Friday, June 16, 2017

First Draft Friday: Romance

First Draft Friday

Trying out a new idea for a post series where every Friday I post a rough draft. In my mind, this will something similar to my NaNoWriMo post but maybe less intense and only one day a week. The purpose is the same though: to encourage other writers. More often than not, we only get to see a finished polished version of fiction writing and it's very easy to get discouraged by their quality, even though we know, logically, whatever we're reading has a horrible first draft too. In my first draft posts, I want to share my first drafts as they are written more or less out of my brain. I say more or less because if I wrote the first draft longhand, then I'm usually going to clean it up a little bit or make all new mistakes or bad decisions as I type it up.



Romance
first draft, incomplete, 727 words
By Stephanie Thompson

That was all she wanted in life. What she's always wanted.
She knew it wasn't like aKethryn Heigel movie or a Meg Ryan movie or even an Audrey Hepburn flick. She wanted that Old School romances Wuthering Heights, Romeo and Juliet . . . something else. Where being in love was torturous, physically hurts, only short bursts of passion - whether sex or violence, then everyone dies in the end. Where love's drawn out will they won't they magic and both is impossible.That's what she wanted. So how did she put that in a profile blurb?
She'd date plenty but nobody just right. Nice people, funny people, dumb people but not magical people. Not violent, terrible love people.
And now she was in Starbucks at 2 or 3 in the afternoon, at whatever times moms were picking up kids these days and trying to muster one dazzle in he lifetime before closed up shop and resigned herself to being the single friend. Always avail; able for dinner, for movies and shows, wine weekends and plus ones. Which was fine of course. It was her life, she loved her friends but she needed. . .
Well if she knew what she needed then her dating profile would already full of  all the right words.

What am I looking for: Something Different

There was no reason she should notice this profile. Jack needed the date, it was his search, his computer. Plus she hated vague shit. So many guys said they were looking for something different and she was always like - If you can't define it, why the hell should I?

"So what do you think of this one?"
"What?"
"I mean, I could be something different, right?"
"Dude, what's this . . . whos' this chick?"
"Uh. . .Mister105 . . . I don't know there is no real info here."
"And the pic?"
"Just the one/"
"With her face half behind her hair looking the other way? I mean what'st he point?"
"Well you have to have the one picture at least. . . to have a profile, you know."
"So you're asking what I think about the girls who put up the bare minimum and can't even define what she wants?"
"This is balls." He pushed the laptop away from him , the screen facing her. "I mean I don't know. What did they do in older times, like when you were in the dating scene."
She  scoffed but was only half paying attention. Omly half paying attention because the woman in the laptop was staring at her.

She was still staring @ her later that night. After Jake closed the laptop and put on a movie and fell asleep half way on the couch.

Her silky brown hair half covered her face and she was turning away from the camera, the start of a smile on her face, a light in her eyes. Dylan HEather could already feel her hand on hers pulling her someplace secret, someplace magic.

Hello Mysterious, I could be something different. -H

The message from HEath312 was better by miles than any other she'd gotten. First Heth 312 got her screen name which no other man had. Second his message was more than just Hey, Hi, or a dick pic. finally, his screen name was Heath, like the stars of their tortured love were already aligning.

She hit reply.

It took her took weeks to write five words. To be fair it took her most of the time to decide to join the site then pick the picture then finally send the message. And most of 'sending
 the message involved writing/deleting and rewriting until five words were all she could manage.

Heather's heart pounded when she got the notification.

H- Different is as different does. What's the most interesting thing you've ever done? - Mysterious

She didn't want to respond right away - too worried she wouldn't say something clever, or interesting enough but she also didn't want to leave it too long and lose out on the flutter in her belly and the flush in her checks. Should she be naughty and ask 'clothed or naked/' Should she indicate her party level and ask 'drunk or sober?" Or should she just answer it plainly enough? But then what was the most interesting story she had to tell? She'd met Mitch Albom once at a book signing but that wasn't interesting per se, just a brush with fame event.


I definitely want to finish this one but the 'I don't know what is intersting/witty/clever enough dilemma that Heather's facing is identical to my own writing dilemma. Thus the story is paused at the moment.

Thanks for reading!



Friday, June 9, 2017

First Draft Friday: Through the Spiderweb Door

First Draft Friday

Trying out a new idea for a post series where every Friday I post a rough draft. In my mind, this will something similar to my NaNoWriMo post but maybe less intense and only one day a week. The purpose is the same though: to encourage other writers. More often than not, we only get to see a finished polished version of fiction writing and it's very easy to get discouraged by their quality, even though we know, logically, whatever we're reading has a horrible first draft too. In my first draft posts, I want to share my first drafts as they are written more or less out of my brain. I say more or less because if I wrote the first draft longhand, then I'm usually going to clean it up a little bit or make all new mistakes or bad decisions as I type it up.

For my first, non-NaNoWriMo post, I'm submitting the first draft of "Through the Spiderweb Door". You may remember this title from a previous post where I shared a writing process video of me writing this story. Now, here's what I wrote that day, plus a little more.


Through the Spiderweb Door
first draft, incomplete, 1,734
By: Stephanie Thompson

The sun wasn’t even up yet and she was already suffocating in humidity and tortured by bug bites. Jocelyn was ready for summer to say goodbye. As it was she kept putting one foot in front of another.

