When Lightning Strikes

Good morning.

I got my crits back for THE DUKE'S DIVORCE and they weren't that bad. Like I said the other day, I've been working on my writing and self-editing skills over the course of the last few years, so everything is more or less really tight when I hand it off. I'm really proud of that about me. It also gives the critters less to have to correct.

However, during the course of the week I waited (yeah, only a week, how fab are my critters -- LOVE THEM!) I was restless. I was so used to writing every day, now I didn't have anything to write. I wrote up some blog posts, I took another look at THE LADY'S MASQUERADE but decided that needed too much work to get into before diving back into DIVORCE, so I put it away again.

I was itchy. I wanted to write something NEW. But I had nothing. No new characters, no new plot lines. Nothing "spoke" to me. So I figured, well I may as well enjoy the silence and clean my house.

No sooner had I switched off my brain, I was driving to the grocery store and BLAM, out of the blue, I had an idea. Not just any idea mind you, but a BRILLIANT idea! And not just an "idea" but the whole concept of the story, start to finish. And not just the beginning, middle, and end, but everything in between.

And so I began writing. And I couldn't stop. In a couple of hours I had about 3,000 words. It's just a short story, so I hope to have it finished by the end of the week, which means THE DUKE'S DIVORCE is going to have to wait.

Tell me -- Do you ever get caught up in a Shiny New Idea to the exclusion of everything else? Or do you jot notes down and put it away for later?

Oh, and on Friday I have the fabulous Alex J. Cavanaugh here at the Grille for an interview about his writing process for his new release CassaFire. Hope you'll stop by!

Something-Something

After all yesterday's fun and excitement, today's post will be a little more serious. So be prepared.

I've been thinking about the Nine Muses Challenge that Sarah Jayne did last week over at Writing in the Wilderness. I don't write dark. I never have. I don't even write grey. I just don't see a need to. That being said, I also watched Persuasion on Masterpiece Classics on Sunday night. I'd never seen it, nor read the book (until now) however I took the quiz "Which Austen Heroine Are You" on someone's blog last week and I found out I'm Anne Elliot, so it was a special treat for me to see whom I was most like. And well, yes, I must admit after watching Persuasion (and also having finally read the book) I AM most like Anne Elliot. In more ways than six.

I've had this next blurb stewing around for awhile and after watching Persuasion, decided to let it out.

****DISCLAIMER -- to me this is very dark, almost black, about a funeral so feel free not to read it, it's kind of depressing. And also, I have a lot of swearing in it, so if you have delicate sensibilities, please don't read it either.

****

She slipped into the church quietly, smiling weakly as a member of the funeral home held the door for her, his black suit coat jacket still covered in rain drops on the shoulders. He handed her a program as she moved past him and walked silently down the far left aisle to the front of the pews. She heard the whispers of the congregation as she walked, and knew they were whispering about her.

Her bitch of a sister-in-law had heard the chatter and turned, so by the time she got to the family, her brother Charles has stood.

"Where the hell have you been? We waited at the house for forty-five minutes," he whispered hoarsely.

She genuflected and made the sign of the cross. Kate ignored his question, moved into the pew and whispered back, "Don't swear in church." She knelt down wearily on the worn leather kneeler. Kissing her rosary beads, she didn't even bother trying to pray but for the sake of the rest of her family, made believe. She gazed up at the statue of Saint Joseph holding the infant Jesus and wondered why the artist had painted their lips that awful shade of red.

Again she made the sign of the cross and leaned back into the pew. Her trench-coat was still soaking wet and made her skirt damp, her legs cold. Her feet were frozen in her shoes and she tried to stamp them as quietly as she could to warm them.

Her Uncle Randall leaned over the pew from behind her and whispered, "Are you okay?"

She turned and smiled, "Yes, Uncle, I'm fine."

The organist began the music and the congregation rose as one. Slowly all eyes turned to the back of the church. Father Brannigan blessed the casket, gave the small font of Holy Water to one of the alter boys, retrieved the incense from Father Alvarez then turned and preceded the casket to the alter.

