4th Annual No-Kiss Blogfest!

Every year I try to participate in this wonderful event known as the No-Kiss Blogfest, hosted by the awesome Frankie Diane Mallis.

This year I'm a little late to posting, mostly because I'm not sure how I feel about this scene, it needs a lot of work, but for right now I think it will do. Please forgive whatever grammar mistakes I've most definitely made, I'm still trying to hone my skills in that area.


--

Caleb stumbled into their room; with ever falter in his step his grip around Teagan tightened. She was trembling in his arms, her knuckles clenched white against the fabric of his shirt; her hand clasped so tight he could almost feel the pulse in her fist against his chest. Her breathing and the sloshing from the whiskey bottle she had in her free hand were almost in perfect harmony with his hurried heavy steps.   

“Caleb,” she hiccupped; her voice soft against the cotton of his button down, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He lowered her onto the bed, dislodging the bottle from her hand. She pulled her legs up against her chest, burying her face into the pillows. Caleb stepped away from her, rubbing his slowly swelling jaw, and took a sip directly out of the bottle.

“Nothing is okay,” she grunted, sitting up. The aftertaste of cheap vodka was still hot on her tongue, she licked her lips.

“He didn’t hit me that hard,” another swig. As the sweet liquid dripped down his throat its slow cool burn began to numb the throbbing which had started to blossom along his jaw line.

“You didn’t have to do that you know. I could have handled myself.” Her voice was harsh; she shoved herself off the bed and started walking towards the bathroom.

“Excuse me? Just a second ago you were apologizing. I just carried you all the way here. The least you could do was say thank you.”

“I wasn’t apologizing for that. And I could have made it by myself.” The water started running, but the door was wide open. He walked towards it

“Sure, you could have.”

“I mean it!”

“Then what the hell were you—” he stopped dead, whiskey bottle half pressed to his lips. Teagan’s long sleeve shirt was abandoned on the floor right next to the sink; leaving her clad in nothing but her navy lace bra and black skirt.  Her back was to him, her bare shoulder blades covered with bruises, spider webs of broken blood cells extending down her spine.

Teagan turned towards him. The canvas of her skin displayed a color spectrum ranging from black to jaundice yellow. Anger flashed through him, his fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle clenching and unclenching as he tried to calm himself. Someone had hit her, someone had hurt her, and he wanted to hurt them.

“Teagan,” he lowered the bottle, taking a step towards her, shaking with anger.

“They’re nothing. Don’t look at them.” She stepped towards him, reaching out for the bottle. He let it go and she pressed it to her lips, meeting his eyes for only a second.

“No questions, remember?” she took another sip and closed her eyes.

He placed his hands on her bare shoulders, running his fingers along the green and yellow bruises that painted her.

“Teagan, who—”

“Don’t look at them.” She shrugged him off taking a step back into the bathroom, pressing the bottle back into his hand, her curls falling in front of her speckled eyes.

“Teagan,” his voice caught.

“I don’t want your pity okay!” she snapped, folding her arms against her chest, doing so exposed her ribs. They were a deep purple with tiny splotches of deep red peppering the dark hues which ran the length of her torso, for a second he thought he could make out the imprint of a boot in one of the dark swirled designs.

“Teagan—” he took a step towards her, hand outstretched.

“I said don’t look at them! I know they’re hideous okay? You don’t have to look.” She was trembling again, and he could just see the tears starting to brim in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered stepping closer to her. She hiccupped, using the back of her hand to wipe her eyes.

“Teagan,” he was inches from her now, his fingers just barely brushing the tinted skin of her shoulder blade.

“Stop saying my name!” she spun round, and found herself just a breath away from him. He reached out, pulling her into his arms careful not to squeeze her bruises too tight.

“Teagan,” he whispered, burying his face into her bright red hair. “I’m so sorry.” She started to cry, trembling as he clutched her closer.

“You’re beautiful you know that? They aren’t who you are, they aren’t…you didn’t deserve this. I promise you, I…” he was at a loss for words.

“Please,” she pulled away from him to look up into his eyes, “stop apologizing.”

“You’re just…you didn’t deserve this.” She went to pull away and he tugged her closer, “I want you to know, you’re still…you’re beautiful.”

“Stop lying to me.” He reached out for her chin and tilted her head up towards him. He started to lean in; she could smell the sweet whiskey on his breath, as he cradled her in his arms.

Her heart began to pound, the alcohol making her dizzy. She wanted him to crash his whiskey tinted lips against hers, to wrap herself around him and let him kiss her until she couldn’t even remember her own name. But she didn’t want it out of pity.

Teagan jerked away from him, stumbling across the tile. “Get out, please. Get out.”

He didn’t move, just staring at her, eyes glued to the marks dancing across her flesh.