“You still with me Jlyn?”
“She looked up to respond and caught her heavy booted foot on God knows what. She stumbled, bit her tongue, and fell face first into a spider web.
“Fuck,” she said, spitting blood onto the rocky path in front of her.

Jocelyn stood up. She wiped her dirt streaked and scratched up palms on her new khaki shorts. Then she looked ahead for Dean and his dog Bruce to answer his question and say she was fine though she was significantly less fine than she was a moment ago which already wasn’t that fine to begin with. Instead in the space we he should have been there was nothing - a blank space at the top of the hill where Dean and Bruce had been waiting on her an instant before.

Since the beginning of their hike both man and dog were consistently a few yards ahead of her but always in sight and she could hear Bruce’s heavy pant.  Now there was silence. No Bruce. No Dean with his hiking stick, smiling, happy like there was nothing better in the world. There was just Jocelyn, alone, wishing she’d never put ‘loves the outdoors’ on her dating profile.

The early morning light trickled through the trees. A dazzling spectacle of flickering light that made her dizzy. She spat more blood from her stinging, throbbing tongue. She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She looked behind her and saw no familiar land marks. They had passed several on the way to their (her) current spot: a tumble down house, an open glen edged with thistle, and most recently a fork in the path. They’d gone down the right-hand path (Dean said it had less hills and made for an easier loop- great for beginners) with blue flags (blazes he called them). Jocelyn remembered because from their first date on Jocelyn associated blue, any shade of blue, with Dean’s eyes. ‘Blue like you,’ she thought though it made little sense outside her brain.
Just past the fork was a slight incline up into the trees. Dean and Bruce were at the top. She’d fallen at the bottom. But now behind her was none of that. There was a big open meadow of knee high grasses. Then behind that more tress. This wasn’t the same place they’d walk through. No fork. No blazes. No blue. No Bruce. No Dean. Jocelyn looked in front of her again in case it all was a trick of the dappled sunlight and they were waiting for her all along. He was not.

Should she turn back, fork or no fork? She should she go forward? Hope to catch up ? She knew she wasn’t where she was, where she should have been, but maybe she was wrong about that anyway. Maybe they’d walked further down the blue (like you) path further than she thought and Dean was just over the small hill in front of her, waiting. Or should she stay where she was, wait herself , for anyone to find her, the way all the safety guidelines said to do when you’re lost.

“What is it?”
“You mean, who is it?”
“It came through the door.”
“Through the secret door?”
“How did it find it?”
“It has the heart, obviously.”

“Hello?” Jocelyn asked the open air because while there was voices she couldn’t see anyone.

“It has a heart? Where?”

She looked around again, for the third or fourth time and still got nothing for her search. The voices continued.

“Stop asking me questions. We have to go get Dariham.”

“Wait, don’t leave. I need help,” she directed the plea all around her hoping to discover the source  of the voices and maybe get some actual help, like directions back to a reality without invisible voice or perhaps a drink of water.

“What kind of help?” asked voice 1.
“Don’t talk to it.” ordered voice 2.
“But shouldn’t we take it with us, to Dariham instead of leaving it here to be eaten? Drama will be pissed we bring him all the way out here and it’s gone.”
“I need water . . . or maybe soap. I could go with you. I just . . . I just. . .I can’t see you. I don’t know where you are.”

Sweat beaded on her arms, dripped over her brow, soaked into her shirt. Her stomach bubbled with unease. Her dizziness increased as she kept spinning around trying to find the source of conversation and look out for whatever it was that might eat her. The whole adventure was worn pretty thin even before she fell. Now, she was very much through with the whole ordeal. She wanted a place to site, a cool drink, and air conditioning. If she had to follow an invisible voice or two to that end then she was willing to do that. She was as sensible as the next woman.

There came no reply however.

Jocelyn sat on the ground, tired of going in circles. She sat right in the middle of the path careful to avoid the places she’d spat. Shelled the knot on her right boot, loosened the laces, and pushed the boot off with her left foot. She repeated the process on the left and peeled off her socks. They were damp and a relief to remove. Free of the weight of the boots, Jocelyn felt better. A strong warm wind rolled across her skin and while it was just as hot and humid as it had been, it felt like a sigh of relief to her. Somehow it made even her tongue throb less.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath and then blew it out through her pursed lips and whistled a bit as she exhaled. She needed to think of what to do next. Trouble was she didn’t know hot to begin. She was injured but not severely, only annoyingly. Yet if she didn’t wash the dirt from her scraped up palms, it could get worse, though it wasn’t likely. She wasn’t hungry. She was some kind of lost but not in a way she could explain and she didn’t full heartedly believe that any amount of directions could get her back to where she belonged. Then in the back of her mind lingered the  danger of being eaten by unseen creatures.

Jocelyn laughed out loud and lightly tapped her forehead. Of course, she was being ridiculous and this was just a dream she was having. She was laying unconscious in the back of Dean’s car probably. She must have hit her head when she fell - she wouldn’t know any difference being knocked out. That’s why everything was wrong and didn’t look the same. That’s why the voices.

