Tag Archives: Fiction

Short Story: Valentine’s Day Proposal

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Have you ever found yourself in a situation beyond all comprehension? I mean something so out there that it defies all logic and you end up sitting there, unable to act, rendered mute by your inability to grasp what had happened?

I sat there as Mariann walked away, unable to hear the tittering of the crowd around me. Some tried to ignore the scene of a grown man with a bowl of spaghetti on his head. I wish I could say I tried to remain dignified, but there’s no dignity to be found while spaghetti sauce drips off your nose and runs into your mouth. I registered that the sauce was delicious, and it brought me out of my stunned stupor and I began to clean myself up. My server helped as well, failing to disguise the laughter in his eyes.

I hate Valentine’s Day. I really, really do. I don’t know what else to say to be even more emphatic about my loathing for the day. I wish I could ignore the day. I wish I would’ve taken Mariann’s advice and tried not to make a big deal of it, but I’m not so foolish enough to heed her advice. No man is. What I had hoped to do was to have a quiet dinner, followed by a movie of her choosing. Dinner and a movie. What could possibly go wrong?

I picked her up at home, and she looked absolutely stunning. Mariann is a petite young woman who if you don’t know her, has you believing that she’s helpless and vulnerable. She’s a formidable person, with a big personality and a cutting wit. That was what attracted me to her in the first place. Fiery, as redheads are wont to be.

We didn’t talk much on the drive to the restaurant, an Italian bistro, if you haven’t already deduced by the image of my pasta-topped noggin. We ordered a bottle of wine, she was in the mood for a Moscato, and then enjoyed a Caesar salad while we waited for the main. She was quiet, which I found odd since she’s one of the most talkative persons I know.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“Hmm? Oh, no,” she shook her head. “I’m just lost in thought.”

“Okay,” I said as I took another bite of my salad. I glanced up and saw that she was looking at the table beside us where some jackass had gotten on one knee and proposed to his girlfriend. God! I hate Valentine’s Day! I really didn’t need that kind of pressure.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” she sighed wistfully. “Everyone I know is married, getting married, having kids…. When will it be my turn?”

See what I’m saying? How did I respond? I didn’t. I was a lout with a mouthful of salad, and it’s all I could do not to choke as I tried to swallow. I finally managed to do so and I took a steadying drink of my wine as I attempted to say something, but there was nothing for me to say. I had missed my opportunity to do so.

“Have you given any thought to us?” She said casually, still looking at the recently engaged couple beside us, locked in a passionate embrace while all those around us applauded them.

“Well, you know I…” I mumbled, trying to find something to hold on to as I witnessed our date spiraling out of control.

“Not that I’m asking for a commitment,” she hastily added as she realized my discomfort. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to strong-arm you into anything.”

“No, I never thought you were,” I laugh, the relief in my tone all too noticeable. I chuckle again as I take another sip of wine. “Yeah, I guess I have thought about us, if you must know. You’re the first person in a long time that I feel I could spend my life with. You are my cuddle bunny, after all.”

“Yeah, I guess. I know I’m not making any sense. I’ve always prided myself at being independent, at not needing any man to take care of me. I don’t need you and if you were to leave it wouldn’t hurt all that much.”

“Oh,” I say, my wounded pride escaping her notice as she looked over to the bastards seated at the table next to us. I hoped they would choke on the complementary gelato, which I don’t know if it’s really possible.

“All the same,” she smiled at me, “you’re the first person ever that has made me think that giving up my independence might not be such a bad thing.”

“Why should you give up your independence for me?” I ask as our server brings out a large bowl of spaghetti, drenched in their delectable red sauce. “I would never ask you to give up anything for me? That’s just plain stupid!”

Next thing you know, Mariann threw herself out of her chair, grabbed the bowl out of the unsuspecting server and dropped the contents over my head, along with the bowl, before stomping away in a huff. I think I just found out what I said wrong. Poor choice of words.

As I was dabbing the last of the sauce off my new white shirt, one that I’ll never wear again, when she emerged from her hiding place, looking rather contrite. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she apologized in a small voice.

“And I shouldn’t have answered the way I did. I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t we go back to my place and while you wash up, I’ll make us something to eat.”

“It’s probably best,” I answered. I paid for our abortive night out, and we headed on over to her place, all eyes on us as we walked out, a story for them to share at work on Monday.

