AAAAHHHHHHH!

I believe speaking of the devil usually brings him to your door. My editor sent me back See Megan Run for yet another round of edits. The high point is that she’s specific in what she wants to see changed. I’m also cutting as much backstory I can as I go. I know that’s going to make her scream (for formatting issues), but I’m still trying to salvage my reputation. I can list all the things that I could have done differently, but I think writing this story was a lesson for me.

1. The story should always come first.
2. Don’t let being and staying publish screw up your belief system.
3. Just because you wrote THE END doesn’t mean the story is ready.
4. Don’t complain about a book on your blog. Vent on your writing forums only.
5. It’s probably all in your head. (When it comes to the quality of your story.)
6. When in doubt add more dialogue.

So, I’ll let you guys know when I have a release date, because trust me I’m going to promote this book like none of what I said ever happen. I will be open to hate mail or even for you to tell me I must have lost my mind because it is a good story. Yup, that’s the note I’m leaving this post on. I didn’t promise the ending would be cheery.

Have a great weekend.

I’M BUILDING CHARACTER, REALLY!!!

WARNING: Umm, this is a post after a funny post. Lower your expectations.

So, I’m waiting on word from my editor, which isn’t so bad. This is our last book together. If you never lost an editor then I can tell you it sucks butt. She loved How Much You Want to Bet? enough to contract the story. She saw potential in See Megan Run and pushed me to do whatever it would take to make that story shine the same way How Much does. She’ll always be my favorite person breathing. Second, I’m waiting on word on the PARTIALS I’ve submitted.

So, what am I doing while grass grows?

I’m spending time in my head. One of the best ways to write a book. No, really. I’m still on the revising wheel with I Said Never and was blindsided with an incredible character insight that I can add to the character. Okay, I stole it from real life. If you have been around here longer than two seconds, you know I can sometimes be funny. In real life I’m a hoot. When I’m irritated or angry there is no stopping me.
So, why not give that trait to my character? Well see how that goes.

And I’ve given up on my romantic comedy. The spark for me to write it just isn’t there. I can’t see what the next scene is going to be, much less what the heroine’s next turning point will be. I’m all for pushing through writing a story, but I’ve lost interest not once, but three times to write this story. I know my process. I lose interest around 5k or 10k then like a bolt of lighting I can get through the book long enough to finish it. I’m still waiting for that bolt of lighting.

So what have I turned to?

Another humerous women’s fiction. And guess what? I know all four turping points. I even have a glimmer of the end. Now it’s all about finding out who this character is. All that does is circle me back to writing in my head. Hours of daydreaming. Asking insightful questions: who is this person?

All in all, lollygagging.

Oh, and I should mention I stole the opening scene from real life. This character meets with a nutrionist and is told she must go on a “life change” diet.

What do you call this stage in writing? Procrastination is not an answer. Go at it in the comments.

I’M NOT A DREAM CRUSHER

Little Ms. Diva(who is 8 years old): My tooth fell out.

Cynical Mother: Aren’t you too old to have teeth still falling out?

LMD: See? *shows mother bloody gums.

CM:*gags* Eew. Where is it?

LMD: Under my pillow. So, when I wake up the Tooth Fairy will leave me money.

CM: Hmm.

LMD: How much do yo think she’s going to leave me?

CM: Little Ms. Diva, the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist.

LMD: *narrows her eyes* Then why is there always money under my pillow AFTER I put my tooth under it?

CM: Me or Nana takes your tooth while you are sleeping and puts money there.

LMD:*eyes are still narrowed, but walks away*

CM*filled with guilt.* It was time. She’s eight. God, I’m going to have to tell her about Santa soon.

LMD: Then when I was at my grandma’s house who left me money then? Huh? Do you have an answer for that?

CM: She took your tooth. Everyone knows the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist. It’s up to me to tell you these things. Plus, I’m broke, so now is a good time as any.

LMD:*narrows her eyes and makes the “I’m watching you motion”*

CM: *throughly amused that she even knows that motion.* Little Ms. Diva, I’m telling you the truth.

