So I am done with the first draft of Zombie Road Trip.
I don't feel excited yet. Mostly, I feel like a fake. That's because my endings in the first draft suck. They suck big time. They suck so much they create tiny black holes stealing all my joy. When I say I am finished, I feel like I am anything but.
It's not until a few days later do I start to feel joy at being finished. I know people talk about post-novel ennui, and for me, it comes on quick wings of loathing. Of realizing how awful the ending is, how big the plot holes are, etc etc etc...
Yes, I am a perfectionist. Most people say that with a certain amount of pride. That they demand a high quality in themselves. That IS something to be proud of, and I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it in small doses. But I'm not talking about spell checking something before you send it to your boss.
I'm talking about never wanting to let anyone see something until it's "good enough". And since it will never be "good enough" in your eyes, no one ever sees anything. That's why I've written five novels and never queried one. That's why when I finish a first draft all I initially feel is despair at how awful it is.
And that why I am breaking the cycle with this book. I've let people read the first draft, warts and all, despite how much I want to crawl in a hole and die at the thought, and why after a break, I'm going to revise the crap out of this book, and then I am going to send out some queries.
In the meantime, I am going to be celebrating and telling everyone who will listen that I am DONE with this draft.
EDITED TO ADD: My friend Liz has advised me that I can improve my crappy ending by adding: AND THEN THEY ALL DIED. THE END.
Or if I was feeling optimistic: AND THEN THEY HAD SEX.
I think I am going with: AND THEN THEY SAVED THE WORLD AND EVERYONE WAS HAPPY AND GOT KICK BUTT AGENTS AND AWESOME BOOK DEALS.
THE END.
Showing posts with label zombie apocalypse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label zombie apocalypse. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Friday, November 9, 2012
Birth of a Novel: The Way Behind from Being Sick and Moving Edition
It's time to post about my writing progress! A day late! Did I mention I moved last week? Are you tired of hearing about that yet?
Progress: 0 words written
Okay, end of post.
....
Just kidding. Hahaha, aren't I funny?
This last week has been super duper busy. I could go into the gory details, but essentially moving took a lot longer than I thought, and I am still unpacking vital rooms like the bathroom. Most of the other rooms are finished, or close enough, but between unpacking, feeling like death warmed over, and having an extremely needy baby who hasn't adjusted to his new house yet, I haven't gotten a single word written.
I'd considered writing one word before I wrote this post, but that just felt more pathetic than no words, for some reason.
Instead of talking about my lack of progress, I am instead going to do the Next Big Thing bloghop. The lovely Rena tagged all of us in the Birth of a Novel blog chain. So here it goes!
I honestly dreamed it.
I had a dream that my friends and I were at Dragon*Con when zombies started to attack. We made witty banter while fighting our way through hordes of undead. Obviously the characters aren't fill ins for my friends and I, but the opening scenes are pretty much the same.
Of course, the dream didn't hand me much else. It took a long time, and a lot of false starts, to come up with a solid plot. That's the thing about book ideas that come to you via dreams. You still have to do a lot of leg work.
Hmmm...for the main character Lilah I would say Anne Hathaway. She does plucky, slightly clumsy girl really well without making herself seem like a total idiot.
For the love interest Rowan, Sung Kang is a really good fit.
For the villain, Donald Trump. Yes. I said it. Bad hair piece and all.
Let's see...the characters travel to awesome places like World's Largest Ball of Twine, there's lots of references to geeky things like Magic: The Gathering and Dungeons and Dragons, and last but not least, House Buffaloes are mentioned. A lot.
Progress: 0 words written
Okay, end of post.
....
Just kidding. Hahaha, aren't I funny?
This last week has been super duper busy. I could go into the gory details, but essentially moving took a lot longer than I thought, and I am still unpacking vital rooms like the bathroom. Most of the other rooms are finished, or close enough, but between unpacking, feeling like death warmed over, and having an extremely needy baby who hasn't adjusted to his new house yet, I haven't gotten a single word written.
I'd considered writing one word before I wrote this post, but that just felt more pathetic than no words, for some reason.
Instead of talking about my lack of progress, I am instead going to do the Next Big Thing bloghop. The lovely Rena tagged all of us in the Birth of a Novel blog chain. So here it goes!
1. What is the working title
of your book?
It was "When Zombies Attack" way back when I first had the idea, but it's currently "Zombie Road Trip". The title pretty much says it all. It's a road trip, and there's zombies.
2. Where did the idea come
from for the book?
I had a dream that my friends and I were at Dragon*Con when zombies started to attack. We made witty banter while fighting our way through hordes of undead. Obviously the characters aren't fill ins for my friends and I, but the opening scenes are pretty much the same.
Of course, the dream didn't hand me much else. It took a long time, and a lot of false starts, to come up with a solid plot. That's the thing about book ideas that come to you via dreams. You still have to do a lot of leg work.
3. What genre does your book
fall under?
Oh genre, you fickle mistress. I would say dark urban fantasy. I've struggled with genre because normally zombies land you straight into horror, but this book is not horror. However, it doesn't really resemble most of what is current in urban fantasy, but it's the closest thing.
4. Which actors would you
choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Hmmm...for the main character Lilah I would say Anne Hathaway. She does plucky, slightly clumsy girl really well without making herself seem like a total idiot.
For the love interest Rowan, Sung Kang is a really good fit.
For the villain, Donald Trump. Yes. I said it. Bad hair piece and all.
5. What is the one-sentence
synopsis of your book?
When a zombie
outbreak starts chewing on the population, Lilah Reynolds travels to quirky
road side attractions to set up anti-zombie ritual sites, but discovers along
the way her best friend is in league with the evil necromancers.
The sentence isn't polished yet, because it's changed since I've started writing, but that's the general idea.
6. How long did it take you
to write the first draft of your manuscript?
The first draft of the first incarnation only took about a month to write. I'd had the dream, and sat down to write out the first few scenes so I wouldn't forget it. 30,000 words later I realized I had a book on my hands. I plotted it out, and wrote the rest.
It was terrible. I revised and started rewriting it about a year ago. That draft didn't work either. Early this year I started the current version of the book. I'm about halfway through the "first" draft, and things are moving along nicely. Finally.
7. What other books would you
compare this story to within your genre?
I haven't read it yet, but I did notice that Nancy Holzner's Deadtown has zombies and undead creatures front and center. There's also a ton of zombies in other supernatural books, too many to list here. There's also a ton of general zombie apocalypse books.
The movie Zombieland is pretty close to describing the book's tone and feel, so we're going with that.
8. Who or What inspired you
to write this book?
My love for apocalypse novels coupled with my interest in all things geeky.
9. What else about your book
might pique the reader’s interest?
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
When Zombies Really Aren't About Zombies
I am currently slogging through my zombie book. It's been like threading a lemur through a needle. And the lemur is hopped up on cough medicine. I kept trying to up the ante, to increase stakes, but it all felt boring. What's the world coming to when zombies feel boring?
Until I had an epiphany. Zombies were boring because after the first encounter, it was more of the same. I mean, sure, the characters were worried about dying, but a constant "Oh crap we're going to die" gets stale, quick. It seems like it should be exciting, but in reality it's repetition.
I started to think about the zombie books I'd read, and the movies I'd seen. I realized that zombies were part of the initial conflict, yes, but they existed more as a setting conflict. Zombies caused conflict in the same way a character in a war zone was in conflict. The setting is actively trying to kill the characters, but that's not the only place conflict needs to come from.
In fact, it's not even the primary place.
Because the setting throws the character out in the cold, and forces them to survive. Your story might be about their survival, or some internal flaw brought to the surface, or maybe both. Because your story isn't about war, or zombies, it's about your character.
DUH.
I know, right? This sounds really obvious, but when you're in the thick of writing it seems like you should be able to throw some zombies in there, and presto, conflict. But no. That's not actually how it works. Even stories without zombies in them (yes, they do exist--I've even written some!) aren't just about the main conflict. They are about how the main conflict affects the main characters.
That's what matters. That's what raises the stakes. It's not the zombies, but the fact that zombies are forcing the character to hide in a locker room and consider eating each other like a bunch of stranded soccer players.
So the next time I get stuck, I'm going to try and remember that it's not really about the zombies: it's about the characters the zombies are trying to eat.
Until I had an epiphany. Zombies were boring because after the first encounter, it was more of the same. I mean, sure, the characters were worried about dying, but a constant "Oh crap we're going to die" gets stale, quick. It seems like it should be exciting, but in reality it's repetition.
I started to think about the zombie books I'd read, and the movies I'd seen. I realized that zombies were part of the initial conflict, yes, but they existed more as a setting conflict. Zombies caused conflict in the same way a character in a war zone was in conflict. The setting is actively trying to kill the characters, but that's not the only place conflict needs to come from.
In fact, it's not even the primary place.
Because the setting throws the character out in the cold, and forces them to survive. Your story might be about their survival, or some internal flaw brought to the surface, or maybe both. Because your story isn't about war, or zombies, it's about your character.
DUH.
I know, right? This sounds really obvious, but when you're in the thick of writing it seems like you should be able to throw some zombies in there, and presto, conflict. But no. That's not actually how it works. Even stories without zombies in them (yes, they do exist--I've even written some!) aren't just about the main conflict. They are about how the main conflict affects the main characters.
That's what matters. That's what raises the stakes. It's not the zombies, but the fact that zombies are forcing the character to hide in a locker room and consider eating each other like a bunch of stranded soccer players.
So the next time I get stuck, I'm going to try and remember that it's not really about the zombies: it's about the characters the zombies are trying to eat.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Birth of a Novel: Week Three
It's week three of Birth of a Novel here, and it's sort of rocky. The good news is I've mostly moved past the "this is utter crap and I should burn it before everyone laughs at me" stage, but the bad news is I seem to have pulled a muscle in my back. I am okay to sit for about 15 minutes before it starts to feel like a ghost is stabbing me in the back. Hard. With a hot poker.
I've had muscle pain before, and writing is normally a great way for me to ignore those sorts of things, but this is a rather insistent muscle spasm, to the point it's distracting. So it's throwing off my mojo a bit. I usually get up and walk around, ice it, and plead with my body to let me write my book already.
The good news is I have a temporary replacement for my computer. For those of you who don't know, my old computer is an utter piece of crap that needs to be taken out back and shot. My parents have loaned me their laptop. They bought another one after the screen stopped working. You can of course plug a moniter into the laptop (which is exactly what I've done) but it defeats the mobility part of them having a laptop.
