The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle

Progress Thread for Our NaNo'ers

fallon — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 17:36:49 -0500

Hi all,

I know several of you ProgressiveU'ers are also NaNo'ing this month so I thought I'd start a thread here for you to share your progress and help keep one another motivated to keep chipping away at that 50k!

How are you doing thus far? Have you hit any bricks in the road or is it all going well for you? As someone else pointed out... getting started is always the hardest part. Don't give up too easily if you're having trouble... you can make it! :)

Good luck, all!

The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle

WRITERS BLOCK

alter ego bosswoman — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 23:37:41 -0500

i am writing this book untitled, and this is my book so if you try to steal this i have proof and may God bless you and forgive you!

But anyway i have writers block and i cant decide what do next i have so many ideas in my head about different books and novels and scripts and plays and i dont know but i just wanted to know if it is going somewhere and just some random ideas and i will sure if i use your idea i notify you and give you credit!

Chapter one (maybe)
05/25/08

Every night for the past year and a half, I have had the same dream. I walk down a hallway, turn and face someone else’s back, but before they can turn around I wake up. This just might be the perfect guy for me, in some future reference. But this could also be a guy for another reason. This could be a good guy. But then I sometimes think that he is also the guy that will kill me…

Chapter one (maybe)

Two years earlier…

I can’t remember another time I was so excited, who else do I know who was getting ready to get a great job right out of college? Well, I mean everybody, but I’m so excited I think that I could burst which sounds so cliché but that is what it is. There was nothing that ruin this day, not even breaking up with my cheating boyfriend, Brandon Mastors. He thought I didn’t know about him going out and sleeping with my roommate’s best friend; again cliché but that’s how it really happened. Jessica Hasbern, who was the worst person to sleep with because know one really knew her. No one. Not even her professors really, except when she turned in her final exams with her name on it.
But I wasn’t going to let Brandon bother me; I was out of here, on my way to California to get my new job at Cysnel Advertising. It’s my dream job and has been ever since my junior year in high school. Kind of late right, but it was better than a spy over in Europe. “…Justice Campbell….” Finally my name was called, even though it was the 47th name called, it took forever. I guess it was just such a nerve-wrecking 27 minutes, for me and for my dad.
My mom was no longer with us, and she hasn’t been for five years. She committed suicide; she wasn’t at home when it happened. She was at work, which is ironic because she loved her job. Usually people hate their job. She was a vet, so the animals had it worse than me and my dad. All the dogs were going crazy, except one. His name is Thunder, now I’m his owner. I adopted him a few weeks after, because the old owners said that he was acting different and they were going to put him to sleep. Of course Thunder couldn’t come to my graduation, and he couldn’t come to “celebration dinner” either.
It was all great, after dinner it just seemed like another day, accept that I didn’t have anymore school, at least that’s what I think. I had everything packed and my dad was waiting for his kiss good-bye. He kept telling me to be careful on such a long drive as if I was going cross-country. It wasn’t going to be that long of a drive we did live in Arizona, and that was where I was living my whole life. I went to Preschool, Elementary, Junior High, Senior High, and Collins College right in Tempe, Arizona. Ready to go on the 6 hour trip to Venice, California me and my dog were packed, rested and off on the open road. I had just pulled out of the garage when I got a call on my cell phone.
“Hello.”
“Yes is this... uh Justice Campbell?”
“Yes this is she. May I ask whose calling?”
“Yes this is the Arizona suburban police. This may be difficult for you, but we are down at the morgue and we need you to come down here and identify a body.”
“Excuse me? A body? What are you talking about? Whose body?”
“The body of a Cliff Radenas…I’m sorry we thought you knew he died. We found him a few days ago, he drowned in his pool.”
As I suddenly stopped the car, my dad turned and saw my face and ran to the car knowing something had gone wrong with this “Kodak day.”
“Justice, what’s wrong?”
“Dad, Cliff’s dead.”
“Cliff, who’s that?”
“Cliff, Dad! My Cliff!”
“Oh, my God, sweetie, are you okay? Wait don’t answer that, I know you’re not okay. Get out of the car.”