LMD: We’ll see who is right.

Night falls, CM sleeps on her decision to crush child’s dream….
CM: *at 5 o’clock in the morning goes to an ATM withdraws $20, breaks the $20, and leaves three dollars under LMD pillow while she slumbers.

********************

I tried and couldn’t do it, because next it will be Santa. I’m not ready to take Santa away. So, what’s a few dollars under a pillow? Yeah, she’s going to be like ‘in yo face’ all day, but I think I can take it. I couldn’t take the pouting, the tears at the realization that no, the Tooth Fairy, is fake. And that me and all the people she loved has lied to her all these years. What else have we lied about? Nope, I’m not a dream crusher. *I’ll make her Dad tell her.*

When did someone break the news to you? Or when did you break the news to your child?

THINGS IN WRITING YOU SHOULD NEVER DO

Since I love irony:

1. Be wary of anyone who says “never do” in the same sentence as writing. For every never there is an exception to that rule. At the same time when you’ve revised your work and you’ve left a few “nevers” you better come up with the why you left them. One, to make sure you’re just not breaking the rules to be breaking them. Two,so you know the purpose. Three, if ever asked to cut it out of your story you answer just won’t be “but I like it.”

2. Start your book with backstory. Here’s an example:

Mary glanced across the street and there stood Evan. Her mind went back to that summer when they were lovers. It had been three years ago. She couldn’t remember why they’d broken up she just knew they’d been good in bed. Three years ago he had…..

Here’s the harsh reality, I don’t care about three years ago in the first paragraph. I want to know what is Mary’s problem right that second. This is more compelling.

Mary glanced across the street and there stood Evan. Crap.

Now I want to know who is Evan. So, the main reason that backstory in the beginning doesn’t work is because it’s not making the reader work. The first one the author is telling you everything. The second example, well, I’m sitting up. Hey this is a lesson I just learned and trust me it’s invaluable.

3. Never not bleed on the page.

I know that sounds weird so let me explain:

Open a vein, baby.

Not that this phrase sounds any better, but think about the books that resonates with you. 9 times out of 10 the book you’re thinking about told a truth you could believe in. Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie, I bought that book hook, line and sinker. The truth that I walked away with was it’s okay to believe in fairy tales. It’s okay to be the princess and want a prince charming. Best damn book ever written and it could just be the “truth” I bought into. Or it was just Jenny bled on the page. She could have been bleeding for others, but blood nonetheless.

Another Example: Lani Diane Rich’s Little Ray of Sunshine. Best damn book ever written. Again I bought the truth: Angels can exist and they may not exactly have wings. Forgiveness is really the one thing that separates us from animals. (And our opposalbe(sp?) thumbs, of course.) Real love is loving someone for who they are. People can change if they really want to.

All this sounds like themes, but to me their not. Bleeding on the page is intangible. Some writers know how to open a vein and go at it. Some, it takes them a while to see that they did. Bleeding on the page is much like voice, it’s already there and the good thing, you can hone it. Because as long as your telling your character’s truth (which I believe is some truth you also believe in) then it’s there. Don’t staunch the blood.

4. This one is closely related to number 3: Never, NEVER filter what you write in the first draft. No one will ever see it. Just let the writing happen. I know you shouldn’t trust anyone who says trust me, but Trust me on this one. You’ll get a better first draft. Don’t think about marketing, does this scene drag on too long, I need to do laundry–Just let the words come. Write it and they will come…

Okay, I have no idea what the last line means. I had no idea what it meant in Field of Dreams.(Until ghosts started to come out of the share crops. Then it was just creepy) So, to wrap up this week of craft blogging: Keeps what works, discard the rest.

And from the wise words of JC (he, he I still get a kick out of those initials) Many Roads to Oz

I HAD THIS WONDERFUL POST ON SCENE STRUCTURE

And the blog Gods ate it. So, you are going to get the condensed version.