“I said get the fuck out!” She pressed her hands to his chest, and shoved him out the door. He stumbled into the bedroom and she slammed the door in his face.

---

So here is my fourth entry! I cannot believe I've been a part of this thing for four years now, it is absolutely fantastic. I hope everyone has a wonderful day filled with absolutely no kissing whatsoever! I'm off to read what everyone else had to share.

Week 21: The Next Big Thing

 So, after over two months of bloging silence, despite my desire to be bouncing about at the top of my typing lungs, I have been lured back onto the posting side of the blogsphere by none other than my lovely friend Ella, of The Blogger Girlz. It has been awhile since I participated in anything like this, so unfortunately depending on how it goes my Next Big Thing line might end here. But no worries I will do my best to assure next week, whomever has stumbled across this post, will have another blog to hop over to.

So the rules are:

*Answer the following questions about your WIP and then tag five people who will talk about
their WIP next week!

Sounds fun, right? :)

Let's get started!

What is the working title of your book?



The current WIP I am working on has been dubbed, Ragtop.
 
Where did the idea come from for the book?

Honestly? I was day dreaming about hot wiring a car. Not that I could successfully do that, or drive away with it as I 1) have no license and 2) can't drive. Yeah, I'm a super functioning college student.
 
What genre does your book fall under?

Contemporary YA.
 
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

No clue. Maybe Emma Stone because she has red hair. And I love her. But most likely not, seeing as if it ever gets finished or published I doubt it would be made into a movie. Or if it is that it will happen anytime soon. I'm rambling, so to conclude I have no idea who I would like to play my characters, I think I'd let the people making it surprise me.
 
What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
After hot-wiring a car in a funeral home parking lot, and then sweet talking the cars owner into ignore the transgression and joining her, Teagan begins a trip cross country to escape her brother's murderers.
 
Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
No idea. I'm not ever going to rule out the idea of self-publication, it is a reasonable path to take. Though I personally would like to one day be represented by an agency, so it won't be the first thing I head for.
 
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Uh...I've been working at it on and off for almost two years now. But in my defense I'm a double majoring full time college kid with two other jobs...and unfortunately that means this part of my life has to come second a lot of the time.
 
What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
 
Um, any road trip books. Like Amy and Roger's Epic Detour by Morgan Matson (I managed to read that in between classes a week or so ago, so good). And then I suppose it is also similar to This Lullaby and What Happened to Goodbye by Sarah Dessen.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?
 
No idea. I've always been encouraged by my family and friends, and Teagan just kind of walked into my head and started bossing me around. Then as my life changed, she did and started telling me things I hadn't considered up until that point, I think that is going to help make it a deeper, more developed piece.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

My sassy red headed protagonist and her saucy runt of a pit-bull puppy. His name is Tavish, because my parents wouldn't let me adopt a puppy of the same breed (and name bestowed by me) two years ago.

As for the people whom I would like to continue with this hop, I will email around and get back to posting later. If anyone who reads this wants to be tapped, hit me up in the comments!

Functioning

It is no secret that life is hard. And everyone handles stress differently, everyone approaches life with different attitudes, everyone is playing from the same deck of cards but not everyone gets the same hand, and that sucks.

I'm a college student, I go to classes for a minimum of three hours every day, that isn't including the time I spend volunteering for my first major, or doing my work for my classes, or any of the little things that walk hand in hand with being a functioning adult. And some days I just don't function, I will completely admit that, it seems like on those days no matter how much I accomplish it is just not enough.  I'm sick a lot of the time too, which is an added stressor, and currently unemployed up at school which annoys the crap out of me because back home I am nearly self sufficient. College is not cheap, and neither is taking extra classes to graduate on time with a double major. I miss my family every day, especially my parents and my siblings, being so far away kills. I know they are a phone call away and all that, but it doesn't bring them here any faster. And all this stuff is depressing.

It has, as time as gone on, been getting progressively harder to find the time, and the motivation to write. Not only for myself, but for this blog, which I love dearly. It has also become even harder to do critiques for my partners in Ink Slingers, so much so we essentially disbanded today which broke my heart a little bit. But I am trying to do better.

I'm trying so hard to figure out how to balance the life I love, this one, with the life that I need to lead to function as a member of society. And I am going to figure it out. I just have to, because I refuse to feel miserable and unaccomplished with a degree in three years if I let what I love fall to the wayside. Not to say I don't love my campus or my career choice, but it's different.

So I am going to get better, do better. I am. I don't know when or how but I am going to figure it out. I am going to function. So here I am, yet again, promising to do better. To be a better blogger, a better writer, because I have to make time for this. For me. It is my life after all, and what's the point if I'm living it for everyone else.

On Buring Popcorn...

I live in a dorm.

As my original, peppy, beautiful RA once said "We live in a house of sticks."

