yesterday, something big happened.

the great ones and the general broke 15k. And I completed writing section A in my outline.

Now, there are still tons of things to be done. I need to go back and write two or three scenes to fill in the blanks, fix the things that don't flow, and other nit-picking things. But just think: it's time for section B, already. I pulled out my outlining notebook and started outlining this morning.

I've forgotten how much I hate outlining.

But I'm really excited. Section A went smoothly, and I'm pretty happy with my wordcount so far. I can't wait to get into the meat of my story, and to start building characters. Sooooooooo excited!!!

And to celebrate making it to 15k, I thought I'd give you guys a snippets post. Because I haven't done one of those in ages.

So enjoy.

Birds of a feather were rude together.

She leaned against the door frame and watched me with her gold-flecked-brown eyes. "Cleaning, eh?"
Sometimes I swore my mom was Canadian.
"Yeah." I pointed to a moldy plate of potato chips. "Want some?"
Her nose wrinkled up like a pill bug. "I didn't think it was possible for something as processed as Pringles to mold like that..."

The urge to do something only kept growing throughout the days after my parents talked to me, to the point that Shiloh yelled at me to leave her alone and go away. I wasn't pestering her that much, I thought. Her bookshelf needed to be alphabetized was all. She didn't agree.

My parents were in the audience. My old "friends" were there too. People who hadn't come to the funeral--people I'd never met in my lifetime--were in the crowd. And if I had a panic attack on stage, I'd be in front of all their judging eyes. I'd be the leaf under their magnifying glass, ready to burst into flames. I'd be the messed up one this time, not my brother.

My lungs gave out for a millisecond as I saw Colt make his way up the steps to the podium. His back was ramrod straight, and for a moment, you could see past the awkward haircut and the gangliness and notice his strong features and fearless eyes. That explained it all, I realized. He was scare because of this, but he was also not afraid because he had to do this. There was no one else who could or should do it. Colt was Jon's best friend, and he was the only one who ever thought like Jon did.

"This is my spot," he said while pointing to his body one night while we were lying on the couch after watching the Matrix, of all movies. "This belongs to the Soul of Jonathon Mallory North. Now what am I supposed to do with it?" I didn't have an answer, other than I finally knew what the illusive 'M' in his name meant.

"He's looking at you," she half-whispered. "Aren't you gonna run up there and bro-hug each other or something?"
I stared at her with as much disgust as I could summon on the spot. "You know what, never mind," I muttered, turning away.

They wanted to crack open my head like the carnivores they were and peel every private thought out of my mind and eat it alive. I had to run. I had to hide.

I looked down at my hands. They gripped the rail like a lifeline, knuckles white and veins standing out porcelain blue, but they didn't shake. My heart stopped pounding in my wrists and in my throat, and I finally felt like I could breathe again. I could end all this now.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to bawl, to say I was worry for even thinking about doing that to him. But I couldn't. I just sat stone-faced, listening to him weep into my coat, and staring up at the cloudless gray-blue sky.

'RU OK?' I half-smiled. Good old mom. She couldn't make a grilled cheese sandwich to save her life, couldn't have a conversation without bringing up Harry Potter, and was always forgetting that her glasses were hiding in her bushy auburn hair, but she was always "up-to-date" with texting lingo.


The only reason I'd been able to blunder my way through it was because of some stupid thing he'd said before the ceremony. It'd been such a Jon thing to say, and he'd slurred his words in just the right way, and for a moment, I forgot who I was talking to. He'd even cocked his head and bit his cheek like Jon always had. And for some reason, I stopped freaking out every time I remembered that.

He met my eyes, and suddenly, I felt guilty.
'Don't leave me alone,' he'd said.
'I won't,' I'd promised.
Some friend I was.
I smiled at him and grabbed his knee lightly, rocking it back and forth. "Hey, you're okay now. All right? I'm not leaving, even to pee."
He wrinkled his nose up at me. "Don't talk about peeing, Colton. That's gross."

"You're not your brother, Matt," Mom said softly, reaching out to touch me, trying to calm me down. I brushed her off.
"You sure about that? Because that's not what my face says."
"Every time I look in the mirror, I see his face and I remember that I'm alive and he's not. If that's no enough to drive someone up a wall, then I don't know what is--I'm constantly asking myself why he was the one who got dumped with the depression and hurt and I didn't and it's eating me alive and I can't stop it." I smiled angrily at them. "You had a chance--if you'd seen how Jon was, if you'd done something about it, maybe this--" I pointed to my head "--wouldn't have happened."

~the end of the beginning~

{me after writing these crazy emotionally draining words...}


  1. Congrats! I am so excited for you!

    I love your snippets. :) I really like your style and the characters and the whole story, really. :) It's hilarious and yet serious and sad all at once. I really like it.


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