Kate sat numbly, staring at Saint Joseph. She smelled the incense long before the casket came to rest in front of the alter and was grateful it overpowered the cloying smell of the flowers. She had no thoughts, she couldn't seem to form any. She instead watched the alter boy trying to tie his shoe and not fall off his chair. Father Brannigan droned on, sometimes in Latin, the way her mother liked mass, but most of the time in English. Kate didn't bother listening to Father reciting her mother's virtues. Kate had heard them all her life and knew she could never live up to any of them. She also tuned out Uncle Matthew as he gave the eulogy.

She moved through the mass with ingrained methodical habit, rising, kneeling, sitting, rising again. The organist began playing the opening notes to the Ave Maria and before Mrs. Kelly sang from the choir box upstairs, Kate knew that was the end of the mass for her. She would not make it through that song and did not want to feel the comfort from another when she began to weep. She wouldn't cry for her mother, she had already done that and there were no tears left to shed. No, she would be crying because the Ave Maria always made her cry.

She gathered up her small purse and umbrella and left the pew. She ducked out the little side door to the left of Saint Joseph that led downstairs to the church hall. Escaping through the exit door to the outside, she breathed a heavy sigh. She fumbled in her purse for a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

Her brother Michael slammed out the door, "What the fuck is wrong with you? Leaving Ma in the middle of her mass."

Kate choked on her drag and looked at Michael with contempt, "Nice talk from a good Irish Catholic boy like you. I couldn't handle it, but of course you wouldn't understand that."

He was her eldest brother, the one who had kept the family together when Pop had died. The one who had laid down the rules, the one who had become the 'man of the family'. He was fifteen years her senior and the weight of his responsibility had left him with nothing but loathing for his youngest siblings. He had given up his own dreams for them and this made him bitter. Kate felt it now, as he looked at her.

"No, no Katie, I don't. Ma's up there in a fucking brown box and we're going to put her into the ground and all you can think about is having a damn cigarette."

"No Michael, that's not all I can think about. Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? Do you? Do you even see beyond your own fucking grief?"

Michael unclenched his hands, staring at his youngest sister. She had never used language like that before and it scared him. "All I know is that there's a church full of people up there expecting us to be united as a family when we put our mother in the ground. If you're not there, you know there'll be talk."

Kate took another drag and looked at her brother, disgust showing plainly in her eyes. "That's the whole point Michael, do you think I give a flying fuck what those people think? Where were they Michael, when Ma needed to go to the hospital? Where were they Michael, when Ma was puking her guts out in the toilet? Where were they Michael, when Ma peed herself every night? Did they come to help with the sheets and the laundry when she shit herself? Did they come to offer some sort of comfort? Stop by to say hello, how are you? Did they even bother to send a fucking casserole? No, they didn't. And neither did you. Or James, Peter, Charles, Rachel, Sarah, or Rebecca. No one did, except me. I took care of Ma. You all had your own lives, and kids, and work, and fucking little league. Not one of you fucking bothered to see if I needed a day off, or an hour, or just enough time to take a fucking shower and shave my legs so Ma would have someone with her. Do you have any idea what I've been through?"

She pressed her eyes shut and leaned against the freezing wall of the church.

"I'm sorry Katie, I know this has been hard on you." Michael tried to assuage his guilt.

She opened her eyes and looked at her eldest brother. His hair was nearly white, and the beer belly pushed itself over his too-tight slacks. When had he become so old? He was only forty-five.

"No Michael, you don't know. You have no fucking idea how hard this has been on me. And neither do the rest." Kate threw the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it with her black ballet flat.

"Look, they're starting the procession to the grave sight. C'mon, I'll walk with you." He said softly and touched her elbow.

"I'm not going. I said good-bye to Ma a long time ago. I don't need or want to watch her get lowered into the ground." She took a step toward the parking lot, then turned back to Michael. "She was always afraid of the dark Michael. I thought, you of all people would have remembered that."