“No dad I have to go to the morgue to identify his body.”
“So there is a chance that it might not be him.”
“Dad that’s not funny!”
“Sweetheart, it wasn’t meant to be funny.”
Meanwhile I was still in shock from what I had heard, I completely forgot about the man on the phone.
“Miss? Miss? Are you still there? Ma’am are you still there?”
I picked up hesitantly hoping that it wasn’t real and that I was just suffering from a heat stroke.
“Ma’am are you still there? Are you okay?”
What a dumb question to ask me in the same month as telling me something like this. “I’m fine.” I lied, because I knew that if I would have told him anything different it would turn into a total subject change. I just calmed down as I looked at Thunder and rubbed him behind his ears, to let him know not to attack anything. My sudden jump and halt on the pedal had gotten him out of his relaxed mood and ready to attack something.
“So, are you sure if it’s him or not? Don’t you make mistakes sometimes?”
“Yes it is possible that we could be wrong, but two other people have identified him and said it was a positive ID.”
“Who? You do know his parents are dead, right?” Who else could have possibly said ‘that’s Cliff.’?”
“We have here that it was Samantha Bolden and Jason Dasw…Dasw…”
“Daswend, its Daswend. I know them…then it must really be him.”
“Ma’am if we are interrupting anything just let us know, we can get someone else to do it.”
I thought about it for a second, do I really want to put myself through the torture of seeing him dead? Do I really want to go to the morgue on the way to my new life? Do I really want to see him lying on the table, pale cold and gone?
“No I’m not doing anything important. I’ll be there as soon as I can be.”
“Justice, you’re not going anywhere alone right now, and you’re not driving either. Come on, scoot on over, I got this for now, you just relax. I just can’t come up with good words today, how can you relax? That was a dumb suggestion…”
“Dad its okay, its fine I got what you meant, its fine just stop correcting yourself.”
My dad was one of the parents who tried to take over for both parents and tries to fix his mistakes so that I can’t grill him like a normal dad. It’s really annoying and kind of makes him a buzz-kill. After the 19 minute ride of awkwardness to the morgue, I just sat there, feeling empty and out of it the entire time. My body was walking but I was just there for the show, the horrible show that I was in for in about 20 more steps.
“Mrs. Campbell?”
“No, Mrs. Campbell was my mother, I’m just justice.”
“Well Ms. Just Justice, I’m Terry Gentea.”
“I’m not really in the mood for jokes, Mr. Gentea.”
“Sorry I was just trying to lighten up the mood, I know how difficult this must be for you.”
“Why does everybody say ‘I know how difficult this must be for you.’ when they really don’t? Did someone just die who you had a history with? Who you grew up with?”
“Actually my wife just died. But I know what you’re going through, so I won’t hold you responsible, because you are in your anger mode. It’ll pass, just try and be around friends and family.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Now why does everyone say ‘I didn’t know’ when they did? I’m kidding, it’s okay.”
Mr. Gentea walked us through the double doors that I had been through five years earlier. Except the first time there was no one who tried to make me feel better. I walked through and I instantly knew it was Cliff because of the spear through a skull tattoo on his ankle. Knowing what I knew, I fell backward and almost landed flat, but my dad and Mr. Gentea caught me.
“Whoa, Justice are you okay?”
“Yeah dad, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Are you sure? Just in case I’ll stand right here.”
“That’s a good idea, Mr. Campbell. Do you need to sit down, Ms. Campbell?”
“No I’m fine; it was just a big rush of death that hit me. I’m fine.”
I couldn’t bare standing over his body and saying what I knew I had to say. I didn’t even want to be there but it was important because even though I knew it in every part of my being that it was Cliff, there was an ounce of me that was in denial. I had to do it and get it over with. I knew that I would need a bag and a chair after I did it, so I asked for both things. I went up to him and looked at him, trying to hold everything that was coming up not to for at least 30 more seconds.
“It’s hi…” that was it, I grabbed the bag and only got a fourth of the vomit in the bag. I just couldn’t hold it in, the stench of his body and the sting from him being gone was too much. Mr. Gentea covered him back up. He was trying to be a gentleman, at least in my head, or he was just doing his job.
“It’s Cliff.”
Mr. Gentea shook his head in disbelief, “Okay, do you need to look again? Are you sure? You have to be sure; it’s the same thing I told the other kids.”
“I’m sure alright?”
Mr. Gentea sighed as if I had done something wrong and said, “I get it, your upset and kind of sick in the stomach; you need to be 100 percent sure. So you don’t need to look again?”
“Alright I’ll look one more time.”
“Anything distinguishing that you recognize or notice?”
“I noticed the tattoo on the way in, he said that he had wanted a tattoo that a lot of people didn’t get, at least around here. He got it when he was 17. I remember.
“How do you know when he got it?”
“Because I was there with him, next to him holding his hand when they started and finished.”
“Justice, you didn’t get a tattoo did you?”
“No dad and it wouldn’t really matter now would it?”
“You’re right, but is it him?”
“Yes, it’s him, I’m sure, I don’t want to look again, and I’m leaving.”
As soon as I started walking away, my dad started walking behind me as to support my decision. I started to go through the “hell double doors” when I heard Mr. Gentea yelling about something.
“Ms. Campbell, you need to sign this…”
“I’m leaving.”
“Wait, I can’t do anything until you sign this!”
“Okay, I’ll sign it if you stop yelling.”
“Deal.”
So I signed a verification form or something that was like a statement saying that I knew it was his body and that the body had not been torn apart and it was different parts put back together. I guess it was to prevent anything like Frankenstein from happening. So we walked out and it was a seventeen minute ride of awkwardness back to the house. I had to postpone my trip for a week. I was going to see Jason and Samantha. That was going to be the only thing that I was looking forward to. I was going to sleep in my ex-room, which had two things in it, my poster of Michael Jackson and my Teddy bear that was just sitting there as if it knew what I was going through.
Its face was lopsided and leaning over frontward. It was creepy at first, but I was reconciling with it. I lay there and just cried with the bear for a good while. After the water park had closed, and had used all the tissues I could find, including the one off my dusty window sill, I talked to the bear. I laid on the floor thinking about how I got this bear. And that was how I remember meeting him; Cliff.

