First Five Pages of My Jackson Follow-Up

Okay, this is like a big deal for me.  I am posting the first five pages of the follow-up story to Last Words for you lucky readers/people who read this blog.  I may end up removing Last Words from Amazon, and posting it to some site, where you can read it in its entirety, since it's 20 pages long.


The thing to know about this story, aptly named  Moving On, is that it has chapters (believe me, I spent six hours revising and adding chapters where I felt appropriate last night), but they might not be more than five or six pages apiece.  The story after I revised it last night, equals out to 94 pages altogether.  It's the longest thing I have ever written, and it's also the second or third thing I have written entirely on the computer.  


The guy I went out with a couple of times, who had the luck of being the first person to read the first story read something I wrote many moons ago (and have subsequently lost), which he remarked was a lot like a movie.  And I guess that's kind of my writing style.  It's more visually like a film, just without actors.  


As usual, I accept comments.  I want feedback on it.  If it's widely well-received, I might just put it up on some site and allow people to read it all the way through.


Check it out after the cut.

A Little Addendum

I mentioned in my post yesterday about my short story that when I got the initial inspiration for the essay/paragraph part, that a pair of eyes captivated me.  What I don't mention is that these elusive eyes, which are brown in the story were actually blue.  Like every other morning or night of my life since 2005 (not any more, but back then), I was seeing the eyes of the selfsame guy who I sent the finished product off to those months later when I revised and lengthened it.  He doesn't know this, and probably never will, since he knows nothing of this blog, and we haven't spoken since October 2009.

The first sentence speaks volumes.  It's what I saw, felt, and heard that morning after the thunderstorm.

The morning air was dewy, an inconsequential trace of the storm that had raged outside hours before.  The trees dripped with wetness, and the birds chirped a quiet song, as if singing louder may cause the storm to rage once more.  


And you have to go down a bit further to find the crux of how you know it's me talking about him. Obviously, because I wrote this, I know where it is.  And because you don't, I am going to put it in here.


What angers me more than anything is that you haunt me night and day.  In the moments where I finally think you’re going to leave my mind altogether, your eyes pop into my head.  Those eyes: a shocking brown, which rendered me helpless anytime I gazed into them.  You’re everywhere, it seems...

...If I could say anything to you, it would be I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for being that wretched person that day, for saying things I knew would hurt you, and not even caring about the possible outcome.  You ought to know I say things before I realize what I’ve said.  With that said, I know that nothing in the world will ever change what happened.

Anyway, I just thought I would set that all out, so I can move on.  

My friend and I were going through a rough patch at the time this was written.  He decided to be a good friend and looked into local colleges for me to attend, since when I quit my job at the same time he did in January 2008, I was strongly contemplating going back to school.  I was conflicted by his actions, because I kept reading vibes from him online that he was into me in a non-friend capacity again, which he wasn't. I said some nasty things, and he essentially stopped talking to me.  I lasted two weeks without talking to him, before I extended the olive branch, apologizing for my attitude.  So the above sentence is my way of apologizing again for my lack of comprehension in reading his actions.  That, and the sentence about his haunting me.

He really did honestly haunt me night and day.  When I was left alone with my thoughts, there he was, popping in through flashes in my memory.  Although I didn't think of him as a romantic interest anymore, he was still very much a fixture in my life.  His emails were, at the time, my lifeline.  I thought at one point that I couldn't function without hearing from him, and I felt this way when he broke things off after we'd gone out those couple of times.  "If I couldn't have him as a boyfriend, I would have him as a friend, no matter how much it hurt me."

Obviously, since it's been over two years since we spoke last, I am just fine without hearing from him.

So there's a little side story into the inspiration for Last Words.

I'm Just Thinking

About this story I wrote over three years ago.

I remember that morning I wrote the paragraph that I have since expanded and made into a short story.  I woke up early that morning, and I just remember that it was so quiet outside.  Summers in New Hampshire were always noisy in the morning, between the birds and squirrels going berserk outside my bedroom window (at least it seemed that way at the time).  It was a warm, balmy morning. I think it was June, maybe July.  The night before a nasty thunderstorm raged outside.  You'll notice I use the same words in the first few sentences.