I do plan on buying a new computer, sometime next year, but in the meantime this laptop will be an excellent compromise. It's old, but it's still much faster than my old computer.
I plan to use the next few days to catch up on my word count (and kill lots of zombies). Wish me luck!
In the meantime, check out how the other ladies are doing on their noveling endeavors:
Angela H.
Anna M.
Brooke Busse
Charity Bradford
Elizabeth Davis
Fida Islaih
Huntress
Jen McConnel
Lena Hoppe
Mia Hayson
Miranda Hardy
Nyxie Moon
Tessa C
Zoe
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Birth of Novel: Week Two
Okay folks, here's where the brutal honesty kicks in. I want you to know I write this as hopefully a help to other writers, and not as a pity party or whining session.
Honestly, week two was so much harder than week one. I rewrote the scenes I had previously from scratch which was smooth sailing. The minute I got to the new scenes though, I hit a brick wall.
Not literally (though it sort of felt like it) but figuratively and emotionally. I had no idea what happened next, and despite my desperate brainstorming sessions, I couldn't come up with anything. After much whining and complaining to my ever-suffering writer friends I realized it was more about my state emotionally than any actual lack of inspiration or ideas.
So here's sort of a taboo subject. Something we don't often talk about in detail as writers, but something I've seen every single writer I know afflicted with.
Your state of mind.
Yes, you absolutely need to learn to write in spite of your state of mind, but pretending that it doesn't factor into your writing can sometimes sabotage your work before the words are even born (like in my most recent experience).
My ideas tend to be these sprawling, complex, layered things, filled with side ideas and tangents. For example, the Harry Potter series. The main plot is straightforward, but anyone who has read those books can tell you there is so much more going on in each book. Harry might deal with issues with his best friend, the love interest, Quidditch, his classes, Snape, Dumbledore, another teacher, his parents, and many other little things.
Yet the books aren't too complex to read. Little story bits add up to the greater whole of the plot. When I get an idea, I can often see the book in it's entirety, like a movie. I see the finished product, all the twists and turns and ins and outs of the book. But writing a first draft is nothing like that.
And with every first draft I reach the place where the idea in my head and the words on the page do not match up. At all. The words on the page feel so much more shallow and weak than the idea I hold inside me. It's depressing, to be frank. I KNOW that books don't start out layered, that you build them to be that way, that no one's first draft is good, but for some reason it's a surprise when my first draft doesn't turn out as awesome as I want it to be.
Maybe you've been there. My friend Liz calls it the opposite of a Eureka moment. You get this crashing realization that the first draft you had such high hopes for in matter sucks. It sucks big time. It sucks so badly you're scared it's going to create a black hole and devour all of existence.
You might have guessed that I am a perfectionist. This doesn't help. I agonize over small things, like this blog post. "Am I going on too much? Am I over explaining? Does that comma really need to be there?" I look at my earlier blog posts, and just cringe. But people keep tell me they enjoy reading through my back log, so I keep them up and try not to think about all the stupid mistakes I made.
It's ten times worse with a novel. I am at the point now where I just have to push through the crushing feeling that this books sucks and it's a pointless waste of time, and just keep writing.
Because that's the cure for these feelings of general crappyness. Just keep writing. It sounds simple, but at first it's hard. It feels impossible. That's why I like NaNo. Your word count becomes important, not the quality. That's where I feel like NaNo gets a bad reputation. It's not like we're out here trying to write crap on purpose.
It's just that when you give yourself a challenging deadline, you're forced to let go and dare to suck, like Maureen Johnson says. You have to keep going, despite how sure you are this is a piece of crap.
Because there's something amazing about writing. You get to hit the do over button a trillion million billion times (that's an actual number, btw) (no, it's not). The first draft is all about laying down the ground work. Finding the characters and the story. You cannot see certain things about the story until you get that crappy first draft out.
So this week I am all about pushing forward. Past feeling like you're not writing well enough, fast enough. Just keep writing. Forget about everything else but having fun and telling yourself a story. Entertain yourself. Write what you think would be cool.
The rest will come later.
Okay, I am off to take my own advice. In the meantime, check out how these lovely ladies are faring:
Angela H.
Anna M.
Brooke Busse
Charity Bradford
Elizabeth Davis
Fida Islaih
Huntress
Lena Hoppe
Mia Hayson
Miranda Hardy
Nyxie Moon
Tessa C
Zoe
Friday, November 4, 2011
A Mean Trick in the Morning
I am reporting in from the writing trenches to let you know my sanity is still mostly intact.
Writing right now is sort of a good news, bad news situation.
The good news is it's going really well. Stuff is moving along smoothly. If my word count was a dog, it would have won the blue ribbon (it's just under 30K).
"But those are so many words," You might be saying to yourself. "How can you have possibly written all those words?"
Because I had a crappy half draft to start with, that's how Hypothetical Question Asker. Even though I've rewritten them, I had already wrote a lot of those scenes once before. I just made them suck slightly less. I also had the last few days off, and some free time on my hands. So that helped.
The bad news side of this is I am about to reach the part where I haven't written these scenes previously, and quite frankly, have only a vague idea at best where they are going to go. I expect my word count rate is going to drop drastically, and the hard part will kick in.
What I've done is print off what I have so far (about fifty pages) and read through it. Not looking to edit things, mind you, but looking for places where I started threads and didn't continue them yet. Hopefully it will help me keep track of things instead of winding up with three or four dropped threads that went nowhere.
I also wanted to remind everyone to update and save their files. My external hard drive played a mean trick on me this morning. Even though it was getting power, my computer didn't read it when I turned it on. I then opened Dropbox, my online storage facility, and for some reason Dropbox had not updated itself in months. I tried to open my external hard drive on my husband's lap top, and didn't have any problems. I finally got my computer to read my hard drive, but it was a scary way to wake up in the morning.
So yes. Everyone, go now and backup all your files.
How is everyone else's novels coming? The rest of your week?
Writing right now is sort of a good news, bad news situation.
The good news is it's going really well. Stuff is moving along smoothly. If my word count was a dog, it would have won the blue ribbon (it's just under 30K).
"But those are so many words," You might be saying to yourself. "How can you have possibly written all those words?"
Because I had a crappy half draft to start with, that's how Hypothetical Question Asker. Even though I've rewritten them, I had already wrote a lot of those scenes once before. I just made them suck slightly less. I also had the last few days off, and some free time on my hands. So that helped.
The bad news side of this is I am about to reach the part where I haven't written these scenes previously, and quite frankly, have only a vague idea at best where they are going to go. I expect my word count rate is going to drop drastically, and the hard part will kick in.
What I've done is print off what I have so far (about fifty pages) and read through it. Not looking to edit things, mind you, but looking for places where I started threads and didn't continue them yet. Hopefully it will help me keep track of things instead of winding up with three or four dropped threads that went nowhere.
I also wanted to remind everyone to update and save their files. My external hard drive played a mean trick on me this morning. Even though it was getting power, my computer didn't read it when I turned it on. I then opened Dropbox, my online storage facility, and for some reason Dropbox had not updated itself in months. I tried to open my external hard drive on my husband's lap top, and didn't have any problems. I finally got my computer to read my hard drive, but it was a scary way to wake up in the morning.
So yes. Everyone, go now and backup all your files.
How is everyone else's novels coming? The rest of your week?
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Birth of a Novel: First Update
Now, some introduction.
My novel is called Zombie Road Trip, and the title is pretty self explanatory. It's about the main character Lilah taking a road trip to off beat tourist attractions during the zombie apocalypse, in order to learn how to control her power over the zombies.
I wrote about 34K of this novel a year or so ago and then ran out of steam. I've resurrected it, reworked some of the plot holes, and started writing from scratch. For me, NaNo isn't about making the word count at all costs. I do write fast, but 1666 words a day isn't really a stretch. I like to use NaNo to give me a kick in the pants and have some writing buddies
Because I am a nerd, I stayed up until midnight last night to start my novel. I was hopped up on sugar by that point so I wasn't tired then. Today I still feel half asleep, but at least I slept well.
It's always hard for me to start writing. I feel like I've left the oven on, like I've forgotten something really important. I get all excited at the thought of starting, but once I actually do my brain panics a little and does this:
.........................................................................................
It took me a little while to get into the flow of the scene, and to be completely honest, it's not all there yet. I have some logistical things to work out in my head (You know, like when you're thinking: Character has to be here with this item by this time, but the scene before that she doesn't have those things, so how do I get her from Point A to Point B without making things too complicated?) before I think it will all gel together.
But that's okay. The beginnings are always a little bumpy for me. I am still stoked about this book and I love the character's voice.
Don't forget to check out what the other people in the blog chain are up to. You can click on the sidebar or just check out their progress here:
Angela H.
Brooke Busse http://brookerbusse.blogspot.
Charity Bradford http://charitywrites.blogspot.
Elizabeth Davis http://www.lizwritesbooks.com/
Elizabeth Poole http://writerelizabethpoole.
Fida Islaih http://fida-islaih.blogspot.
Huntress http://spiritcalled.blogspot.
Lena Hoppe http://lenalothanas.blogspot.
Mia Hayson http://literaryjamandtoast.
Miranda Hardy http://www.mirandahardy.
Nyxie Moon http://creativedawdle.
Tessa C http://tessasblurb.blogspot.
Brooke Busse http://brookerbusse.blogspot.
Charity Bradford http://charitywrites.blogspot.
Elizabeth Davis http://www.lizwritesbooks.com/
Elizabeth Poole http://writerelizabethpoole.
Fida Islaih http://fida-islaih.blogspot.
Huntress http://spiritcalled.blogspot.
Lena Hoppe http://lenalothanas.blogspot.
Mia Hayson http://literaryjamandtoast.
Miranda Hardy http://www.mirandahardy.
Nyxie Moon http://creativedawdle.
Tessa C http://tessasblurb.blogspot.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
The Birth of a Novel
So it's almost that time of year again.
In six days thousands of would-be novelists will be sitting down at their desks, their local coffee joint, and or the library to start writing their novel for National Novel Writer's Month, or NaNo for short.
The goal is to write 50,000 words in a month. That's about 1666 words a day.