Chapter 2

We were in kindergarten when we met; I remember that I couldn’t stand him because he didn’t give me any of his graham crackers. I hated him and called him “uhhh” until I learned to talk better and then I called him, “stinky boy”. It was hate at first sight. The years passed and we continued to be in same class. In first grade we were in Ms. Hajerden’s class, and that was Cliff’s first love; at least that’s what I thought when he gave her his graham crackers. Turns out he just needed her help getting the pack open. In third grade, everyone was delusional, because people kept trying to get us to go out with each other.
We were still in the “girls have cooties, boys have cooties” phase, and I wasn’t trying to get into a relationship at the time. In 5th grade, we had our annual Halloween party, and that’s when we finally came around. I was a bride and he was a groom and it wasn’t planned, he had brought a bear to be the ring “bear-er”; he wasn’t that clever his aunt had helped him. The bear’s name was Cliff Jr., and Cliff “Senior” had told me that that would be the name of our first child; I haven’t even thought about changing the name of the bear because of loyalty and it was just really cute.
I popped back into the present, where there were going to be no children, no bear to carry our rings down the aisle. I was in seclusion for two days straight, and it was going to be my dad’s millionth attempt to get me out of my room. He dropped food off and I would look at it and maybe take the pack of crackers from the tray and give it back. I just didn’t understand why he didn’t get what I was going through; he had gone through the same thing when mom died, except he disappeared for a week. I will never throw that in his face.
I found out on Thursday, and the funeral was on Tuesday. I called late on Saturday to see if Samantha and Jason were going to go with me to the funeral. Samantha and Jason were the second cutest couple in elementary school next to Cliff and me. I didn’t know if they were still together, I hadn’t talked to them since I started college. We all went to the same schools, all the way until our high school graduation. That’s when Cliff and I split up and we all went our separate ways.
I went to Collins and Cliff went to clown college. Not literally, but he thought that me going to college would destroy everything that we had because we would start to think differently. He was so paranoid that I would find someone else and forget everything that we ever had. I did because we broke up, and if we hadn’t broken up we would still be together because we have such a long history and I loved him so much.
I just realized I would have to make everything past tense, permanently. I couldn’t believe that he was actually dead.
“Justice? Sweetheart? Baby Doll? Justice, is you in there?” It was all that my dad said for the last three days. I would say, “Yes, uh-huh, yes, I’m in here.” It was like a broken record of a conversation, if that’s was what you can really call it. I couldn’t look him in the face and have him try his hardest to keep me from going insane. It would only bring me to laugh, which right now, would lead me to cry.
“Cliff’s friends have a few things to say, because his parents are already in heaven with God.” I couldn’t get up so I told Sam and Jason to go first, I just stood behind the podium and tried to dry my tears.
“He was a great guy, no more than a great guy he was one of the only guys that I knew that seemed to get everybody. He wouldn’t even know you and then he would just get what was going on in your head from talking to you for just a second. I loved him, he was one of the best people I ever knew and will ever know.” It was Samantha’s finest hour. She had the tendency to be cold, and that’s putting it nicely.
“We were buddies since the beginning of time; we always thought that we had known each other in past life, like we were brothers. As soon as we met eyes, I just knew we would click. That may seem a little weird, but he was my brother and we were closer than any blood test could say. He was there for me and I was there for him. And we will still talk, in the next life. I love you, man.” After Jason was through, he started crying, and this wasn’t one of those moments to make fun of a man crying. Every man in the room was crying and they were doing it for a good person. Then came my turn, and it was like meeting my maker; I tried to get up to the microphone without turning and running away. I finally made it with Samantha holding my hand, and I just felt one step closer to being through.
“Cliff was the only guy I dated from fifth grade until my senior year in high school. ‘You guys are meant to be’ is what everybody told us, even when were in the ‘cootie’ stage of our lives. He was--no is a great man and friend. I say is because he will continue to live… in my heart and in my mind. He will always be my first and deepest love, and I will always have the memories we created together, and they will never die.” I was all I could get out, but it seemed like a lot after I was through. Everyone paid their respects and started to leave for the cemetery. While everyone was headed to the door, I saw Mr. Gentea walking towards me. I really didn’t need anything from the cops right now.
“Hi, Ms. Justice, I need to talk with you, it’s very important.”
“Can’t it wait? I’m in the middle of his funeral for Christ’s sake!”
“It’s about Cliff, it’s really important that I speak to you now.”
“Okay alright, let me tell my friends I can’t go to the cemetery, I’ll be right-“
“Oh that’s alright it won’t take long, I can take you after we are done here.”
“No it’s fine; because the whole ‘it won’t take long’ speech is just a polite way of saying it will take long.” I laughed, not even realizing that it was coming out of my mouth.
“Aha, it’s good to see that you are sort of getting back to normal, you let a laugh escape. Really, it won’t take long; I just have four questions for you.’
“Okay what is it?”
“You said that you lost touch with Cliff after you graduated high school, right?”
“Yes that’s right; we stopped talking that next week.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I know when I stopped talking to him, it broke my heart.”
“Well I need you to be sure. You see his job records show that he took a leave of absence two weeks after he graduated from high school.”
