When love dies… and burns again
Re-reading old letters, reminiscing the darkness of the past, I think of my actions and how I hurt people. I am not perfect. Today, I try to do the next right thing because I learned how to be a better person. One cannot live with regrets, or fears, because life is not about the past. Life is about now. Action. Constant change, and revolution, on the outside, and on in the inside. And change isn’t easy. Oh no, change is uncomfortable. But no growth can come from a dying flame. The fire burns brighter when the heart is filled with acceptance, love, and understanding.
I was once a lost little girl. I lost myself in the darkness, and thought I’d never find my way back. Memories were like daggers, piercing my soul, bleeding me into a puddle of despair and sorrow, for what? Nothing. Sadness leads straight into a wall. There’s no shame in being human and having feelings. But there is shame in not wanting to do anything about them.
Love came, and went, and I experienced pain. A lot of it. Did I die from it? I wanted to vanish into thin air, but my inner voice reminded me life was beautiful. And love would come again. If I finally faced my demons, and looked at them for what they were – the insecurities that had piled up since I was a little girl – I would laugh again. And one step in the right direction was all it took for me to realize I didn’t need to cry anymore.
In the most hopeless times, one must not lose hope. Without hope, the world is just a blank canvas. I saw my canvas as the most insignificant piece of art in the gallery. But like a diamond in the rough, my canvas was waiting to be discovered. I dusted the cobwebs, and applied colors, creating a design that was mine, and mine only. With faith, and fortitude, my canvas became a gem.
I am but another human being on this planet, and my purpose is to be happy. So when dark memories resurface, and remind me of how bad I felt once, I look but don’t stare. The dark memories are quickly replaced with joyful ones, and I’m grateful to simply be alive.
#TT Tuesday #Teaser – #32Seconds – Julie Jones Strikes Again
Drumroll, please! And Julie Jones is here to give you an excerpt of her upcoming story, 32 Seconds. Hope the week isn’t treating you badly – after all it’s only Tuesday – which means that the crap can hit the fan anytime now. It’s alright, we’ll stay positive, right Julie? At least, we’ll try.
***
My butt hit the pavement. As I opened my eyes, and tried to figure out where I had landed, an explosion popped right next to me. I ducked flat on the ground.
From the corner of one eye, I saw columns of blackish smoke in the distance, and the ruins of a town I didn’t recognize. The air had turned into a toxic mess, making my eyes water. To add to the pleasant experience, a violent cough proceeded to shake my core.
The explosions continued and were deafening. My mind told me to run, but my body remained stuck in place.
I rubbed my eyes to make sure this wasn’t a dream. It didn’t feel like a dream. Maybe the old witch I met by the one-dollar store did poison me with her chocolate, and I had landed in hell?
My body trembled from head to toe. From the little I could take in, the area looked like a war zone. I needed to find shelter before figuring things out. Struggling up on my wobbly legs, I turned in a circle, trying to find an escape route. I strove to regulate my breathing. My lungs burned. I wanted to get angry, to scream and pound my fists at something or someone, but I felt so weak. The same question looped inside my mind. Where the heck had I been transported to, against my will?
Asking Didi for directions was out of the question, since I had been robbed of my phone too. It was clearly my lucky day.
A shape moved ahead of me. I thought it was smoke, or an optical illusion. After a few seconds, I realized the shape was coming in my direction. Shizznit. Was it an animal? The thing ran quickly toward me. Soon I realized that something was actually someone, and that someone looked like a boy.
The muscles of my legs gave up and I fell to the ground. The cough was killing me. My heart was beating at a hundred miles per hour, my quickened breath jamming inside my throat as I stared at the approaching stranger. He opened his mouth and said something, but I didn’t understand a word through the ruckus of the incessant explosions. Through my watery eyes, I took in the sight of him. The dark-haired boy wore black jeans and a t-shirt, and his skin was covered in grayish dust.
He yelled something. It sounded like “un.”
Not sure what to say in response, I waved at him.
When he finally reached me, I noticed his eyes were glowing green.
“Hey…” I slurred between coughs. To my shock, he leapt like a jaguar and grabbed my arm in the process.
“Run!” he yelled, and propelled me off the ground like I weighed nothing.