And yes, it's an arbitrary goal. Yes, 50K is way too short for almost all genres to be considered a novel. Yes, in December agents get flooded with tons of queries for half finished novels. These are all valid criticisms of NaNo. But you know, there's going to be a lot amateurs, for lack of a better word, in any profession. People who don't realize how long a novel should be, or how to write a proper query letter. Heck, I was an amateur not too many years ago myself. I wrote two books in high school, neither of them complete, and stopped around 150K. I had no idea how long a novel should be.
But you live and learn, and I enjoy the camaraderie of NaNo. It's a great community and I enjoy the forums. The first novel I ever finished I wrote for NaNo. It's a good way to kick yourself in the pants and make sure you met daily deadlines, an extremely important skill a professional writer needs to have. I also enjoy egging on my other friends who are participating. I write novels during months other than November and it's generally a very solitary process. November allows me to share the insanity.
So this year I will share the insanity with you. That's right; I am going to live blog my progress. I haven't decided whether or not I am going to blog every single day in November. On one hand, it might get boring. On the other hand, depending on how quickly my sanity unravels, you might want to bring popcorn. So we'll see how it goes. At the very least it will be an interesting social experiment.
Also, I write the novel until it's complete, so the Birth of a Novel will bleed over into December, and maybe even January. I'll post my stats, my thoughts, overall novel progress, and hot chocolate intake (caffeine is out due to being pregnant, aka having a belly ninja, so liquid chocolate shall be my substitute).
If you are in the process of writing a novel or about to start and want to join in the madness, please feel free. You can post links to your blog in the comments, or contact me via email and I can link to your blog directly in the post.
This will either be interesting or you're all going to run in fear from me when the insanity of writing a novel starts to leak out.
In six days thousands of would-be novelists will be sitting down at their desks, their local coffee joint, and or the library to start writing their novel for National Novel Writer's Month, or NaNo for short.
The goal is to write 50,000 words in a month. That's about 1666 words a day.
And yes, it's an arbitrary goal. Yes, 50K is way too short for almost all genres to be considered a novel. Yes, in December agents get flooded with tons of queries for half finished novels. These are all valid criticisms of NaNo. But you know, there's going to be a lot amateurs, for lack of a better word, in any profession. People who don't realize how long a novel should be, or how to write a proper query letter. Heck, I was an amateur not too many years ago myself. I wrote two books in high school, neither of them complete, and stopped around 150K. I had no idea how long a novel should be.
But you live and learn, and I enjoy the camaraderie of NaNo. It's a great community and I enjoy the forums. The first novel I ever finished I wrote for NaNo. It's a good way to kick yourself in the pants and make sure you met daily deadlines, an extremely important skill a professional writer needs to have. I also enjoy egging on my other friends who are participating. I write novels during months other than November and it's generally a very solitary process. November allows me to share the insanity.
So this year I will share the insanity with you. That's right; I am going to live blog my progress. I haven't decided whether or not I am going to blog every single day in November. On one hand, it might get boring. On the other hand, depending on how quickly my sanity unravels, you might want to bring popcorn. So we'll see how it goes. At the very least it will be an interesting social experiment.
Also, I write the novel until it's complete, so the Birth of a Novel will bleed over into December, and maybe even January. I'll post my stats, my thoughts, overall novel progress, and hot chocolate intake (caffeine is out due to being pregnant, aka having a belly ninja, so liquid chocolate shall be my substitute).
If you are in the process of writing a novel or about to start and want to join in the madness, please feel free. You can post links to your blog in the comments, or contact me via email and I can link to your blog directly in the post.
This will either be interesting or you're all going to run in fear from me when the insanity of writing a novel starts to leak out.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Odds and Ends
I keep thinking I should blog, but then I don't have a subject long enough for a regular post.
So today I think this will be a general odds and ends post. :D It's the best of all worlds.
*Writing:
Planning out ZOMBIE ROAD TRIP is coming along really nicely. I am definitely doing NaNoWriMo this year and I am so excited I am quivering in my seat (My user name is Undyne, from back in the days where I was all incognito. Feel free to friend me and I shall reciprocate!). The last two years I did NaNo, the novel fell apart as I was writing it. Trust me folks, it's not a pretty sight when your novel implodes. Both for the novel, and your sanity.
I am shooting for a happy medium where I have a good feel for the conflict and characters, but I am leaving a lot of blanks on purpose, so I can hopefully come up with cool stuff as a write. That's the plan anyway. I might be blogging in a month about how I've shot myself in the foot and ruined everything and WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!
But so far, I am feeling optimistic about it.
*Pregnancy:
The weight gain thing is going steady. I feel like I wake up every morning to a bigger tummy, but I keep forgetting to buy a scale. So I am not sure how much weight I've gained. Also, eating 60 grams of protein a day it getting...interesting. I normally have no problems with eating meat, but right now I just don't feel like it.
On the other hand, I am eating tons of dairy products. Normally I am very lactose intolerant and can't eat lots of cheese and drink lots of milk without having a very upset stomach. But my heartburn is reaching epic proportions (it doesn't matter what it is--if it's not cheese, milk, or pudding, it gives me wicked bad heartburn), so I think one is counteracting the other.
I have no appetite. I get a little hungry in the morning, and in the evening, but other than that I have to just set food in front of me and snack all day. It has something to do with the fact that my uterus is 1 1/2 inches above my belly button, which is very high for me. My stomach is squashed and I get full very quickly.
By the end of the sixth month my uterus will be 2 1/2 inches above my navel. I have very short waist. There's about an inch or so between the bottom of my rib cage and the top of my hip. As the baby gets bigger, the top of my uterus will keep moving up, and honestly, I am sort of wondering where all the rest of my internal organs are going to go. On vacation?
*Real Life Stuff
I went shopping with my mom yesterday, and my best friend Melissa joined us later on. It's that time of year, when Bath and Body Works puts out their holiday scents. I stocked up on Winter Candy Apple. My goodness, that stuff smells like heaven. You have to buy it really early too, because they sell out quickly. I also got a really cute pair of pink flannel sleep pants, so I am a happy camper. It's amazing how happy you can be from just some new lotion and sleep pants.
Of course, I might just be easy to please. (Hush, I can hear all of you snickering.)
So, what about you guys? What's going on in your lives?
So today I think this will be a general odds and ends post. :D It's the best of all worlds.
*Writing:
Planning out ZOMBIE ROAD TRIP is coming along really nicely. I am definitely doing NaNoWriMo this year and I am so excited I am quivering in my seat (My user name is Undyne, from back in the days where I was all incognito. Feel free to friend me and I shall reciprocate!). The last two years I did NaNo, the novel fell apart as I was writing it. Trust me folks, it's not a pretty sight when your novel implodes. Both for the novel, and your sanity.
I am shooting for a happy medium where I have a good feel for the conflict and characters, but I am leaving a lot of blanks on purpose, so I can hopefully come up with cool stuff as a write. That's the plan anyway. I might be blogging in a month about how I've shot myself in the foot and ruined everything and WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!
But so far, I am feeling optimistic about it.
*Pregnancy:
The weight gain thing is going steady. I feel like I wake up every morning to a bigger tummy, but I keep forgetting to buy a scale. So I am not sure how much weight I've gained. Also, eating 60 grams of protein a day it getting...interesting. I normally have no problems with eating meat, but right now I just don't feel like it.
On the other hand, I am eating tons of dairy products. Normally I am very lactose intolerant and can't eat lots of cheese and drink lots of milk without having a very upset stomach. But my heartburn is reaching epic proportions (it doesn't matter what it is--if it's not cheese, milk, or pudding, it gives me wicked bad heartburn), so I think one is counteracting the other.
I have no appetite. I get a little hungry in the morning, and in the evening, but other than that I have to just set food in front of me and snack all day. It has something to do with the fact that my uterus is 1 1/2 inches above my belly button, which is very high for me. My stomach is squashed and I get full very quickly.
By the end of the sixth month my uterus will be 2 1/2 inches above my navel. I have very short waist. There's about an inch or so between the bottom of my rib cage and the top of my hip. As the baby gets bigger, the top of my uterus will keep moving up, and honestly, I am sort of wondering where all the rest of my internal organs are going to go. On vacation?
*Real Life Stuff
I went shopping with my mom yesterday, and my best friend Melissa joined us later on. It's that time of year, when Bath and Body Works puts out their holiday scents. I stocked up on Winter Candy Apple. My goodness, that stuff smells like heaven. You have to buy it really early too, because they sell out quickly. I also got a really cute pair of pink flannel sleep pants, so I am a happy camper. It's amazing how happy you can be from just some new lotion and sleep pants.
Of course, I might just be easy to please. (Hush, I can hear all of you snickering.)
So, what about you guys? What's going on in your lives?
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Desperation Your Secret Ally
A while ago I read a really interesting essay by Neil Gaiman about where he gets his ideas. He's rather candid about it, and I've thought back fondly of that essay time and again. But today what's made me think of his essay about ideas is when he talked about desperation. He was desperate to figure out a story for the Sandman comics and gradually worked his way through it.
So I come to desperation myself. I've worked on three or four different ideas, and none of them came together. The ideas were there, but the plot hadn't joined up like the big robot in Power Rangers (the original show from the 90s...we don't talk about the Power Rangers in Space Metaton IV on this blog).
Bored and frustrated, I reread some of my old things. You know those novels. They didn't quite work out the way you thought they would. You abandoned them before you finished. You wrote until you didn't know what else happened and gave up. I read over my zombie novel, still beloved in my heart despite it only being 34K and very, very rough and discovered magic.
I could make this into a full length novel. It actually wasn't that bad. Sure I wrote it before I knew what a scene was, but still. The character's voice was alive and whole and there. Like magic. From my brain.
Desperation can be an ally. Sometimes you're at your wits end. You've had enough worrying over the book and your future as a writer, and you just want to lose yourself in a story. Given the rough state of the half draft, I also think it's going to be easier to just write in the spirit of discovery. To write out an exploratory draft, and write with abandon, instead of feeling like I need to stay on the path of the plot.
I've worked out some things for the plot, but mostly I plan to wing a lot of the story. I also plan to do NaNo this year, and I am excited for it.
Sometimes you just have to throw in the towel, give up your writerly notions, and just sit down and tell yourself a story. It's so easy to forget that, but so vital to remember it.
What about you? Has anything good come out of a moment of desperation?