****

Honorable Mention

I know it's not Friday but it is Thursday and next week I'm sort of changing my blog schedule around and Thursday will be the day I post excerpts from my WIP's. So gentle readers, you get two surprises from me this week.

This is the short story I entered in the Genre Wars contest over at the Literary Lab which received an honorable mention and is going into the anthology. I am so excited. I hope you like it. Any comments, questions or criticisms are welcome, but if you're going to criticize, beware, I may withhold the danish from the buffet.



High Tide

Owen sat on the deck and watched the gulls swarming over the school of frenzied skipjacks trying to get away from the voracious blues underneath. Summer was fading and the blues were running almost every day now. He thought about grabbing his pole off the back patio and throwing a line into the surf but couldn’t be bothered to go to the fridge in the shed to get the worms.

High tide had started coming in and the breeze had turned. Owen went into the cottage to close the windows. It would be cold later, not that it mattered. Dee wouldn’t be coming tonight. He closed the windows none-the-less; there was nothing worse than sleeping on damp sheets.

Owen grabbed a beer and went back out on the deck. Skip and Henry were down on the beach now with their poles and buckets. Skip’s dog chased some gulls off the beach further down past the breakwater that had had the audacity to land there after their feeding frenzy. Owen watched Henry cast his line and secured it in the makeshift pole-holder he’d put together with PVC pipe, duct tape and his lawn chair. Henry was creative that way.

Owen thought about the fight he’d had with Dee. Again. Was it his fault, or hers, he wasn’t sure. He only knew he hadn’t heard from her in twenty-seven days. She was usually the one who called after their arguments, to make him feel like an asshole so he would apologize, but she hadn’t called. At first he’d be damned if he called her. He wasn’t going to apologize for something he didn’t remember but he knew without a doubt that she would remind him. Now he thought it was too late to call.

Owen went back into the cottage, grabbed the phone off its cradle before he thought about what he was doing and dialed her number. One, two, three, four rings and the message played, “Hi, it’s me, leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, thanks.”

He waited for the beep. “It’s me,” he said and couldn’t think of anything else. Well, he could but how did he start. ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘I’m an asshole.’ ‘When are you coming down?’ ‘I miss you.’ Would she even buy that one? Finally, he just said, “Call me if you want.” He hung up.

He grabbed his old jean jacket off the back of the chair, put it on and went back out to the deck. Owen wondered where she was, what she was doing. It was Thursday, 4:30. If they hadn’t had the fight, she’d be on the highway, on her way down to see him. She’d stay the weekend, maybe until Tuesday if he could convince her, which he usually did. Where was she now? Home. At her wacky girlfriend’s with the weird name. Somewhere he would never know about, fucking some other guy.

Henry came clambering up the small stretch of rocks that separated the beach sand from the road. One more good storm and Owen would have the beach in his driveway.

“Hey man,” Henry said, “How’s it hangin’?”

“Same shit, different day,” Owen replied.

“Where’s your girlfriend? Ain’t seen her in awhile,” Henry stopped and put his hand up to shade his eyes. The sun was starting to set, glowing red over the lighthouse on the hill.

“I think we broke up.” Owen said with truthful regret.

“Oh that sucks man. She had nice tits.”

Henry was a pig but he was right, Dee did have nice tits. Owen didn’t respond.

“Blues are biting, why’n’t you grab your pole and come down.” Henry said.

Owen looked over the huge rosa rugosa in front of the house to see Skip reeling something in. “Nah, I’m waiting on a call.” This was almost true. Owen doubted Dee would call him tonight. She’d probably wait until morning after she finished screwing the new guy.

“Your loss man.” Henry trudged back down the beach.

Owen downed the last of his beer and went in the house. He placed the empty bottle on the counter and opened the fridge to get another, decided against it and stood in front of the kitchen window that looked out to the east end of the beach. Skip’s dog was still chasing gulls, or were the gulls chasing the dog, Owen couldn’t tell.