She was so very, very, very, very right.

And today, when enjoying some bonding time with my roommate, we are getting along so much better now than we once did which is a Godsend, I burned a bag of popcorn. And then, for exactly twenty seconds, the fire alarm went off.

In the course of the year we have had two fire drills, one each semester, and so far (which I say with fingers crossed) we have not had to evacuate because of someone being a moron and lighting things in the microwave on fire. Today I was that moron.

Thankfully, I had the sense to 1)shut the microwave to stop smoke from billowing all through our common room 2)open all the windows in said common room, including one of the screens which I then threw my burnt bag of popcorn out of (it was not on fire, no worries). And then, when my roommate and I were basically being smothered by smoke, the alarm started a high pitched squeak, which is very different from it's normal loud blaring shriek that sounds like the world is ending, and the alarms began to blink, that bright white light which will no doubt blind you if you look right into it.

And then, twenty seconds later it was done.

No one had to evacuate, though a few of the girls on my floor were like "Hayley what did you do?" and then we all laughed about it.

Which got me thinking, writing is almost like burning a bag of popcorn.

Bear with me for a moment, and I'll explain.

Writing almost always starts out fun, with promise of delicious treats and spunky characters, things that one loves. Then you get going, popping one could say, and sometimes everything goes down without a hitch. Other times, the popcorn burns. You get going and you've got all these great kernels of ideas and you're writing away and then you hit a road block, maybe you started over thinking, maybe you just can't think anymore, but either way it starts to burn.

And that is where writing just goes weird. Or rather it seems like that, seems like it's completely out of whack and nothing will ever straighten out. Like you may just have aggravated forty other kids who now have to go outside in a cool foggy afternoon when they'd rather be playing video games or watching television, and they will never speak to you again.

Well it straightens out, and it works. It may take twenty seconds for that alarm to stop preparing itself to ring, and then you can laugh. Then you can just look at your writing and stop taking yourself too seriously and it's all okay.

So you burned one bag of popcorn, maybe this one story isn't meant--just yet--to be. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the burnt bag of popcorn anyways! Give it out to the squirrels, laugh about your mishaps with your friends, enjoy the process that it took to get you to that burned bag of popcorn. And all the stuff that comes after.

I know I'm not making any sense right now, but I don't know. The idea just came to me and, well, I just was really inspired. By a bag of popcorn.

Yeah.

It's the little things, right?

Just Writing.

I was just writing the other night. Stream of conscious penmanship if you will. And I came up with this, I ended up posting it to Letters to Crushes, which is an epic site and you should hit it up. But that's anonymous and I wanted to take credit for it here. So, in light of Valentines Day coming up, and my less than stellar track record with boys, I don't know this was the product of random scribblings early yesterday morning when I couldn't sleep.

...

It’s silly, wanting things.

I want someone to go to bed thinking of me. To wake and send me a good morning text just because he knows it will brighten my day. I want sweet dreams texts too, and conversations that end with “You hang up…no you hang up” because we are so enthralled with the rhythmic measure of each other’s voice it’s hard to say goodbye, even if it is just temporary.

I want roses on Valentines, and other mismatched flowers at random intervals of the year just because. I want a boy who isn’t afraid to tell his friends about me, who will sneak up on me in the dining hall and wrap me in his arms from behind, just so everyone around us knows that I am his and he is mine. I want someone who thinks occasionally (even when he won’t admit it to himself, because we’re young and in college, and such thoughts are farfetched and inconceivable) that maybe I’m the girl for him. That I could be his everything.

I want someone who wants to know me better than I know myself. Who makes it his goal to memorize every line in my face, every freckle on my skin, just so I’ll be etched into his memory forever.  Who won’t care if one day I show up dressed to the nines, whilst the next I’m in sweatpants and a baggy shirt. I want someone to whom my physical appearance is only a bonus, an added plus to the beautiful radiant girl he sees behind the temporary fog of mortality that is a human body.

I want someone who likes cuddling just for the physical contact, who likes my weight against his chest, who likes to feel my heart against his. Because knowing that I am there gives him comfort. Who can tell just my hearing my voice, seeing me walk, when I need him most. I want him to give me forehead kisses, play with my hair, give me his jacket when I’m cold, and fiddle with the chipping polish on my nails because he thinks it’s cute. I want him to need to touch me, to reach out and stroke the back of my hand because he just needs the contact between us, to know that I am indeed real.

I want someone who puts thought into every gift, every action. Who gives me a moonstone necklace on the night of a full moon, because he knows about precious stone lore, and how it dictates that when someone is given moonstone the first night of a full moon they will have passion for the gift giver forever. And he wants us to share in that passion. I want him to write about me, even if he isn’t a writer and the words are a strung together mess of thought and verbose clumsiness. I want him to care enough that he has to inscribe onto paper how he feels. Someone who will backpack with me across Europe the summer before college ends. Who will explore the entire world with me because there is nothing he would rather do. 