So I come to desperation myself. I've worked on three or four different ideas, and none of them came together. The ideas were there, but the plot hadn't joined up like the big robot in Power Rangers (the original show from the 90s...we don't talk about the Power Rangers in Space Metaton IV on this blog).
Bored and frustrated, I reread some of my old things. You know those novels. They didn't quite work out the way you thought they would. You abandoned them before you finished. You wrote until you didn't know what else happened and gave up. I read over my zombie novel, still beloved in my heart despite it only being 34K and very, very rough and discovered magic.
I could make this into a full length novel. It actually wasn't that bad. Sure I wrote it before I knew what a scene was, but still. The character's voice was alive and whole and there. Like magic. From my brain.
Desperation can be an ally. Sometimes you're at your wits end. You've had enough worrying over the book and your future as a writer, and you just want to lose yourself in a story. Given the rough state of the half draft, I also think it's going to be easier to just write in the spirit of discovery. To write out an exploratory draft, and write with abandon, instead of feeling like I need to stay on the path of the plot.
I've worked out some things for the plot, but mostly I plan to wing a lot of the story. I also plan to do NaNo this year, and I am excited for it.
Sometimes you just have to throw in the towel, give up your writerly notions, and just sit down and tell yourself a story. It's so easy to forget that, but so vital to remember it.
What about you? Has anything good come out of a moment of desperation?
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Gee Gee Gee Baby Baby Baby
Guess what! I am sick!
It's the summer. I protest. There should be some sort of law against getting a bad head cold in the summer. Also, there should be an addendum to said law that the punishment is worse if the victim is still in her first trimester.
Morning sickness + coughing * (lack of sleep^2) body aches - Robitussin Dm + three boxes of tissues and counting = Elizabeth high on cold medicine and unable to string more than two coherent sentences together.
If I could remember the order of operations I might be able to tell you why my toes are tingling.
Rewriting is going fabulously because I haven't done any in a few days. Too scared to see what my addled brain will cook up. Mostly I've spend my days laying on the couch with my husband, who is also sick (he's the one that shared the virus--he really shouldn't have), watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Netflix.
Shocking confession time: I've never seen Buffy or Angel before! I know! I am fixing that right now. It's rather addictive. I feel like I am arriving to a fandom about ten years late. Maybe that's because I am. When I told my husband I'd never seen either series he wanted to know what I did with my time as a teenager.
I read books. Also, I wrote some. I didn't watch a lot of TV, and still don't.
I tried to post yesterday and tell you guys why you weren't getting a coherent post from me, but about halfway through this post I got distracted and I forgot about it.
Here's a song:
P. S. I like this song prior to the aide of over the counter cough medicine. True story! I think it's cute. I like J-pop (Japanese Pop, even though technically these girls are Korean so it would be considered K-pop) a lot.
P. P. S. I was going to say something, but I forgot while I was typing the first P.S.
P. P. P. S. I remember now. I was going to make a joke by adding a tag that didn't belong to this post, but then I figured only I would notice/find it funny. First I was going to use the tag "zombie apocalypse" but then I thought it might actually apply since my cold could be the first wave of the virus that will create the zombie apocalypse. (Also, I don't know why I have some of the tags I do. Seriously, why does "Bigos" get it's own tag? It's just a dish I make.)
Okay, so I looked through my tags, and it's no go. Even the ones that don't fit would just seem like I hit the wrong button. I mean, if I tag this post "lolcats" even though there aren't any cats in this post (just Korean girls and a confusing math equation) it won't be funny. Not in the ironic way I was hoping for. So the tag thing is a bust. Sorry.
P. P. P. P. S. I didn't want to end the post on such a downer. So I added another PS. Although I wonder, adding more "Ps" to the P.S., that's not a real thing right? It's just something people do so you get the point that it's another added message but separate from the first.
Have a great day!
It's the summer. I protest. There should be some sort of law against getting a bad head cold in the summer. Also, there should be an addendum to said law that the punishment is worse if the victim is still in her first trimester.
Morning sickness + coughing * (lack of sleep^2) body aches - Robitussin Dm + three boxes of tissues and counting = Elizabeth high on cold medicine and unable to string more than two coherent sentences together.
If I could remember the order of operations I might be able to tell you why my toes are tingling.
Rewriting is going fabulously because I haven't done any in a few days. Too scared to see what my addled brain will cook up. Mostly I've spend my days laying on the couch with my husband, who is also sick (he's the one that shared the virus--he really shouldn't have), watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Netflix.
Shocking confession time: I've never seen Buffy or Angel before! I know! I am fixing that right now. It's rather addictive. I feel like I am arriving to a fandom about ten years late. Maybe that's because I am. When I told my husband I'd never seen either series he wanted to know what I did with my time as a teenager.
I read books. Also, I wrote some. I didn't watch a lot of TV, and still don't.
I tried to post yesterday and tell you guys why you weren't getting a coherent post from me, but about halfway through this post I got distracted and I forgot about it.
Here's a song:
P. S. I like this song prior to the aide of over the counter cough medicine. True story! I think it's cute. I like J-pop (Japanese Pop, even though technically these girls are Korean so it would be considered K-pop) a lot.
P. P. S. I was going to say something, but I forgot while I was typing the first P.S.
P. P. P. S. I remember now. I was going to make a joke by adding a tag that didn't belong to this post, but then I figured only I would notice/find it funny. First I was going to use the tag "zombie apocalypse" but then I thought it might actually apply since my cold could be the first wave of the virus that will create the zombie apocalypse. (Also, I don't know why I have some of the tags I do. Seriously, why does "Bigos" get it's own tag? It's just a dish I make.)
Okay, so I looked through my tags, and it's no go. Even the ones that don't fit would just seem like I hit the wrong button. I mean, if I tag this post "lolcats" even though there aren't any cats in this post (just Korean girls and a confusing math equation) it won't be funny. Not in the ironic way I was hoping for. So the tag thing is a bust. Sorry.
P. P. P. P. S. I didn't want to end the post on such a downer. So I added another PS. Although I wonder, adding more "Ps" to the P.S., that's not a real thing right? It's just something people do so you get the point that it's another added message but separate from the first.
Have a great day!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Blogfest: Love at First Sight
Quote: “I have loved to the point of madness. That which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.”
~ Francoise Sagan
Song Playing: Love At First Sight by Kylie Minogue (yes, I played this song on purpose, I couldn’t resist)
Just kidding, today’s post isn’t a continuation of my How to Write a Novel Series, but instead, it’s my blogfest post! Hooray!
Happy Valentine’s Day! Even if you don’t have a Valentine, it doesn’t mean you can’t buy yourself some chocolate and watch a cheesy romantic movie. Might I suggest Hitch? The Mirror Has Two Faces is another favorite of mine, and so is Bed of Roses.
So! Here is my Love at First Sight scene. It’s a scene I wrote on the fly for the purposes of this post, but I already had the book idea and characters, and even the first 30 pages or so of the book written. It’s my zombie apocalypse book. Please be aware that I will write the rest of this book someday (soon), and so this scene might not be canon. But it was great fun to write. I love my characters!
We are all in the process of dying. If I concentrate hard enough, I think I can feel the death of my skin cells, flaking off one by one.
I can sense the zombies circling around us like slow vultures, always on the back of my subconscious. It helps me survive the zombie apocalypse, but robs me of sleep and peace of mind. Still learning to cope with this, I woke up in a foul mood, which for once had nothing to do with zombies.
It was Valentine’s Day, and no one knew it.
I rubbed my eyes, sitting up and checking on everyone else. They were still asleep. Even the early morning sun looked sleepy, barely peeking out over the rust red hills of Arizona. We decided after one too many zombie break ins to sleep in the same room, so mattresses covered the floor of large master bedroom in the ranch style house we currently called home. It looked like a slumber party gone horribly awry: my best friend Sasha lay with her back to me, whimpering in her sleep, my twin brother Matt lay splayed out on his stomach, his mouth open, and one sock dangling off his foot, Austin, the gun expert, lay with his cowboy hat on his face, Mandy, the gorgeous blonde from Kentucky had an arm over her face, Robert, Matt’s almost sidekick looked worried even in his sleep, and lastly, Rowan, my crush, lay on his back, one hand under his pillow, his hair out of it’s ponytail, and falling around him in thick, black disarray.
I sighed and grabbed my back pack. I picked my way around the sleeping bodies, and into the adjoining master bathroom. Valentine’s Day was always a dreadful holiday for me, being a plain Jane and all, but this year would be particularly awful. I knew for a fact I wouldn’t be getting chocolates or flowers, not even from my brother or father or stepfather. Zombies overrunning the entire planet had seen to that. It might sound like a petty concern, what with running for my life to worry about, and keeping my family and friends safe, but I couldn’t deny how depressed it made me feel to know for a fact that NO ONE would be asking me to be their Valentine today. I like to look on the bright side of things, and normally can find the silver lining in even the darkest of storm clouds, but not today. Each Valentine’s Day I nursed the tiny hope, the fantasy, that someone would sweep me off my feet and woo me with candy, and chocolates, and mint condition Firefly posters, but I would count myself lucky if I made it through today without getting attacked by a reanimated corpse. Chocolate, or jewelry, or Firefly memorabilia seemed as likely as growing a third arm.
I looked out of the bathroom window, making sure we were safe.
The Arizona desert looked back at me; I could see the town of Sedona down the hill, the houses painted all sorts of bright colors—seashell pink, robin’s egg blue, reddish brown—and a zombie or two shambling around the streets, like late February tourists. None of them were too close to us, so we were okay, for now. But we were low on supplies, and would need to restock soon.
I turned the shower on.
A small victory: the water still worked.
Normally I cheered when I woke up to running water, lukewarm though it may be, but not today. My normal morning routine of getting up, stumbling around, looking at the internet, eating, and showering had forever been interrupted, and I still didn’t feel as awake as a result. I squeezed out an extra large dollop of my Twisted Peppermint shampoo, and scrubbed my hair. I love my Twisted Peppermint Shampoo. It was a three in one, and doubled as a body wash. I also had the matching lotion.
“What, are you five?” Matt had asked, when I bought my yearly supply from Bath and Body Works a few months ago. The store only carried it around Christmas for some reason, even though it was the greatest scented lotion ever.
I had very maturely stuck my tongue out at him in response.
Matt hated the smell and taste of mint, a fact that made me question whether we were truly related, much less twins, despite our mother’s assurances that she was present when both of us came out of her.