Scene: Has a beginning, middle and end. It moves the plot forward. It’s also a small portion of the book as a whole. And it better have a purpose.

Now what do I mean that it has a beginning, middle and end:

Beginning: Scene opens. The reader is presented with the protag and antag and their overall goal.

Yes, there needs to be a scene goal, just like your character needs an overall goal for the book.

If you have that then you will have a middle:

Protag and Antag both try to get their goal. Through that you’ll have conflict for your scene. Don’t confuse conflict with argument. Conflict can be as simple as Mary(the protag) wanting to go buy red shoes and Sarah (her friend and antag of scene) thinks that red isn’t her friend’s color. Yes this can turn into an argument, but it doesn’t have to.

The End of a scene someone has to win, lose, and/or the scene ends with more goals.

Ex:

******************************
Mary: I’ve had my eye on some red shoes.

Sarah: I’m sorry to say this, but you know I love you.

Mary: Then don’t say it, but I already know what you are going to say.

Sarah: Red shoes makes your ankles look fat.

Mary: *sighs* I know, but they’re Prada.

Sarah: Prada?

Mary: With an ankle strap and fabric with cherries embroided on them.

Sarah: *shakes head* Tempting, but the ankle strap will only make the middle part of your foot look fat. I say get the black Gucci ones.

Mary: But I really want the red ones.

Sarah: Okay, you’ll be the one with the fat looking feet.

Mary*every other part of me is fat enough. I really shouldn’t get shoes that…* I’m getting the red ones. Fat foot be damned.
**********************************

This may be a horrid example, but there is conflict, mention of fat feet which can be hilarious. The scene moves forward by the mention of weight issues and her friend adding to the misconception. And you can see who the protag and antag is in this scene.

Breakdown of scene goal:

Mary wants to buy red shoes. (P wants B)

Sarah thinks red shoes make friend’s foot look fat and wants to talk her friend out of buying some. (A wants C)

Mary and Sarah both have a goal and there goals are locked together and someone has to lose. (This particular scene it’s Sarah who loses.)

Since this scene isn’t really a book I can only weave tales (lies) about how this scene fits into the whole. This scene can be the foundation for character, what type of friendship these women have (I know if someone told me I had a fat foot we better be friends or things will get very ugly) or it’s feeding into the whole that Mary has to deal with her weight issues.

Lastly the purpose is equal to the goal. Mary wants red shoes.

Hopefully that helps. Tell me what you think about scene structure. If you have any questions I’ll direct you to someone who really knows. Lastly, if you disagree with everything I said, go ahead have fun in the comments. I love a great debate.

On Friday I shall ramble on another topic: Things you should never do in your novel…since I’m in a craft blogging mood.

SPEAKING OF DIALOGUE

I found this on Nathan Bradford’s blog. He’s an agent with a great sense of humor.

Are you brave enough to enter?

I know I am, well as soon as I find my flash drive. Let me know if you do and you have to do it by tomorrow.

WRITE TO YOUR STRENGTHS

I’m in a craft blogging mood, so this week stay tuned.

What I’m talking about today is finding that one thing that is effortless for you. That thing is going to help you write your first draft. Now I’m saying this because I realized I wasn’t doing it. (You should see all the introspection I have. Well, you will when See Megan Run comes out. Lessons learned and all that.) But I can’t blame that alone for my stall in word count in my WIP, but close enough.

What is my strength?

Dialogue, baby. You can’t pay me to get my characters to NOT nod, grin, smile or shrug. I really don’t know what else they can do. I’m okay at description. If I close my eyes I can see the room. Or I just open up a magazine find a picture that I think a room or scene looks like and describe it. But dialogue, I can write that stuff in my sleep. Case in point:

“After a hard day of work, smiling nicely at someone is the last thing on my mind. Come to think of it, what type of work do you do?”

He parked in front of the SeaSide Restaurant. “Lately I’ve been a reporter, but I’m thinking of becoming an architect.”

She shook her head, chuckling lightly. “The sad things is, I think you’re serious.”

