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Why I Write
When I write, I draw on my experiences as a woman with a painful past, a rapturous wife and mother, a world traveler, and a spiritualist. For me, writing is an art form. Like an artist, the work becomes more than I imagined it would be. When I set out to write a story with a particular idea or character in mind, words I cannot claim as my own flow from a magical and mysterious place through me and onto paper. The work takes on a life of its own; it is living art. The process fascinates me, satiates me, and makes my life more meaningful.
Please read my stories! If you would like to offer me feedback on my work, please click here and sign up for a free membership: https://heftynicki.Writing.com
I hope to see you there!
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Blog, Blog, Blog #723208 added April 29, 2011 at 9:07am
Restrictions: None
'Y' is for...?
Thanks for all the wonderful Blogger/WDC visits yesterday! The prompt word was 'Xenophobia' -- and almost everyone got it right! Whoot!
Today, I have the Royal Wedding on my mind and had to tear myself from the TV to post this. I love watching happy history unfold! So, I've used a piece of flash fiction I wrote last year for today's excerpt. Although the piece overall reflects the prompt, I'm putting the section that best depicts the 'Y' emotion/feeling/state of mind word in colored text. (I hope it isn't distracting as you read!) Leave me a guess in the comments telling me what 'Y' word comes to mind.
Here goes:
Nora’s fingertips grazed the silky fabric on the bed. Grasping the nylon tank top, she straightened, then hyper-extended her back just enough to lay the shirt on her chest and fold it properly. Her nose twitched, and she stiffened.
She’d smelled Bradley’s sour scent before she heard him enter the doorway behind her. Laying the folded tank in the suitcase before her, she said, “No use sneaking up. I know you’re there.”
Willing her hand to steady, she reached for another fistful of clothing. A zipper jingled from the heavy fabric. Hoodie. She felt along the garment to locate the sleeves, and then laid it -- arms open wide -- across the suitcase. She imagined herself like that, living in the hoodie’s pose, embracing life. Her heart raced at the thought.
As Nora brought one sleeve across to fold the jacket in half, the weight of Bradley’s hand suddenly fell on her arm, fingers closing on Nora’s wrist with an iron grip. She jumped and winced, cowering.
He shook her. “I don’t remember telling you I said it was okay to go.”
His hot, ashtray breath chilled the beads of sweat that’d sprung across her upper lip. She pulled to free her arm but he yanked hard, jerking her forward. Pain shot up the inside to her armpit.
“Let her go.”
Nora’s head snapped in the direction of the doorway and her brother’s voice. The vice released her, and she stumbled against the bed.
“Who the hell do you think you are, Ron?” Bradley spat. “You can’t just waltz into my friggin’ house.”
“It’s my sister’s house too. She asked me to come up and help her with her packing.” Ron returned Bradley’s glare for two beats before he walked to Nora and kissed her cheek. “You ready to go?" he asked softly. Nora heard a smile enter his voice as he went on. "I’ve been waiting six months for you to cash in my birthday present to you.”
“What kind of a friggin' idiot takes a blind person rafting?” Bradley said with a sneer.
Ron snapped the suitcase shut and offered Nora his elbow. As she took it, he said, “I guess this kind does.”
The next afternoon, adrenalin pumping through her veins with a ferocity she’d never known, Nora grasped Ron’s hand as they stumbled out of the raft.
“That was fucking amazing!” Nora screeched. Her laughter melded with the sound of the bubbling river rushing through the canyon they’d just descended.
Ron hugged her. “See little sis, you can do anything you set your mind to. Your real handicap all these years hasn’t been your eyes.”
Nora stepped back and drew in a deep breath. Slowly, she reached her arms wide open, tilting her chin so the sun warmed the whole of her face. “When we get back to the hotel, make the call,” she said.
“Good,” Ron said. “My secretary has the papers drawn up. He’ll be served tomorrow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Any idea what feeling or emotion I'm hinting at here with Nora? Looking forward to your comments. Happy Royal Wedding Day!
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