But you never know, my mother could be in on the conspiracy.
Despite my efforts to think of happy thoughts, like the fantasy that FOX would start airing Firefly again, or just get back on the air period, my thoughts returned to zombies inexplicably attacking, starting a couple of months ago while Matt, Sasha, and I were at an anime convention. It’s ironic, when you think about it. You would think the zombies would be appreciative of nerds like us, keeping them alive as cult classics, and go attack banks or something, but noo. They attacked us.
Actually, from what the news managed to report before going off the air, they were attacking everywhere.
I stepped out of the shower, smelling like a candy cane and feeling like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. Okay, maybe not a butterfly. Maybe a moth then. But never underestimate how good a shower and fresh change of clothes can feel after a zombie onslaught. Matt and the others were up and about, milling around the house, making breakfast.
Just another day during the zombie apocalypse.
I sighed, and followed Sasha into the kitchen. Mandy, her sleek blonde ponytail bobbing as she grinned, asked, “So the shower’s still working?”
“Yep,” I said, wandering over to the kitchen. “Knock yourself out. Well, not literally.” More granola for breakfast. Goody.
“Yeah, then I’ll have to do my nurse thing, and it’s too early.” Sasha said, helping herself to a cup of coffee from the French press.
Matt and Austin were arguing, something about going into town.
“We need supplies, there should be somethin’ other than just healing crystals down there,” Austin said, his Texan accent thick as he gestured with an oat and honey granola bar wrapped in green foil.
I wandered over to the coffee as Daisy, my chocolate brown lab, bounded over to me, butting her head under my hand, and throwing her hundred pounds of doggy weight against me. I almost spilled coffee everywhere, but her undying love and affection was worth it. Maybe Daisy would be my Valentine. Maybe Sasha would remember what day it was too, and we could have a Girl’s Night Out. Or a Girl’s Night Holed Up a Few Doors Down from the Boys. “Yes, there you are, there’s my good girl,” I petted her, while Daisy licked my hands, wiggling her entire body. She’s adorable when she gets herself worked up. It’s like she can’t just wag her tail, but instead her entire brown body wiggles. Matt calls her Wiggles as a nickname. Actually, so does most of my family.
Matt rolled his eyes, and raked his hand through his hair, “Yes, Austin, but I can still see a few zombies down there. We should wait, and then take Lilah when—“
“What, until they have themselves a little barbeque and invite us to join ‘em?” Austin said.
Robert came out of the walk-in pantry with more granola and some oatmeal, his sensible brown hair slightly mussed from sleep. He looked at me, “You want some oatmeal, Lilah?”
I looked at Robert and sighed. I didn’t want oatmeal, or him. But I was probably stuck with both. “No thanks. Not hungry yet.”
Rowan walked into the kitchen, and my heart did a tap dance as he passed me. I tried not to look at him, but couldn’t help but notice how his forest green t-shirt brought out his brown eyes. Rowan was a hunk, and his Asian features were more pronounced now that his hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Rowan nodded at us, and started rummaging through our food stock. Rowan was the quiet sort, something I still had to get used to, with the way Matt and I run our mouths whenever we get a little upset or nervous, or conscious.
“What do you think, Tall, Dark, and Ninja?” Matt asked Rowan, and gestured with his hands towards Austin. That was another family trait; we were both very expressive with our hands and facial expressions.
Rowan shrugged, “It could be better to wait, but we need some supplies.”
Matt rolled his eyes, “Thanks, that really helps.”
Rowan was unperturbed by Matt’s sarcasm, used to it by now, and went about making a list of supplies we needed.
Robert started to make some oatmeal, and chimed up with his two cents, “We could go now, before more zombies show up, and then—“
I tuned them out, fiddling with my granola. Sasha cocked her head at me. She wanted to know what was wrong. I pretended I didn’t know what that look meant. Mandy joined us, looking fresh from her shower, completing our little zombie survival team. Austin, Robert, and Mandy were traveling together when Matt, Sasha, Rowan, and I met them. We were still getting used to each other.
I knew my romantic fate was sealed when I met Robert. He was a nice guy; not a hunk, but genuinely a decent, nice guy. Exactly the sort of guy a girl like me ended up with. It cheered me up a little to see Austin to take note of Sasha sitting down next to me. Sasha wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t a supermodel either. She was tall, towering over my five three, and Matt’s five four at five seven, and a little chubby. Sasha called it fat, but if she lost too much more weight, she would look like she suffered from bulimia. Sasha would never be a size five, not even if she starved herself. Sasha accepted this bitter truth, but she was still more self conscious about her appearance than she should be. Even though Sasha was curvy in the right places, had gorgeous skin, eyes, and hair, she still wasn’t America’s idea of beauty either. Neither was I, for that matter, but I blended in better. I was plain, neither remarkably ugly or pretty. Plain straight brown hair, plain brown eyes. Normal complexion. Guys didn’t pick on me, like the jocks did to Sasha in high school, but they ignored me. I’ve always thought I could walk into a room, and stand against the wall and be mistaken for furniture.
Of course now, with living, breathing people scarce, I might have moved up a point or two on the one to ten scale, but I was still nowhere near Rowan’s league. When the zombies first attacked, Rowan was there to help Matt, Sasha, and I. At first, Rowan and I would pair off, like when we were getting around on four wheelers, and then when we switched to driving two cars in case one of them broke down. When the temperature dropped we even shared a sleeping bag, because I would have rather it be him than Matt, and the guys didn’t want to pair off with each other (and because he’s a hunk, and like a mini-furnace). I was lucky the zombie apocalypse cropped up a cute Asian guy for me to be paired off with, instead of some creepy guy named Clarence who liked to collect his toe lint. Actually, come to think of it, I am surprised that’s not exactly who turned out to help us out at first. It was my luck, anyway.
I thought Rowan must be married, or had a girlfriend, or gay. Possibly all three. Rowan was the guy who initially seemed to be the love interest for the spunky, yet ultimately plain girl who redeemed herself from not having blonde hair and large breasts—like Mandy—with her clever escapes from sure danger—like me—but in a surprising turn of events, the hunky hero would be pining away for his wife who was in a coma. The spunky girl always ended up with the sidekick, the guy who was lovably geeky, but not that attractive. It was how the world worked. I was a four on most days, a five in knock out heels and a tight black dress, and Rowan rated at least an eight, even when he was sleep deprived and unshowered.
In short, he was waaaay out of my league, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoying looking at him.
When Robert and Mandy showed up, I knew my number was up, or my number was closer to matching up, as it were. Robert is closer to my type, and Mandy is much prettier than I, so it’s only a matter of time. And as if Rowan knew it himself, he started to pull away from me after they joined our group. He was no longer stuck with settling for me. But he hasn’t pursued Mandy, at least not yet.
“Lilah could come with us and just—“ Austin barked, and Matt saw Austin’s bark, and raised him an angry scowl, not to be outdone, “Don’t volunteer my sister for zombie detail, she needs to rest.”
“What’s wrong?” Sasha asked me.
I shook my head at Sasha, not wanting to go into it. “I am going to walk Daisy.” I stood up and shrugged into my coat, moody and disoriented. I looked at Matt and Austin, “Stop talking about me like I am not here; I am not going anywhere today, so stuff it.”
I turned on my heel, and walked outside with Daisy.
The air was clear and slightly sharp. It was cold, but in a refreshing way. There were little patches of snow, almost like it was part of the house’s décor. The white looked startling against the backdrop of the square red mountains.
Maybe the mountains would be my Valentine. They were already red. And solid, you couldn’t say mountains were push-overs. That made me remember how it felt to have Rowan sit behind me on the four wheelers, his arms around my waist like a vise, and my heart felt sick. I sighed again. Robert was really nice. He was closer to what I could manage. It didn’t matter I seemed to have some sort of power over the zombies and control them a little. It still didn’t make up for the fact that Rowan was waaaay out of my league. I should just accept it, and move on.
“Lilah?”
I looked over my shoulder, and Rowan walked around the corner of the house, some firewood in his arms. Daisy chose that moment to jerk me forward, and I almost lost my grip on her lease.
“Whoops, careful,” Rowan said, shifting the firewood in his arms, and walking over.
I swear I trained her better. Okay, maybe not trained, so much as asked really, really nicely. I grabbed Daisy’s leash as she dragged me forward, her muzzle snuffling the snow and grass like it was doggie ambrosia. Daisy wagged her tail, a doggy smile on her face as she perked up and rammed into Rowan. Rowan, used to her by now, braced himself, and pet her head with his free hand.
“You need some help?” I asked, nodding at his load.
Rowan shook his head no, always one to express himself silently whenever possible. “The woodbox is pretty full. Just wanted this to dry out a bit. You could open the door though.”
I nodded, and followed him to the garage, holding the side door open.
“Thanks,” Rowan said, and dropping the wood onto a pallet on the floor in the garage. No cars were parked in the garage; we preferred to keep them outside for a quicker escape if we needed to.
I watched Rowan shift the wood, and realized not only would he never be my Valentine, but I would never have a Valentine’s Day again. I watched him concentrate on the covering the wood, and felt the impish urge to kiss him, so strong for a moment I almost did, but then my better senses returned, and I looked away.
“What’s wrong?” Rowan asked, dusting his hands off.
“Why do you ask?” I tried to play my mood off, but Rowan always seemed to know what I was thinking. Always. Which did not bode well for me and my crush. It was still a little strange to be around Rowan. It was totally out of character for me to spent quality time with a guy I thought was cute. I have this wonderful procedure of pretending a guy that I like doesn’t exist. I stayed as far away as possible, so he can’t guess my true feelings, and stomp all over them, like Mikey Caldwell did in eleventh grade. Or that cute office assistant, Tom Banker did a few months ago, before zombies took over. I admit, it’s not a perfect system. Half the guys I have had crushes on were never the wiser, or only found out because one of my well meaning coworkers told them.
Rowan was friendly towards me, but it wasn’t like he wanted to date. It was for his own survival. I was willing to bet my entire b horror movie collection, that just like woman liked to date taller men than Matt, I wasn’t Rowan’s type. I was Robert’s type.
“You’re upset,” He said, like this was a statement of the obvious. Rowan held the door open for Daisy and I as we walked back inside through the garage.
I shrugged, knowing I only needed to put off his questions until we got back into the kitchen, where everyone else was.