“What’s not to be serious? If you don’t like your job, change it.”

Neil blinked several times, looking unsure of what to say. A first. When he reached across her to open the door, she practically jumped out of the car. “I said, no touching.”

“I barely touched you.”

“The gleam in your eyes told me your intentions weren’t completely gentleman-like.”

“Really?” Gib closed his door. “I must watch out for that. I don’t want you to see it coming.”

Neil turned from him to the restaurant, mumbling what sounded like, “Me and my pride.”

Now you may say there are tags and the like, but let me show you something:

“After a hard day of work, smiling nicely at someone is the last thing on my mind. Come to think of it, what type of work do you do?”

“Lately I’ve been a reporter, but I’m thinking of becoming an architect.”

“The sad things is, I think you’re serious.”

“What’s not to be serious? If you don’t like your job, change it.”

“I said, no touching.”

“I barely touched you.”

“The gleam in your eyes told me your intentions weren’t completely gentleman-like.”

“Really?”… “I must watch out for that. I don’t want you to see it coming.”

“Me and my pride.”

Isn’t the scene still moving? Yes, they are gaps, but you can still see it. Now in the opposite way:

He parked in front of the SeaSide Restaurant.

She shook her head, chuckling lightly.

Neil blinked several times, looking unsure of what to say. A first. When he reached across her to open the door, she practically jumped out of the car.

Gib closed his door.

Neil turned from him to the restaurant, mumbling what sounded like,

My poor, poor tags lose this match. You can’t see the scene at all. In this particular scene the tags and action are fillers, but important ones nonetheless, because even though the dialogue moves it feels empty without the tags. And then there is this):

“I can’t get the(tarot)reading without you.”

The heifer never fought fair. “Can’t I just pull out a hair and give it to you? I’m up to pricking my finger to give you blood if that’s what you need.”

Shelise glanced heavenward. I tried to not tell her that wouldn’t work either. “I’m not into voodoo.” She spread her hands out as if to call a truce. “All you have to do is shuffle the deck.”

“See, now that’s like saying, ‘all I want to do is put the head in.’ Many babies have been made that way.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Statistics have shown—.”

“Phoenix.”

Here is the break down(Introspection first, which to me is another form of dialogue if used right and not too much):

The heifer never fought fair.

I tried to not tell her that wouldn’t work either.

Now tags/actions:

Shelise glanced heavenward.

She spread her hands out as if to call a truce.

Lastly my favorite, dialogue:

“I can’t get the(tarot)reading without you.”

“Can’t I just pull out a hair and give it to you? I’m up to pricking my finger to give you blood if that’s what you need.”

“I’m not into voodoo.”…“All you have to do is shuffle the deck.”

“See, now that’s like saying, ‘all I want to do is put the head in.’ Many babies have been made that way.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Statistics have shown—.”

“Phoenix.”

Honestly there isn’t any need for tags. You know who is talking when. It’s like a tennis match. You can damn hear the sacarsm on one side and the frustration on the other, especially with the last line. It’s kind of like when your parent used to just call your name. Didn’t matter if they didn’t follow up, you just knew you better go see what they wanted. Again the introspection and tags/action help out this scene for clarity and to get a better picture, but this part can ride on dialogue alone. (You can disagree in the comments of course.)

Now how can this help you find your strength? Cut your scenes apart. Pick at least two of your favorite scenes. Don’t ask why, just see what’s in it. Look at the dialogue alone, then the description, then the tags and/or actions. Yes, you need all of them to help paint the picture, but I’m telling you one side is going to win. When you find this out and you are at a lost on how to write a scene play to your strength. you can always add the rest later.

Hopefully this has helped you. So, tell me what is your strength?