***

I wash out all the spaghetti sauce out of my hair and ears and I get out of the shower. I put on a clean, albeit old and faded pair of jeans, and a thread-worn t-shirt. I walk downstairs as Mariann throws a frozen lasagna into the oven. I’m still a little angry at her for her outburst, but I can’t resist putting my arms around her and kissing her on the top of her head.

“I love you, crazy woman.”

“I love you, too,” she purrs happily.

“As I was trying to say, before I was so rudely assaulted, is that I wouldn’t expect you to give up anything for me. I think that makes for a bad marriage.”

“I agree. Go on.”

“If we do get married, I want to be with the girl I fell in love with, with all her baggage, the good and the bad, the passion and the fire. I don’t want some trophy wife in a cage to pull out and show everyone. ‘Look at me! I got the girl!’ No. I want you. I love you, insanity and all.”

“Good. Then yes, I’ll marry you.”

“I don’t remember asking,” I say.

“Then maybe you should consider asking. A girl like me doesn’t come around very often, you know.”

“Thank goodness.” I joke, earning a deserved punch on my arm. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Your impossible,” Mariann responds as she shoves me playfully away.”

“Poor way to treat your fiancée, don’t you think?”

“But you haven’t asked.”

“Bah, formalities,” I argue, but I go down on one knee and take her hand. “Mariann, will you marry me?”

“Wow! I didn’t expect this. I’ll have to think about it. Get back to you later?”

“Who’s impossible now?”

“Still you, but that’s why I love you. And I think I already gave you my answer, before you asked. There is one thing we’re going to have to give up for each other.”

“No there isn’t, but I’ll ask anyway. What?”

“I don’t want you to date or sleep with other women, and I think it would be best if I don’t date or sleep with other men.”

“You’re right. That’s a good idea. But I can still date and sleep with other men?” I joke.

“Nope! You’re mine now, and I’m yours. Oh, and by the way. You need to see this. My friend text this to me while you were in the shower. I’m going to have it printed and framed.”

I take her phone and her friend snapped a photo of me, looking bewildered with the bowl of spaghetti on my head. “It’s perfect,” I laugh. “Is that going out with the wedding invites?”

She kisses me and laughs. “I love you,” she says but she doesn’t answer the question. She doesn’t need to, and frankly I don’t want her to. I’d rather enjoy the surprise.

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Short Story: On the losing end

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The moment she walked in, I knew it was over. I could read the pain on her face, as well as a resigned determination to get what she came to do over with. I expected anger, I expected tears, I especially expected to be yelled at. What I didn’t expect was the bombshell she dropped on me when she sat down.

“I’m pregnant, Dave,” she said coldly, relishing the pain her unexpected news had caused me.

“P – pregnant,” I stammered, trying to grasp what she was saying. “But how? I thought we couldn’t…,” I finished lamely.

“No,” she grinned maliciously, “you couldn’t and I married you anyway. I gave up my right to motherhood for you, and this is how you repay me?”

“Repay you?” I yelled. “You’re pregnant! Who the hell is the father?”

“Who can say?” she teased. “Could be anyone, I suppose. Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re my wife, that’s why,” I yell, pounding the table between us for greater effect.

She looked at me, unfazed by my outburst. I could see contempt in her eyes, but also pity. I could stand the contempt, but why should she feel sorry for me? I wanted to strike back, to beat the woman who betrayed me and made a mockery out of my manhood. She silenced me with one question. “How long were you cheating on me?”

Just like that, the heat of my anger grew cold, and the reason we sat in a sterile conference room became clear once more. I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound escaped my lips. I closed my mouth when I became aware just how ridiculous I appeared, but it was too late. I swallowed and took a deep breath before I gave her an answer. “That was the only time, the time you caught me. What about you? How long have you been…”

“Don’t try to turn this on me,” she hissed angrily. “I caught you over a year ago, sleeping with Dan’s wife” She leaned back and folded her arms as she scrutinized me, making me feel somehow small. “Your best friend from college, and you slept with his wife. What would he think?”

“Please don’t,” I plead, not wanting to hear what I knew was to come. But she surprised me.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, for over a year, and I know all your little secrets, you text messages and emails to each other. I had you tailed and I have enough dirt to destroy you, but first I wanted to humiliate you.”

“You want to know how long I’ve been cheating on you? About four months. I waited, you see, to figure out how best to take my revenge on you, and then it hit me. I would get pregnant. Seemed a simple and elegant solution, don’t you thing?”

“That’s cold.”

