Midnight – an excerpt

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book, creative, creative writing, fiction, writing, writings

This is an excerpt from a novel I’m currently revising. I hope you enjoy – let me know what you think. The book is called “Stumbling Through the Dark.”

The old grandfather clock bonged for the 12^th time. Quietly, mother and baby swayed in a rhythmic motion in the rocking chair where the child had fallen asleep moments earlier. Ericka hoped the chimes wouldn’t wake Kate, and waited a few minutes while the child dreamily grimaced before relaxing once more into sleep. Kate had settled into a new schedule where the two am feedings were starting earlier and earlier and she was sleeping in longer stretches, and it also meant Ericka could sleep through the night. Ericka glanced at the near empty bottle resting against Kate’s rosy pink lips that were sleepily releasing their pull. She waited a few more minutes before rising and placing the baby in the crib.

After she rinsed out the bottle and made her way back to her own bed, Ericka yawned long and hard. The year had brought so many challenges. Becoming a single mother had not been in her plans and even though she was exhausted every day, she wouldn’t change what happened. She crawled under the covers, stretched out in the middle of the bed and wondered how different her life would be if Drew had returned just one phone call. He was gone so quickly and she refused to think she was only a good time. He didn’t even know he had a daughter.

Tightly pulling the quilt up against her chin and rubbing her legs back and forth across the sheets, she longed to feel the warmth of a man next to her again. Not that she was ready, just that it would be nice. She sleepily shook away the thought. No, there was too much with her career and Kate to even think about a relationship.

Her mind, quickly unwinding from the long day, floated images of college professors promising bright futures that came with hard work. She saw her sister Jill telling her it didn’t take a man to make you happy, but it took one to make you miserable. She saw Drew’s face from that very last weekend, how the scruff of his beard grazed her cheek and he promised to call her soon. She remembered the grip of the fear enveloping her when she read the pregnancy test. They were the same thoughts nearly every night. She longed to feel something new, something different, something better. Ericka rolled onto her side and willed her mind to shut down so she could fall asleep. She sighed, closing her eyes. You really can’t have it all.

Cold Snap

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cold, creative, creative writing, deception, ice, infidelity, love, relationships, winter, writing, writings

She stepped out of her car and into the blustery cold winter evening. The wind pierced her coat and a chill shot up her spine. She shivered but did not regret her decision. She exhaled loudly, as if to push the frozen air away as she closed the car door. The cold snap had moved into its second week and she had no choice but to venture out that evening. Shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets, she balled her hands inside the woolen mittens. She stepped between the rows of cars, tucking her chin down deep into the front of her jacket to keep the wind away from her vulnerable skin.

She scanned the parking lot, pushing her fists against her uneasy stomach, hoping to ease the tight, nervous muscles. Her gut feelings were almost always right. She learned to trust her instincts but ignored them when she didn’t want to realize the truth. This time, however, she needed to know. There was his vehicle parked along the far edge, nearly hidden from view by an SUV that hadn’t pulled far enough into its own space. She squinted in the dark light and read aloud the number on the license plate. A brand new plate but the right truck. The sticker in the window confirmed that. Her stomach leapt and the queasy feeling intensified. She tucked her head down once more and kept moving.

Just walk by, just walk by and look in quickly and don’t stop, she told herself as she passed rows of cars and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the strip mall. The smell of Asian cooking penetrated the air as she neared the large picture windows of the restaurant, the lower quadrant covered by rice paper blinds.

Just one pass, just one pass and then back to the car and home. She kept her head down as she walked slowly, and used her peripheral vision to take in every table and every patron. The restaurant was nearly full and she caught sight of them along the side of the room. It was as if time stood still and the scene became a snapshot. They were laughing, with eyes bright and smiles wide, dishes of food shared on the table between them. Instinctively her hands pushed in again at her stomach.

She hurried back to the car and slid into the driver’s seat, completely unsettled. Her hand shook as she turned the ignition, letting the lies sink in. Tomorrow, when she asked him how he enjoyed dinner, he would wonder how she knew. And when she told him she was breaking it off, he might be surprised. She would do it over the phone so she wouldn’t have to look at him and feel exposed. But after a few days when she had more time to think and allow the state of his affair to sink in, she would be grateful. Then the nausea would pass.

2:15 pm

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children, clock, creative writing, ocean, playground, short story, time, writings

I was hoping to post something different this week, but the flu took a shot at me and while it didn’t take me down, it did put me out for a bit. It’s amazing how sluggish the brain can feel along with the aches and discomforts. So, what I have this week is the beginning of one short story I’ve developed as part of a larger collection. I’ll be sure the post the rest of this story soon. It was inspired by a clock tower, slide and the ocean. Enjoy.
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2:15 pm

The seagull swooped low above the playground, shrieking as it passed over the bench. Linda jumped in her seat and let out a frightened, “Oooh!” Putting a hand to her collarbone and tapping her fingers lightly, she laughed nervously realizing it was only a stupid garbage vulture – as her brother had always called them. She glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed her reaction, then repositioned herself at the edge of the bench, smoothing out her full, blue cotton skirt carefully around her before crossing her legs and then rearranging the skirt again. She sat upright, adjusting the front of her beige blouse, ensuring that the neckline didn’t drop too deep. No one paid attention to her.