She laughed again. She scooted off the path, until her back was against a tree. She was so much more at ease, having solved the puzzle.  Soon she’d wake up in the hospital, her family around her, maybe Dean if the entire thing didn’t scare him off.  For now she flexed and pointed her toes, stretching out her legs. She watched the grass of the meadow bend in the wind behind the trees, and watched the sun rise in the sky. Fuzzy sleepiness made her eyelids heavy. A few thoughts moved through her mind, slowly and lazily. She tried to imagine what kind of thing could possibly eat her. She questioned the sanity of waiting for invisible voices to come back for her and if she’d be waiting forever. She unwillingly thought of Waiting for Godot and really hoped her Wizard of Oz style coma dream wasn’t going to boil down to some post-modern existential bullshit. When her eyes closed she wondered if she should sleep in a dream caused by a concussion then she was asleep and wondered no more.

“I told you we should have taken it with us? Now it’s gone. Or dead. Dariham is going to hide us for making him come out here.”

Jocelyn hear the voices and pushed through the vestiges of sleep to talk to them before they scampered off again. Maybe she’d even see them this time too.
She opened her eyes. The sun was no longer over the field anymore but directly overhead burning down hot and strong through the leaves. The wind had stopped blowing and everything still and silent. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and stretched out her arms like a cartoon princess. It struck her that waking up still in a dream instead of in a hospital probably meant something bad was happening in real life. Was she in a coma? Was her brain irreparably damaged? Was she dead?
But that seemed less when important when she caught sight of at last of the sources of the voices. There were three of them, including the oft-mentioned Dariham, presumably the one 10 feet behind the others since the other two were still talking about him. All three of them shimmered in the open sunny meadow like they wore silver iridescent body paint or glitter. Jocelyn shielded her eyes and squinted hoping they became clear, easier to see but there was no coup d’oeil. They shimmered and further the two up front were flying. Floating above the grass, their toes making trails in it as their large dragonfly wings brought them closer to her.

As if silver flying creatures weren’t hard enough to believe, none of them were taller than four feet tall. They didn’t look like children, per se. They looked like full-grown men. Like Greek statuettes come to life wearing just as many clothes too. It was nearly impossible to believe her own eyes.

“Now where did it get to?”
Jocelyn didn’t step out onto the path. She wasn’t hiding per se but she wasn’t as eager as before to be found or follow these creatures back to their lair. As angelic and magical as they appeared, an uneasy acid bubbled in in her stomach.
When the two approaching her got to the edge of the trees, they disappeared again. They flashed into existence



I don't know if I'm going to finish. It's one of those stories where sometimes I think I will and other times I think I won't. If there's more I will share it so you can find out what happens.  Thanks for reading!



Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Write What You Know, Part 32


Original Preamble

This is my first draft for NaNoWriMo 2016 novel Write What You Know. It's only a rough draft with very minimal editing and will, more than likely, contain, typos, grammatical errors, plot holes, or conflicting descriptions. It also includes notes to myself and excerpts from the novel the MC is writing that I try to indicate through various formatting that doesn't always translate well with my limited html skills. Furthermore, this particular novel is... there's no delicate way to put this... this novel is fucked up. So, especially in this rough draft crazed sort of NaNoWriMo way of writing, it may be difficult to read or follow.  I'm still posting it here because I want to shed more light on the process of writing to encourage and inspire other writers or readers who are interested. To learn more about this project, or my daily NaNoWriMo postings, please read Day 1-7.


Additional Preamble

NaNoWriMo 2016 ended 6 months ago and I never finished releasing my rough draft, for various reason but chiefly that I was without internet service on my computer for three of those months. I've debated a lot about re-establishing these postings mostly because I don't really think there were readers waiting with baited breath for the rest of this hunk of junk rough ass draft. But then I remembered that the point of me doing this isn't for the number of readers but to inspire and to finish things. The internet is forever right? Even if it means nothing now, some internet archaeologist could dig this up 200 years from and say . . . I don't know something. Or maybe there's that one other person out there right now and this is exactly what they need. Like Feida Kahlo said:
       --I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre...I hope that you are out there and you read this and know that yes it's true I'm here and I'm just as strange as you.-- (Wikiquote)
This is for you, other weirdos.