“What? Don’t you want to hear the best part?” She waited for me to answer, but when I don’t she proceeds all the same. “You know Dan always wanted a kid, right? You know how his bitch of a wife refused to give him one?” I sat there in horror as the cruelty of her revelation ripped into me. “I see you can put two and two together. I told him about your rendezvous with his wife, and at first he didn’t want to have anything to do with my little plan, but I soon had him seeing things my way. By the way, he’s a much better lover than you. Don’t know why Delia’s fooling around with you.”

Without another word, she slides a packet towards me, and I know what is inside. I open to see a Waver of Service. Fill that out and we can get started with the whole divorce proceeding. I’ve already filed. We can let our lawyers hash out all the details, division of property, assets and debts, child support….”

“Child support! For a kid that’s not mine. You’re fucking crazy!”

“Funny thing,” she smirked at my indignant response. “In Texas, the husband is presumed to be the father. You’re my husband, I got pregnant while we are still legally married. In the eyes of the law, you’re going to be a father. Congratulations!”

“Bullshit,” I yell. “You can’t do this. I’ll fight it.”

“I’m sure you will, and I’m sure we may find some middle ground. Or not. Either way, this marriage is over. I hope she way worth it and I hope you two will be happy together.”

Fuming, I sign the waver and hand it back to her. She slides it into a folder and stands up. “I’m sorry it had to come to this. Believe it or not, I still love you and wish I didn’t have to do this, but I refuse to let you do to me what my father did to my mother. I deserve better. Good bye, James.”

In less time than it took to get her from the parking garage, she managed to take control and destroy me. Part of me was impressed and proud, but mostly I hated the bitch because I hate to lose and I lost this round. I’d have to wait and see what my lawyers would have to say, but regardless, this wouldn’t be cheap no matter how quickly and quietly we resolved this.

As I stood up to leave, my phone rang and I noticed Delia calling me. “What’s up?”

“Hey, James,” I heard her say and I could tell that she’d been crying. “Dan confronted me about us, and I can’t do this anymore. I can’t lose him.”

“What are you saying?”

“I had fun but it’s over between us.”

“What? You know he got my wife pregnant.”

“Yes, I know, but you don’t understand. I love him. You were great, but Dan’s the guy I’ve loved since forever. I made a mistake and we’re going to try to work it out. Don’t fight this, James. I won’t give him up. Not for you.” She hung up and I’m left to deal with the reality that I lost not once, but twice. I made a fool out of Dan but he got me back as well. I’m left with nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth.

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The joys of outlining

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That has to be one of my most sarcastic titles I’ve ever written. The joys of outlining…excuse me while I weep silently into my pillow. *Muzak version of Pharrell Williams Happy plays in the background while writer wails miserably into a pillow* Sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m a little tired right now. Maybe I’m still emotional after Seattle’s Super Bowl loss on Sunday. Back to the reason I’m writing today….

I’m working on outlining my book, hoping to get a visual of my story main points and how it fits together so I can rip it apart and put it back together. I’m deconstructing the book scene by scene, highlighting the main points in each. It’s been slowing going so far. I’m only on chapter two, but I also didn’t do a thing yesterday. I’m off from work today, so I play to catch up and get as much done as I possibly can.

I’ve never worked with an outline before. I confess this to my friend who wrote back in astonishment that I could have gotten through college without learning how. In fact I did learn how, but it’s not a practice I’ve kept up with. I always felt that it constrained my writing so I didn’t bother to remember. It’s coming back to me, and I still hate it! But as I put the outline together, I’m grudgingly having to admit that it may be a useful skill to have.

Though I am far from done, I’m convinced this exercise will help me make a better umpteenth draft. There is one scene in particular that bothers me, but not so much that it’s there but rather because of the person to whom the story is being told. I’m hoping to find a better place for it and maybe this process will help me locate it. The other option is to cut it out, which I’m not entirely adverse to, but I believe the back story the scene shows is important. We’ll see how it goes.

If this works, I will apply this process to another book I’ve already written but needs a lot of work. Maybe this is the tool I’ve been needing in order to progress to the next step in my desire to become a published writer. Only time will tell, as the saying goes, but there’s another saying that may be more appropriate. “Get off your fat ass and get to work!”

I think we can all agree those are truly words of wisdom. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an ass that needs getting off of, but ironically I’ll have to sit on it to get this particular work done.

Beta-Review Blues(?)

