, shelter, clothing.. It was her emotional life that suffered. But emotional peace and happiness was something for fairy tales. No one is really happy in this life. Anyway, that's what she told herself. It was her only hope, her only consulation.

She'd considered her options, but none of them seemed realistic. Besides, how could she leave him? He was not capable of living on his own, no matter what he said. She knew if she left him it would only be a matter of time. He could not survive. Oh, sure, he could take care of himself. But emotionally? He would snap. He needed her. There was no other answer.

Perhaps if she were patient, time would heal him and she would be free. But how much time? It had already been almost 3 1/2 years and he seemed no better than the day after the accident. The people in the community thought he was better, thought he had moved on. He had gone back to work two weeks after the funeral. He put flowers on the grave every holiday. He had joined a church and said God was changing his life. He wanted no pity. He said God had allowed it for a reason, and who was he to argue with God? He would not even allow her to show him pity. So she, too, pretended she thought he was ok. But she knew better. She lived with him after all. She could see through his facade. He was too happy. Too holy. Too strong. And he had blocked her out. That's what told her the most. They had always been close, never keeping secrets. But the night of the accident was the last time he'd let her in.

Her mind went back to the nightmare life had made reality. The weather warnings had flashed on the tv screen, but she'd ignored them. So when the tornado hit they were completely unprepared. She could still hear the screaming through the roar of wind, and could feel the terror as the house was lifted off the foundation, knocking the couch she was sitting on over her like a shield. God, everyone said, had done a miracle. But where was God when Emma needed shelter? Emma was beaten to death by the wind and debri. She was hardly recognizable. While Mari, herself, was hardly scratched. Why had she ignored the warnings? If she had Emma might still be with them! But Mark always said God must've needed Emma in heaven. If Mark could survive on such pretenses, who was she to shatter his world? But a God who would take a two year old baby, while protecting it's mother? This was not a God she cared to know about.

Writing

I have a dream of writing, as you may know. I have written a few things and I think I could do well with it, but I freeze because my mind won't stop editing. I need to just let my thoughts flow onto "paper" and stop worrying about whether or not they're perfect.

I thought I'd try a writing exercise on you. I have no idea what I'm going to write about. Even at this very moment, I have not a clue. here goes nothing.....

She made her way down the busy sidewalk to the quaint bookstore on the corner. The bookstore was her escape. As she skimmed through the old books she lost herself in the imaginations of the authors. It was so easy to forget reality here. She was easily entranced by the stories, the characters becoming her friends. She laughed as they bantered, cried as they mourned, and rejoiced as they found love. Even long after she left she would think about them, as tho they were real people in her life.


I continued writing after this, but it was taking me down a dark trail, one that I couldn't leave hanging... So once I can bring some sort of satisfaction for the reader, I will post the rest. :)

Sick and Bored

Warning: may contain whining and self-pity.

I'm so bored! And my house is a wreck.. *hush, Amy* And I ache all over!!! I meant to take some ibuprofen but I forgot to get it before I sat down and now I don't feel like getting up. I took a bath, but I kept feeling like I was going to smother for some reason. I'd start falling asleep and then I'd feel all panicky because I couldn't breath. It was very strange.

Anyway.. I could write, but I don't really feel like writing.

Nettie and Chris are probably coming to bring stuff for my cellar due to possible tornados tonight. I really hope there's no tornados. I don't feel like getting out.

I need to drink some water. And I need some chapstick. My lips hurt real bad!