The phone rang. Owen reached behind the counter and picked it up. His heart did a little fluttery thing before he said, “Hello?”

“You called?” It was Dee.

“Yeah,” Owen said not knowing what to say.

“What’d you want?” She wasn’t friendly.

“I don’t know.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“I don’t know. To say I’m sorry, to say I’m an asshole, to tell you I miss you.” And your tits.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Owen opened the fridge and got another beer. He cracked the top and took a long gulp.

“Owen, I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Her voice sounded tired.

Owen didn’t want to know what this was. “This what?”

“This, us, this thing we do. For Christ’s sake O, we’ve been dancing around for too long now. Something’s gotta’ give and I’m sick and tired of the bullshit. I’m done.”

“Look, why don’t you come down and we can talk about it. I…I’m sorry. I really am. You can tell me all the things I’ve done to piss you off and I’ll work on them. I swear. C’mon, we can go to that funky little Chinese place in the city that you like.” He was grasping at straws, he knew, but the tone in her voice made him believe she was truly done with him this time.

“O, please, we’ve done this a hundred times already. It’s not working. I can’t lie to myself anymore.” She sounded sad.

“Dee, I love you, I don’t want to lose you.” Owen grasped the only straw he had left.

“Owen please, don’t start.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? It’s true. I do love you. I want us to be together. Look, I’ll go up there for the weekend. I can be there in forty-five minutes,” he glanced at the clock, “Okay, maybe an hour. We’ll talk, we’ll go out, we’ll stay in, we’ll do whatever you want to do. Please Dee.”

The silence was deafening. Finally she whispered, “I’m sorry Owen, I can’t. Not anymore.” He heard the click of the phone and the line went dead.

Owen placed the phone back in its cradle. He stood at the sink looking out the window. Skip’s dog had something in his mouth and was dragging it up the beach. Owen wondered if the crazy mutt had finally caught a gull.

He wanted to cry, thought he should, but didn’t know how. There was an ache in his guts, something he’d never felt before, he didn’t like it, but didn’t think Pepto-Bismol would take care of it. He should drive up to Providence and find her. Talk to her. He should, he knew he should.

“Aw fuck.” He said to the house. He stared out the window at the empty beach. The setting sun hit the windows of the A-frame on the other side of the shoreline, half a mile down the beach. Its red glare hurt Owen’s eyes. He turned away from it and looked around his little house. What was he supposed to do now?

He went into his bedroom and grabbed a few things for overnight, stuffing them into his backpack. In the kitchen, he grabbed his keys and his beer and went out to his truck. He threw the backpack onto the front seat, put his beer in the cup holder and started the Chevy. He let it idle for a few minutes as he sat thinking. Should he go? Would she be pissed if he showed up? What was it he wanted from her anyway? Marriage? Commitment? A decent sex life? What the fuck did she want from him? He’d never asked.

Owen turned off the truck took his beer and his backpack into the house. The sun had set and the pink and lavender sky made the ocean dance darkly in front of his little house. Skip and Henry were still down on the beach.

Owen made his way out to the shed and got his box of worms. He grabbed his pole off the patio and headed down to the beach. He glanced in Henry’s bucket and noticed a big blue and a striped bass that was definitely under the thirty-two inch limit.

“They catch you with that, you’re gonna’ be in some shit you know.” Owen said.

“Who’s gonna’ tell?” Henry asked.

“I thought you were leaving. I saw you get in your truck.” Skip said.

“Yeah, I was, decided not to. I’m gonna’ fish instead.” Owen said while putting a worm on the hook. He walked down from the two men about ten feet then cast his line past the breaking waves. He walked back to Henry and Skip, put his pole on the sand and waited for the line to bob.


© 2010 Anne Gallagher
No part of this story can be reused without the express permission of the author.


**Now that I've re-read it, I can see some glaring 'oops, probably should have changed that' but there it is. What do you think?