“What are you talking about? He said he would never leave this place.”
“Well, he left and he didn’t come back.”
“What do you mean he didn’t come back? Isn’t that him in that casket?”
“He didn’t come back until a week prior to his death. Nobody knows where he went. He had a passport in his stuff and-“
“Wait a minute; I thought you said he drowned in his pool?”
“He did, but if it’s not an apparent suicide, we have to consider all the possibilities.”
“Well, what are your other two questions?”
“Well, then I have six questions, because those weren’t in my four.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Did you ever see Cliff after you went off to college?”
“No I just told you that-“
“I know, but I have to be really professional in how I ask the questions for the report I have to re-file.”
“Well okay, no I haven’t seen him since the week after graduation and I didn’t really “go away” to college I commuted it was 30 minutes away from where I live.”
“Okay question two: Did Cliff have any enemies that you knew about?”
“No, nobody he really tried to keep to himself and stayed away from fighting.”
“Okay, next question-“
“Oh wait, there was this one guy he got into a real bad fight with our senior year, it got so bad that they had to lock them both up. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”
“Well I started 3 years ago, that sounds like four or five years ago. You did just graduate didn’t you? From college I mean?”
“Yeah, I did. Anyway, they were fighting because some guy was trying a little too hard to hit on Samantha and me and Jason wasn’t there.”
“Where was Jason?”
“At work. We had gone out that night because we had all jobs for longer than a week. We didn’t drink or anything, but the guy that Cliff got into it with was older, like 25 or 26. He was really messy, didn’t have a stitch of clean clothes on and he didn’t like hearing the answer ‘no’. First he was just sitting there like every other person in the bar. Then he came up to me first and started singing that song Pretty Woman and then he said, “you spoken for?” Cliff said I was spoken for. Then he went up to Samantha and did the exact same thing, word for word, and it was really creepy. Cliff said she was spoken for and that’s when the guy got really mad. He started screaming and yelling, “You can’t claim both of them girls, and you only get one that’s how we do it here.” So Cliff explained that her “claimer” wasn’t there and the guy was like what would happen there could stay there. It was really bad and then-“
“Could you skip to the end? I’m just joking but how did the fight start?”
“Well me, cliff, and Samantha walked out and were just getting ready to go home. That guy had left like 30 minutes earlier, so we weren’t really worried.”
“Well how did he calm down?”
“Samantha finally told him off, and he just sat back down at the bar and finished his drink and left. Anyway we were walking to the car and then the same guy popped out from nowhere, I guess he was hiding or something it was really dark. He went up to Sam and kissed her, then she kicked him in the nuts and he fell. We all ran to the car, and I fell like an idiot or some chick in a horror movie. When I got up he was right behind me and Cliff and Sam were already in the car. I tried to run, I tried to scream, but he was too quick; which was really kind of weird since he was so drunk. He grabbed me and threw me on the ground he got on top of me and then I was struggling and fighting him. He pulled my shirt up and I- I tried so hard to get him off… but anyway Cliff got to him before he could do any real damage.”
“Do you need a minute? You can take a break. I can give you a minute, but I need all of the details.” I just sighed before digging into my body to find the strength to talk about it, it wasn’t rape but it was horrible.
“Okay, well before Cliff got there, he reached down in my pants and started messing with my vagina. It was disgusting and I had to clean 20 times that night. But Cliff got to him and they started to fight, Sam ran inside and got the bartender to call the police and they showed up. The guy pulled a knife on Cliff and slashed his side; he has a scar on the side of his body all the way up from waist to armpit.”
“Wait, you said he has a scar on his side, which side?”
“His left side and it’s really jagged, it’s like the guy had just learned how to use a knife, we kind of laughed about it later on, because it sort of looked like a “Z” but really stretched out because of Zorro, why do you ask?”
“Not to scare you or anything, but the body we have doesn’t have a scar, the only thing that matches that body to Cliff’s is the tattoo.”
“What are you saying that’s not Cliff? Because it looks just like him and you said that it was him.” I was getting all choked up, hoping that it wasn’t him.
“We have some ways of finding out. I think we have a way. Now this may be a little weird to ask, but do you have any of Cliff’s hair or blood with you, or any sperm?”
“That’s disgusting! What are you some kind of pervert? That’s twisted beyond police belief.”
“Well, if it’s Cliff the only way to find out would be to do some DNA tests.”
“Okay, maybe you’re not that twisted, but to ask if I have any of his sperm is just nasty. But I think I have one single strand of his hair. I have it wrapped my bear’s neck, Cliff said it was going to be the bear’s necklace. He gave it to me during graduation, and I know it sounds weird but he thought we were going to be together for the rest of our lives.”
“Well, I need that hair in order to see who this is. Can you get it for me after the funerals over at the cemetery?”
“Sure why not? You have to come to my house in order to get it, and you have to have a bag or something because it’s long but it’s hard to see.”
“Okay, I guess I will call you around 7:15 or something. So do you have a number where I can reach you at? Like a cell phone, if not don’t worry about it, I don’t like to call people’s houses.”
“Yeah my cell phone number is 194-4743.”
“All right, I will see you tonight for the hair.”
“Okay”
Then he drove me to the cemetery where everyone was already leaving, I got out of the car and started to walk away. Before he pulled off I shocked myself and said, “Oh yeah officer Gentea, what about the other two questions?”
He just replied “I’ll ask you later.”

