Chocolate

Mmm, Chocolate

I open the top of a brand new box of See's. Good quality chocolate even smells different -- richer, deeper, not so cloyingly sweet.

I scan the varieties, looking for my favorites. I choose a round dark chocolate with swirls on top: a pineapple truffle. I take a small bite and let the sweetness melt in my mouth. I taste a slight kick of sour mellowed by creaminess. I hold it for a moment on my tongue, then let it slide slowly down my throat

I take a second bite through the crunchy dark chocolate shell; more eager now, I allow myself to chew. Only for a second, because it melts away blissfully.

I have one bite left, so I pop the last morsel into my mouth, knowing I need to savor this one. Chocolate melds with lemon in perfect harmony, and the flavor lingers even after I have swallowed. I run my tongue over my teeth, across the roof of my mouth, teasing away every last hint of chocolate.

I put the lid back on the box and slide it under my bed. I think tomorrow I'll choose a butter cream.

31 Simple Pleasures

Writing exercise:

Write down 31 simple pleasures.  Each day, write about one pleasure for 5 minutes.

1. chocolate
2. bird watching
3. sunshine on my face
4. swimming
5. foot rub
6. massage
7. sex
8. smelling flowers
9. bath
10. baking cookies
11. listening to the kids laugh
12. playing a video game
13. finger painting
14. listening to good music
15. yoga
16. meditating
17. watching a movie
18. reading a book
19. dancing in the rain
20. comedy club
21. taking a nap
22. dancing
23. doing a puzzle
24. cold water on a hot day
25. a long shower
26. hiking
27. watching stars
28. walking on the beach
29. finding seashells
30. opening presents
31. holding a baby

I really enjoyed making the list, because it reminded me of the simple pleasures in life.  It was a little hard to come up with 31 of them.

Fess Up Friday

Ah, it's always nice when you have nothing but good to confess, doesn't it?

The Year of the Writer has started off with a bang.  I've done my morning pages each morning, and I've certainly kept my butt in the chair.  I've written at least 1,000 words a day, and the creative juices are flowing.  I've gotten invaluable research done on my current project, and I'm ready to bust out the next few scenes.

I'm happy.
I'm excited.
I'm a writer!

The Year of the Writer

2013: The Year of the Writer

Happy New Year all, and welcome 2013!

I have decided that this will be The Year of the Writer.

I will put my butt in the chair.

I will work on projects old and new.

I will write 1,000 words a day.

And I'll invite you all along for the ride!

The Blue Forest

It was autumn in the blue forest.  The trees stood nearly bare, limbs outstretched like spindly arms trying to touch the sky.  Crimson leaves carpeted the floor, a breeze occasionally lifting one to dance around the cobalt trunk of its most recent home.  Quieter now, the chatter of summer long gone as squirrels found burrows and sparrows migrated south for warmer weather.  Hungry wolves slunk silently through the shadows, looking for one last meal before laying down in the warmth of their den.  Soon, skies would turn gray and snow would fall, smothering the colors in a blanket of white, and the blue forest would wait, on ice, until the spring thaw.

*****

I found this picture today on Pinterest (I don't want to post it on here for copyright reasons).  It stuck with me, and I thought I just had to write about it.

Freebie Alert!!! Mythology

I'm a reader.

I was the kid who holed up in her room reading all day.  The one who stayed up until three in the morning to finish a book, even though I had a big test that day.  And I'm the one who was so engrossed in a book in the library that the librarian had to literally walk to my table and put her hand on my shoulder to get my attention (the library was closing and she was trying to get out of there).

But now I'm a writer, too.

And that changes things somewhat.  No longer can I just get lost in a good story.  There are so many booby traps to pull me out of it now.  Shouldn't there be an inciting incident here?  Hey, that's a blatant deus machina!  Can you please stop jumping in and out of all those characters' heads?

Mythology by Helen Boswell

Recently I read a book that appealed to both the reader and the writer in me.