Write What You Know, Part 32
By Stephanie Thompson,  1, 496 words

Read: Part 1Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31

Everyone arrived at the house within minutes of each other. It would have been funny under any other circumstances. Cassandra came first, then Jennifer, Then Riley.
Cassandra had made it to the back of the house before Jennifer came in the front door. Helen hadn’t told her where in the house the goddamn money was and she was about to regret the decision to come here. Until she heard that voce.
“Hello? Cassie?”
She laughed to herself. She laughed at Helen. How did she survive at all when everything she did turned to shit, the exact opposite of what she intended. She wanted to keep her away from Jennifer and yet there she was in her living room calling for her.
“Honey, your home.” She said laughing and without leaving the room. She was didn’t want Jenny to see the state she was him. Her hands shook and sweat beaded on her brow,
“Where are you, Cassie?”
“You’re fine where you are. What are you doing here?”
“I came to find you I guess. I needed to say something, I think.”
“Is it an apology? Because if not I’m not interested.” 
“An apology?”
“Let me guess you don’t think you did anything wrong? You never, EVER think you’ve done anything wrong. So fucking blameless, you’d think you were a saint.”
“I’m not blameless. I’m not guilt free. I’ve done plenty of things wrong. But none of them to you. I did everything I could for you. I loved you.”
“You promised me forever. FOREVER. But you were hooking up with that little slut at that stupid store. And then once you got me locked up you ran around with everyone you could find. You had the audacity to lie to my face.”
“I never, ever cheated. There’s been no one for me before or since. You know there can’t be. YOu know that. You were the one who ruined forever,” she said then immediately regretted. 
Cassandra laughed bitterly. Maniacally. She came around the corner from the back of the house somewhere. She was outlined in darkness. Her breath came in ragged puffs like the Big ad Wolf. Jennifer could just make out the switchblade in her hand. The sound of it’s blade sliding out was unmistakable.
“You ungrateful bitch. You locked me up and left me alone to rot. IF that’s your idea of love, you’re more fucked up than I am.”
“You tried to kill me. And not a little bit.You tried hard. You wanted to kill me. You want to kill me now don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you? Why didn’t you do that two years ago? Why didn’t you do that last week? Why don’t you do it right now?”
“BECAUSE. . .”
Her scream echoed in the house. IT started raining outside. The loud rain that made everything sound like it had tin roof with it’s assault.
“I don’t just want you dead. I want your life in tatters. I want every scrap of dignity you worked for with your fake names and shitty stories to be made a mockery in print, like you did with my life. Then I want to kill you.”
“I didn’t mock you. It’s not even directly you. I immortalized what was special about us. I immortalized out love.”
“YOU KILLED ME!”
Jenny said nothing. Coming here was a mistake. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with Cassandra. Everything she said was just an excuse. She finally understood how all those doctors judges and cops felt when she would try to explain her actions. IT was bullshit or insanity to avoided consequences and responsibility. Cassandra used the books as an excuse for her hate, and used her suspicions and doubt to mistrust her, and deny herself the happiness she could have had.
“I lied to you once. Exactly one time. When we met in New York that time. I told you I was the same person. I told you kept the bracelet but I didn’t. I wasn’t the same person. I hadn’t been the same since you were so overwhelmed by hate that you tried to kill me not once but two ways at the same time.” So it was two lies at the same time and one charge. Just like you.” (Um, clear this the fuck up.)
“WHY DID YOU COME HERE? You’ve ruined everything again. You always ruin it.”


Detective Riley could here the women fighting from the other side of the door. He wanted to go in but the situation was so volatile he didn’t know what to do. So he backed away from the door and called  for back up, no lights no sirens. Then went back to listening because if something went down he would have to more as fast as physically possible to make sure it wasn’t a colossal fuck up. 

(I’m pretty sure this is some horrible coping but also did you forget it was raining? Because it definitely is and his ass should be soaked.)

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sorry for that. She hadn’t ruined anything but her twisted revenge plot but she was sorry that she couldn’t help her now. That she couldn’t save her then, that Cassandra couldn’t love and Helen, poor silent Helen was trapped inside her somewhere.
“No you’re not.”
She suppressed a laugh how was she always trying to laugh at the most inappropriate times. IF she survived this maybe she would work on that. But the funny thing was, No one ever believed her.
In the time she was busy with trying not to laugh Cassandra rushed up the short hallway and stabbed her. Again.
She couldn’t stop the laugh this time.

Detective Riley made all the wrong decisions and was too late. That’s what Hutchinson said when he suspended him. No one died he told himself to try make himself feel better. And he saved who know’s how many lives by catching her in the act, he added when that didn’t work.
HE’d known he was playing with fire in his approach but there was nothing saying that a different approach would have had a different or worse outcome. Including both of them dead and Helen on the run again. He had to wait for back up.
The good news was that she confessed. She confessed a lot. No matter what her public defender tried to do or say. He’d get one thrown out and she said it again. She’d say to everyone and and anyone who’d listen. And anyway, even if she didn’t talk, there was the DNA on her knife. And all that evidence in the hotel room. She killed them all. Kept their (SOMETHINGS) 32 people in total. All across the country. She was a sensation. 
It was enough to make him sick. Enough to make him quit. He’d see how his suspension went first.


Cassie’s knife caught a few more of Jennifer’s organs this time. Including a lung. Got her left cheek and all her limbs too. She’d gotten a lot quicker and better at stabbing. She’d had a lot of practice apparently. But Detective Riley was on her before she could finish the job this time. He even caught a bit of her knife.
She’d given her that knife for their first Christmas in freedom. When it was still good. Because it was pretty and it’s power was hidden, like Helen. And she’d said that she felt defenseless against everything, even her own mind. She knew it wouldn’t help against Cassandra but she though if at least in everyday life she could feel less defenseless against the world then maybe she feel strong enough against Cassandra too. Turns out she was master of irony. (Or you know something witt-yish).
She was in the hospital for a long time healing. For three weeks. Three weeks she avoided tv because the only news was Cassandra and she couldn't’ look at her face over and over again. So she wrote. She wrote another ‘NRaged novel. The last one. The one where Nikki dies for good. Fans will be sad that Danny doesn’t come back but there was a reason she’d killed him off. That love couldn’t last. One of them had to end of dead sooner or later. Like all of Nikki’s lovers. And she could keep living in the past.
All of her books sold like hotcakes because of The Ripper case. On the next book tour she got the best rooms she’d ever had. 
So everyone knew all her secrets. They knew everything about her now. There was no holding it back, not with the way Cassandra talked. It wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. IT made interviews easier. To not have to keep up with all those lies. To tell the simple truth.
“So, tell us Jennifer, where did you get your ideas?”