Caught in his grip, I had no choice but to follow.
#MM Find Your Monday Muse!
Strolling yesterday among book shelves at Barnes & Nobles (always wondered why people hang out in bookstores but not in libraries), I told myself the day 32 Seconds comes out, I’m taking the place hostage until they kick me out. And if I don’t have the guts to take the place hostage, I’m dumping my book everywhere. You think someone will notice the book isn’t supposed to be there? An innocent bystander will totally buy it.
Anyway, long story short, yesterday I re-read my manuscript one more time and finally sent it for formatting and publishing prep. All the good stuff has to come to an end eventually. I’ll disregard the blood, sweat and tears, and the million hours spent writing this story. The torture was totally worth it!
I take the writing bug like an addiction. It’s not as out of control though. And while 32 Seconds gets beautified, I’m working on the first volume of the Manicheans (one out of many). I wouldn’t write if I wasn’t inspired by the Big Apple. I hate and love this town, but thank God I have it! It’s my muse. The stuff I see, hear, smell – the unmistakable stench of Times Square in the summer, the homeless passed out on the sidewalk, the teens smoking a blunt outside the bus terminal, the girls wearing clothing even a respectable hooker wouldn’t dare steal, all that stuff – it’s my life. I thought I could stay away from it, and just write from staring at trees – which I can do, but it’s just not the same – New York brings me back every time.
I not only live for this town, I also live for its people. The mix of cultures, languages, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and all the other stuff that make the City so unique, so vibrant, so entertaining, drive me to watch, listen and learn, until I’m full and words cascade down the page like a waterfall. Worse image would be like vomit, but I don’t really vomit words unless I’m pissed.
32 Seconds doesn’t take place in New York City but the City totally inspired me to write this book. Hope you’re as excited as I am for its upcoming release.
Stay out of trouble. Until tomorrow, folks!
#FF It’s all in the quirk
When it comes to books, do you like to cry or laugh? Or both? Do you want the love story to end well, or badly (like the dude or the dudette dies, not like Kramer vs. Kramer).
At the beginning of my writing journey, I was all about the darkness. Drama, death, destruction, you name it. Of course, I loved the darkness because my life was dark, or at least, my mindset lived in an era where fire hadn’t been discovered yet. Today, I love to laugh. I always loved to laugh, but I enjoy it more now than I did when I was five.
Long story short, my favorite stories (books and also movies) are the ones that are epic, dramatic but also funny. Tarentino executes this combo perfectly. And to me, the secret hides within the dialog. When one character breaks the tension with one silly comment, and I laugh, laugh, laugh…
I try to translate this in my writing obviously. Sometimes I go over the top and my editor says – hey, too much! Yeah, beating a dead horse doesn’t work well. It’s all a matter of balance.
When the character is quirky, you got me. I’m not saying silly though. I’m saying quirky!!
#TT Horrible Mood
Yes, the title says it all.
Not that I will punch people in the face. Well not really. In my head though…
So what to do when you’re so angry you could kill, but since you still have a vague understanding of right and wrong and the values society taught you when you were little, you won’t go to jail and fight other angry people for the bar of soap simply because today is just not the day? A few options: bite your nails until you have no fingers left, eat, overeat, work out and punch a bag, scream, drive in circles, cry, pet your cats, go for a long walk… I don’t know about you, but when I’m in a horrible mood, I need to laugh. And distract myself writing. Which, I wanted to do, but given all the other stuff I have to do so I can continue to get a paycheck, the writing will happen probably later. Much later.
Anyway, let’s look at the silver lining – it’s raining today, maybe it will magically appear in a rainbow.
Yeah, I guess my productivity will reach its peak.
#WW #Skyline
Always a joy to hit hump day, isn’t it? And as I go over the hump and prepare myself to experience two (maybe three) more days of ARGH!!!!!!, I also want to share this post with you.
I used to live in New York City until last November, when I decided to move out and take a leap of faith by becoming a New Jersey resident. Yes, some shook their head in disbelief, but the change was actually beneficial in many ways: I fell in love with a wonderful man (from New Jersey), I bought a house (in New Jersey), and as a consequence have slowly morphed into an anti-New Yorker. I still work in the City though, so every day I commute and spend thirty delicious minutes (each way) on the bus with tourists (because my bus line happens to service the hotel row).
