SOML: A Fictional Piece

It has been some time since I last posted anything. Here we are coming up on Fall, Back To School, vacations coming to an end, award shows coming up, and I have yet to find anything from the world by which to be inspired enough to write.

Of course, that does not mean I haven't been writing. In fact, this is why you haven't found anything new from me. The reason the most recent news briefs posted are Michael Jackson's death and Vibe's misfortune. So I thought I would share with you what it is I have been writing. What the experience of writing fiction has been like for me, and yes a little snippet of my work. You must promise to be kind in your feedback (if you click the link and read the piece I ask that you provide constructive criticism)but truthful. No room for hot air over here! So without further delay, here we go.

About a month ago, when my children were on vacation, I lost track of time and stopped blogging. I think I enjoyed too much the opportunity to do nothing more than what was needed. Blogging can often feel like another job, and so I took a break. When they (my girls) returned, I failed to return to my blog. Instead I began to ponder, and reflect on my life, the life of others, stories I had read, shows I had watched and photos I had scene. Through all of the clutter that found its way to my mind, something very real began to emerge. A storyline.

It was something I began to dream about at night. I would see it playing out on the T.V. though I was watching something else. I couldn't read anything more than short stories(Sonny's Blues being my favorite at the moment);anything longer was impossible to finish because I would become distracted by the story building up in my own thoughts. So I did what any sane person would do. I got a note book and pen. At first I could only jot down a few thoughts here, or an idea there. A scene that had become clear, a mood, or feeling. It didn't start to make sense until I finally got back in front of a computer and opened up Microsoft Word. What came out was like nothing I've ever written before. I love to write, but I typically write "opinions", research pieces, narratives on my own life, but nothing like what I am working on now.

Once I got started I couldn't stop. I was writing on my lunch, me skipping lunch to write something just because I had to get it out! Not because I was on a deadline, not because I was looking for a book deal, just because what was developing was far too much for me to contain inside myself. It didn't matter if it was good, it still doesn't matter if anyone likes it. I just needed it out before it consumed me completely, yet safe in a place where I could go back to it from time to time. That place is currently a flash drive in my purse.

I think the hardest part has been those instances where I myself am not in the same state of mind as my character. I can only write what I know, what I have felt and seen, so if it wasn't in me, if I hadn't experienced it directly or indirectly, I couldn't write it for my character and that troubled me. So much to the point that I found different ways to feel the way she did. Forcing myself to contemplate the things she did, and let her give me the words that truly described what was happening. I am at a stand still right now. I don't know what comes next, and I can't make the decision on my own. I think that is why I decided to write this post. Maybe writing about the writing process, will help me be able to find my rhythm again on the keyboard. Who knows. If nothing else I hope to get some really good feedback from those who read the below selection.

Remember - I am not really an author, or writer and I have never attempted to do what I am doing now. Go easy on me.

Much luv and appreciation. *I'm so nervous!*

So this is a flash back scene that occurs as the character (nameless) reflects back to the first time she saw her husband. It's a short passage I know, I'm starting small with yall.

The temperature had just begun to rise to the perfect degree of warmth. I’d laze for hours at a time on the courtyards manicured lawn, hopeful that a golden glaze would soon repair the sour shade in my complexion. I had been gathering up my crap one of these balmy afternoons, when some gravitational pull caused me to meet his gaze. It startled me not because I couldn't tell if he’d been watching me, rather that hazel eyes seemed out of place against the unblemished mahogany that coated his frame. Eyes, more green than brown, chilled the blood racing through my veins as I saw what lay behind them; a life I hadn't planned for yet was clearly so much a part of. I wondered where he’d come from, and how I hadn't noticed him before.