“It’s the oldest advice in the book. I write what I know. Madness as love. Lies as Truth. And stab wounds.”


Thank you for reading!


Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Write What You Know: Eventually it Ends but now it's Part 31


Original Preamble

This is my first draft for NaNoWriMo 2016 novel Write What You Know. It's only a rough draft with very minimal editing and will, more than likely, contain, typos, grammatical errors, plot holes, or conflicting descriptions. It also includes notes to myself and excerpts from the novel the MC is writing that I try to indicate through various formatting that doesn't always translate well with my limited html skills. Furthermore, this particular novel is... there's no delicate way to put this... this novel is fucked up. So, especially in this rough draft crazed sort of NaNoWriMo way of writing, it may be difficult to read or follow.  I'm still posting it here because I want to shed more light on the process of writing to encourage and inspire other writers or readers who are interested. To learn more about this project, or my daily NaNoWriMo postings, please read Day 1-7.


Additional Preamble

NaNoWriMo 2016 ended 6 months ago and I never finished releasing my rough draft, for various reason but chiefly that I was without internet service on my computer for three of those months. I've debated a lot about re-establishing these postings mostly because I don't really think there were readers waiting with baited breath for the rest of this hunk of junk rough ass draft. But then I remembered that the point of me doing this isn't for the number of readers but to inspire and to finish things. The internet is forever right? Even if it means nothing now, some internet archaeologist could dig this up 200 years from and say . . . I don't know something. Or maybe there's that one other person out there right now and this is exactly what they need. Like Feida Kahlo said:
       --I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre...I hope that you are out there and you read this and know that yes it's true I'm here and I'm just as strange as you.-- (Wikiquote)
This is for you, other weirdos.



Write What You Know, Part 31
By Stephanie Thompson,  1, 794 words

Read: Part 1Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30

She dragged herself to out of bed. IT was late in the afternoon she had plenty of sleep. Almost twelve hours. IT wasn’t like her but she didn’t feel like her she was dragging ass. And legs and head. She was dragging every part of her self to the sink where she confirmed her suspicions. The bandage was soaked with blood though mostly dried now. It’d stained the shits and spots on the floor. The sink still had the remnants of blood smears across the  porcelain. The razor hello had used was crusted over.
“You conniving, spineless fucker.” 
She threw lotions and potions at the mirror and screamed until both the mirror and voice cracked. Then she collapsed on the floor. Helen hadn’t done his eight years at least. Everyone treated it like a suicide attempt but it wasn’t that at all. It was Helen’s pathetic  attempt to tame Cassie’s efforts. She would have ben out of that fucking prison so much sooner if it wasn’t for her. IT’s amazing how much blood you can loose with out dying and how purely flat out exhausted it would leave you too.


“All right guys, here’s some more evidence I’ve dug up in the last 24 hours, Excuse me.” His phone was vibrating in his pocket. The caller ID shed no light on the caller so he declined the call.
“This is Helen Richards. She a 34 (or so) female acquaintance of Jennifer Tansom aka Christie Fields. According to Transcom Richards has had the cell phone discovered at Bronsons murder scene for the last two (or whatever) years. Helen Richards has two charges of attempted, including one against attempt against Ms. Transcom, so there is animosity there, which is why I believe it’s Helen who is behind the Ripper murders here and in other cities. She’s previously stalked Ms. Transcom and these murders are copycats of sorts from Christie Fields novels.”
His phone vibrate in short bursts this time. A text message. HE paused to check it out and the task force took it to start asking questions.
“Are you sure they aren’t in it together?”
“Something else”
“Another question here”
It’s me. Pick up. I have an idea.
“Now, Richards has been a fugitive for three ears. We have no idea where she is staying or what her intentions are, except that maybe she is planning on hurting Ms. Transcom. I have to make a call, so you guys start brainstorming ideas about how or where we might locate Helen Richards.”
Riley ducked out of the room and right into Leut. Hutchinson. “MY office detective.”
“Yeah just a minute,” he normally wouldn’t have said that but he didn’t want to delay talking to Jennifer any more than he already had.
“No, not just a minute. Right now.”
“Shit,” he said under his breath.
“What’s this I hear about a new suspect after we’ve already arraigned Christie Fields?”
“I did some routine checking on Ms. Fields statement and was able to confirm many of the facts she said. I’m inclined to believe her story. I found the Richards woman and her profile fits the murders much better.”
“But you haven’t cleared the Fields woman? 
“No sir, I still can’t find any witnesses to alibi her for any of the murders.”
“So she’s out on bail and we have another murder and you’re still pursuing Richards who nobody can put in this city. And not Fields.”
“Actually I can alibi Fields for last night.”
“Excuse me?”
“After find out more about Ms. Richards last night I was concern for Ms. Fields as it’s clear that Richards has been stalking her for some months and there was already past violence. I knew I wouldn’t get approval for a real detail so I watched her place myself. All night.”
Hutchinson eyed him suspiciously for a while after that. “All right detective. Carry on.”
“Thank you sir.”

