Novel Excerpt

Today I thought I would share some writing.  I am continuing to work the novel I started back in November during NaNoWrimo.  So from time to time I will be posting snippets here on the blog.  I am making headway and it is exciting to watch this story come to life.  I mocked up this cover art using my own photography and of course filters.  Once had the visual it kept me going. 

The following excerpt is a memory that my narrator Carly is recalling about her alcoholic father.  

Hope you enjoy today's snippet!

I would hear his footsteps coming up the stars.  Heavy footsteps, a hard clunking sound.  A very determined sound and this sound would slowly get closer and closer to the bedroom door.  The door would fling open as I listened to it almost come right off the hinges.  And there he would be standing like a shadow in the light of the doorway bracing his stout drunk frame on the door holding onto the knob for dear life as if it could ever hold up his weight.    He would stumble over to the edge of my bed.  As he got closer so did the smell of beer on his breath.  I pretended to be asleep.  Sadly that never worked.  The smell of his beer breath turned into a warm breath I could feel on my face because he was so close. I’m sure as warm as the alcohol felt pumping through his veins.  His eyelids were heavy but still open enough to see through to his bloodshot eyes.  I closed my eyes tight in a futile attempt to protect myself wishing with my whole heart that my mom was there to save me.  He reached up to touch my face and my toes curled in anticipation of the horror I would feel.  

I felt the weight of him denting my mattress as he reached his cold scuffed hand up to my cheek.  The cement from a day of work was still decorating his fingers.  The smell of cigarette smoke was wafting off of his crew neck t-shirt.  As he looked into my eyes I noticed the tears.  His eyes were welling up.  His bottom lip began to quiver as he spoke.  

“I’m so sorry my little girl.  I promise I will never do this again.” he said as he cupped his head in his hands.

“Don’t worry daddy, it will be ok.”  I responded in my little girl voice as I wondered why my dad was crying.  Dad’s aren’t supposed to cry I thought to myself.  He didn't even cry when my mom died.  Why cry now.  

“I am gonna stop drinking I swear.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before” I thought to myself.  

“You are the most important thing in my life.  I never wanted to hurt you. I wish I could bring your mom back but I can’t.  I miss her so much, everyday.” he said with a shaking in his voice.  

My mom Connie Milanti died of breast cancer when I was 10 years old.  They say that when people get sick that it can stem from emotional trauma.  Each area of your body holds significance to a certain emotion.  I read a book recently that tied breast cancer to love, or more significantly lost love.  That hit me like a ton of bricks.  My mom fell in love with an alcoholic, an abusive alcoholic and spent her time with him just soaking up the negative energy like a sponge.  What else could happen?  Nothing good was ever gonna come of that relationship.  Not even me.  

Even when my mom was sick she hid it from us.  She always put on a happy face no matter what.  She tried to smile through her tears always.  A stiff upper lip was a trademark on her once pretty face.  Her mocha colored eyes with soft, long, perfect lashes adorning the edges were chronically filled with sadness and fear.   My aunt had to drag my mom to the doctor when she was so bent over from severe back pain that she wouldn’t even move from the couch.  The doctor immediately admitted her to the hospital where they quickly traced the back pain to cancer that was ravaging her young 35 year old body.  It was in her blood, her bones, it was everywhere it could find to hide and eventually to kill her.  During all of this good ‘ol Vito just used it as a reason to hit the hard stuff.  As if it were even possible he began to drink heavily becoming more and more useless.  If it weren't for Aunt Angie, my mom’s twin, who knows what would have happened to me.  I think my mom died of a broken heart.  No doctor will agree to that theory  but it is what I  know deep within my soul.  "

For a synopsis of the novel click HERE!

NaNoWriMo Time!

Sometimes I am shocked at how long it has been since my last post! Have not been blogging much lately and I am not sure what that is about.  However, I am back today to share something exciting with you!  

I finally decided to sign up for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) after being encouraged by a good friend (2 years ago! lol)  I have had a novel spinning around in my head for about 2 years now.  I have even shared some excerpts of its beginnings.  The working title is "Snow Sign".  Here is a little synopsis . . . 

"Carly is a young woman trying to pick up the pieces of what's left of her life. Just as she feels as though she is ready to move on a startling phone call threatens to change everything. Will she be able to put the past behind her and open herself up to a once in a lifetime moment? Or will she choose to live with the regret? Guided by the love of her late husband she embarks on a journey into her past. A journey that will ultimately lead her back to herself. Her story is about the most basic of human needs . . . to love and be loved."

I even worked up some cover art yesterday using on of my photographs of a snowy walktrail.  Once I finished the image I got super excited!  I am nervous about the challenge of writing a novel in only 30 days but I am gonna give it my best shot!  This story has been playing in my head for too long.  It is time to get it out!  

I will keep you posted on how its going!  

xo

The Story Continues . . .

 If you missed the first installment of this story click HERE to get started!

And I just wanted to say a big thank you to all who commented on my Toby post.  As always your support and kind words mean so much to me.  xo

Now lets get back to Sophia . . . 

“Come here my sweetness. . .”  I hear him say in a demanding yet gentle sexy tone. 

I feel him grab my hand by the fingertips.  He gently places them up on his shoulder.  His other arm wraps around my waist and I collapse into his strong chest.  I can almost feel his heart beating through his white t-shirt.  The shirt feels soft and smells musky.

Michael gives me a tight squeeze and I tilt my head just enough to rest my cheek in the nook.  You know, that place just below the clavicle and on top of a pillowy pec muscle.  His cheek leans in to rest on my forehead.  It feels so good.  It feels like home. 

All of a sudden I feel like someone has sucked the oxygen out of my body.  That nice chill is gone and a pounding in my head is starting.  As I reach up to rub my temples willing the pain away I notice the dark green big lawn and leaf bag crumpled up in the corner of the closet.  Its been five years already.  I wonder why I am holding on to it.  The clock is ticking.  Literally.  I didn’t even realize that 15 minutes have gone by and I still haven’t found my damn boots. 


 I just can’t resist.  I guess I like to torture myself.  As if this day won’t be stressful enough. I creep along the carpet towards the bag.  My knees are beginning to hurt.  I can almost feel the bruises forming.  I am sure my knee caps will look all yellowish green and brown in no time. 

 I inhale another dust bunny on the way.  I feel my stomach tying itself in knots.  I see glistening sweat begin to form in droplets on my palms.  Acid is forming in my throat.  I feel it sting as it rises up hitting the back of my tongue in a frenzy.  One big gulp and its on its way back down.  I reach up and grab my chest, rubbing it as if that will make the pain disappear.  As I continue to quell the heart attack I am sure is starting  I reach my ice cold fingertips over to the right side of the closet. 

After all this time the bag feels crunchy.  I take my thumb and push it through the plastictill it makes a print, stretches it to a creamy green color, and finally punctures a hole.  With my other hand I rip it apart.  I can't help but wonder if I am just a glutton for punishment.  

My heart is racing and I can feel the tears well up in my eyes.  There is just no sense in a futile attempt to hold them back.  It’s a wonder I resisted this long.  I reach in and pull out the sleeve of Michael’s leather jacket. Air gets caught up in my throat when I see the splatters of blood decorating the white accents of its carbon black sleeve.

to be continued . . .