Friday, August 4, 2017

First Draft Friday: More 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.

Today's post is late but better than the lack of posts over the past few weeks. I really enjoy these #firstdraftfriday posts. I'm very encouraged to write again, thanks to the series. But it doesn't make it any easier.

I very rarely write a story in order, from beginning to end straight through. The closest I get to doing so is when I write short stories. However, I rarely finish short stories anymore because I get stuck half way through and there isn't much space to jump around in these plot lines. "Romance" is a little different. A lot of my short stories start with an idea I have for an opening, I don't know much else beyond the beginning. I simply travel through the rest of the story like I'm looking for a light switch in the dark. For Romance, I knew the opening and the climax. I've written the opening, I'm stuck in the middle action, and so I've decided to skip ahead to the climax of the main conflict, not long before the end.

Please enjoy another first draft extract from "Romance". If you'd like to read the opening, click here.

first draft, incomplete,  793 words
By Stephanie Thompson

Can you come over? We need to talk.

Heather took an Uber to get there as quickly as possible. She stared at the text message the entire car ride. Misty wanted to talk, in private, face to face. She stared at the message hoping she wouldn't change her mind. If they were going to break-up, she wouldn't invite her over, right? She could do it through text. Ghost. Let their last argument be the end.

Heather scrolled through the texts since then.

There'd been the week. The whole week of no communication. When Heather had already thought she'd never hear from Misty again. When she cried every night, and every lunch break, and every time someone called her name. When she couldn't eat and only slept because she was emotionally exhausted.

Then the miraculous text. The game changer.

I can't go another day

Like every message before that HEather hadn't known what to say. Me neither? I love you? Please forgive me? I love yhou? Please take me back? I know we can work this out? Please, please, please?

I miss you.

I miss you too but...

A five minute pause. A five minute wait until the next message. Five minutes of hell that somehow felt worse than the week before it, which she hadn't thougth possible.

I don't know what to do.

I don't know either Misty. But I promise we can figure it out together. We only hve to know how we feel about each other.

How I feel doesn't make sense. I'm not gay.

We don't need labels. We can just love each other.

I don't think I can see it that way HEather. Whether I . . .

Then another lng pause. Longer than five minutes. She thought another text wouldn't come. She soaked another handful of kleenex waiting. Then the invitation. HEather couldn't move fast enough.

On my way

 The only pause in the journey was debating about cleaning up. She honestly couldn't remember when she last showered. Last brushed her hair. LAst changed clothes. Her face was red and raw. But she didn't want to wait and she didn't want to appear to be anything than what she was, emotionally devistated. Maybe it was a ploy, maybe it was manipulation, or maybe it wold be perceieved that way but HEather wasn't wired for those kind of mind games that was Misty's influence.

She shook her head. She was what she was, she was who she was, and she was going to be honest about it.

Getting out of the car, onto the street, HEather was struck by the weather. Hadn't it been raining? Wasn't it cold? She'd put on a coat, buttoned to the top, dug her fists deep into the pockets. She thought she was shivering.

Yet the sidewalk was dry. The air was dank with humidity and hot air. She shivered and sweat simaltaneously.

She knocked on the door with a shaking fist and waited.

Like she found herself doing so many times in recent memory, Misty regretted every momnent after she sent the "Can we talk" text to Heather. Every text before that. Every message, afternoon, thought, and tingle that she'd ever spent on HEather. She felt trapped in this web, a web she wanted, helped wove, and now she hated.

Why couldn't she leave things alone? They'd had the fight. The awful fight. The necessary fight. The relationship. . .. friendship . . . whatever ship ending fight.

She could have moved on with her life. Waited out that awful, bottom fo the pit, shattered heart feeling and on a few years have that time she "experimented" story to tell at a drunken bachlorette party or something.

But no. He chest had felt like it was caving in, like her ribs were facturing as the black hole of her heart consumed her from the inside out. She couldn't stand it. She felt like a part of her was missing. And it was stupid when a single text could end the suffering.

 After that was a differnent kind of suffering, when her reason came back and told her it was wrong. She wasn't attracted to women. Never had been and wasn't now. Yes the kiss had felt good, it was nice but that was beside the point. Kitty and puupy kisses were nice too, hugs from toddlers, and cuddling babies too.

The actual point was that this wasn't what she wanted. And no matter what philsophical social justice angle Heather wanted to make, the point was Heather had lied. And. . . it needed to end for real.  Misty needed closure. Something real, finite. An explanation, a nice to know you,  Whatt a weird summer, huh? and a have good life.

Her heart wasn't listenin though. IT soared with HEather's knock on the door.

I apologize for my bad typing but I'm switching between my laptop and my full-size keyboard a lot lately and the different spacing increases my typos exponential. Plus I've been drinking more caffeine than is probably healthy, which I'm sure doesn't help either.

Thanks for Reading :D