Back in the day they would have said she was blowing up his phone. And she always wondered exactly how many pages or phone calls it would take to actually do that. Right now she was finding it more likely that she was going smash this phone into the pavement before she blew any one elses’ up. Then finally t rang.
“I think I know how to find Helen.”
“Wait how? What happened to change your mind?”
“My lawyer left. And I had an idea. And you believed me. I’m not even convince my lawyer believes me. But I had an idea.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“Is there any way to search like flight records or credit cards or hotel records for Nikki?” (Yeah seriously, is there?)
“Nikki? Nikki Vampyro? From your books?”
“Yes. No. Nikki Vigglio. That’s Nikki’s real name.”
“Her real name?”
“It. . . Just . . Nikki Viggilo. If she’s trying to get my attention, if she’d trying to copy or destroy Nikki from the books, that’s the name she will use.”
“What made you think of that?”
“We don’t have time to explain it (also I don’t know), can you do that search?”
“Let me call you back.”


Danny opened his gift. He went slower than she did, teasing her.
“Just open it,” she said, her heart in her throat. She really didn’t know if this was the right thing at all and she couldn’t handle the suspense any more.
His case was dark velvet too, black instead of blue. His was bejeweled silver too.
“Damn, you’re good at this gift giving thing.”
“Do you like it?”
He took it out, caressed the DD engraving, then pushed the button. The gleaming blade sprang out with a pop.
“Hell, yeah. I love it, “ he said.
She ambushed him with a hug as he twirled the switch blade behind her back.

If  it hadn’t been for Nikki Vigglio, her life would have been normal a long time ago. Where did she come from? Where did she go? Where did she come from Nikki Vigglio?

Riley searched in every record databases he could search on his magic cop computer that tells cops things on TV shows. A few flights cam up, including one within hours of Jennifer’s from where ever she came from before this. But there wasn’t much else except for the proprietor of a company named (SOMETHING). That company name sounded very very familiar to him. HE searched back through the murder locations. One of the buildings were owned by that company and three of the murders had taken place there.
It wasn’t suspicious at the time because it was a dilapidated flop house like all the other murder sites which were also owned by vaguely named companies waiting for the neighborhood to turn around. Now, it was a lead. Her grabbed his coat and almost barked orders at Gimlet and them in the task force room but thought better of it. This lead had come from the current suspect, not evidence. HE couldn’t explain it. But he could stake it out and see if Helen was staying there or would come back for some reason. Maybe even catch her in the act. She skipped the team and texted Jennifer instead.

She fought her way to the kitchen and a glass of water fortified with three sugar packets. On the fridge was a note with bloody finger prints. 
The money is at the house. Fare in freezer.
It said in Helen’s barely there shaky script. She wrote like an old woman.
“Goddamn you Helen.”
She gulped the water down then made another glass of the same concoction. The freezer was the one place she hadn’t looked because there wasn’t anything in there for her to hide it in. Nothing but the ice box, which she hadn’t even considered. Helen was good at doing the thing she hadn’t even considered. Almost as good as she was at crying and being useless.
This was unexpected for sure. This shaking near fainting from blood loss state. She shouldn’t be going out at all. She should just get a meal in a hotel restaurant and go back to sleep until she got her strength back. But she went out of spite. I had been her fuel for a decade. She was going to get her money and then she would take care of Helen.

Jennifer almost talked herself out of going. Almost but not quite. She knew if she stayed she would be safe. Detective Riley would send a team to sit on the house until Cassandra showed up. That would capture her and at the first sign of disrespect She would try to kill one of them or brag during interrogation. It didn’t matter how devious or sneaky she’d been these past few years as a fugitive, she was still herself at the center of it all. Any time they got caught as kids it was because of Cassandra’s bravado. She would be the same as an adult.
Jennifer was banking on it. Banking her life on it. Because once Cassandra was captured she’d never get to see her again. She’d never get closure. She’d never find out what was so wrong and so hateful that she was doing this to her. She need to find out, no matter what stupid end it led her too. Even if this still got brought back around to her and she spent the rest of her life back in a hospital or worse in jail. She needed to know.

Okay I hate normal Jenn without Nikki. In fact, I think I hate Jenn. Why did she show up. Where’s Christie? And Also Nikki? And Figure out something better for Nikki Vigglio because I don’t like this following pieces where I try to explain. It’s dumb.


Here’s a possible truth: Nikki was never hers. Nikki Vampyro was a fiction, always had been. Nikki Vigglio was another part of Helen. That’s a lot rewrites isn’t it. Truth has a way of fucking up a perfectly good fiction.
Jennifer wasn’t blameless. She’d shared all of Helen’s secrets with the world. But she did it under layers and layers of names and fictions and made up adventures and only because she missed her. She missed Helen so desperately, she made up stories like they did back in the hospital. Little adventures. She couldn’t help that she was could at it. She couldn’t help that people loved reading about it. She couldn’t help that after working two jobs for 4 years, the prospect of writing simple stories for large sums of money was too appealing to pass up.
Besides. Helen had tried to kill her. Tried to kill her by choking and stabbing her. And broke her heart in the process. She deserved this.