And every time it’s the same reaction. No matter where these guys come from, once we drive down the I-95, follow the Hudson and hit the Manhattan skyline, they make this face:
And it’s great. What am I saying? It’s priceless. You know that’s the face that translates every feeling and emotion coursing through their body and mind – the WTF, this is amazing shit, who the eff had the brilliant idea to build a road right across from the river so we can all stare at this magnificent sight, and think Gosh I can finally check that off my bucket list – and I can’t help but laugh (at/with them) because I felt the exact same way the first time I saw the skyline.
It’s true. But now I’m a jaded New Jersey patriot for wanting people not to look surprised and happy when they see the Manhattan skyline. I certainly don’t have that reaction anymore, so why should they? Get over it. The Giants stadium is as cool, if not cooler, especially when there’s a concert going on that night because concert = fireworks! But no, the tourists won’t make the same face, and rush to pull their iPhone to take blurry pics because the driver is too goddarn selfish to stop the bus so they can photograph every angle of the buildings, and the sky, and the line where concrete meets water, and oooooooooh! I think someone just fainted. People travel thousands of miles to see this architectural beauty so why shouldn’t I make the same face every morning/evening? It’s right there. I live right by it.
We take a lot of crap for granted. I take this skyline for granted. And I’m not proud. I should be grateful. This is the morning view:
And this is the evening view:
This is a balls to the walls amazing sight to witness every morning/evening on my commute to/from work, don’t you think? Yeah, Mr. Grumpy Cat agrees.
#TT #TeaserTuesday – #32Seconds
Hello all! Today is one of those days where nothing seems to go right. And yes, I’m aware I should get up when my alarm clock tells me to, but sometimes, I don’t want to. We’ve all been there. Anyway, to lighten the mood, here’s our favorite gal Julie Jones in an excerpt from 32 Seconds – to be released this winter.
Enjoy!
***
Ruffling through the contents of my locker, I was looking for my Spanish class syllabus. I needed a one-on-one to organize my crap a bit more efficiently. Since no one had volunteered to teach me that basic life lesson, I struggled to find the darn syllabus.
And gosh knew how much I hated Spanish.
As I started losing my cool—and losing my cool meant ruffling through the locker while tearing apart half the shizzle that was in there—I heard a voice.
“Yeah, man, that was a decent play, but look at Griggs, how he tackled that SOB. That, my man, was priceless.”
Distracted from my locker rage, I froze and held my breath. Slowly peeking around the edge of the half-open locker door, my heart went on a full roller coaster ride as I studied the owner of the voice as discretely as possible.
His wet blonde hair stuck to the back of his neck, his skin glistening from the shower he had just taken. The scent of his deodorant reached my nostrils—peppermint! He was chatting with two other guys whose names I didn’t know. My sixth sense told me these three belonged to the football team. When my eyes locked with those of the owner of the voice, butterflies ran havoc inside my stomach and broke the cocoon between my legs. Embarrassed, I blushed and muttered inaudible insults at myself.
“What’s up, nerd?” the cute guy fired, obviously amused by my reaction.
I jumped and swallowed my words. “Um, um nothing. All done here.” I didn’t care about the syllabus anymore. Slamming the door of my locker, I fought with the lock while the three guys watched me, giggling. Where was the next space shuttle to the farthest end of the universe? I’d sell my soul to jump in and fly the heck out of there.
“See ya later, nerd!” the owner of the voice said, as I scooted away as fast as my legs allowed, and found shelter a few minutes later in the ladies’ room.
Crapola! How could my lower parts explode in such a fashion just by glancing at him? Of course, this wasn’t the first time my lady butterfly decided to take a hike and surprise me with delightful wetness in my underpants, but never had I been the victim of such deviousness when in eye contact with a real guy! My sexual discovery had been restricted to hot scenes in books, or in the movies I watched online at night.
“Hey!”
I jumped. In the mirror I saw a girl with heavy, black makeup and the outfit of a vampire turned grunge queen overnight, standing behind me. Heart pounding at one hundred miles per hour inside my chest, I turned around.
