Short story: The Confession

Marcus stood there in a state of shock. He couldn’t move, frozen in place, petrified by the sheer misfortune of being found out. He was half dressed, panties, pantyhose, and a bra, a skirt in hand, his girlfriend’s sweater on the bed.

“What the fuck, Marcus?” Tina exclaimed once she found her voice, having been stunned into silence by the sight before her. “What the actual fuck?”

“I – I can explain,” he stammered, knowing that there was no way to explain what was happening.

“Can you?” She screeched. “Can you really? Oh, that’s great. What the hell are you thinking, you freak!”

“Okay, can you stop yelling? Sit down and we can talk this out.”

“Talk? Talk!” Leanna was beside herself. “No! You’re some kind of perv, some sick sex deviant.”

“I’m not. Wait, let’s talk.”

“No. I’m out. You want to dress like a girl, dress like a girl. Fuck this. I didn’t sign up for this. I want a man, and I don’t need some confused weirdo. I’m done.”

***

Marcus woke up in a sweat, panting as he realized that it was only a dream. Leanna slept soundly beside him. She hadn’t caught him, but how could she? He had turned his back on his own deviance. It had been years since he had worn women’s clothing. Years since he had purged his stash of clothing and makeup for the final time.

No, there was no way Leanna could find out, no way for her to walk in on him during the act. Dressing up left him feeling disgusted, as though he had allowed his kink to control him. He was stronger than his urges. He was a man, a manly man. He had joined the Marines to prove his manhood. He had proposed to Leanna to prove that he deserved to be called a man.

But the dream. The dream was becoming more persistent. If not this one, then the one where he is was out on the town, turned to look in a mirror, and found himself wearing a black cocktail dress, stilettos, and his hair long in in curls. But the thing is that it’s not him looking back, but it was him, a different him. There stood a woman smiling serenely, beaconing him to accept the truth.

The truth was what kept him awake most nights. When he was tired, he was at his most vulnerable, and the images and sensations of his illicit deeds came flooding back. The stolen moments when, home alone, he would steal into his mother’s closet, find something to wear, and prance around, excited to feel right. This continued until he was almost caught by his father, and he swore he would never dress again.

That’s the thing, though, it was not the last. He left for college and began to indulge in his fetishism. He bought dresses and wigs. Pantyhose was his favorite article of clothing. He bought makeup and taught himself to apply it, though it had the same heavy-handed application middle school girls took as they learned how to do their own makeup.

Thus began a cycle of buying and purging that plagued him for years. It left him feeling scared and alone. He kept to himself so that no one could possibly find out what a sicko he actually was. Days after he turned 21, he dropped out of college and enlisted, joining the Marines as did his uncle. He needed to prove himself a man.

He excelled during his time in service, achieving a rank of Corporal before being discharged after turning thirty. He met Leanna soon after landing a job with a defense contractor. He kept his focus, not wanting to regress back to the days when he dressed up like a sissy.

And it worked, until a few months back. Leanna had come home and started gossiping about a man named Todd, someone she worked with. He had come out to everyone at work as transgender, and had intended to transition.

“Can you believe it?” Leanna whispered, as though she feared being overhead. “Todd wants to be a woman! How weird is that?”

“Sounds a bit squirrelly,” Marcus guffawed, though part of him resented his bravery.

“He was one of the most manly guys in the office,” she shrugged before adding casually, “we dated for a few months before I met you. Trust me, there was nothing squirrelly about him.”

“And you’re okay with one of your exes becoming a woman?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it or not,” she argued, becoming annoyed at the direction of the conversation, and the contemptuous tone in his voice. “Todd was alway sad and miserable. When he came out to me last year, he was terrified.”

“He told you last year? Why are you only now telling me?”

“Because, he made me promise not to tell anyone, and I keep my promises.”

“Hmm,” Marcus harrumphed unhappily, though he grudgingly knew she did the only honorable thing, even if it did sting.

“Anyway, he’s been looking happier this past few months, and decided to take the next step.”

“And how’s the office taking it?”

“Most everyone’s okay with it. We don’t understand it of course, but we know Todd. He’s not prone to follow trends or whims. He did this after years of struggling and coming to terms with who he is.”

“Don’t you mean who she is?” Marcus scoffed.

“Maybe, but not yet. Todd will debut Melody next week.”