Chapter 3

It was around 5:30 that afternoon that I had finally gotten in and I just wanted to go to sleep; I was exhausted and extremely confused. I remembered what officer Gentea said, “but the body we have doesn’t have a scar, the only thing that matches that body to Cliff’s is the tattoo.” I just couldn’t get how that wasn’t Cliff, it looked like him and he had the same tattoo in the same spot. My face was so pasty from crying and my head hurt thinking about the conversation with officer Gentea. I wasn’t going to let that scare me or bother me. My dad had to keep couldn’t stop his life altogether, and to get back to normal he had went to work until eleven. He had an average job; he was the assistant manager at the supermarket. It paid well, and he had already paid off the house. The only thing he had to work about now was keeping the other bills paid. It was a routine called “Life”. I just wanted to get my Scooby-Doo boxers on with my favorite night shirt. It says, “Nobody move, this things loaded I’ll let you have it”, it’s from The Lion King II: Simba’s Pride. I was so tired, but yet I couldn’t sleep at all. I just stayed up because I knew my shows were coming on; it was the only thing to get my mind off of Cliff. I was watching Scrubs, with the captions on of course, and eating what was left of my Sun Chips, when I had heard a knock at the back door. I muted the television, and heard my hear pounding in my chest because I was just a big “scaredy-cat”. I grabbed my bat from the hallway closet and walked to the back door the entire time thinking, “Who’s at my back door, it better not be a killer or anything.”
I know it’s a weird thing to think before you answer a door, but it was the back door and it was night and I’d watched the whole Nightmare on Elm Street collection the week before.
“Who is it?” was all I could squeak while clutching the bat with all of my might.
“Justice, it’s me.”
“Who’s me?”
“Its officer Gentea, I tried ringing the doorbell but you probably didn’t hear it and I knocked but you didn’t answer either.”
“Oh hold on.” I ran to the closet and threw some pants on, because it’d be a little weird if the officer Gentea saw me in my Scooby-Doo boxers.
“Thanks. I thought you were going to slug me with a bat or something.” He didn’t even look down at the bat on the floor. I just chuckled and cleared my throat as to change the subject.
“So, did you bring a bag to put the hair in, or do I need to give you one?”
“No I got one right here.” He shook the empty bag with a smirk on his face. I just blew a raspberry at him.
“I’m sorry, how old are you? Do we need to get your father? Do you need to be put to bed?”
“Okay Terry, you don’t have to stoop down to my childish level. Stay here, I’ll be back with the hair-“
“Just bring the bear down here. I’ll get the hair off myself; I don’t want to get your fingerprints on it.”
“Well that’s too bad I’ve already touched it several times.” I smirked and ran up the stairs and grabbed the bear out of my room. I ran back down the stairs to an empty foyer, which made me nervous.
“Terry? Terry?”
“I’m in here. I love this show, especially J.D. he’s sooo funny it’s great.” He just gave this huge sigh like he was off to bed. I got around to the couch and saw him relaxing like he lived there.
“So you bring the bear?”
“Yeah, I got it right here.”
“Okay good. So is the hair still on there?”
“Yep and it’s still the necklace.”
“Alright, I’m going to need to see the bear and all its paws.” He just started laughing hysterically like he had made the joke of the year. I was just looking at him like he was old and senile. He cleared his throat to change the subject, and he took the hair off the bear. I ran up the stairs to put the bear back, and when I came down, Terry was at the door.
“Okay, well I’m going to get this back and I will let you know in a few days what the results are.”
“Okay as soon as you get the results back, call me day or night. Alright?”
“I promise. Cop’s honor.”
“You can’t do that that only works with boy scouts.” He just laughed and walked to his car. It was one of those jeeps that holds four but is really cluttered with personal crap. Then I remembered something that he had told me earlier.
“Terry, what were those other two questions?”
“I’ll ask you when I get the results back.”
“You keep saying you’re going to ask me, but you keep moving the questions to later on. Just ask me!”
“I will ask you when the results get back, I swear.”
“Alright but if you’re lying you know what’ll happen.”
“No what?”
“I’ll tell you when you get the results back.” I laughed to myself and walked back in the house. I turned off the mute and was highly upset because I had missed the last few minutes of Scrubs, but it was fine because it was on DVD. I finished season three and I started to fall asleep, it was around nine or so, I didn’t really keep up with the time. It was this rattle at the front door, and I thought it was my dad, but then I looked at the clock. It was only 9:30, and that made me jump. I was a horror fiend so I didn’t do what they did in the movies, and say “who’s there?” I just grabbed my bat and started towards the door. This time all I was thinking was, “would Sidney from Scream do this? Would Nancy from Nightmare on Elm Street do this?” It had to be done, and I got to the door I opened it and there was this huge figure standing there. He pushed the door opened as hard as he could and hit my leg. I swung the bat, but he caught it and I kicked him in his groin. He had this large knife and cut my leg and I ran up the stairs. I hit my knee on the top stair, which caused me to limp even worse than before. I limped to my dad’s room and started looking for his gun. I couldn’t find it in the dark, and I had to put the chair up to the door. I got to the closet and threw everything around looking for it. I looked on the shelf above his clothes and found his gun behind his old postman bag. I grabbed the gun and dropped it; it went off and shot the chair and the door. I heard whoever it was running away. They must have thought I did that on purpose. I picked up the gun and shot again through the center of the door just to make sure that they were gone. I called the police.
“911 emergency response.”
“My name is Justice Campbell and I was attacked. I’m at 5543 Chase Street please hurry, I don’t know if they’re still in the house. I shot the gun through the door to make sure they’re gone. I haven’t checked downstairs.”
“Okay Justice, I want you to stay in the room and just talk to me until the police get there.”
“Okay” Then I heard the phone from the living room being picked up and someone breathing heavy on the other end.
“You bitch; you’re going to pay for that.”
“Justice who is that?”
“It’s them.”
“Justice don’t hang up just stay on the line, don’t go anywhere. Alright? stay there. Keep that gun pointed at the door. Are there any windows around you?”
“Yes, there’s two windows. I’m in between them facing the door.”
“Okay get to a point where you can face the windows and the door.”
“Alright I’m facing the windows and the doors.”
“You stupid bitch they can’t help you. I’m gonna get you, and the bitch in the police can’t help you.”
“Justice, just ignore him don’t listen to him. He’s just upset that he’s not man enough to talk to me.”
“Oh yeah you bitch I’ll meet up with you later.”
“Hush sir, I’m trying to talk to Justice.” I’m just listening to them go back and forth, it was like she had talked to him before and knew just how to push his buttons. I was trying hard to not listen to what he was saying but he just kept repeating the same thing.
“I’m gonna get you, justice. The police can’t help you. Cliff can’t help you; your dad can’t help you.” That’s all he kept saying, and in my mind I knew he had something to do with Cliff’s death, but because I was so scared I couldn’t really add it up. Maybe he drowned Cliff.
“Justice!?”
“Huh? Yeah?”
“Are you still there?”
“Yes I’m still here still looking at the door. I think he killed Cliff.”
“Who killed Cliff?”
“The man on the phone. He keeps saying that he’s gonna get me, that you can’t help me, that Cliff can’t help me, that my dad can’t help me.” Then I felt this extreme sting in my leg. My leg was bleeding, and bad. I can’t remember what happened to my leg to make it bleed that badly. Then I heard a click of the phone on the other end and some footsteps coming up the stairs. I just started yelling threats, but it was really hard to keep the gun up, I was really tired all of a sudden and I looked down to see my dad’s carpet all red. I looked up to see someone’s face, it was officer Gentea and he looked really surprised.
“Is he down there?”
“Is who down there?”
“That man who was on the phone the one who kept saying he was gonna get…” I started to close my eyes and fall asleep, and then I heard a crash. It was Terry trying to kick the door.
“Justice!? Wake up! Open the door. Justice!”
“I can’t mo...”
“Stay awake! Justice stay awake! Don’t fall asleep!” Just as I was falling asleep, Gentea bust through the door with two other cops.
“Justice stay awake! Stay with me!”