I had this urge to write down words, because these pair of eyes just jumped out at me.  It was still early enough that no one else but me and the family cat were up, so I pulled out my faithful laptop, and wrote what ended up being this incredibly poignant paragraph. It's more of an essay, I suppose.  At the time, I was just writing this thing that popped into my head, and when it was finished, I was pleased with it.

I often went back and reread it, because it just struck a part of me.

I moved in October 2008, two or three months after writing it, to rural Oregon.  There really wasn't much to do except sit in my room, watch TV, or wile away the hours on the Internet.

November 6, I was having my normal day of boredom, and I decided to read this essay/paragraph again.  Out of nowhere, I am suddenly stricken to further this story.  I get names and faces in my mind, and so I go with it.  I spent eight or nine hours straight writing this story.  The only breaks I took were for dinner, and to pick my youngest sister up from school.  When I first finished it, it was 19/20 pages long.  After I woke up November 7, I quickly ran through it, and cleaned it up.  I couldn't let just my eyes go over it, so I sent a quick message out to this guy I had gone out with very briefly, who I knew was always open to my sending my writing to him.  I sent out this story, very roughly edited, and I gave him no timeline to read it, since he had a job that demanded a lot of his time (and probably still does).

I got an email back from him around 5 PM Pacific Time (which would have been 8 PM EST), thanking me for giving him no timeline, since he was a busy guy.  I replied back that he should take his time, I will be patient.  I was clearly lying, because I was DYING to know what he thought, since he was honest about what he thought, and I trusted him.

No more than an hour later, I find another email from him. Thinking he's sent a duplicate message by accident (which had happened before), I thought nothing of it when I opened it.  What I found inside made me giddy.

I just finished reading your story. I was hooked and ended up reading it straight through with only a short intermission. I CANNOT believe that you wrote that in only eight hours and edited it to perfection in only one hour! I thought it was incredible. You've got an amazing talent for writing and storytelling. This is also really improved over the last story you sent me in terms of cohesiveness and pacing, and having a clear plot line. Bravo! I can't tell you how impressed I am. I hope I'm not the only person you're gonna show this to, I think a lot of other people would really enjoy reading it too. OK, hopefully you'll get this tonight, it's not too late but I know you generally retire pretty early. Take care and keep up the good work,

Giddy is not the word I'd use to express what I felt right then and there.  I was over-the-moon.  I didn't harbor any romantic sentiment for this guy any more, but I could have kissed him if he'd been right there in front of me.  The other story he speaks of is a horrid atrocity about two ex-friends forced to sleep in the same cabin, and end up falling in love.  God, it was horrible.  I sent him an email detailing how happy I was he liked it.

It could also be unusual to read, since I don't normally write in chapter form, and I decided to convert it to Chapter form since it's going on Kindle, and I wanted positive reviews of it, and not hear about how it appears to be run-on sentences.

There's also a sequel, which is around 90 pages, by far the longest thing I have ever written.  It needs severe tweaking, so I am working on it.  

But Last Words and Moving On (tentative titles) are my babies, and the two pieces of my writing I am the most proud of, so I want everyone to read them and love them.

I might just post a preview of Moving On in the future, and see what response it garners.  It might not be much, since only two people have left comments on this site.

Morning

This is the short story/paragraph I wrote June/July 2008.  I was inspired after a rather violent thunderstorm.  I was thinking about someone, and I took my pen to paper and this is what happened.

I wrote this back in May or June of 2008.  I have since broadened it, and made it into a 20-page story.   

The morning air was dewy, an inconsequential trace of the storm that had raged outside hours before.  The trees dripped with wetness, and the birds chirped a quiet song, as if singing louder may cause the storm to rage once more.  And I lay in my bed, with my head swirling in many collective thoughts.

It wasn’t long ago that a storm raged in this bedroom.  You were there; at the end of the bed, and I was sitting up, screaming profanities.  Words that shouldn’t have been said were spoken, and what I remember more clearly than anything else was the painful echo of the door slamming behind you.  You came back later, while I was at work, to collect the various things you’d left behind.  I walked through that door, to a seemingly empty space.  Unknowingly (or perhaps not), you left your sweatshirt from the weekend trip we took to Cape Cod.  You had complained that the coast was uncomfortably cold, and that you needed protection from the frigid Atlantic sea breeze.  And somehow I was completely warm on that shore.  You probably can guess that I picked up that sweatshirt, and smelled it.  Oddly, it smelled of you.  However unusual that sounds, that sweatshirt was immediately put into my dresser drawer after we got back, where it stayed for six months.  There was no way that your scent would have remained.  Maybe I imagined smelling your cologne.  Who knows?  On my bad days, which seem more often than they used to, I pull that damn sweatshirt out of a drawer and picture you wearing it.