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Yesterday I came home to see a message from one of my beta-readers and a PDF of her notes. I felt at once excited and wary by what the notes would contain. Would she like it? Hate it? Tell me to jump off a cliff? It’s like opening a present when you don’t know if the contents will be something awesome or maybe something that will kill you.

“Look! A present!” Opens box and it explodes.
~The end~

I’ll admit that I had a hard time reading it. I was nervous but my doubts were quickly dispelled. She started off being complimentary, stating my book “has a real chance at a main-stream publisher and main-stream audience,”  before going in and giving me her impressions and suggestions. Some I agreed with, others I didn’t, but at no time did she come across as either cruel or condescending. My friend gave me her opinions, the reasons for stating them, and I felt that she truly wants to help me write a great book.

One of the main problems with my present draft, and it’s one that another reader addressed, is that I take too long to get my story started. My hook doesn’t come until chapter six and it needs to be moved a closer to the beginning. There are a few story-lines that need to be reduced or eliminated. Then there’s some behavioral issues that need to be fixed, ones that as a man I never would have thought of but a woman would question immediately. I guess that means I don’t know women as well as I thought! To all my female readers, please don’t roll your eyes at me. Don’t think I didn’t see that.

I also have some opportunities to fix stilted dialogue. I already knew that, by the way. It’s one of my weaknesses in that I can say everything I want to say, as expressively as I want, using language as it ought to be used, and how I have trouble using it in real life. Sometimes it comes out skewed; technically correct but not quite right. I’ll have to do a read-through or a hundred to fix it.

There are a few more suggested corrections, but I don’t want to bog this down by listing everything in the review. Besides, I don’t want to give away the ending. You’ll have to buy the book to see! Every one of her points will be considered and I’m sure I’ll make most, if not all, of the changes she thinks my book needs. I trust her judgment.

And now to the blues part of my review….

I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO! Sorry for yelling, it’s just that I’m sorting out her suggestions, trying to work it out in my head, needing to find a way to implement the changes without destroying the integrity of the whole. I learned that a book is a lot like a tapestry and pulling at one thread can unravel the whole story if one is not careful.

What I’ll need to do is write an outline of what I have and then create an outline of what I want the finished product to be. I’ve never plotted, never outlined, never had an overarching plan of what I want from my story. I may have a general idea in mind, but I’ve been a pantser since I started. If I do this – and by if I mean I’m going to do it – it’ll be a new skill I’ll need to learn.

All that I need now is to decide on a time-frame to finish this. Tentatively, I’ll give myself the rest of the month to get this rewrite done, since I’ve never done this comprehensive a rewrite with suggestions in mind. It’s scary, which is to say exciting, and I can’t wait to start. I also can’t wait to finish it so that I can begin to look for someone to proofread the manuscript, then I can find a cover artist!

Now if only I could find a title!

Window shopping for an editor

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Thanks to everyone who responded to my last post! It’s nice to know I have friends who I can count on to give me advice. This has been a learning process, and there is a lot to learn. Come to find out that I’m really ignorant about what’s involved to get something published. It’s ironic how the more you learn, the more you come to realize that you really don’t know anything. The best that can be said is that I do enjoy learning about new things. I love knowledge.

At least now I have a clearer picture of what I want, what I need, and what I should look for in an editor. What I’m looking for is someone to proofread for me, to catch my spelling and grammatical errors. I’m always finding more, but I know I’m missing most of them. I need a fresh set of eyes, preferably eyes that are attached to a well-trained mind!

I would also love to hire someone to do some content editing for me. It may be a luxury I can’t afford, but I have questions that need to be answered. Is my story coherent? Are there any continuity errors? Where are my weaknesses and what parts should be pruned in order to strengthen the rest of the book?

Part of the problem I’m having is strictly financial. I can’t afford an experienced editor, and it’s an all too common problem, especially for those of us who are getting started. The risk of going cheap, however, is that you find someone out to make a quick buck, who has no understanding of spelling and grammar that they do a lousy job. It would be a waste of money that I can ill-afford to spend!

I have been sent a few resources to peruse. A few friends have also volunteered to lend a hand, which is probably the way I’ll go. I’ll have to be creative, lean on the expertise of those who have been in my position, and accept all the help I can get. Of course, I don’t expect something for nothing. I believe people’s time and skills should be adequately compensated. It’s finding the fair price I can afford which will be the challenge.

Then there’s the issue of finding someone to design a cover, but I’ll worry about that when the time comes.