But the kitchen was empty when we arrived. I pulled some dog treats out and handed Daisy one. The house was very quiet.
I whirled around, walking right into Rowan, and stepping on his feet.
“What’s wrong?”
I wasn’t even embarrassed about running right into Rowan, my heart pounded so hard. I couldn’t sense any zombies in the house, but I wasn’t about to rely on a power I didn’t fully understand. But if the zombies had attacked, I should have heard something. “Rowan, stay behind me, get your gun out.”
Rowan’s eyes widened, and he pulled his gun out of it’s shoulder holster. He grabbed me around the waist, and shoved me behind him, “Stay behind me. It’s easier for me to cover you from the front.”
I wanted to beat my fists on his back in frustration, but he was right. He was the one with the ranged weapon.
“Where are they?” Rowan said, frowning at Daisy. She normally barked and snarled when zombies came near, but right now she was happily inhaling dog food from her purple bowl.
“I don’t know,” I said, every single nerve in my body tensing up. I placed my hand between Rowan’s shoulder blades, trying to steady myself. I hated fighting, I hated every single second of it; it made me sick, and I had to struggled not to faint at the mere sight of blood, as embarrassing as that was. But the thought of someone I loved getting hurt, or dying, terrified me more. “But the house is too quiet, I don’t hear anyone—“
Rowan turned around, frowning slightly. Frowning for me was my entire face pulling downwards; for Rowan, his eyebrows knitted together a little bit. “You don’t sense any of them? You don’t feel them?”
“No, but I am not about to trust something I don’t fully understand either.”
Rowan shouldered his pistol, and put his hands on my shoulders, “Lilah, they went to the store.”
I blinked at him, unable to process what Rowan was telling me at first. “What?”
“The store. Sasha, Mandy, Matt, Robert, and Austin went to the store. They figured we would be okay by ourselves, if we stayed in the house. They won’t be gone long.”
“But…I didn’t…I didn’t even hear them leave,” I said.
“You were around back. They took the sedan.”
My shoulders relaxed, relieved and embarrassed, both at the same time. “Oh, gosh, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine, I should have told you.”
I shook my head and walked around him, “I didn’t mean to…” I trailed off, unable to explain my stupidity.
“Lilah.” Rowan said my name in that quiet yet powerful way of his, and sent little chills running down my arms. “It’s okay. I am glad you’re being vigilant.”
I nodded, unable to settle myself. I picked up a notepad from the counter, only to put it back down again; I looked outside without really seeing the blue Arizona sky. I was careful not to look at Rowan. I wanted to cry, and scream, and laugh, and didn’t know what to do with myself. It hurt inside. I was sick of loving, of being afraid to love, of being happy, and then being afraid of that happiness. I sat on the couch, wondering what to do with myself. Where do you run when it’s yourself you’re trying to escape? I rubbed my face in my hands.
Rowan came and sat down next to me. I tried to pretend that I didn’t care, but I could feel the inches between us.
“You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind,” Rowan said, leaning back on the couch and watching me. I could feel the weight of his gaze. “But if you want to, I’ll listen.”
He was a good listener, it was one of the things about him I held so precious. How many times had I cried on his shoulder? My throat closed up with the thought, and I missed him even though he sat right next to me. I missed what I wanted; I missed what I would never have.
I can’t settle. I’ll just wait to get over Rowan, or just not have a boyfriend. It was probably better that way, safer. “You’ve been distant lately.” I said, my mouth moving before I could think about whether or not I wanted to bring up this particular subject.
Rowan shifted a little, surprised. “Sorry.”
I waited for him to explain why, but he didn’t seem like he was going to elaborate. That’s how Rowan was, never speaking more than he had to. I was angry, all of a sudden, that I had poured myself out to him over the last few months, and he had given me nothing back. I was stupid for thinking I was anything other than a friend of convenience to him. I stood up, biting my lip.
“Lilah,” He sat up, grabbing for my arm.
I stood still, and let him stop me, but flinched a little. My emotions were a mess, and I felt so exposed.
“I just…new people, and I…I wanted you to get a chance to get to know them.”
I swallowed hard, looking up at him, and then flinching away at the intense look on his face. I didn’t want him reading my emotions, not now, not when he knew exactly how I was feeling even when I was relatively composed.
Rowan pulled on my arm gently, nudging me to sit back down. I sat down, and he put his arms around me. I folded myself into him. I closed my eyes, leaning against his chest. Nothing had changed. He held me like this when I was upset, like I was a small child afraid of the dark. “It’s okay, Lilah. We’re all on edge lately. I don’t like having them so close by.”
Rowan hardly ever said zombie. Mostly he referred to them in the third person.
I mumbled into his shirt, “I’m exhausted. From being scared, and upset, and worried, and sick to death with fear that something’s going to happen to you guys.”
Rowan shifted a little, putting his arm around my back. I curled my legs up underneath me, completing the customary position we sat in when Lilah Has a Nervous Breakdown. “I can’t imagine it’s easy sensing them all the time.”
I nodded. For once, someone understood. They all acted like I was their ace in the hole against the zombies. I felt like a weapon more than a person sometimes.
“We’ll survive, Lilah. We have this far.” He sounded so sure of himself.
“At what cost, though?” I whispered. “So many things I’ll never do again.” My eyes welled up with tears. “I’ll never have ice cream again. Never go see a movie. Once the last of the electricity goes, I’ll never listen to Dragonforce again, never watch Firefly—“ My voice cracked, and I started to sob. Two weeks without breaking down into tears: a new personal record.
Rowan did his part, and petted my hair, and held me while I soaked his shirt with snot and tears. It only made me want him more. After a few minutes I got myself under control, and felt content to just lie against him. We were rarely alone anymore.
“I have something that will cheer you up,” Rowan said, still stroking his hand through my hair. I wondered how many female friends Rowan had that carried secret flames for him over the years. Rowan told me he had more female than male friends before. Before the zombie apocalypse.
“Does it require moving?” I asked, feeling sleepy. Having someone stroke their hand through my hair was my Kryptonite. Seriously, it’s more relaxing and sedating than Valium.
Rowan paused for a minute, “Yes. But it’s followed by more sitting.”
“Okay, you wager a fair barter,” I said, sitting up with much reluctance. Who knows when the next time I would get to cuddle against Rowan again? It was only a matter of time until Mandy and Rowan starting going out.
“Come on,” Rowan said, looking pleased with himself. I followed him downstairs into the basement.
Downstairs was a man-cave, with all the latest stereo equipment, and a large flat screen TV. It looked like a mini-movie theatre, with reclining seats, and even a popcorn machine. The walls were decorated with framed movie posters. Another pang of sorrow went through me, when I remember all the movies I would never watch again. It sounds silly to mourn the loss of luxury items when I should have been worried about medicine, and doctors, and food, but to me, it wasn’t just a movie, or just a song, but a memory. A piece of my life that I would never get back again.
I plopped down onto the couch, assuming this is what Rowan meant by more sitting. I tried to hide my disappointment, but the mini movie theater was just another grave to human civilization.
Rowan knelt down in front of the TV. I wondered what he was doing. The power was out, so there was no way he could get the DVD and TV to work. He turned the TV on, and the opening credits for Firefly began to play.
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t have been more surprised than if Nathan Fillion, the star of Firefly and my celebrity boyfriend walked through the door himself. “How did you…?” I jumped up off the couch, pointing at the TV. The sweet, sweet twang of the vaguely Western sounding theme song continued.
Rowan affected nonchalance, and shrugged, but he couldn’t hide his grin, “I found a generator.”
“You know how to hook those up?”
“I was a computer programmer; it wasn’t too hard to figure out.”
“But…but…should we save it for things like heat, and the stove?” I said, staring at the TV.
“Why? We have plenty of matches, lighters, and flashlights. We really don’t have to have power to survive day to day. Why not use it for something that we can’t have without power?”
I didn’t know what to say. I stared at him. He pretended like it was a big deal, but it must have been hard to find a generator, and hook it up. And keep it a secret so he could surprise me. I blinked, tears stinging my eyes. I stepped forward and hugged Rowan.
He laughed a little, “You’re welcome. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
My heart swelled, and I knew I was in love with him. I squeezed him tighter, not wanting to ever, ever let go.
THE END!
~ Francoise Sagan
Song Playing: Love At First Sight by Kylie Minogue (yes, I played this song on purpose, I couldn’t resist)
Just kidding, today’s post isn’t a continuation of my How to Write a Novel Series, but instead, it’s my blogfest post! Hooray!
Happy Valentine’s Day! Even if you don’t have a Valentine, it doesn’t mean you can’t buy yourself some chocolate and watch a cheesy romantic movie. Might I suggest Hitch? The Mirror Has Two Faces is another favorite of mine, and so is Bed of Roses.
So! Here is my Love at First Sight scene. It’s a scene I wrote on the fly for the purposes of this post, but I already had the book idea and characters, and even the first 30 pages or so of the book written. It’s my zombie apocalypse book. Please be aware that I will write the rest of this book someday (soon), and so this scene might not be canon. But it was great fun to write. I love my characters!
We are all in the process of dying. If I concentrate hard enough, I think I can feel the death of my skin cells, flaking off one by one.
I can sense the zombies circling around us like slow vultures, always on the back of my subconscious. It helps me survive the zombie apocalypse, but robs me of sleep and peace of mind. Still learning to cope with this, I woke up in a foul mood, which for once had nothing to do with zombies.
It was Valentine’s Day, and no one knew it.
I rubbed my eyes, sitting up and checking on everyone else. They were still asleep. Even the early morning sun looked sleepy, barely peeking out over the rust red hills of Arizona. We decided after one too many zombie break ins to sleep in the same room, so mattresses covered the floor of large master bedroom in the ranch style house we currently called home. It looked like a slumber party gone horribly awry: my best friend Sasha lay with her back to me, whimpering in her sleep, my twin brother Matt lay splayed out on his stomach, his mouth open, and one sock dangling off his foot, Austin, the gun expert, lay with his cowboy hat on his face, Mandy, the gorgeous blonde from Kentucky had an arm over her face, Robert, Matt’s almost sidekick looked worried even in his sleep, and lastly, Rowan, my crush, lay on his back, one hand under his pillow, his hair out of it’s ponytail, and falling around him in thick, black disarray.