I’M GOING TO MAKE IT TOOO EASY

Oh, I’m in a great mood, which is good for you. I’ve got another request for a partial with a fan-tab agent. The revision is going well. I’ve yet to have to read See Megan Run again. And well I’m not dead. So what does this mean for you my dear blog reader—I’m giving my book away for free to anyone who e-mails me today. Yup, you can get the e-book version for FREE. Now this isn’t a circumstance that you get what you pay for. It’s a fan-tab book. I’m probably going to read it myself later on today. I miss my characters. They were so fun to write and you know I like to visit them every now and then. So, what do you have to do?

Write to melissablue@melissablue.net and say: Give it to me!

So, still wary that you will get what you paid for: here’s an excerpt: (Oh, and if you read this one before just e-mail me. It’s less painful that way. Copywritten, blah, blah):

“So you are done getting your beauty sleep?”

Neil fell back against the pillows. She should have known. “You’re annoying.”

“Really, stop with the compliments. You’re going to make me fall in love with you.”

“Doesn’t count if you are saying this while looking in the mirror at yourself.”

He made a sound of pain. “You wound me.”

She bite her lip to keep from smiling. “Only seriously in my dreams, and you’re holding up my phone line.”

“Answer your door.”

“No. I know how to get to work by myself. I’ve been doing it for years now, and nothing has happened to me yet. Amazing, but I’ve finally learned how to cross the street without holding anyone’s hand.”

Gib chuckled, and Neil had to keep herself from shivering at the sound of it. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Without you holding it.”

“So, a double-shot espresso without any whipped cream?”

“Espressos are for sissies. Hold on.” She clicked over. “Linny, it’s him. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but…” She was making a big deal out of it. Gib was harmless, if you liked slick, charming, annoying, handsome men dogging your
every step. Neil sighed. “I’m sorry I called. It won’t happen again.”

“Are you sure?” Linny asked.

Absolutely not. “Yes.”

“I’m going back to sleep.”

Neil sighed, then clicked back over. The dial tone greeted her. She didn’t bother to get dressed before heading downstairs. Gib was leaning against the porch post holding a thermos and two mugs. “Don’t you look chipper.”

“Why do you feel the need to wake me up?”

“You’re a breath of fresh air, and I want to start my mornings with you frowning at me.” He lifted the thermos. “I brought gifts.”

“It better not be espresso.” She stepped back to let him in, but not before she realized she hadn’t combed her hair. Vanity aside, a bird’s nest was a bird’s nest, no matter what you called it. He settled on the loveseat, looking comfortable and as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked right sitting there and, because he did, Neil said, “Why are you being the bane of my existence?”

“But I brought coffee.” Gib grinned at her before pouring her a cup. She didn’t want to be at ease around him. Ease led to other things, and those things led to worse things, like companionship and someone to lean on. Neil stayed by the door. “It’s not poison. Are you cold?”

“It could be Spanish fly. And no, I’m not cold.”

Gib sighed. “You know there’s this saying, if a woman protests too much…”

Neil narrowed her eyes. She could handle this situation two ways, and unfortunately neither option involved cement shoes. She accepted the lesser of the two evils and sat down on the couch across from him, accepting the cup he offered.

“What’s your angle, playboy?”

“Getting chummy with the worksite manager.”

“It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m a woman who doesn’t fall at your feet?” She missed his answer, because she was melting into the couch after her first sip. It was black and strong. The rich taste blossomed on her tongue and it took
everything in her not to groan in pleasure. “Did you come straight from Columbia with this stuff?”

“I have it delivered and I grind it myself.” The grin was back, and Neil tried to ignore it. The coffee was bad enough. “I could have sworn we had this conversation before.”

“I believe wholeheartedly in beating the dead horse just so everyone has an understanding.” She took another sip. “Hush for a moment. You’re ruining the coffee.”

“If I’d known…”

She glared at him. He chuckled and leaned back in the chair. His hands ran down the side of the material until he placed them on the edge of the armrests. As she watched his hands, it felt like he was touching her, caressing her skin. She glanced down at the cup. It had to be Spanish fly in this stuff.

She cleared her throat. “I think we need terms.” Otherwise, he’d lace her coffee every morning until she gave.

“Terms?”