And that was it. That conversation had awakened his desire to dress up. He missed the feeling, the freeing thrill of dressing up female. It was liberating and empowering. And he feared it more than he was willing to admit to himself.

In the middle of the night, he struggle to quiet his mind, and a whirlwind of thoughts flitted through him head, struggling to make sense of his own identity. Marcus was a man, and successful man. He had joined the Marines. He had killed men in the field of battle. He had dispensed mercy and let many live who were in his power to die.

He began to shake. It wasn’t the first time, and he doubted it would be the last. He fought against the reality of his situation for so long. It had been thirteen years since he had purged his collection of the last time. He now wavered, wanting more than anything to succumb to his need.

“Are – are you okay?” Leanna yawned, her fiance’s trembling had awakened her.

“What? No, I’m fine,” he lied.

“Don’t lie to me, babe. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, honest.”

“Bullshit!” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and turned on the lamp. “You haven’t been fine for a while. Something’s been bothering you for weeks. Are you ever going to tell me, or are you going to keep shutting me out? If we’re going to get married, you’re going to have to trust me.”

Marcus opened his mouth but had lost his voice. He tried a few times before shaking his head and admitting defeat. He shrugged and began to tear up. He couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. She was bound to find out regardless, so it might as well be now, before they got married. Might as well give her the opportunity to walk away and scrape up some pride while she was free to do so. It might as well be now.

“How’s Todd doing?”

“Todd? You mean Melody?”

“Yeah,” he replied in a small voice.

“She’s fine. Happier than ever. It’s been a bit of an adjustment for all of us, but she’s holding up well. Why do you ask? I thought the idea of her transition was offensive to you sensibilities.”

“It’s weird,” he chuckled before clearing his throat. “What would you say if I said that I kind of respect his courage.”

“You mean her courage?”

“Yeah. It’s, I mean I’m kind of jealous of that.”

Leanna’s eyes narrowed as she focused her attention on him. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I think I understand her a lot more than you will ever know.”

“I think you’re not giving me enough credit,” Leanna said quietly. “I love you, Marcus. If you’re going through something, you need to trust me to see it through with you. If you can’t trust me, there’s no point in me staying with you, is there?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good. I won’t press the matter, but when you’re ready, you can tell me anything. I love you.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I’m worn out, so if there’s nothing else, night baby. ” She kissed his worried brow, rolled over and turned off the lamp, and fell back onto her pillow.

“I think I might have something in common with Melody.”

She sighed as the light came back on and Leanna got out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“If we’re going to have the conversation I think we’re going to have,” Leanna replied as she threw on a robe, “I want coffee and pie.”

“Should I join you?”

“I not eating in bed, so yeah. I’ll brew up a pot if you heat up the pie.”

“Done,” Marcus said warily.

“Don’t look like that,” Leanna smiled sadly. “I already said I loved you. That hasn’t changed. You just need to get this out so we know where to go from here.”


Short Stories

Next story – First Step
Previous story – Madness

Short story: Secrets

Molly sat stunned by the revelation. She had known there was something not quite right between her and the man she had planned on marrying. Was she still planning on marrying him, or would she call it off and take the chance on finding someone new?

Across from her sat Steven, his hands clasped together, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward, more to support himself than to be nearer to her. His hands shook slightly, but the worst was over for him. He had purged his greatest secret. All he could do now was wait.

Was he a he? Molly glanced at Steven. A she? An it? It was all too confusing. What was it that was creating this gender confusion? Was it something in the air? In the water? In the food? Was it the chemicals that industry and government was purported to be pumping into the populace? Or was it simply a matter of time, of the community believing it was time to stop living in the shadows.

She didn’t know. She didn’t care. Molly never thought of herself as a homophobe. She had many gay and lesbian friends. Her own brother was bi, though he wasn’t exactly out to everyone. Even she had dabbled with women a couple of times in college. She didn’t see anything wrong with it. It was a simple matter of wanting an experience, one she was happy to have had the opportunity to take advantage of.

This, however, was something completely different. She had been to the drag shows. She had been friendly, if not really friends, with a few drag queens. They were different, a group of men mimicking women for the entertainment of an audience.

Was that what Steven was? She didn’t know. Steven claimed it wasn’t. It wasn’t a fetish or some other cheap sexual thrill. “I’m supposed to be a woman,” he said unsteadily, terrified of sharing his secret. “I can’t in good conscience allow us to get married with this hanging over us. I won’t do that to you. To us.”