Mythology by Helen Boswell is a YA novel that, like Twilight, will appeal to audiences of all ages.  Here is the description of it from Amazon:

Hope Gentry doesn’t believe in Fate. Born with an unusual power to see the dark memories of those around her, Hope just wants to be a normal teenager. But on the first day of her senior year of high school, she finds herself irresistibly drawn to a transfer student named Micah Condie. At first glance, Micah seems like a boy that most girls would dream about. But when Hope's powers allow her to discover Micah's darkest secret, she quickly becomes entangled in the lives of mythical entities she never dreamed existed

What I loved about Mythology is that it has wonderful, engaging characters.  Hope is a powerful female main character who makes a wonderful heroine.  I love how Helen is able to show Hope's powers in a very visceral way.  Hope is the one who pushes the action, making her own choices and  moving the story forward.

I'm thinking that Ms. Boswell must have read Save the Cat, because her story structure flows flawlessly.  Inciting incident?  Check.  Increasing tension leading to an action-packed climax?  Check.  False victory?  Oooh, good one, yes check!  Deeply satisfying ending?  Yep, check that off, too.

Add to that a wonderful, distinctive voice and a masterful treatment of theme, and Mythology turns out to be an engaging page-turner of a novel.

And here's the best part:  Mythology is free!  You can purchase the Kindle version of Mythology for free today (Monday, October 1, 2012) through Wednesday (October 3, 2012).

I hope you enjoy Mythology as much as I did, and when you're done, please take time to leave a nice review on Amazon.

Malpractice

The orderly pushes me down the hall on the gurney, jogging as fast as protocol will allow.  Twin doors swing open ahead of us like the gates of heaven to let us pass unhindered.  He swerves to miss a nurse that absentmindedly crosses his path.

"Move."

She presses up against the wall as we brush past her.

The orderly stops in front of a door where another nurse, this one dressed in surgical gear, is waiting.  She takes over and wheels me into the room.

I don't remember much about the accident, but judging from the amount of blood covering me, it must have been bad.  A dull ache in my arm hints that it is probably broken.  I can't move, so I think that I might have broken my neck or back or both as well.

A masked surgeon waits at the head of the stainless steel table, scalpel in hand, and I look up into his eyes when I am transferred onto the slab.  He looks like he knows what he's doing.  I think I'm in good hands.

A nurse pulls away what's left of my blouse, leaving my stomach and chest exposed.  She swabs away the blood with wet cotton, and I catch the acrid smell of alcohol.  I wait for the anesthesiologist to put the mask over my mouth and nose, anxious that the unendurable pain might finally end.

The surgeon reaches forward and his scalpel pierces my skin as he deftly draws a line from the top of my sternum to my pelvis.  I try to scream, but my mouth remains closed, immovable, and the only echo is inside my head.  Tears seep out of my eyes.  Can't he see the tears in my eyes?

He's digging through my organs, pulling up my kidneys and they look so small in his hands.  He lays one aside and with a snip severs the other.  He turns to an orderly standing next to him, and I now see that the orderly is holding a cooler.  The surgeon gently places my kidney in the corner, then returns to the forgotten one.  A quick, burning snip and it, too, joins its partner.

The orderly races off as the doctor returns his attention to me.  One by one, he harvests my liver, my lungs, and something I don't even recognize.  Now he's wielding a saw, cutting through my sternum, bone dust wafting in the air.  He slowly spreads the two halves and secures them with a retractor.  I feel like I am being torn apart.

"Lara.  Come with me."

I don't know how, because my neck won't move, but I look over my shoulder to see Papa there.  I remember him giving me piggy back rides and sneaking me soda pop before dinner.  But that was a long, long time ago.

"But I'm not dead yet." I look back to the surgeon who now has my beating heart in his hands.

"I know," he says.  "But you will be."

***

Today's prompt: Write about your greatest fear.