Chapter 4

“I need an i.v. stat! Get the wound pressurized!” Is all I could hear, then I opened my eyes and saw three people standing over me, with bags shaking and them trying not to fall on me. Then I fell unconscious again, “beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep” is all that I could hear running through my head now. I guess while I was unconscious I had a dream of my spirit standing over my body. I just sat helplessly next to my body as I flat lined. It wasn’t like in the movies where I could just get back in my body, because I tried and I was just thrown back out. I “returned” to consciousness in which seemed like centuries later, and I woke up and saw my dad standing over me with a worried look in his eyes. “I can’t believe you died, but you fought.” I could hear his voice breaking and I just moved my hand to his shoulder and held his face to let him know that I was back for good.
When I was able to finally move the lower half of my body I heard my dad talking to the doctor.
“He cut her really good, he cut a major vein the anterior and posterior tibial the lower leg and foot.”
“What does that mean?”

The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle

How do you stay motivated?

fallon — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 19:39:14 -0500

We all have our own ways of getting (and staying!) motivated when it comes to writing. Some days, our techniques work better than others... and some days they just don't seem to work at all.

For me personally, staying motivated during NaNo can be a killer... particularly when playing tag with the boys (yes, we can play tag!) can be so much more fun than working on a new scene or trying to get the inner editor to shut up. And since November is also Fallon Shop-Like-A-Maniac month (though this year, I'm doing it all online, ha!)... it's even more difficult to stay motivated. This is also the first year I won't be working all night, which is when I've always done my NaNoing before. So I have few doubts that staying motivated all month long is going to give me a few fits.

Which brings me to my point! (took long enough, didn't it?)

With NaNo quickly approaching (24ish days!), I thought it would be nice to swap motivation techniques. The more techniques you have to work with, the better able you'll be to meet that 50,000 word goal by the end of the month!

I also thought I'd use this as the official NaNo check in and see who is on board and who isn't quite crazy enough to undertake the 50k word month long insanity.

So... are you doing NaNo this year? Do you have a game plan? What works for you motivation wise? What doesn't?

Can't wait to see what everyone has to say... and who is on board for NaNo

And on a side note... if you're planning on doing NaNo this year, please link to your NaNo userpage so everyone else can add you to our list of NaNo buddies! Of course, you aren't obligated to link... but it's always nice. My userpage is here and since Fanaile has been conspicuously quiet lately and thus deserving of harassment (if she asks, I didn't say that!), her userpage is here

The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle

Calling All Writers

mvenus929 — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 23:33:08 -0500

So, I'm taking part in a collaborative novel this fall. There's seven characters in all that we're going to follow for the time being, and it'll be much in the vein of Heroes.

The thing is, character 7, who we affectionately call c7, is not written by any one person. And we don't know exactly who she is.

The editor of our novel wants us to solicit other people to write the introduction of c7. At the deadline for this... August 16th, us writers are going to vote on which one we favor, and that'll set the tone for the rest of the chapters for that character.

So, I come to all of you. I know there are many, many writers out there in the depths of ProgressiveU, and this is your chance to contribute in this novel (which will probably be published on the web, through our LJ community, only.

Are you interested in delving into the secrets of c7? Well, check out this post, and if you decide to write out something, go ahead and shoot it off to the editor. The submission only need be 1000 words, so a pretty short chapter, as far as chapters go (the rest of us have to write chapters of 2000 or more words).

If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I'll answer them if I can, and if I can't, I'll ask the editor to see if he can answer them.

Writer's Den

CW Critique Needed

fallon — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 13:19:22 -0500

Hi all,

I've been slaving away over a portion of the novel I started for JulNo and could really use some feedback if you have a few minutes. I literally worked on this until 5 this morning and then crashed for a few hours before taking it on again... I'm not going to be content moving on until I know it's exact. I think I have it just about "there" but a fresh pair of eyes or two would really come in handy now.

Does it capture your attention?
Can you "see" the scene being read or is it missing some vital element?
Does it flow together or are there disjointed sections?

Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Galen in the Hall (not a title)

The Great Hall was damaged beyond repair. Entire sections of wall crumbled and fell away in an almost recognizable pattern. Others stood like silent sentries, seeming to bear an almost mournful witness to the decay that had sunk its claws so deeply into what had once been sheer greatness. Like carrion pecking incessantly at the eyes of the fallen, ivy and worse shoved foul limbs through the dying rock, further infecting it with a disease so vile it did not even have a name. Small beads of water fell like tears from one of the many cracks that ran as broken veins across the ceiling.

Somehow, despite the wreckage of the walls and those ominous veins, the ceiling was mostly in tact, shrouding the room in a sort of misty darkness that cast off an almost otherworldly glow. That a place of such power could seem no more than the ghost of a memory wobbling in a broken mind was pure senselessness. It should not have ever come to that. But it had.

In the blink of an eye five thousand years of power had been ripped asunder, leaving only that ghostly memory in its place. And Galen din’Quaid Makaio, First Protector of Fae’rava and Master of Dahlian Swords, wanted nothing more in that moment than to wretch and rail at that ghostly memory.

He fought desperately not to see the devastation that surrounded him, perhaps knowing that if he allowed himself to see, the heart he wasn't sure he even possessed would crack wide open and old wounds would break anew, plunging the world into darkness again. That fight not to see, however, was as hopeless as was any thought of restoring that once powerful place to former glory.

