Thursday, November 10, 2016

NaNoWriMo 2016: Write What You Know, Part 3

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.

Write What You Know, Part 3
By Stephanie Thompson, 1,202 words

Read: Part 1 & Part 2


Several things happened in immediate succession: Christie jolted awake and hit her knee against the table, the nearly empty bottle of vodka teetered on the edge. She instinctively grabbed her knees but leaned too far back in the hotel office chair and was overwhelmed with the feeling that she was falling. She violently grabbed onto the table for balance shaking it hard enough for the vodka to lose it’s battle with physics and crash to the ground. Finally, the impatient noisy, visitor at the door knocked loudly again four times this time.

“Jesus H. MotherFucking Christ!” she said loudly borderline shouting.

When she stood up it was with such force, the rolling chair careened backwards into the hotel dining chair. She ignored what was left of the vodka spilling from the still intact bottle into the gaudy striped high traffic carpets she was already sick of seeing and went straight for the door ready to yell at whoever it was disturbing her slumber.

She threw back the heavy door and deflated as Justine breezed past her, scrolling and typing on her phone, talking more to the room than Christie, as if she was incidental to her purpose of being there though Christie was her only reason for being there.

“Was that you?” she said.

“What?” Christie asked still holding the door open.

“Cursing like that?”

She let the door fall from her hand. It closed with a bang louder than the ones that woke her.  “What?”

“Sounded like someone else,” she mumbled at her phone.

Christie wavered as she stood staring at Justine, glaring daggers longing for hours and hours of sleep, instead of whatever it was she got. With the curtains closed, she couldn’t tell what time of day it was but judging from how she felt it couldn’t have been more than an hour or two..

“What time isit?” Words blurred together, everything was blurry, and too bright even though there was still only the one lamp as a light source.

“Are you drunk?” Her eyes darted from her phone, to Christie, to the toppled vodka bottle, and back to her phone after a quick eye roll.

She was tired. Just plumb exhausted. Especially tired of being silently judged by an assistant who wasn’t much for assisting. She worked for her publisher, was suppose to take care of rides, wake up calls, and meals but spent most of her time on her iphone and treating Christie as if she was unnecessary and out of touch as demented grandmother who won’t stop talking about her cats. “What are you doing here, Justine?”

“You’re kidding me right?” Justine finally, FINALLY tore her eyes away from her cell phone. She looked at Christie with one eyebrow raised and a ‘can you believe this dumb fuck’ grimace.

Christie on the other hand could only blink slowly at her like a dumb fuck. Each time her eyelids were closed, for that milisecond, while blinking she thought she’d fall asleep standing up.

It was a long time before Justine spoke again. Or it felt like a long time. Each slow blink was a little slice of sweet sleep relief. Every eye open was a rude blurry awakening. How long was it? Maybe five blinks, maybe 10. How long was it before Christie saw the tall familiar slender figure behind Justine?

“You have that midmorning interview, the brunch thing, then the book signing, and drinks after that and then. . .” Justine trailed off out of what seemed like boredom. She went back to her phone, back to scrolling. If Christie had to guess, she’d say she was scrolling through her Twitter feed but Christie wasn’t guessing anything at the moment.

Justine again looked quickly Christie, rolled her eyes, and looked back at her phone. “Well, you sure as hell don’t have time to stand there doing nothing. Saying nothing. Did you pack a bag like we talked about?”

She wasn’t just not talking not guessing, not moving. She was also not breathing. She was trying not to blink but that only led to her blinking twice as fast. Her bland hotel room took on the appearance of a flip-book animation.The figure who wasn’t there, who shouldn’t be there, moved in jerky slow motion, ripping the iphone from Justine’s hands even while she still had it in her hand, scrolling into infinity, even while the figure, the woman threw it forcefully to the ground and jumped up hovering preternaturally as time continued it’s slowmo trend until she slammed down, smashing it to bits under her purple latex combat boots.

“Christie?” Justine gave her that look again. That exasperated look that made her feel like a worthless shit.

She’s the worthless shit, Nikki said before yanking Justine’s hair. Halfway on the journey to the ground, Christie closed her yes and shook her head so violently  she got dizzy.

“Christie, move your ass!”

When she opened her eyes again Nikki was gone, leaving Justine there alone with her hands up at Christie like she was invisibly pushing her to move. Christie finally moved with a sense of urgency for the first time today. She darted past Justine into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. 

The alarm clock with giant green digital numbers let her know it was just past 5 am. She stared at it as she caught her breath. How many sleepless nights in a row had there been? How long had she been in New York now? 
She didn’t know or couldn’t remember.

She took a deep breath and the air was stale. She stood against the door with her eyes closed, afraid to open them again. She needed a cigarette.She couldn’t remember what the interview she was suppose to give was going to be like, only knew she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to be in this city with it’s noise and blaring lights and claustrophobic skyscrapers. She wanted to go home. 
What would Nikki do? The thought came unbidden, unwanted but Nikki was all too happy to answer.

Fucking titty punch that upstart bitch out there, finish off whatever was left in the bottle out there, and buy a pack of cigarettes on the way to the interview. Let’s get some goddamn smokes and talk about ourselves. How hard can that be?

Despite the advice being unwanted, Christie thought it sounded pretty good. She was relieved that Nikki hadn’t said she wanted to curbstomp Justine which is what it looked like would happen a few minutes ago. Now Christie could say that was just a dream. A weird standing up half awake dream resulting from too many vodka shots and only ten minutes or so of sleep in the past few days. Nikki wasn’t any more real than the voice in her head and Christie could bullshit her way through the day with enough coffee and cigarettes like she did most days anyway. Everything was ok. She’d sleep like the dead tonight and she would be okay too.

It was only hours later, halfway through the brunch thing, after six cigarettes and just as many coffes that she remembered she wasn’t the one who smoked. It was Nikki. 

Keep reading with Part 4.
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