“Does that mean you’re planning on having a sex change?” Molly asked, not wanting to know the answer, but needing to know it as well.

“I don’t really know,” Steven shrugged. “I mean I haven’t dressed up in ages. I don’t want to be some creepy guy in a dress,” he tried in vain to joke. He cleared his throat. “I just know that I’m miserable and depressed, and my therapist believes it’s related to me being transgender. Whether or not I transition is still kind of in the air, but….”

“But you’re preparing me for it, just in case?”

Steven nodded.

Molly stood up and walked away, stopping short of leaving the room. She didn’t know what to do. Should she stay? Should she cut her losses and walk away? Though they have been dating for almost two years, their engagement is only a few weeks old. They hadn’t even begun planning for the wedding. Now she knew the wedding would have to be put on hold for now, at least until she knew what she was dealing with.

“I never wanted this,” Steven said quietly. “I never did. “That’s why I never dated anyone. I didn’t want to be put in this position. I didn’t want to put anyone through it.”

“So why did you ask me out?” Molly cried. “Why me?”

“You asked me, if you remember,” Steven smiled. “I resisted for months.”

“And I refused to take no for an answer,” she chuckled darkly. “I never knew enough to just let things go. Where does this leave us?”

“It leaves us with a decision, I guess,” Steven smiled sadly. “Either we stay together, or we break up. Either we accept that I may become a woman, or rather that I accept that I am a woman, or refuse and watch me become more and more depressed. I mean, I’ve been close to just ending things several times.”

“Do you mean breaking up with me or…?”

“I mean killing myself. It’s exhausting to live a lie, and my life has been a lie since I was old enough to learn to act my part. I’m kind of done pretending. I’m done playing the part of Steve.”

“Does she – do you have a name?”

“I’ve always been partial to Victoria,” Steven admitted.

“I would have thought you would have choses Stephanie,” Molly teased.

“I never liked the name,” Steven confessed. “I want a clean break from this identity, a new start.”

“It sounds like you have already made up your mind.”

“No, but I guess I’m leaning towards a decision.”

“And that’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Molly sighed. “I wanted a family. How does that affect your, well, your swimmers?”

“Already ahead of you. I have an appointment at the sperm bank next week, just in case.”

“You’re doing this, aren’t you.”

“Probably, but I’m not a hundred percent. Not yet.”

“I’m with you,” Molly walked back and fell onto the couch next to Steven. “I’m here, and I’ll support you regardless. I can’t promise I’ll want to get married, but, I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.” Steven relaxed. “That’s more than I expected.

“It’s the least I can do,” Molly shrugged.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you stood with me when I had my health scare last year.”

“I don’t think it’s the same thing.”

“Maybe not, but we’ll just have to see where this goes.”


Short Stories

Next story – The raging storm
Previous story – The price of love

Short Story: The price of love

Love is stupid. Yeah, I said it. Maybe love makes people stupid, or at least makes sane people do stupid things. Maybe it’s part of it, or all of it, or maybe it’s just me. I don’t know. I used to know, just like everyone’s an expert until you’re mired in something and you realize just how little you know. I just don’t know.

Right now she’s clinging to life on the barest of threads. The doctors say she’ll go at any moment, but they’ve been saying that for almost a week. Experts my ass! It hurts to see her like this, a woman in the prime of her life. She should be living her life, but the irony is that if she were, she wouldn’t be here with me. Like I said, love makes people stupid, me included.

I was never the kind of guy girls noticed. Sure they were nice to me, smiled at me, became my friend. I was, as I later learned, non-threatening. I was safe, the kind of guy they could trust, the guy they could talk to because I was understanding, and kind. I was the kind of nice they all claimed they wanted, but in reality didn’t. I soon came to believe that nice was code for loser.

Then I met Carly. Carly was like the rest of them, except she gave me something no one had ever given me: a chance. We started dating my sophomore year of college. She had broken up with her boyfriend, a star on the basketball team. He was the typical douche athlete, and all the women wanted him, and he obliged, never mind that he had a girlfriend.

So she dumped him and soon started dating me. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but I was just a rebound, worse still that she used me to make him jealous. Losing out to a guy like me made him crazy jealous, and I was too blind to see it. She soon dumped me and took him back. I was devastated.