I sighed and grabbed my back pack. I picked my way around the sleeping bodies, and into the adjoining master bathroom. Valentine’s Day was always a dreadful holiday for me, being a plain Jane and all, but this year would be particularly awful. I knew for a fact I wouldn’t be getting chocolates or flowers, not even from my brother or father or stepfather. Zombies overrunning the entire planet had seen to that. It might sound like a petty concern, what with running for my life to worry about, and keeping my family and friends safe, but I couldn’t deny how depressed it made me feel to know for a fact that NO ONE would be asking me to be their Valentine today. I like to look on the bright side of things, and normally can find the silver lining in even the darkest of storm clouds, but not today. Each Valentine’s Day I nursed the tiny hope, the fantasy, that someone would sweep me off my feet and woo me with candy, and chocolates, and mint condition Firefly posters, but I would count myself lucky if I made it through today without getting attacked by a reanimated corpse. Chocolate, or jewelry, or Firefly memorabilia seemed as likely as growing a third arm.
I looked out of the bathroom window, making sure we were safe.
The Arizona desert looked back at me; I could see the town of Sedona down the hill, the houses painted all sorts of bright colors—seashell pink, robin’s egg blue, reddish brown—and a zombie or two shambling around the streets, like late February tourists. None of them were too close to us, so we were okay, for now. But we were low on supplies, and would need to restock soon.
I turned the shower on.
A small victory: the water still worked.
Normally I cheered when I woke up to running water, lukewarm though it may be, but not today. My normal morning routine of getting up, stumbling around, looking at the internet, eating, and showering had forever been interrupted, and I still didn’t feel as awake as a result. I squeezed out an extra large dollop of my Twisted Peppermint shampoo, and scrubbed my hair. I love my Twisted Peppermint Shampoo. It was a three in one, and doubled as a body wash. I also had the matching lotion.
“What, are you five?” Matt had asked, when I bought my yearly supply from Bath and Body Works a few months ago. The store only carried it around Christmas for some reason, even though it was the greatest scented lotion ever.
I had very maturely stuck my tongue out at him in response.
Matt hated the smell and taste of mint, a fact that made me question whether we were truly related, much less twins, despite our mother’s assurances that she was present when both of us came out of her.
But you never know, my mother could be in on the conspiracy.
Despite my efforts to think of happy thoughts, like the fantasy that FOX would start airing Firefly again, or just get back on the air period, my thoughts returned to zombies inexplicably attacking, starting a couple of months ago while Matt, Sasha, and I were at an anime convention. It’s ironic, when you think about it. You would think the zombies would be appreciative of nerds like us, keeping them alive as cult classics, and go attack banks or something, but noo. They attacked us.
Actually, from what the news managed to report before going off the air, they were attacking everywhere.
I stepped out of the shower, smelling like a candy cane and feeling like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. Okay, maybe not a butterfly. Maybe a moth then. But never underestimate how good a shower and fresh change of clothes can feel after a zombie onslaught. Matt and the others were up and about, milling around the house, making breakfast.
Just another day during the zombie apocalypse.
I sighed, and followed Sasha into the kitchen. Mandy, her sleek blonde ponytail bobbing as she grinned, asked, “So the shower’s still working?”
“Yep,” I said, wandering over to the kitchen. “Knock yourself out. Well, not literally.” More granola for breakfast. Goody.
“Yeah, then I’ll have to do my nurse thing, and it’s too early.” Sasha said, helping herself to a cup of coffee from the French press.
Matt and Austin were arguing, something about going into town.
“We need supplies, there should be somethin’ other than just healing crystals down there,” Austin said, his Texan accent thick as he gestured with an oat and honey granola bar wrapped in green foil.
I wandered over to the coffee as Daisy, my chocolate brown lab, bounded over to me, butting her head under my hand, and throwing her hundred pounds of doggy weight against me. I almost spilled coffee everywhere, but her undying love and affection was worth it. Maybe Daisy would be my Valentine. Maybe Sasha would remember what day it was too, and we could have a Girl’s Night Out. Or a Girl’s Night Holed Up a Few Doors Down from the Boys. “Yes, there you are, there’s my good girl,” I petted her, while Daisy licked my hands, wiggling her entire body. She’s adorable when she gets herself worked up. It’s like she can’t just wag her tail, but instead her entire brown body wiggles. Matt calls her Wiggles as a nickname. Actually, so does most of my family.
Matt rolled his eyes, and raked his hand through his hair, “Yes, Austin, but I can still see a few zombies down there. We should wait, and then take Lilah when—“
“What, until they have themselves a little barbeque and invite us to join ‘em?” Austin said.
Robert came out of the walk-in pantry with more granola and some oatmeal, his sensible brown hair slightly mussed from sleep. He looked at me, “You want some oatmeal, Lilah?”
I looked at Robert and sighed. I didn’t want oatmeal, or him. But I was probably stuck with both. “No thanks. Not hungry yet.”
Rowan walked into the kitchen, and my heart did a tap dance as he passed me. I tried not to look at him, but couldn’t help but notice how his forest green t-shirt brought out his brown eyes. Rowan was a hunk, and his Asian features were more pronounced now that his hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Rowan nodded at us, and started rummaging through our food stock. Rowan was the quiet sort, something I still had to get used to, with the way Matt and I run our mouths whenever we get a little upset or nervous, or conscious.
“What do you think, Tall, Dark, and Ninja?” Matt asked Rowan, and gestured with his hands towards Austin. That was another family trait; we were both very expressive with our hands and facial expressions.
Rowan shrugged, “It could be better to wait, but we need some supplies.”
Matt rolled his eyes, “Thanks, that really helps.”
Rowan was unperturbed by Matt’s sarcasm, used to it by now, and went about making a list of supplies we needed.
Robert started to make some oatmeal, and chimed up with his two cents, “We could go now, before more zombies show up, and then—“
I tuned them out, fiddling with my granola. Sasha cocked her head at me. She wanted to know what was wrong. I pretended I didn’t know what that look meant. Mandy joined us, looking fresh from her shower, completing our little zombie survival team. Austin, Robert, and Mandy were traveling together when Matt, Sasha, Rowan, and I met them. We were still getting used to each other.
I knew my romantic fate was sealed when I met Robert. He was a nice guy; not a hunk, but genuinely a decent, nice guy. Exactly the sort of guy a girl like me ended up with. It cheered me up a little to see Austin to take note of Sasha sitting down next to me. Sasha wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t a supermodel either. She was tall, towering over my five three, and Matt’s five four at five seven, and a little chubby. Sasha called it fat, but if she lost too much more weight, she would look like she suffered from bulimia. Sasha would never be a size five, not even if she starved herself. Sasha accepted this bitter truth, but she was still more self conscious about her appearance than she should be. Even though Sasha was curvy in the right places, had gorgeous skin, eyes, and hair, she still wasn’t America’s idea of beauty either. Neither was I, for that matter, but I blended in better. I was plain, neither remarkably ugly or pretty. Plain straight brown hair, plain brown eyes. Normal complexion. Guys didn’t pick on me, like the jocks did to Sasha in high school, but they ignored me. I’ve always thought I could walk into a room, and stand against the wall and be mistaken for furniture.
Of course now, with living, breathing people scarce, I might have moved up a point or two on the one to ten scale, but I was still nowhere near Rowan’s league. When the zombies first attacked, Rowan was there to help Matt, Sasha, and I. At first, Rowan and I would pair off, like when we were getting around on four wheelers, and then when we switched to driving two cars in case one of them broke down. When the temperature dropped we even shared a sleeping bag, because I would have rather it be him than Matt, and the guys didn’t want to pair off with each other (and because he’s a hunk, and like a mini-furnace). I was lucky the zombie apocalypse cropped up a cute Asian guy for me to be paired off with, instead of some creepy guy named Clarence who liked to collect his toe lint. Actually, come to think of it, I am surprised that’s not exactly who turned out to help us out at first. It was my luck, anyway.
I thought Rowan must be married, or had a girlfriend, or gay. Possibly all three. Rowan was the guy who initially seemed to be the love interest for the spunky, yet ultimately plain girl who redeemed herself from not having blonde hair and large breasts—like Mandy—with her clever escapes from sure danger—like me—but in a surprising turn of events, the hunky hero would be pining away for his wife who was in a coma. The spunky girl always ended up with the sidekick, the guy who was lovably geeky, but not that attractive. It was how the world worked. I was a four on most days, a five in knock out heels and a tight black dress, and Rowan rated at least an eight, even when he was sleep deprived and unshowered.
In short, he was waaaay out of my league, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoying looking at him.
When Robert and Mandy showed up, I knew my number was up, or my number was closer to matching up, as it were. Robert is closer to my type, and Mandy is much prettier than I, so it’s only a matter of time. And as if Rowan knew it himself, he started to pull away from me after they joined our group. He was no longer stuck with settling for me. But he hasn’t pursued Mandy, at least not yet.
“Lilah could come with us and just—“ Austin barked, and Matt saw Austin’s bark, and raised him an angry scowl, not to be outdone, “Don’t volunteer my sister for zombie detail, she needs to rest.”
“What’s wrong?” Sasha asked me.
I shook my head at Sasha, not wanting to go into it. “I am going to walk Daisy.” I stood up and shrugged into my coat, moody and disoriented. I looked at Matt and Austin, “Stop talking about me like I am not here; I am not going anywhere today, so stuff it.”
I turned on my heel, and walked outside with Daisy.
The air was clear and slightly sharp. It was cold, but in a refreshing way. There were little patches of snow, almost like it was part of the house’s décor. The white looked startling against the backdrop of the square red mountains.
Maybe the mountains would be my Valentine. They were already red. And solid, you couldn’t say mountains were push-overs. That made me remember how it felt to have Rowan sit behind me on the four wheelers, his arms around my waist like a vise, and my heart felt sick. I sighed again. Robert was really nice. He was closer to what I could manage. It didn’t matter I seemed to have some sort of power over the zombies and control them a little. It still didn’t make up for the fact that Rowan was waaaay out of my league. I should just accept it, and move on.
“Lilah?”
I looked over my shoulder, and Rowan walked around the corner of the house, some firewood in his arms. Daisy chose that moment to jerk me forward, and I almost lost my grip on her lease.
“Whoops, careful,” Rowan said, shifting the firewood in his arms, and walking over.