She noted he hadn’t poured himself a cup. “Yes, for this work relationship.”

“Relationship.” He paused.” I like the sound of it.”

“You missed the word ‘work’ then.”

Gib shrugged. “Semantics.”

“Delusions.”

“You like me.”

Neil took another sip of the coffee. She’d told a number of lies over the years, and she wasn’t about to add to them. As Gib leaned forward in interest and she noted the way his forearms flexed, she started to feel incredibly warm for a cool spring
day. She glanced back down at the cup. Definitely Spanish fly.

MY WRITING BLOCK THANK YOU SPEECH

So, today I just want to a few people/things that has been keeping me busy while I have no idea what to write next.

1. Will Write for Wine: Thanks for the many hours of time I spend listening to how to write instead of actually putting butt in chair.

2. All the people who blog this thanks comes from the bottom of my heart. When I can’t laugh no more at Sam and Lani I find humor, horror, the mundane on your blogs. Oh, lets not forget my random comments that more times than not have nothing to do with your blog post.

3. Bubble Shooter. If I didn’t have this obsession to beat my own score (24,600) then I would spend less time plotting (yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m not goofing off.) I’d be spending more time putting words to the page.

4. My children who are an endless source of distractions. Mommy loves you.

5. My writing forums, which includes Eharlequin: SubCare, Cherry Forum, Will Write for Wine Forums, Romance Diva Forums, SparkPeople Wiffer Forum.

5a. Can’t forget my yahoo loops: WRP and all that goes with it. Romance Bisto. (I’m thinking of joining Coffee Time Romance.)

6. A very special thanks to my monitor that I have to turn on and then off and then on and then off again so I can actually see the screen so I CAN write.

7. Insomnia. If it weren’t for you I could possibly function in the morning. You know that window where I can write without interruptions. Yes, I’m too busy trying not to think like a zombie.

8. My morning smoke and coffee. If it weren’t for you I would be able to type with both hands and get more done.

Yes, thank you all for giving me great exuses for not writing. Without you I’d be prolific.

UN-STIFFLING MY VOICE

WARNING: Long Winded Post Ahead

Here’s the scary thing, I’ve been putting a filter on my voice. You know that one thing that you have that is uniquely yours and that will ultimately get you published. Yeah, I’ve been doing that, which also means I’ve been stiffling my funny. Double yeah, I’ve been shooting myself in the foot. I haven’t been letting go, which to me is the true way to find your voice.

So my homework was to change this passage to something that sounded more like me(or even more like the heroine. I’d be fine if I hit either goal). I can say it wasn’t an easy task at first. Well, of course until I let loose. Here’s the opening passages I had to fix:

“I need to read your cards.” Shelise, my best friend, said.

It was barely eight o’clock and my morning was already taking a downward spiral to hell. We never said it out loud, but I didn’t believe in tarot or auras. It had nothing to do with my fanatical religious upbringing. What she did, and what she believed was one of the many lines uncrossed in our friendship.

“You haven’t done one for me since high school.” I countered, trying to side step the mine field called The Direction of This Conversation. I came here to clean up her business ledgers, not to get the name of my one true love.

Besides that these passages read like a big ol’ infodump, it just reads flat. This little piece right here is supposed to make a reader want to read on. So, let’s reinterate shooting self in foot. This is the change:

“You know you offered fate a challenge yesterday?” Shelise said.

I ignored her by taking another sip from my espresso. Me, being the good person I am bought her an espresso machine. She only drinks tea. Plus, it was just too early in the morning for this. Well, high noon is too early in the morning. So, eight o’clock is the crack of down for me. The walls of her small kitchenette painted a cheery yellow seemed to stab my retinas. Definitely too early.

Shelise sighed. “I have a feeling something bad is about to happen. I need to read your tarot cards.”

Knowing she knew I was hearing everything she was saying, I made a slurping sound with my next intake of salvation i.e. caffeine.

“What you said is like saying ‘this day can’t get any worse’, or ‘I just got my boyfriends name tattooed on me.’ You’re testing the universe and fate.”