He couldn’t help but to see. The wreckage and decay, the utter loss and despair the room seemed to whisper of wormed its way into his soul, forcing his mind to obey and see even as his body struggled to refuse. He breathed deeply of the decaying air and fought to control the emotions that threatened to wrack him against his will. An anger long buried whispered along his spine, tightening his scalp and raising the hairs upon his arms until he wanted to howl his fury to the Heavens.

Kill them, the anger seemed to sing, its lulling melody calling to that barely contained beast. Make them feel the hurt you feel. Make them burn, make them ache; make them beg for the mercy they denied you. Throw them into the very pits of hell and dance upon their melting bones. Make them pay for what they have done to you, to your people, to the world.

Galen did none of that, though the beast, that soulless part of himself that fought for dominion at every turn, threatening to burst from his skin into the taloned fire flinging monster he knew he could become, roared with satisfaction at the thought of damning them all to the lowest, most unholy pits of hell.

He could do it. He could do it so quickly and so completely, they would never know what hit them. The beast wanted to do it. Wanted it so fiercely the desire gnawed at him until his skin seemed to crawl and he could almost feel his form wavering, could feel the part of him that still had a soul losing the battle and the beast straining against its cage, raging in fury.

But, he dared not lose that battle. Too much was resting upon the success of his visit to this long damned memory to risk allowing sweet thoughts of revenge to drive him to madness and every Realm of Orphia to its knees. It was too soon to uncage that beast and let it feast.

If he did so now, Orphia would lose, and the revenge that consumed his every thought would never be complete. The Magi would never pay for the wounds his soul carried, nor for the physical scars their evil had left upon the world. Four centuries of waiting would come to naught and, even as he carried the Magi to death, they would carry him, and every hope of Orphia's continued survival, with them.

While he would give himself willingly to that cause, he could make no such decision for the land of his heart. Orphia was far more than he was prepared to gamble and he knew enough to recognize that one should never gamble when he had something to lose. So instead of unleashing that inner beast, he stared straight ahead, his eyes locked with desperation upon the furthest corner of the Hall, the muscle in his cheek ticking a counterpart to the small splashes of water upon his neck.

“Breathe, Galen, just breathe.” Letting his eyes fall almost closed, he opened himself to the meditations he had learned so very long ago. Like weeds spreading beneath cobblestone, determined to push their spindly arms up and lift their heads to the sun, stillness wormed its way into the darkest places of his soul, soothing the beast until its roars quieted and, eventually, stopped altogether.

For long moments after that beast had lain head on clawed paws, Galen stood there, letting that peace shift through him and restore at least a sliver of his blackened soul. Only when the muscle in his cheek ceased its twitching and the beast finally closed its eyes with a snort of disgust did he let that meditation unravel, releasing his furious grip upon it so slowly, it floated almost imperceptibly from his body and back to that Divine source from whence it came.

He shook himself as if waking from a dream and stepped forward, taking care to step over the eroded foundation at his feet. Crumbled rock crunched beneath his booted heels as he paced silently across the room and towards the completion of his mission. He ignored those crunches just as he had the gentle fall of water upon his neck and, within moments, had traversed the lifeless husk of the room that had once pulsated with the combined power of Fae.

He knelt in the very corner upon which his eyes had been trained during his internal battle and, reaching out with his left hand, began to feel for the bottom of the wall. His hand landed upon the damp stone of that bottom brick and he closed his eyes on a brief prayer. He was almost there. Running his hand upward as if caressing the wall, he counted bricks. At the sixth, he stopped and grabbed hold of the dagger encased at his hip with his right hand.

Dropping to his stomach amidst the grime that coated the floors, he sat his ear to the stone upon which his left hand still rested and tapped his dagger twice. A hollow hum echoed back and he bared his teeth in a grim smile. He leaned back and shoved the dagger between the stone and the mortar at the top of the block. It slid in easily and, working quickly, he sliced through the mortar holding that brick in place.

How this portion of the wall had survived the decay while so many others had long ago given way to the ruinous ivy, he did not know. But he was grateful all the same. What this wall housed was, perhaps, the second most important thing in all of Orphia. Or, if looked at from a less hopeful position, the most important thing in all of Orphia. And while Galen was many things, hopeful was not amongst them, particularly when being so meant putting his faith and his trust completely in the hands of another. He wasn’t foolish enough to do that.

As far as he was concerned, the object he had come to retrieve was the salvation not only of his own people, but of every other race and realm of Orphia. While that wasn’t a pleasant thought, it consoled him all the same. His people would soon have justice and in the end, that’s all that really mattered to him.

Whether it came from him or from some vision long ago hidden in the very foundations of the room, it would come and not even the combined forces of hell would stop it this time. Fire would dance like rain upon the traitors that had perpetrated the loss of so many of his brethren and when it was over, the evil they had used to taint the world would be flung off, cast into hell with their unworthy and thrice damned souls. Then, and only then, would he be satisfied.

He pushed the dagger back into its sheath and rose to his knees. He glanced behind him once to ensure he was still truly alone in that dying place and satisfied that it was so, dug his fingers like claws into the mortar and pulled. With a groan, the brick snapped in two and slipped easily from the wall, the two halves crumbling in his hands. He smiled then, the dark lights of his eyes glowing in a satisfaction so grim, even that recaged beast shuddered slightly and cracked one eye open to watch.

“It’s begun,” he announced softly and reaching one hand into the cavern in the wall, pulled out the vision that he had hidden from the world so very long ago. The beast rose to its feet in the cage and roared. Galen threw his head back and laughed aloud, the heartless sounds bouncing off the walls of the Hall and echoing through the cracks of the ceiling, seeming almost to dare someone, anyone, to gainsay him the weapon of death he now held in his hands.