Jennifer is so undesirable this way. But truth is ugly.


Thank you for reading!


Monday, May 29, 2017

Write What You Know, Part 30


Original Preamble

This is my first draft for NaNoWriMo 2016 novel Write What You Know. It's only a rough draft with very minimal editing and will, more than likely, contain, typos, grammatical errors, plot holes, or conflicting descriptions. It also includes notes to myself and excerpts from the novel the MC is writing that I try to indicate through various formatting that doesn't always translate well with my limited html skills. Furthermore, this particular novel is... there's no delicate way to put this... this novel is fucked up. So, especially in this rough draft crazed sort of NaNoWriMo way of writing, it may be difficult to read or follow.  I'm still posting it here because I want to shed more light on the process of writing to encourage and inspire other writers or readers who are interested. To learn more about this project, or my daily NaNoWriMo postings, please read Day 1-7.


Additional Preamble

NaNoWriMo 2016 ended 6 months ago and I never finished releasing my rough draft, for various reason but chiefly that I was without internet service on my computer for three of those months. I've debated a lot about re-establishing these postings mostly because I don't really think there were readers waiting with baited breath for the rest of this hunk of junk rough ass draft. But then I remembered that the point of me doing this isn't for the number of readers but to inspire and to finish things. The internet is forever right? Even if it means nothing now, some internet archaeologist could dig this up 200 years from and say . . . I don't know something. Or maybe there's that one other person out there right now and this is exactly what they need. Like Feida Kahlo said:
       --I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre...I hope that you are out there and you read this and know that yes it's true I'm here and I'm just as strange as you.-- (Wikiquote)
This is for you, other weirdos.



Write What You Know, Part 30
By Stephanie Thompson,  1, 862 words

Read: Part 1Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29

Her heart was annoyingly fluttery when he handed her her gift.
“Open yours first,” he said.
She wanted to argue but he was so happy and expectent looking at her. She ripped the wrapping paper to a plain cardboard box. Inside that box was a white gift box. Inside that was a dark blue vevlet box.
“Matruska boxes, she said like a pussy. Cracking a joke, afraid of opening the obvious jewlery box. She sat to long just looking at it’s soft outside afraid to open up it’s secrets. Like usually he saw right down to her.
“It’s not going to bite. OPen it.”

Then she does and theres a bracelet in it and it’s beautiful and makes her feel shit but I can’t think of anything to say about it right now. Like I just want to say it was a pretty normal diamond tennis bracelet but that sounds boring and shiny but not heart felt or beautiful. Maybe it doesn’t have to be unique or extraordinary but still bring her to tears because the kind of gifts she usually got was nothing. Or violence. Or a fuck.

“I saw it in the window and I know, I know it’s not like typically you but it was beautiful and still and bright and . . .when I saw it I thought of you.”
She could say nothing to that. Every word she thought to say sound dead and dull in her mind. Brown lumps of clay next to the bracelet. Next to Danny.
“Do you like it?”
She couldn’t even say yes. She couldn’t say a thousand times yes. She just looked at him with tears in her eyes. But he didn’t look disappointed
He smiled. “Let me help you put it on.”
The boxes and wrapping paper fell to the floor. The cold . . . Gold let’s say. . .contrasted with the warmth of her skin where he touched her. (You're a fucking genius aren’t you)
“There,” he said. “It’ll go perfectly with your chains and leather braces.”
SHe laughed, the first sound she’d made since opening the gift. “YOu’re a poet Danny Dracon.” She said inexplicably. She put her hands on his face and kissed him. 


“That’s still better than a police file,” Riley said.
Somehow that made her feel a little better.
“Chris. . . Jennifer I don’t think this is a good idea, you two pairing up. Anything you say to him can be used against, no matter the context. Plus if he does find her, they could even say that you knew where she was all along.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do here,” he said.
“That’s nice detective but as you can see, my client is in shape to catch this woman for you. Now if Helen gets in touch with us or shows up on the door step, you will be the first one we call.”
Detective Riley pulled out his badge and from a pocket pulled a card. “Jennifer, call me if you change you mind.”
“That’s enough, Detective.” Lyndsey was on her feet ushering Riley out. Jennifer was staring at his card.
“Listen, don’t worry about him, let him work his own case. But this is good news for us. Even if the DA or judge won’t listen to reason, having a cop , the lead detective on the Ripper task force no less, would be great coup at trial.”
“I’m going to rest, “ she said. 
“Ok, I had more I wanted to go over with you but I’m going to head back to the office instead. Get some things rolling on this new development and just try to stay calm in the meantime.”
Jennifer took the detectives card upstairs with her.

Cassandra woke up in the afternoon and something was wrong. She didn’t know what it was though. Not at first. Then she saw the bandage.

I’m sorry about this morning. Can you send me one of those assistants you talked about. With a cell phone I still can’t find mine. Also, another carton of smokes, some vodka, and I don’t know some sandwiches from Mickey, I don’t care what flavor. 

I understand, you’re under a lot of stress right now. I’ll send Kylie over.