Carly, just so you know, was, in those days, a beauty. The years and her illness have ravaged her, but beneath her withered and pained expression lingers the ghost of her former glory. She was blond, with hazel eyes, pale skin, and the cutest freckles on her nose. She had a magnetic personality, and she could make friends with anyone, even a recluse like me. She drew people to her, a flame pulling in another moth to become her next victim.

She was my first girlfriend, my first grown-up girlfriend, I should say. I had a few summer flings in camp growing up. Hold hands, an awkward peck on the lips, that sort of thing. I lost my virginity with her, fell madly in love with her, and it tore me to shreds being dumped the way she did me. I was just a cog in her plan to win back her dream boy.

I fell to pieces. No one knew it by seeing me. I was so straitlaced that no one would ever have seen my inner turmoil, not that anyone was close enough to have known. I was for all intents and purposes, friendless. I suffered alone. I just turned my attention to my studies to cope.

But I had become obsessed with her, but I just accepted it. What could I do? Even I, for all my naivette, understood that I had no chance to win her back. I could admit defeat and walk away with some vestiges of dignity, or I could pine for some woman who had made a fool of me.

Funny thing is that dating her had made me seem more interesting to some other woman. I began to date. I found a serious girlfriend my junior year, and we dated for almost two years, up until a week before graduation. I found myself as I broadened my horizons, and I found some confidence as I came into my own. I had become a man.

But I never got over Carly.

She would come around every so often, this damned woman. Every time she dumped a guy, or they dumped her, she would come by. I broke off a few relationships because of her, including that serious girlfriend, someone with whom I could have married. I know because she had been hinting at it for months. I loved her in a way, but she wasn’t Carly. She couldn’t compete with her, and she never knew she was competing with her. I did her wrong. I did to her what Carly had done to me, and I regret it.

Carly knew that I was obsessed with her, and she took advantage of it. She used me to boost her ego when she was feeling down. She used me to get over her failed relationships. I was nothing more than a plaything to occupy her time until some more suitable asshole stole her attention.

It went on like this for a couple of years, until the year we became 27. Almost everyone we knew was getting married, having children, settling down. Carly decided it was time to grow up and get with the agenda and get married, so she did, to a guy named Kurt. Just like that, I was cast aside for the last time.

By then I had grown used to it. I was tired of it and it came as a relief. Yes it hurt, and yes I cried, but I was also glad that I could gleam some measure of closure. This cruel game had come to an end, and I could finally move on.

I met a girl, dated, and we became engaged. Everything was going great, until Carly came into the picture to ruin my life one last time. My engagement fell apart, mainly because of Carly, but also because my fiancee was cheating on me with one of my friends, something Carly was all too happy to point out.

Carly’s marriage had fallen apart because her husband wanted a family, and she couldn’t conceive. It was impossible. Uterean cancer had taken her chance of having a family, and with it her hope for the life she had wanted.

The cancer was in remission, she told me, but I think she knew something that she didn’t let on, that the cancer would return, which it did a couple of years later. In the meantime, we rekindled our relationship, and this time it stuck. Carly had become domesticated. Gone was the wild girl I had fallen in love with. Her love was subdued, tamed, and I think it was because she knew she was dying soon.

We got married as soon as the ink from her divorce had dried. At thirty-one I had my dream woman, but I could sense that it was not going to last. Her fire had been extinguished, and she no longer felt the need to lead me on. I knew she was using me again, and because I was so in love with her, I let her, and I let her to this day.

She came back not because she loved me, but because I loved her. She knew no one would take her. Carly was damaged goods. Those are her words, by the way, not mine. She didn’t want to die, and though the doctors had told her that her cancer was gone, she felt that they were wrong.

After four years of marriage, the cancer came back. This time there was nothing to be done. It had spread to her lungs, her kidneys, her brain. It was attacking her, killing her slowly, and no chemotherapy, no radiation, could save her.

Now, a week before our fifth anniversary, she lays in our bed, a hospice worker coming in daily to check up on her, and a nurse does as well. She didn’t want to die alone and she knew I would take her back.