“Hey,” I said back, not to be rude. What the heck did this chick want? Embarrass me more?
“We’re in math and Spanish together. Susan,” the girl said.
Distracted by her nose ring, I made a face. She probably misunderstood my expression for confusion, but I stayed cool and brushed an invisible hair off my jacket sleeve. Why was she talking to me? Now was really not a good time.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I know who you are,” I answered, and swallowed, only to hit a huge lump in my throat.
She smiled and stepped closer to the mirror to check her make-up.
“Mind if I give you a little piece of advice?” she asked.
I stared at her in disbelief. Okay, this little surprise encounter seriously deserved an explanation.
“What kind of advice?” I asked back, while repositioning my heavy back pack on my shoulder. What was I carrying in there? A whole artillery of machine guns?
“Stay away from losers like Dan Goldberg,” Susan said.
#MuseMonday – The #Manicheans
Hello all!
Hope the weekend has treated you nicely – I started working on my next book, and the hair pulling has begun once again. As 32 Seconds is close to being released, I felt antsy and looked forward to plotting and writing Volume 1 of The Manicheans, which is the series I’ve been working on and off since 2010. Good things come to those who wait, and this project has been put on the back burner too often. I’m happy though to have had the experience of writing 32 Seconds, because now, I found my voice, and know how to tackle the story without rewriting it one million times over (I think this time, I’ll only have to write it 999,999 times over).
I was ecstatic to finally update the software on my phone to iOs8 and Apple has taken me now to the present – note that I didn’t say future, because I was longing to ditch my iPhone for an Android again! – but hey, Mr. and Mrs. Apple gave me the keyboard of my dreams and I can write on my phone – like I used to when I had a Blackberry and my Android. Needless to say, instead of losing my temper against the iPhone keyboard, I waited patiently until my phone would be a friend again. Our bond is now stronger than ever, thank you iOs8 update.
But I digress. I am one of these writers who cannot keep track of ideas on post-its or random pieces of paper, so my phone is my best tool when it comes to drafting my story. I usually write on my commute because it relaxes me. I rewrote the manuscript of the Manicheans three times already, and now comes the fourth time, the magic number! At the fourth draft, I usually have done all the research I need, and the plotting really begins for me. This is how I work, and I can’t plot unless I’ve done some serious character and backstory development.
I thought of a prologue. My first prologue was weak, and didn’t really give any information about the Manicheans and who these people were, and why you had to read about them!
So I came up with a new prologue. Granted it’s not perfect, but it’s getting there. As a treat, I’m pasting the prologue here. 32 Seconds is coming out soon, and the Manicheans will follow with a release next year around the same time. I love to give myself tight deadlines – one book a year is how I roll! 😉
Enjoy!
***
The Manicheans – Volume 1: Esperanza (to be released in 2015) – Prologue
A dream, it was all a dream. Wherever she went, the image of his face appeared in her mind and she drifted, looking for him. But he couldn’t be found. Not that he didn’t want to, she didn’t know where to start. Yeni was long gone and had become a bittersweet memory, with its smiles and kisses, and promises everything would be okay…
Nothing was okay though.
No words would help her now. She had given up hope and didn’t seek forgiveness or redemption. She had one last wish: vanish. Every previous attempt proved pointless. But she had to try one more time for the sake of it. She couldn’t take this loneliness anymore. She was tired of running, tired of finding something to do, tired of being here. Because reality didn’t appeal to her, she needed an escape. Drugs and alcohol worked for a while until they stopped working.
No, she knew she couldn’t be saved. She accepted the fact nothing or no one would change her mind. Resolved and defeated, she had one more card to play before the curtains closed.
Death. Cold, empty, peaceful. She was looking forward to it.
She grabbed the revolver and placed the tip of the barrel against her temple. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. The index pressed on the trigger, she exhaled slowly and pulled. Despite the deafening noise, and the unmistakable smell of gunpowder, the bullet didn’t pierce her skin. Another time, one more failure. No matter how creative the chosen method was, she couldn’t die. The last one hundred and twenty six attempts hadn’t delivered the expected result either.
She grunted and threw the revolver across the room. Then, grabbing a bottle of scotch, she lit a cigarette.