She only wanted the cell phone but she didn’t want Stella to know that. She had plenty of cigarettes, she didn’t want alcohol, and she figured if she asked for some sandwiches she could get the phone with some urgency.
She needed to call Detective Riley right away. She had an idea of how they could track down Cassandra. (Really, that’s amazing because I don’t)

Riley was in semi high spirits until he got into the office. HE had a feeling Jennifer would help her behind her Laura’s back and for the first time since he’d been put on the case he felt like he was on real solid footing now. Then he got in to the precinct just when the call came in. There was another Ripper body found.

The truth was she hadn’t kept the bracelet. She did need the money. It cost a lot to start over. More than she expected. More than she made on two part time jobs between college classes. So she pawned the bracelet. She had no choice.

Hold on. IT’s like I want to things two happen. Like I want her to have pawned it and I want her to give it to Cassandra. If she gave it to her then she could leave it this last crime scene to further implicate Jen. But she hadn’t intended to leave evidence the first time. In fact, she doesn’t want that bitch to get causght by the cops. She want’s her to be investigated but she mostly wants the pressure to break her and then murder her at the end. Then again the pressure would build up pretty intensely if they found that bracelet. She had to have some plan for the cops to go towards Christie if she wanted her to break down so bracelet it is. Ok. So how does she get.

IT can’t be the original. Christie has to pawn that. She has to. So Helen cant have it because Helen was in hospital jail until three years ago and three years ago Christie was already a succesful author. So Christie has to buy a replacement one and then give THAT to Cassandra the same day as the phone. Well put together like that sounds like too much of a coincidence. Too uch evidence in Helen’s hands that she couldn’t count on. Then again she isn’t really counting on things she being guided sort or feels guided. So maybe she doesn’t have an ultimate plan until she has these pieces. Ok so Christie gives her the phone and the replacement bracelet with her DNA all over it. So go back to that scene and add that. Congrats for figuring that out.

It was either live on the streets and have no food or pawn the bracelet. But when she got her first advanced from ‘NRaged, she bought a replacement. BEcause despite the fact that it was given to her buy a person who tried to kill her, despite that she couldn’t say she still loved and her and figured she would never see her again, she couldn’t not have a reminder. Something besides fallible memories and Nikki VAmpyro to remember the love of her life with. She need the bracelet and barring that she need one similar.
SO that not so serendipitous meeting on the streets of New York when she gave Cassandra the bracelet. It wasn’t the real one. It was a platinum replacement at about five times the cost. She thought that once she’d pawned the symbol of their love, maybe Cassandra could do the same since she needed it. IT’s what she did instead of saying good bye.

“What do you think, Riley? We pick up the crazy again?”
“It wasn’t her.”
“What do you mean, you don’t think this is the ripper?”
“No, It’s not . . . The Ripper isn’t her, it’s someone else.”
“YOu mean her so called friend with her phone?”
“Yes. That’s exactly who I’m talking about.” 
“YOu can’t be serious.”
“She’s a real person, she exists and get this, she’s got two attempted murder charges already and is wanted to escaping the custody of the mental institution where they locked her up.”
Gimlet had no response which made a nice change for Riley.
“Who thought called this one in?”
“Um . . An anonymous tip.”
“Who labeled this a ripper case? I mean it doesn’t have any of the hallmarks. It’s not a stabbing, there’s no slashing or mutilation. How do we know that somebody just didn’t like their coffee?”
“The tip said she saw the woman from the papers back here.”
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind who that tip was.
“Where did this helpful tipper call from?”
“Well, it’s anonymous.”
“Sure.”
“Boss, you sure it’s not this Transcom woman?”
“Gimlet, I was outside her place all night, nobody came in, nobody went out.”
Some other detective (I know there’s two of these fuckers but I can’t remember the other dumb asses name) comes up with a bag of glitter it looked like.
“This was found near by.”
“What is it?”
“Looks like a bracelet. Techs say they might get the wearers DNa from it. Look like the clasp broke and got stepped on in the struggle.”
“Okay, well, it can’t hurt but I have a pretty good idea of who’s it is.”
“Let’s wrap this up and head back to the task force room. We’ll, get our ducks in a row and start chasing in the direction of this anonymous caller.”


When Kylie showed up she did want the sandwiches, and cigarettes and vodka just as much as the cell phone. She took it all from her arms then shut the door in her face. She had no time or mental capacity to stand for even impolite small talk.
She went back to the kitchen where the closest she could get to following the no smoking rule was to smoke in there with the patio door open. She’d lose her deposit but she didn’t care. Breaking news said there was another murder, she didn’t have time to care about deposits or sit outside.
She scrolled through manuscripts on her desktop. 

(Have you noticed that Nikki has disappeared completely from this novel I don’t know how to make her relevant any more. I think Nikki is a figment of her imagination. USed to be a delusion but was cured of that or medicated enough that she was just imagining it like an old crutch. Plus she can’t let her go because of the novels. But I don’t know I just don’t know how to shove her in here atm)

Skimming plot points and characters. She was refreshing her memory to help track down Cassandra before it was too late. 

She mixed the vodka with the white win. She lit another cigarette and she ripped open her cell phone packaging. In between all that she took bites of the London broil sandwich and kept scrolling  through her own words.


Thanks for Reading!