I sighed. It had to be the law of nature—someone always has to interrupt your coffee break. “Brace yourself, I’m about to sound intellectual. In the morning.”

I had to take another hit of espresso before starting. “The universe doesn’t push back. It’s made up of stars, planets, and black holes. It has no power to over-run your life just for the fun of it. I think it’s too busy creating other galaxies to concentrate on me. I don’t even know what fate consists of, but I do know you can’t piss it off.”

“I give you a four. You didn’t even mention Galileo this time.”

“Thanks.”

So, do you still not believe I’ve been stiffling my voice. Let me show you something else and maybe you’ll learn from me. Don’t stiffle your voice. If your voice consists of dark humor, or it’s just dark then let it loose. Don’t worry about it just let it happen.

Anyway, Here’s the end of the first chapter. The dull flat one I wrote:

“Hello,” the voice said.

I slapped the pause button trying to get my bearings. I knew that voice. It had soothed me when I cried over skinned knees, and it had encouraged me when I tried for the first time to ride my bike without training wheels. It also been filled with disappointment when I came home freshman year pregnant and no marriage in sight. I sat in my client’s chair. Six years had passed since I heard Samuel, my youngest brother’s voice.

I took a sip of coffee debating whether I should erase the message. Honestly, I could live my life guilt free without ever hearing the rest of it. I stared at the blinking light telling me that I had yet to hear what made my brother call me. I could listen, but that didn’t mean I had to call back. Curiosity would be the end of me.

I pushed play again bracing myself this time.

Now that wasn’t sooo bad(if you don’t count the infodump like writing), but let me show you the difference voice makes:

“Hello,” the voice said.

I pushed down the pause button trying to get my bearings. I knew that voice. Yes, all the man had said was hello, but I knew it just like I knew my eyes were brown without having to look in the mirror.

That voice had soothed me when I cried over skinned knees, and it had encouraged me when I tried for the first time to ride my bike without training wheels. It also been filled with disappointment when I came home freshman year pregnant and no marriage in sight. I plopped down into my client’s chair. My mind went back to Shelise’s words this morning, “something bad.”

Definition of something bad: After six years of being person non gratae your brother gives you a call.

I took a sip of coffee debating whether I should erase the message. Honestly, I could live my life guilt free without ever hearing the rest of it. I stared at the blinking light. I could listen, but that didn’t mean I had to call back. The light continued to blink. Well, now I needed to know what made him call. I wanted to know if it would be like the voice of God or something. Or more like Darth Vader, “Phoenix, I am your brother.”

Only three reasons came to mind why he would call:

1. He could have become a pastor of a church and wanted to know the last time I read my bible.

A good deed if you really think about it. Well, if you didn’t find that type of stuff annoying.

2. Or calling me to let me know they were giving away free exorcisms this week on Sunday, and I was high on the list of needing one.

Which still fell under a nice reason to call me. Wouldn’t you be scared if you started to vomit green stuff?

3. Or earlier this week they were going through the family bible. Would I mind if they whiteout my name?

Yes, my father named me while my mother was too doped up on an epidural, but Phoenix doesn’t exactly fall in with the same crowd as Mary or Sarah. Worse, it fell under Roman myth (or was it Greek?). Either way, people who praised Gods, not GOD. If I were uber religious like them I’d want my name taken off the record, too. You have to think about the book of lamb, recording all your misdeeds and all; naming your child after a Roman (Greek?) myth would fall under misdeeds.

I digress.

Curiosity is going to be the end of me.

I pushed play again, bracing myself this time.

Note it’s ten times longer the above passage, but I have to say I’m getting a better picture of how the character thinks. By reason two I want to know why the brother called. Third, you are getting all the same info. She hasn’t talked to her brother in years. This call is out of the blue. Curiousity will eventually kill the cat. And lastly I just think the Darth Vader line is funny.

So, tell me how do you know when you’ve un-stiffled your voice?