It was a warm afternoon and she felt self-conscious, overdressed for the beach in her skirt and top. Everyone else was in shorts and t-shirts. No one wore pantyhose anymore either she read in one of the fashion magazines, but Linda thought it made her look more professional and it hid the tiny varicose veins that were starting to track across her legs. She kept a hand on her purse at her side as she scanned the playground in front of her, trying to find something to occupy her thoughts.

A child, no more than five years of age, dressed in a pink t-shirt, green shorts and dirty tennis shoes, climbed the eight rungs to the top of the metal slide. Without waiting for anyone or anything, she flopped onto the base and then pushed off, sliding down face first, hands extended out before her. Linda held her breath as she watched the child go down to the bottom of the slide and then fall off the end a foot and a half to the sand below. Linda sat straighter, watching. Was the girl hurt?

Quickly the child rolled onto her back and then popped up, making her way to the top of the slide again.

Linda let out a sigh of relief, smiled to herself and looked past the playground to the beach and ocean. Early in the afternoon, the waves were quiet and a handful of families were enjoying the last days of summer. Colorful towels, coolers and beach umbrellas were scattered among the groups of people on the sand. It was an idyllic scene.

She glanced around, wondering who was in charge of the child. It was strange the little girl was unattended for so long. In this day and age, children could be snatched up in an instant.

As if reading her mind, a young woman raced over. Taking the little girl by her arm, the woman reprimanded the child for wandering off and going down the slide alone. The little girl immediately burst into tears and the woman scooped her up, holding her close to her chest as she retreated to a stroller on the other side of the playground.

Linda sighed with relief, her nerves still a little jangled at the thought of something bad happening to the child. Her foot bounced anxiously at a rapid pace.

# # #

Can You Read: Here She is, Miss America?

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community, creative writing, literacy, literacy programs, miss america, pageants, reading, service, writings

It is Miss America time once again. Just twelve months ago, my home state of Wisconsin saw its second titleholder crowned Miss America. The first was in 1973, which my mother remembers quite vividly, and this time it is a special memory for me as the winner is a young woman with whom I spent time during her preparations as Miss Wisconsin. I’ve only seen her twice since winning that coveted title as she is on a whirlwind tour across the U.S., but it’s been grand to watch her in the news and follow her social media postings. She’s a busy young woman with a great purpose, and it will be exciting to watch her head into the future. As our new Miss Wisconsin vies for this year’s title, I wish her all the best as I have also witnessed her growth and development through her journey to the big stage.

Miss America celebrates its 92^nd year this year, but I’ve only been involved for 22. The big questions I’ve heard throughout my association are: Is Miss America still relevant? And what exactly is the “the ideal?” And in the end, who really cares? I’m convinced only a minority know what the program and the young woman involved are about. Most people confuse it with Miss USA. I find it amusing that women from both programs very much dislike being mistaken for the other. I’ve never been involved with the USA program, so I won’t speak to its relevance, but I can theorize as to what goes on with the Miss America system.

This program is relevant because of the role it plays in communities. There are thousands of young women across the U.S. involved in the Miss America Organization – from local to state titleholders – who really want to make a difference. Service is a cornerstone of the program; each young woman chooses a cause before she even steps on stage and if she wins, she promotes it during her ‘reign.’ Some, like our current Miss America (who competed at the local level twice) change her cause to something personal so they can be more passionate about promoting their service platform program.

Is the service work completely philanthropic and selfless? No, of course not. Some contestants never revisit their cause once they give up the title, but most give 110% while in it. For a titleholder with a crown and a sash, it certainly is wonderful to put on a pretty gown, look glamorous and be acknowledged at a dinner or a parade. Ultimately, though, the focus is to promote the service platform to serve the community, and most titleholders in the America system are remembered for that.

The cause I chose was and still is dear to my heart: promoting adolescent literacy. It was a freeing and liberating feeling for me when, at six years of age, I read Charlotte’s Web cover to cover in an hour. The exhilaration reading provided wasn’t for entertainment only, but also to compete and succeed in what was and is an ever-changing, technological world. I wanted to share that feeling with others, so during my pageant years I worked with my local library system to make a difference – even when it was only one child at a time.

It’s good to stay true to those roots. Has it yet become completely selfless working on literacy programs to help people make positive changes? Of course not! While I don’t wear a rhinestone crown or a sequined gown, the joy and pride I feel when someone with whom I’m working is able to read and write and prepare themselves for this world armed with basic tools to help them succeed is something to cherish. It’s about making a difference and serving a community – or even one person – who is in need, and doing it happily. And that’s what I think Miss America is all about.

Another New Year

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champagne, creative writing, midnight, New Year, resolutions, tiara, writings

Another new year, another party, another hangover. Did I do this last year, and the year before, or the year before?

Another shrimp cocktail, another glass of champagne, another kiss as the clock strikes 12 times. I want to spend every midnight like this.

Another party favor, another noisemaker, another tiara. Why don’t I wear my new hat for days like I used to when I was five?

Another friend, another hug, another moment of absolute bliss. I want to spend every midnight like this.

I want more of the same and more of the new. I want to feel this way forever how I feel when I’m with you.