I swear I trained her better. Okay, maybe not trained, so much as asked really, really nicely. I grabbed Daisy’s leash as she dragged me forward, her muzzle snuffling the snow and grass like it was doggie ambrosia. Daisy wagged her tail, a doggy smile on her face as she perked up and rammed into Rowan. Rowan, used to her by now, braced himself, and pet her head with his free hand.
“You need some help?” I asked, nodding at his load.
Rowan shook his head no, always one to express himself silently whenever possible. “The woodbox is pretty full. Just wanted this to dry out a bit. You could open the door though.”
I nodded, and followed him to the garage, holding the side door open.
“Thanks,” Rowan said, and dropping the wood onto a pallet on the floor in the garage. No cars were parked in the garage; we preferred to keep them outside for a quicker escape if we needed to.
I watched Rowan shift the wood, and realized not only would he never be my Valentine, but I would never have a Valentine’s Day again. I watched him concentrate on the covering the wood, and felt the impish urge to kiss him, so strong for a moment I almost did, but then my better senses returned, and I looked away.
“What’s wrong?” Rowan asked, dusting his hands off.
“Why do you ask?” I tried to play my mood off, but Rowan always seemed to know what I was thinking. Always. Which did not bode well for me and my crush. It was still a little strange to be around Rowan. It was totally out of character for me to spent quality time with a guy I thought was cute. I have this wonderful procedure of pretending a guy that I like doesn’t exist. I stayed as far away as possible, so he can’t guess my true feelings, and stomp all over them, like Mikey Caldwell did in eleventh grade. Or that cute office assistant, Tom Banker did a few months ago, before zombies took over. I admit, it’s not a perfect system. Half the guys I have had crushes on were never the wiser, or only found out because one of my well meaning coworkers told them.
Rowan was friendly towards me, but it wasn’t like he wanted to date. It was for his own survival. I was willing to bet my entire b horror movie collection, that just like woman liked to date taller men than Matt, I wasn’t Rowan’s type. I was Robert’s type.
“You’re upset,” He said, like this was a statement of the obvious. Rowan held the door open for Daisy and I as we walked back inside through the garage.
I shrugged, knowing I only needed to put off his questions until we got back into the kitchen, where everyone else was.
But the kitchen was empty when we arrived. I pulled some dog treats out and handed Daisy one. The house was very quiet.
I whirled around, walking right into Rowan, and stepping on his feet.
“What’s wrong?”
I wasn’t even embarrassed about running right into Rowan, my heart pounded so hard. I couldn’t sense any zombies in the house, but I wasn’t about to rely on a power I didn’t fully understand. But if the zombies had attacked, I should have heard something. “Rowan, stay behind me, get your gun out.”
Rowan’s eyes widened, and he pulled his gun out of it’s shoulder holster. He grabbed me around the waist, and shoved me behind him, “Stay behind me. It’s easier for me to cover you from the front.”
I wanted to beat my fists on his back in frustration, but he was right. He was the one with the ranged weapon.
“Where are they?” Rowan said, frowning at Daisy. She normally barked and snarled when zombies came near, but right now she was happily inhaling dog food from her purple bowl.
“I don’t know,” I said, every single nerve in my body tensing up. I placed my hand between Rowan’s shoulder blades, trying to steady myself. I hated fighting, I hated every single second of it; it made me sick, and I had to struggled not to faint at the mere sight of blood, as embarrassing as that was. But the thought of someone I loved getting hurt, or dying, terrified me more. “But the house is too quiet, I don’t hear anyone—“
Rowan turned around, frowning slightly. Frowning for me was my entire face pulling downwards; for Rowan, his eyebrows knitted together a little bit. “You don’t sense any of them? You don’t feel them?”
“No, but I am not about to trust something I don’t fully understand either.”
Rowan shouldered his pistol, and put his hands on my shoulders, “Lilah, they went to the store.”
I blinked at him, unable to process what Rowan was telling me at first. “What?”
“The store. Sasha, Mandy, Matt, Robert, and Austin went to the store. They figured we would be okay by ourselves, if we stayed in the house. They won’t be gone long.”
“But…I didn’t…I didn’t even hear them leave,” I said.
“You were around back. They took the sedan.”
My shoulders relaxed, relieved and embarrassed, both at the same time. “Oh, gosh, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine, I should have told you.”
I shook my head and walked around him, “I didn’t mean to…” I trailed off, unable to explain my stupidity.
“Lilah.” Rowan said my name in that quiet yet powerful way of his, and sent little chills running down my arms. “It’s okay. I am glad you’re being vigilant.”
I nodded, unable to settle myself. I picked up a notepad from the counter, only to put it back down again; I looked outside without really seeing the blue Arizona sky. I was careful not to look at Rowan. I wanted to cry, and scream, and laugh, and didn’t know what to do with myself. It hurt inside. I was sick of loving, of being afraid to love, of being happy, and then being afraid of that happiness. I sat on the couch, wondering what to do with myself. Where do you run when it’s yourself you’re trying to escape? I rubbed my face in my hands.
Rowan came and sat down next to me. I tried to pretend that I didn’t care, but I could feel the inches between us.
“You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind,” Rowan said, leaning back on the couch and watching me. I could feel the weight of his gaze. “But if you want to, I’ll listen.”
He was a good listener, it was one of the things about him I held so precious. How many times had I cried on his shoulder? My throat closed up with the thought, and I missed him even though he sat right next to me. I missed what I wanted; I missed what I would never have.
I can’t settle. I’ll just wait to get over Rowan, or just not have a boyfriend. It was probably better that way, safer. “You’ve been distant lately.” I said, my mouth moving before I could think about whether or not I wanted to bring up this particular subject.
Rowan shifted a little, surprised. “Sorry.”
I waited for him to explain why, but he didn’t seem like he was going to elaborate. That’s how Rowan was, never speaking more than he had to. I was angry, all of a sudden, that I had poured myself out to him over the last few months, and he had given me nothing back. I was stupid for thinking I was anything other than a friend of convenience to him. I stood up, biting my lip.
“Lilah,” He sat up, grabbing for my arm.
I stood still, and let him stop me, but flinched a little. My emotions were a mess, and I felt so exposed.
“I just…new people, and I…I wanted you to get a chance to get to know them.”
I swallowed hard, looking up at him, and then flinching away at the intense look on his face. I didn’t want him reading my emotions, not now, not when he knew exactly how I was feeling even when I was relatively composed.
Rowan pulled on my arm gently, nudging me to sit back down. I sat down, and he put his arms around me. I folded myself into him. I closed my eyes, leaning against his chest. Nothing had changed. He held me like this when I was upset, like I was a small child afraid of the dark. “It’s okay, Lilah. We’re all on edge lately. I don’t like having them so close by.”
Rowan hardly ever said zombie. Mostly he referred to them in the third person.
I mumbled into his shirt, “I’m exhausted. From being scared, and upset, and worried, and sick to death with fear that something’s going to happen to you guys.”
Rowan shifted a little, putting his arm around my back. I curled my legs up underneath me, completing the customary position we sat in when Lilah Has a Nervous Breakdown. “I can’t imagine it’s easy sensing them all the time.”
I nodded. For once, someone understood. They all acted like I was their ace in the hole against the zombies. I felt like a weapon more than a person sometimes.
“We’ll survive, Lilah. We have this far.” He sounded so sure of himself.
“At what cost, though?” I whispered. “So many things I’ll never do again.” My eyes welled up with tears. “I’ll never have ice cream again. Never go see a movie. Once the last of the electricity goes, I’ll never listen to Dragonforce again, never watch Firefly—“ My voice cracked, and I started to sob. Two weeks without breaking down into tears: a new personal record.
Rowan did his part, and petted my hair, and held me while I soaked his shirt with snot and tears. It only made me want him more. After a few minutes I got myself under control, and felt content to just lie against him. We were rarely alone anymore.
“I have something that will cheer you up,” Rowan said, still stroking his hand through my hair. I wondered how many female friends Rowan had that carried secret flames for him over the years. Rowan told me he had more female than male friends before. Before the zombie apocalypse.
“Does it require moving?” I asked, feeling sleepy. Having someone stroke their hand through my hair was my Kryptonite. Seriously, it’s more relaxing and sedating than Valium.
Rowan paused for a minute, “Yes. But it’s followed by more sitting.”
“Okay, you wager a fair barter,” I said, sitting up with much reluctance. Who knows when the next time I would get to cuddle against Rowan again? It was only a matter of time until Mandy and Rowan starting going out.
“Come on,” Rowan said, looking pleased with himself. I followed him downstairs into the basement.
Downstairs was a man-cave, with all the latest stereo equipment, and a large flat screen TV. It looked like a mini-movie theatre, with reclining seats, and even a popcorn machine. The walls were decorated with framed movie posters. Another pang of sorrow went through me, when I remember all the movies I would never watch again. It sounds silly to mourn the loss of luxury items when I should have been worried about medicine, and doctors, and food, but to me, it wasn’t just a movie, or just a song, but a memory. A piece of my life that I would never get back again.
I plopped down onto the couch, assuming this is what Rowan meant by more sitting. I tried to hide my disappointment, but the mini movie theater was just another grave to human civilization.
Rowan knelt down in front of the TV. I wondered what he was doing. The power was out, so there was no way he could get the DVD and TV to work. He turned the TV on, and the opening credits for Firefly began to play.
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t have been more surprised than if Nathan Fillion, the star of Firefly and my celebrity boyfriend walked through the door himself. “How did you…?” I jumped up off the couch, pointing at the TV. The sweet, sweet twang of the vaguely Western sounding theme song continued.
Rowan affected nonchalance, and shrugged, but he couldn’t hide his grin, “I found a generator.”
“You know how to hook those up?”
“I was a computer programmer; it wasn’t too hard to figure out.”
“But…but…should we save it for things like heat, and the stove?” I said, staring at the TV.
“Why? We have plenty of matches, lighters, and flashlights. We really don’t have to have power to survive day to day. Why not use it for something that we can’t have without power?”
I didn’t know what to say. I stared at him. He pretended like it was a big deal, but it must have been hard to find a generator, and hook it up. And keep it a secret so he could surprise me. I blinked, tears stinging my eyes. I stepped forward and hugged Rowan.
He laughed a little, “You’re welcome. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
My heart swelled, and I knew I was in love with him. I squeezed him tighter, not wanting to ever, ever let go.
THE END!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)