Life just didn’t make any gosh darn sense. Especially when she couldn’t end it when she wanted to. Freedom didn’t mean squat. It was just a word like potato. A potato had a purpose at least.
Staring outside, she blew a purple cloud of smoke against the window and suppressed a snort. Why was her existence so darn pointless? Who was playing a joke on her? If God thought making her invincible was a gift, he could stop pretending to be Santa. What she learned from reading Interview with a Vampire is that there was no joy in immortality.
She watched people shuffle on the ground thirty stories below her, like ants moving relentlessly in one direction or the other, and she wondered what it would feel like to have a goal. Not necessarily a life changing objective, but something to be excited about. A date, a job interview, a doctor’s appointment or any kind of appointment, a social event, shopping sprees, lunch with the girls… She had nothing to do.
Only a miracle would change the monotonous existence she had been living for the past twenty-one years.
Since she didn’t believe in miracles, she had accepted nothing would ever be different.
Today, however, everything would change. She just didn’t know it yet.
Her name was Esperanza Negroni, and she was a Manichean.
#WW 32 Seconds Teaser
Hello folks!
I apologize for not blogging my Tuesday Teaser yesterday but I was busy becoming a US citizen! Go America! LOL Anyway, you know 32 Seconds will be released soon and Julie Jones can’t stop harassing me to feed you a few excerpts until the book is out.
Ladies and Gents, enjoy!
***
As I selected my fuel and gunned the pump into the tank, I noticed, from the corner of my
eye, the clerk staring at me from the window of the minuscule convenience store. The rain had
done nothing to cool the air, and condensation clouded my lenses. I repositioned my shades on
my nose after cleaning the foggy lenses with the fabric of my tank top, and my breath caught in
my throat.
I didn’t like people staring at me, especially when they thought they knew who I was. Maybe
they had seen me on the latest edition of Entertainment Tonight. I had to be cautious, at least for
the first five hundred miles.
The guy kept staring and I looked away, focusing my undivided attention on the pump. It
finally clicked, indicating the tank was full. I sighed with relief. I wouldn’t have to stick around this middle-of-nowhere gas station for much longer. I locked the car and paced to the convenience store.
The guy staring at me from behind his dirt covered, microscopic pane was much less scary
face to face. I smiled at the young, harmless fellow and handed him my credit card.
“Thank you,” I said, before wandering through the aisles of the tiny store to check if there
might be something else I needed.
I browsed the shelves, collected crackers, chips, pretzels, and water. Stepping back to the
counter, I dropped the contents of my treasure hunt and smiled again at the clerk, like I had just
won an award.
The guy continued to stare at me, looking disenchanted, probably because he worked in a
hellhole; and here I stood before him, with my expensive outfit, awesome hairdo and perfectly
manicured nails. Envious, much?
Steady breathing in place, I gave him a stare full of love and understanding. Yes, I’d also
feel like doodoo if I worked here. Would he smile in return? Nope. As stern as a rock.
“Your card has been declined, Miss,” he said, and I sensed condescension in his tone.
“Declined?” My eyes widened, and my eyebrows shot up to my hairline. “That’s not
possible. Here, take this one.”
I gave him another card from my wallet, one of the fifteen rectangles of plastic I proudly
owned, and waited for him to swipe it through.
He shook his head. “Also declined.” Gosh almighty, what the fly was going on here? I didn’t max out all the limits on the cards.
There must have been some mistake.
“Impossible,” I stated, as he swiped the remaining cards, one by one, until none were left to
burn through the machine.
My level of frustration increased a hundredfold. Palms sweating against the counter, I struggled to contain the agitation rippling under my skin from head to toe, turning me into a hot, bubbling, angry mess. The clerk’s hand subtly slid toward the bottom of his cash drawer, where I suspected he hid a gun; and as he prepared to blow my brains out, because I couldn’t pay for my pretzels and gas, I pulled cash from my wallet and handed it to him.
“Here.”
The kid glared at me like I had lost my mind, then gave me the “why didn’t you give me the
cash earlier, moron” smile, and nodded.
“Have a good day,” he said, and gave me my bag of goodies.
I immediately split, before getting trapped, like a mouse in a room filled with cheese death
traps.
The Manicheans 