Thursday, April 3, 2014

Your Thoughts and Opinions Are Welcome

      Well, you've caught me in the middle of a work week where I'm on 5 straight days. For normal people that doesn't mean anything. For me, it means I'm exhausted. They are ten hour days with only thirty minutes break. That's nine and a half hours of on my feet, running, lifting, pushing, and pulling. 
What I feel like after a day at work!

      What is my point, you may ask? Well, I have a couple. I'm tired, so I'm going to cheat a little on this blog. But on the other hand I consider you, my beloved readers, fortunate for my jaded self. I'm going to give you a glimpse into a work in progress. This is a very rough piece from the New Adult story I am writing. 

      You know I don't do this often, so please sit back, relax, and feel free to critique at the end. Remember, the only first person writing I do is this blog. I don't care to write in first person, but New Adult is always done that way, so here goes...

      I never thought I’d get sick of people cheering for me, chanting my name. Every time I stepped out on stage I inhaled the atmosphere, took in thousands of faceless people. Even though I could only see about the first twenty rows I swear I heard each and every one of their voices. Knowing they come to see me overwhelms me at times. It always hits me when I’m about to go on. My heart beats in triple time. My nerves assure me they’re functioning fully from head to toe. I get tunnel vision and for a few moments I see people talking but don’t hear a word. Then, as soon as my feet hit that stage something happens. I ingest the music until my body can’t resist. I dance to the front of the stage and start singing. The crowd screams.
            Right now I’m getting my hair done. I’m on in an hour, and I’m exhausted. Things haven’t been right for a while, and I can’t dig myself out of this… feeling that has settled in me. I’ve started getting panic attacks and I can’t sleep. The bags under my eyes taunt me in the mirror, as do the pills in the bottle that stare at me every night. I won’t take them. I can’t. I don’t want to be like her.
            I close my eyes and try to concentrate on something happy, but that’s another thing. I can’t concentrate. I fidget in the chair much to the chagrin of my stylist. She’s been talking to me and I haven’t heard one word. I really do think I’m losing my mind. All I can think of is that night a few months ago. I can’t get the picture of my best friend’s dead body out of my head. Walls start closing in around me and once again my breaths grow short. Just when I think I can’t take it my phone rings. Relief floods me when I see it is my lifeline, my sister.
            “H-hey Jess.” My damn voice betrayed me and the silence on the other end made my breaths grow short yet again.
            “I’m on my way, Raven. Are you going on?”
            “I h-have to, I can’t leave 22,000 people waiting.” I whispered.
            “Yes, you can. Lose your voice, Raven, like when we were younger and didn’t want to deal with anyone. I’m in my car now. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”
            Tears left my eyes. “Hurry, Jess.” I need her just as much now as I did years ago, and she is the one thing I count on in my life. Jessica is not just my sister. She has taken care of me for as long as I can remember.
            The tunnel vision starts again. My heart hammers so hard against my ribcage I wonder if anyone else can feel it. I’m certain it can register on the Richter scale at the moment. Just a few feet away is where I will enter the stage. I pull in the biggest breath I can take and let it out slowly. I can’t leave all these people hanging. They’ve paid way too much money to see me. But this is the last show I’m doing. Ever.
            Nobody knows that. The last time I told my agent I needed time off he made it perfectly clear that if I took so much as one day the world would forget about me.
Raven and Nate, so needing each other.
            I’m twenty-one years old.
            At one time I loved being so adored. Now I just want to be alone. After three straight years on the road I’m ready to be “normal” if that’s even possible anymore. I care about the world forgetting about me, but I don’t. That’s how messed up I am. Half way through the concert my legs are burning. The dancing combined with the lack of sleep is messing with my muscles. I keep smiling, keep dancing, keep waving, keep singing. Then I spot my sister and everything falls away. Just seeing her gives me the energy I need to give the fans what they want. I try not to look at her often though, worry oozes off her.
            Finally the show ends. The band and I waved and say our thank you’s. I turn toward Jessica and feel my feet taking me in her direction. People try to stop me, they try talking to me, but I have tunnel vision now. Jess is frantically trying to get to me. She knows. As soon as we are face to face I lose it. I collapse into her arms.


      So there you have it. A very brief glimpse into Chapter One of the New Adult book. Yes I have a title for it, but that'll be subject to change. Now, its time for you to speak up!

      What did you think? What genres do you read? Did you want to read more, or put it back on the shelf, so to speak?

W.P.I.- The spectacular Angel Trumpet vine is native to the forests of South America, and delivers a dark triad of potent toxins—atropine, hyoscyamine, and the mind altering scopolamine. Unlike the other plants on this list, Angel Trumpet is less dangerous in of itself, than as a biological weapon in the hands of humans. In 2007, Angel Trumpet was featured in the documentary “Colombian Devil’s Breath,” for its use by criminal gang members who refined scopolamine from the ethereal looking weed and used it to turn victims into zombies – literally. This “hypnotizing herb” leaves its victims unaware of the nature of their actions, but still completely conscious. The documentary contained numerous horror stories of scopolamine attacks, including one eerie case where a man had scopolamine powder thrown in his face, and promptly emptied his entire apartment into the van of the robbers. Voluntary experimenters have seriously injured themselves in their psychotic state.

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