Yeah, I started this post on Tuesday. Um, little behind on the blogging this week, so without further ado...Rewrites. My beta readers are coming back with their critiques. They're all very good, but now I'm finding it hard to breathe. Revisions, rewriting, reading a book yet again. You start to hate your own work when you've read it so many times. I'm not there with Sliced yet, but I'm sure it's coming soon. I just want one rewrite then I want to submit it.
I think it's good, but it needs some work. I think I'll just post some of it here. Right now. Total spontaneous idea. Tell me what you think. Or don't. :)
One morning when I was six-years-old, I woke up and found my mom’s telescope leaning against the wall. I remember looking around to see if I was in the right room because my mother never let me touch the thing. I climbed out of bed, walked over to it and stared for a moment. It seemed so big to me at the time, and gleamed shiny silver. I reached out and touched it—just with my index finger. I was afraid at any moment my mom would burst in and yell at me for touching her precious conduit to the stars. Nothing happened so I stroked it with my hand as if it were a kitten. Smooth and cold, I liked how it felt under my skin. My mom looked through it every night. If I asked nice and she was in a good mood, which was almost never, she’d let me, too.
I wondering again why my mom’s most prized possession was leaning against my bedroom wall. Then I saw the box. On my desk. It was my pre-school pencil box, pink with different colored flowers and Hello Kitty. I was afraid to open it, as if something horrible would jump out. I caressed the telescope again then decided nothing scary could probably fit in a Hello Kitty pencil box, so I opened it. There wasn’t much inside—her sparkly pink costume jewelry I thought was so beautiful back then, a few pictures of her and me. I don’t think I’d remember what she looked like without those pictures. I often considered burning them in effigy. The box held a letter, too. It said, Sorry, Sydney, but mommy isn’t happy. She has to go find joy. When I find it, I’ll be back. She didn’t sign it, there was no I love you, she. didn’t even draw a heart, or add any xo’s. And she never came back—which means maybe she never ‘found joy’ which is the only gratification I get from her abandonment—and of course the telescope, which took me exactly four years to the day to pick up and use.
Friday Scribbles:
Random Pandora Song: Break Even by The Script
Netflix of the week: Gray's Anatomy Season Seven. I just watched a musical episode. I love when shows do that.
Book of the week: I'm going with Scarlet by AC Gaughen and Lethally Blonde by Patrice Lyle, both are fellow 2k12ers and both release on Valentines Day
Quote of the week: I've been thinking a lot about relationships lately, so I'm going with this one “How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being." ~ Oscar Wilde
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