I hate myself for letting her do this to me, but I am powerless. I’ve come to believe that I don’t really love her. I think I’m obsessed with her as the woman I couldn’t hold on to, Now that I have her, I’ve come to see that I don’t love her like I thought I did. Even so, I never walked away. I’m a nice guy after all. I ended up with the girl, though not in the way I might have wanted, but I have her. Til death do us part. I just wish I hadn’t had to find a way to give her cancer to make her come back to me. I wish I didn’t need to kill her to keep her from leaving me again.

She’ll never know that my work with cancer was never to find a cure, but to learn to manipulate it, to weaponize it. She’ll never know, and soon, she’ll never know anything again.

Love is stupid? Maybe, but love turned me into a monster, and I’ll never be nice again.

 


Short Stories

Next story – Secrets
Previous story – Porcelain

 

Short Story: Roadtrip

He kept his eyes resolutely locked on the sign ahead, ignoring what was happening outside. “Aren’t you done yet?” he asked.

“Don’t look!” she cried out. In spite of himself, he looked out the passenger-side window, but all he could see was the top of her head. A few moments later, she stood up, pulling her pants up at the same time. He hastily turned his attention to the Deer X-ing sign ahead.

“Were you peeking?” She inquired as she zipped up her pants.

“I’m not into watching girls pee,” he laughed. “And watch out for the puddle.”

“What? Shit!” She cried out, looking at her shoes.

“Great,” he laughed again. “The car’s going to smell like pee the rest of the trip.”

“You distracted me,” she pouted as she slid back into the passenger seat.

“You could have told me sooner, that you needed to go. There was a rest stop about fifteen miles back.”

“I didn’t need to go then.”

“Really?” He shook his head as he stepped on the accelerator pulled back onto the road. “You didn’t need to go then, but ten minutes later you had me pull over so you could pee on the side of the road?”

“Whatever,” she groaned. He chortled quietly for a few seconds before restarting the audiobook they had been listening to. They rode together for several miles in quiet companionship, he focused on the road ahead while she looked out the window, enjoying the sight of the trees and the snowcapped mountains in the distance.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship,” she announced suddenly, keeping her gaze on the passing landscapes.

“What?”

She hit pause and the car became silent, save for the sound of the tires on the asphalt road, and the roar of the engine. “I said, I don’t want to be in a relationship.

“I wasn’t aware you were considering it,” he deadpanned, smirking slightly as he said it.

“Smart ass,” she grumbled. He laughed again.

“Where is this coming from?” He inquired, curious as to why she decided to revisit the old conversation yet again.

“Because I know you,” she shrugged. “I know you want us to be a couple.”

“I suppose,” he replied, “but I’m okay with how things are.”

“Are you really?” She asked, skeptically.

“For reals, I am. I know you’re not ready for anything, and truth be told, I’m not very good at them, either. All my previous attempts ended badly for me. I suck at being a boyfriend.”

“I don’t think you suck at anything. I think you’re just a little too insecure.”

“Wouldn’t you be,” he grumbled, “if you were cheated on by every person you’ve been with?”

“I have, for the most part, been cheated on,” she added when she caught side of his quizzical look. “No one values honesty and fidelity anymore.”

“I do,” he muttered unhappily.

“I know you do,” she replied soothingly, patting his arm, “and so do I, but are we really a fit for each other, or are we misfits that found each other and we just settled?”

“I think we click because we get each other,” he said pensively. “We understand each other, and we’re a match for each other intellectually. Frankly, I think you’re just a shade smarter than I am.”

“Guys hate it that I’m smarter than they are. They don’t get me and it intimidates them.”

“But I’m not most guys, and I’m attracted to you because of your intellect.”

“Most guys just like my ass,” she guffawed.

“You do have a nice ass,” he admitted. “Hey, I might have looked at time or two!” He added defensively. “I might like your body, but I love your mind and your soul. I love our conversations. I’ve never had anyone quite like you. I enjoy your companionship.”

“But you want more, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” he confessed. “I think we’re good for each other, but I understand you hesitation. That’s why I don’t push it. You don’t want to be hurt again.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you too much for that.”

“I know you do,” he nodded. “That’s why I’m content to let things be the way they are. I love you too, and I’d rather keep the status quo rather than to force something that isn’t there. I’d rather keep you as a friend than to see you go as an ex-girlfriend. I can’t see myself without you. My life’s better with you in it.”

“Mine too,” she sighed. “But I do think about it. About us. I wonder if maybe there’s something there.”

“I think there might be, but I don’t want to rush it. I think if something’s going to happen, it will eventually. If not, then I have a great friend in my life.”

