A Piece Of My Soul 1

Here's a little excerpt from something I'm writing, AKA me displaying a little piece of my soul. I would really love some CONSTRUCTIVE feedback, be it positive or negative. 

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The dinner proceeds in a typical and uncomfortable fashion. Mr. Aarons and my father make negotiations with business lingo that is nearly indecipherable. Mrs. Aarons has receded into herself, only nodding her agreement when the men speak. Luke is holding my hand under the table; not in a possessive way or a demanding way. He’s just listening to the businessmen’s conversation, holding my hand. This is the way things used to be between us, years ago, when we first started seriously dating. Luke would always hold my hand or wrap an arm around me or kiss me just because he liked touching me. It’s little moments like these that let me know somewhere, lurking in the depths of his being, there is real love for me. And it’s little moments like these that cause me more pain than any sort of physical damage Luke could possibly inflict.

Once appetizers have been picked at, miniscule dinner entrees devoured, and napkins set atop plates, Mr. Aarons stands with a very charming, very schmoozing grin and announces a smoke break. My father and several suited men accompany him to the back porch. I am shocked when Luke jumps to his feet and follows them. Luke has a lot of flaws, but smoke makes him sick. As he shuffles out the glass-paned French door, Luke quickly glances back at me, forehead creased. 

Mrs. Aarons beams at me from across the table, ignoring the few businessmen that decided to remain. I don’t get why she’s so happy-happy-joy-joy tonight. Usually she hides inside of her little shell until every last stranger has driven away. But all of a sudden she has emerged from it, eyes twinkling. The easy assumption would be that she’s drunk, but Mrs. Aarons never drinks. At least, not in front of others.

Nobody speaks, and I feel extraordinary awkward because Mrs. Aarons just keeps looking at me and grinning. 

Call me queen of observation, but I think something is going on. 

Several minutes later, the men file back into the dining room. Luke exchanges a look with my father and his. They return to their seats. Luke does not; instead, he approaches me. Any concern he may have been wearing earlier has vanished, replaced with a slight curve of his lips. Gazes cling to us from all around the table and the only thing I can do is swallow my wonderful What The Hell face and smile, like surprises from Luke are my favorite. 

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So, opinions would be nice! If you have anything on your blog that you would like feedback on, feel free to let me know! :D 

Writing what you love VS Writing to sell

I've got a confession.

One day, I hope to be a published author one day.

I know, big shocker! I think that most people who love to write have that goal, so they are rushing to write unique books that'll grab an agent's attention. One that will sell. Sometimes it may work, but most of the time, it doesn't. Because those types of books are lacking a major element.

Love!

One thing I learned about writing is that it is absolutely crucial to write something you feel passionate about.

My current WIP is about werewolves. I'll start by saying that I didn't know from the beginning that it would be about werewolves, but that's how it worked out. And contrary to what many people believe, I know that my story wouldn't sell. Werewolves are all over the place, so most people assume that playing off of those authors' ideas will make them money. It won't. My plot isn't necessarily unoriginal, but it isn't original either. There's nothing especially extraordinary about it that would ever score me an agent or anything. I have unique ideas that would probably sell, but not my werewolf one.

So why am I writing it?

Because I love it. The characters are constantly in my head; trying to have conversations with themselves, with each other, and most importantly, with me. I've tried to push them to the side and write other things, but they refuse. They want their story to be told, and I am the only one who can do it.

One character wants everyone to know the heartache he endured when his girlfriend left him for another guy.

Another character wants everyone to know that people are generally scary, but sometimes one person can come along and turn you inside out and make you realize that just maybe, not everyone is bad.

And finally, the main character wants everyone to know that crap happens - LIFE happens - and sometimes there is nothing you can do about it. It's not about the bad things that are hurled at you, but how you catch and handle those things. And maybe it's okay to blame other people from time to time. And that no matter what happens, you're not horrible.


I love my characters, I know them. I need to write about them. Even if I'm the only one who ever reads about them. Their story can be our little secret. It is unfortunate that these characters will probably only be loved by me, but maybe one day I can find some place else for them. Maybe one day they will land in an alternate universe where there will be an even more exciting adventure waiting for them.

But maybe not.

What matters is their story right now, the one that exists in my mind and in my heart. Because I know that I'll feel more satisfied if I finish this book, the one that I love with everything inside of me, than if I finish a story that "sells" that I am only iffy about. My dad would probably be more happy about the latter, but writing is the one thing I do for myself.

And, of course, the voices inside my head.