Here are 6 sentences from a new scene I added to my first book, Outside In. Alexis’s mother has come to visit her at boarding school.
“She looked around the room again, checking for God knew what. Hidden boys? Hidden bad grades? She paced around again, and opened the middle drawer of my dresser. Oh. She’d done that before—glad I’d double-checked the folding and arrangement of the clothes.”
I haven’t been blogging recently, so what’s the easiest way to get back into posting? Post six sentences I wrote a long time ago, and hope that constitutes a post.
These six are from my first manuscript, Outside In. Alexis goes into her ex-boyfriend’s room at boarding school.
Being in his room transported me back into the world of our relationship. I walked unsteadily over to his bureau and stroked his comb, his tissue box, and his change. I picked up a quarter, rubbed it, and shoved it into my pocket. I stumbled over to his bed and lay down with my head on his pillow. His pillow smelled like him, musty and a little sour, precious anyway. God, I’d loved him.
Six sentences from my current WIP:
Rachael stared four rows over and one row up at her friend Katie, but couldn’t get her attention. Katie was writing super-fast in her notebook, probably composing a letter about global warming to the president or something. Whatever she was doing, she was totally into it, pulling a curl around her index finger so tightly that Rachael worried she’d break the pinkish strands. Unless Rachael stood on her head naked and yelled out Katie’s name, there was no way she could pull her out of her Katie bubble.
Rachael sighed. No Katie distraction today.
WRITING PROMPT: Write about tomorrow.
By the time I’m writing this
Today is tomorrow.
Its face hasn’t settled in yet.
Woke up with inspiration
On my face
Jotting down words on paper
And writing them in cursive
On the shower door.
Next my face matches the mist
And I’m driving to church, hoping
Next the face
As I steal a nap
To bury the loneliness.
And the face brightens –
Cling to this face
For it’s as temporary
As the day itself.
Some poetry, this time- NIGHT TIME
At my in-laws’ window.
Away from everything
To hide and think
And maybe cry.
So no one would know
I was even there.
Everything’s in shadow
And cast into eerie molds
With ghostly pieces.
I find the loveseat
And sink in
Although it’s for show
Head in my hands
Looking at the trickling snow
Watching the shadows
As my eyes attune themselves
As my thoughts
And I can
Return to bed
More substantial than before.
This is from a new story, maybe 1,000 words written so far.
Izzy and Matt slouched against her locker, him leaning on her, pressing her arms at her sides, kissing her hard enough that they were the only ones in the hallway or maybe the school. Izzy’s torso crumpled in but she didn’t care—Matt’s weight rebuilt her, and if her hair got messed up, so much the better. It gave her that loved/smeared look she wore like a crown. Matt’s girlfriend. Matt’s skin and lips and hair and legs.
The bell rang and they unhooked from each other.
From my finished (!) contemporary YA, Outside In, a Christmas moment:
“From my mom, pajama pants and sweatpants for her lazy, chubby failure of a daughter. And a Moleskine notebook, maybe so I’d take even more notes in class.
Courtney got piles of Ann Taylor sweaters, size two. I knew they’d fit her exactly, because everything always did. Sweatpants vs. clingy sweaters—kind of obvious what my mother thought of us. I slumped off to put my presents in my suitcase.”