“But you want to sleep with me.”

“I wouldn’t mind if our friendship came with some benefits,” he admitted with a mischievous smile. “I’d be okay with the occasional cuddle in front of the television.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” she nodded. She looked out the window and noticed a few deer lingering along the tree line.  “There’s a lot of them,” she said.

“What?”

“Deer. It’s getting dark and I’m seeing more and more deer coming out.”

“My uncle likes to come out here and hunt deer.”

“Barbaric,” she huffed before smiling. “Mom makes a mean venison roast. Dad used to hunt.”

“You’re changing the subject, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m just confused about us, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at her. “Let’s keep it the way it is and see….”

“Look out!’ she screamed.

He looked back on the road as a couple of deer leaped onto the road. He jerked the steering wheel to the right, trying to avoid hitting the buck but hit him, causing him to lose control. The car skidded into the ditch and missed hitting a tree by less than a foot.

He looked over to see her leaning forward, her head bleeding and a the passenger window shattered but not broken.

“Lana!” He cried. “Lana!”

“Fuck,” she moaned.

“Are you okay?”

She moaned again but didn’t say anything else.

He pulled out his cellphone and dialed 911.

“Dean?” she moaned in a pained voice.

“Yeah?”

“I love you, man. Just remember that, okay. I love…you.”

“I love you, too. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. No,” she shook her head slightly. “My head hurts.”

“The ambulance is on its way.”

“How’s the car?”

“Screw the car. How are you?”

“Been better,” she smiled weakly, her eyes unfocused. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“You better be. I don’t want to lose you. Not like this. Not at all.”

“You won’t lose me. I promise. I’m yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I know it’s the truth.” Lana waited for him to respond, but after waiting for a few moments she turned to see if he was okay. “Dean? You okay?”

“I’m…not…sure,” he groaned. “I’m feeling…funny.”

“Ambulance is here,” she said, seeing the flashing red and blue lights. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t leave me, okay?”

“I promise,” he said weakly, his strength failing. I’m yours, too.”


Short Stories

Next story –
Previous story – Fortitude

Hours to go

Nanowrimo starts in a little less than five hours. Unfortunately for me, I’ll be in bed asleep. I have to be up at four so I can be at work by six. Luckily, I’ll be out early in the afternoon, and I’ll have plenty of time to write. A group of writers will be meeting tomorrow at Roasters for a write in, if you can call a three people a group. Hopefully we all show up. It’s be better if more do.

I was having trouble coming up with something to write this year. I wrote a few short stories this past week, trying to spark something, but neither inspired anything. It was more an exercise in working through some negative emotions that had been bringing me down for a while. What it did was bring me back to one of my favorite short stories, Harvest Moon, which I wrote back in 2013.

The story follows a woman who is visited by the spirit of her teenaged love, who died when they were both attacked after sneaking out late one night. On the anniversary of his death, her spirit leaves her body and she walks to the secluded field, the scene of his death, to endures his pleading for her to leave her life behind and join him, he being unable to move on, his destiny tied to hers.

I’m not one to write supernatural stories, but this one struck a chord with me, and I’ve shared the link on my Facebook and Twitter several times since I wrote it. For me, it’s a story about being stuck in the past, unable to move on, enduring the torture of reliving the same heartbreak time and again. She haunted by the memory, haunted by his ghost, unable to live in the present, unable to change the past.

I have no idea how the story will actually play out. Well, that’s probably not true. I have a few ideas. I will have to flesh out the characters more, especially her husband and children. I’ll probably also come up with new names since I hate the original names I came up with, Evie and Bryce.

What kills me is that I have to wait a few more hours, really almost a whole other day before I can start to write. I want to write now. I have a clear vision of how I would like to start. I don’t want to lose it! I wish I didn’t have to go in so early. Even an hour would be better than nothing.

But at least I have something to write about, a story to tell. As I write, I’ll figure out what questions I need to answer, what problems need to be solved. What is it that keeps my protagonist attached to her life? Who is the antagonist? What role does her family play in keeping her in this life?

I have a whole month to discover it. I’ll continue to write until I’m done. I have thirty days to write fifty-thousand words, a little less than two-thousand words per day. I’ve done it before, no sweat. Okay, I’ll be sweating a little. November is a horrible month for me. Let’s see where it takes me.