What angers me more than anything is that you haunt me night and day.  In the moments where I finally think you’re going to leave my mind altogether, your eyes pop into my head.  Those eyes: a shocking brown, which rendered me helpless anytime I gazed into them.  You’re everywhere, it seems.  Hell, you’re in this bed now, taunting me to “Stop typing, and come to bed.”   Taunting me with warm embraces, passionate kisses, and endless memories.  You always enjoyed the moments we spent in here than anywhere else in the house.  “A bedroom has a lifetime of memories,” you once said, a mischievous smile spread across your glowing face.  I’d look at you, wondering why on Earth you were so damn likable.  It puzzles me even now.

If I could say anything to you, it would be I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for being that wretched person that day, for saying things I knew would hurt you, and not even caring about the possible outcome.  You ought to know I say things before I realize what I’ve said.  With that said, I know that nothing in the world will ever change what happened.

Anyway, I just thought I would set that all out, so I can move on.  You were my first real love, and I will never forget you.

Although I know I shouldn’t blame myself, I can’t help but think that if I hadn’t said what I did, you’d still be alive, and we might still be together.  Who knew that on your way home you’d be taken away forever in an accident?

Everything about you will live with me until my dying breath. 

I miss you.

Love,

You-know-who

Picking Up the Pieces (Tentative Title) Character Guide/List-Thing

Here's story guide (characters and all) for the follow-up story.

• Jackson Fiske-deceased ex-boyfriend of female protagonist whose name is undergoing a change.  He was 27 at the time of his death.
• Newly Unnamed Female Protagonist-26 years old, ex-girlfriend of Jackson Fiske.  Jackson’s been deceased since October 2008.  Now dating Jared Compton.  She works in a pre-school.
• Jared Schuyler Compton-28 years old.  His girlfriend and mother of his son was killed in an automobile accident.  His son, Jackson Schuyler Compton is five months old, as of late November 2009.  Jared is a high school English teacher.
• Kellan and Madelyn Forbes-friends of Jackson and UNFP.  Madelyn knows Jared through work, and set the two of them up.
• Ian Winters-a friend of Jared’s, who frequently watches baby Jack when Jared goes out.  Ian is engaged to Michelle Elias, who has the classroom next to Jared’s.
• Emma Wesley-Jackson’s mom, and Jared’s late girlfriend.  She was 24 when she died in September 2009.

A little bit of backstory (to whet your appetites):

Jared and UNFP have both seen tragedy.  Jared is still reeling from his, while UNFP is still in pain but to a lesser degree.  Against her wishes, her friends set her up with a dozen or so guys, none of whom work out.  Her friends decide to give up for awhile if the last date they set her up on doesn't work out.  This last date ends up being Jared, who UNFP has been given skim details about.

Suddenly, UNFP is happy again, and not thinking about her late boyfriend as much.  Can Jared and UNFP both get past their fears of loving another person, and finally find happiness at last?

Anyway, so that's the synopsis.

*Since the story was written, the UNFP has been named Autumn Kiley Vaughan.

Character Introduction

In 2009, I started a follow-up story to my short story, and I was going through my Ian Somerhalder phase, so he naturally became the model for Jared Compton.


In the process writing the story, I used a bazillion images of Ian Somerhalder as Damon Salvatore for inspiration.  For the other male characters, I had no set picture of them in my mind.  Well, except for Kellan; who is slightly like Kellan Lutz (but not completely).

You will see more about this story in the following posts.  I will create a tag so that they all connect together.

My Muse for Jackson

I wrote a story back in November 2008, based on this short little thing I wrote in June/July the same year.  When I wrote about the main male character, I had Jackson Rathbone on the brain because of Twilight.

So, this is Jackson Rathbone. The guy I had in mind for Jackson in the story.

This is a new photo.  Taken from a concert on the date above.  I thank the lovely person who shot this photo for this image.  And I just noticed that Jackson Rathbone is wearing a plaid shirt.