Nanowrimo/17, a segue and then back at it. “Dreamstime.” #amwriting @25,072 words
So, yesterday was a very difficult emotional day for me. Hideous actually. I’ve been been not sleeping well. Yesterday morning I made it to the 25,000 mark which is the halfway point so has two 1667′s. I ended up writing VB, a short story for ERWA because they want some Christmas stories and doing so was much lighter — almost festive. This seems to be my writing process for Nano, shift the scene when it gets too heavy in this POV like it did yesterday. Am on page 60, so plot points for that would be a certain pathos and it was there. I think writing VB last night gave me a break. A needed break.
Anyway. Goes back now, to try and catch up. people are coming to look at things for sale, so diff today, the phone is ringing off the hook. Need to take Boy for a walk, soon. He’s so bored. Need to eat, not hungry.
Back later, here was difficult part:
He had the candleholder that was a lump of ice. I looked at it for the longest time. Remembering, so many years ago. Remembering the Christmas he gave that to me, so long ago. The long underwear he gave me. The two of us laughing in bed, tumbling over each other. The way he held my cat. All the animals over the years, the way he buried them. Each one a burial. Stones that mark the graves.
Even our house a graveyard, in a sense. The stones as markers for each one. Gardens we planted. Gardens we started.
* * *
I wanted it to be a dream. My marriage. I wanted all of it to be a dream and it was, on the boat out at sea. Sailing with the leaping dolphins, prow into the clear cut jewel of the deep blue vastness.
He wouldn’t reef, and we needed to reef, we needed to reef and he never listened to me when I was so scared I could jump out of my skin with the fear, jumping shaking inside.
Maybe he has to listen now, to me.
Maybe I am doing the right thing by leaving him, leaving this town hoping for something better than what is. Than the cruelty that has occurred.
My teeth hurt.
Everything hurts but my heart hurts the most.
I threw up at his house, into the planter. The clear bile of the past pouring out.
And here is what I wrote to get away from the pathos yesterday night. It soesn’t count toward the book but is one of my Velvet Babe stories… a portion of that:
Oz had a little something for Velvet. He’d hidden the package under the giant Christmas tree she’d been decorating for weeks. Little did she know what he had planned though.
He laughed when he saw the giant stocking hanging from the mantel.
Mr. Swankypants was going to love her in this outfit.
Velvet had been trying to peek inside the box for days but it was tamperproof.
“You have to wait until Christmas Eve, Velvet.”
She pouted, and gave him a tiny glare.
“Oz why do you…”
“Because I can.”
There was no getting around it. Oz knew the Velvet Babe inside and out. That box held the swankiest little bustier ever, and the stockings to match. It was crimson satin and the cups were only half ones. Demi-cups, that would show off every curve. He had arranged for the two of them to go to the biggest party in town at Chez Pierre.
“It’s going to be a Masked Ball, Velvet.”
It was Christmas Eve!
“Oz, can I open it?”
Velvet peeled back the paper and then started tearing it. She just had to see what was inside.
“This is the wickedest bustier I have ever seen.”
“That’s all you get to wear, plus those red stockings.”
“And the mask.”
The boots towered to mid-thigh. The heels were seven inches of vivacious stilletto. The mask was jeweled, and made Velvet…
Back later. Returns to Dreamstime right now! Onwards, needs two sessions at 1667…