The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle

JulNo Writing Updates

fallon — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 02:13:42 -0500

I figured it would be best to have a single forum topic for everyone to post updates as they saw fit about JulNo. Is it going well? Did you make your goal today? Have your goals changed any? Feel free to share, rant, vent, or celebrate here!

The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle

The Writing Goals Discussion

fallon — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 13:53:58 -0500

I figured... why have a group if you aren't going to use it for discussion? So, in that vein, every so often I'll post a general topic for discussion and debate. Maybe it'll give you a few ideas to make your life easier, maybe it won't. But... I'm nosy so I like to know these things about people either way hehe. And of course, please post your own topics, whatever they may be, whenever you get the urge. :)

Writing Goals

Every once in a while, I realize I need to set new writing goals for myself. After months of very little writing, my current goal is 1,500 words a day plus 1 hour of editing time for other WIPs. I generally get pretty close to the writing goal, not so much with the editing just yet.

I lack purpose and direction without the goals, or more aptly, without the challenge of striving to meet the goal. Kind of like I can't quite get the essay written for class unless I feel the pressure of a looming deadline.

Do you set daily writing goals for yourself or do you just write when you get the urge? Do you count editing in the goal or is it straight word count only? And... do writing goals help keep you on track or do they throw you all off?

The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle

Are you game?

fallon — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 16:40:38 -0500

JulNoWriMo (aka July NaNo) starts on July 1st. I just thought I'd see if anyone else is considering taking the plunge and participating in the challenge this year?

Fanaile and I took the plunge this afternoon and would love company! 50k in 31 days... or 1613 words a day. (Which to me means 1500 words a day and an hour of roaming inner editor time).

Either way... anyone else up for it? The BfP contest ends June 30th, so that will be out of the way by the time JulNoWriMo rolls around! Plenty of time to make your daily goal... whatever it may be!

Fallon

The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle

Want a Writing Buddy?

fallon — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 16:24:23 -0500

Are you in need of a little motivation? Does hooking up with a fellow writer to offer and receive feedback, advice, etc sound good? If so... you might just be in the market for a writing buddy.

Writing buddies are those awesome folks whom you can always turn to about your writing, about your personal life, about whatever you need. They offer critiques, offer advice, always have an ear ready and in so many instances, are happy to offer proofreading or editing at the drop of a hat. They are, in short, lifesavers.

Fanaile is the one person I consider to be my writing buddy. We'll often log on to YIM and write together. During NaNo, that was a near daily occurrence. She's on hand to read my writing, to offer suggestions and to listen when I need to rant, even if it is totally unrelated to writing. And I return the favor as often as she needs it.

I can't stress enough how helpful having a writing buddy, or several, can be.

So, with that thought, if you're in the market for a buddy, leave a note here for others in the market for the same. Hopefully you'll be able to find that perfect buddy... and if not, at least learn more about what you need in a buddy!

While it isn't required... giving a little information in your comment about what you write, what you're looking for in a buddy and what you can give in return is always helpful.

The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle

Resources for Writers

fallon — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 16:12:58 -0500

Now that we have a group page and a few general rules (and I'm sure we won't need any more of those since everyone here is awesome), I probably have some sort of a duty to provide all of you with resources. So in that vein, this is now your writing resource page. Hooray!

If you have a resource you would like to share, let me (Fallon) know and I would be more than happy to check it out and add it here! It is my goal to see this page expanded to include many links from all of you.

Writing Challenges

National Novel Writers Month. NaNoWriMo is a month long writing challenge beginning on the first of November and ending on the last day of November. Writers pledge to write 50,000 words during the month. This is a prize free challenge.

JulNoWriMo; this challenge is identical to the November NaNo challenge, except you have 31 days (July 1st to 31st) in July (versus November) to write 50,000 words. Let's face it... November is a tough month to take the dive! This is a prize free challenge.

Script Frenzy; during the month of April, script writers are challenged to write 100 pages of scripted material. This is a prize free challenge.

Sven Says Sweat. This is a 70 day challenge in which writers pledge to write between 60,000 and 100,000 words. The challenge begins in July and runs into September.

National Novel Continuing Month. This is where you pledge to write 30,000 words in any month to help finish off your novel.

3-Day Novel Contest. You must write a novel over the Labor Day weekend, no starting early. After sending in your novel, you can win a publishing contract or a cash prize.

Writing Communities

Scribophile. This is a community of writers... offers critiques, interaction with other writers, and PDF eBook publication.

AllPoetry; a community of poets. Read poetry, publish and get feedback on your poetry, or collaborate with other writers.

RWC Community. The RWC community is geared toward romance writers. That said, however, Charlotte Dillon has some very awesome resources on her website that are beneficial to writers of every stripe.

Writing Resources

Writing.com. The Writing.com website offers many resources for writers as well as a community for writers of every stripe. The site can be confusing to navigate, but it's certainly worth checking out.

Snowflake Method. This website can help you flesh out an outline, or how to write a scene.

The Novel Notebook gives you a way to organize your thoughts for your novel. It acts as a template for planning.

Holly Lisle offers a PDF book to help you create and plan out your plot through a minicourse.

yWriter4 is an open source program that allows you to organize your novel as you write it, without needlessly rereading all your work.

To Boldly NaNo gives daily, weekly, and monthly writing prompts to get you ready for the November NaNo.

Page Four is a word processing and outlining tool created for creative writing projects that allows for easy organization and automatically archives files, etc.

There is a software called Storyist for Mac users that helps writers and screenwriters organize their thoughts and notes and produce submission-ready manuscripts. For more information, contact farrah[at]vinecommunicationsinc.com

The ProgressiveU Writer's Circle