I want someone who searches for adventure, not the adrenaline pumping life-threatening kind (though sprinkles of that would be okay too), but just the adventure and thrill that he can find in everyday life from doing silly everyday things. 

I want someone who will take my hand and walk with me along the beach, regardless of the weather. Someone who will dance in the rain, and hold my hand when it thunders. Someone who doesn’t mind my midnight walks to nowhere because he understands that sometimes I just can’t sleep. I want someone who wants to explore the nighttime world with me. 

I want goodnight kisses, and well “don’t you look beyond adorable kisses”, Eskimo kisses, and random unprompted kisses that occur just because he can press his lips to mine. I want someone with whom I have a secret handshake; which we only pull out in the most dire of circumstances. I want spontaneity, and trying things just because we could, and secret code words, and inside jokes. I want all these childish things that will keep us young together, because when we are together the fingers of time can’t touch us.

I want someone who will rub the space between my shoulders when I have panic attacks. Who strokes my hair when I cry, and massages the place between my forefinger and thumb when he holds my hand. I want someone who will fight for me. Not necessarily physically, but emotionally, who will see that I’m not worth giving up on, that I, like him, am a work in progress and second chances are occasionally needed, and sometimes we’ll hurt each other but in the end we are always able to move past that and grow. To become better for one another because we make each other want to be better.

I want chivalry, and I want love. Lasting love that my grandkids will talk about forever, one that they will try to mirror their relationships after because, in our own crazy way, we shared a love story that will resonate through the ages.

I want someone who understands relationships are work and that nothing in life ever comes easy. I want someone who wants me for me.

 And most of all I want someone who wants all of these things, and more, from me; because I want to give them.

...

So yeah, that's the product of a tired, hopeless romantic Hayley Lovell. Hope you enjoyed.

Musings

Well first and foremost I want to thank K.M. Walton, who just a few weeks ago had a randomized giveaway drawn from a pool of people who had photographs of her lovely novel CRACKED out running rampant in the wild. I submitted mine, and won. So I wanted to thank her properly because it was a lovely surprise that I won and because she is just an awesome peorson in general.

So if you haven't purchased CRACKED I advise you go grab yourself a copy and enjoy. It's freaking amazing.

Now the topic of this post, which is also my hundredth post, amazing how time flies but at the same time I've had this blog for two years and haven't reached one hundred posts until now. Which kind of makes me disappointed in myself but at the same time, I don't know I'm proud that I've stuck with it I suppose. The topic of this post is musings, in other words it's just going to be me rambling and thinking outloud.

OR rather thinking online.

College isn't as hard as I thought it was going to be, at least not the academic stuff anyways, which I'm not complaining about--not at all. It's just an observation. I had a tough past week. I had to make a tough call, one which I know was right because there was nothing else to do but still was hard none the less. And on top of that, I had to file a harassment claim.

Now don't freak out, whoever is reading this, it wasn't anything too horrid. Just the final straw I guess, regarding a failed relationship in which I was emotionally trodden on. Well after two months of no contact the other party thought it would be fun to call me up and play with my emotions. And I finally stood up for myself. I'm never getting in that position ever again. Ever.

I've been having trouble writing too. It seems like everything I put onto paper is just insignificant, as though the words are complete gibberish that would make a two year old cringe. Yeah. I hate that feeling. Writing is my emotional outlet, and I haven't been using it to the best of my ability lately. In fact I'm outright ashamed at my lack of writing these past six months.

Then on top of that I've kind of let blogging fall to the wayside, not that I haven't continued to read almost every post done by my friends. Every Monday I hop online, because it's the day my schedule has the most free time (anyone else feel the irony there?) and read every post done over the past week by the people I follow. I don't always comment, but I'm beginning to think I should because even if its just a few words I know I'm always happy to see a number next to my little comment box and know someone was reading. I can only assume it makes my fellow writers and friends smile too. I think I'm going to do that more often.

Also I made a decision that once this nasty winter weather starts to lighten up I'm going to learn how to drive. I'm not going to let the rest of my younger siblings get their liscences before I do. I know it's silly but it's just how I feel. I mean they're all already taller than me as it is, I should at least be able to drive to prove I'm older...

I've also got to get myself a job up here at school. I know my dad hates the idea, because it's "your job to learn and do well." but I feel like a money suck, and also I need to save money for some of the trips I want to take this summer, and the eventual semester abroad I'm planning. Ireland is my destination. Though no guarantees if I come back or not, I mean it's Ireland.

So my hundredth post has been nothing but rambles, and me whining a tad and well a plug for an epic novel, which you should seriously go buy. Just saying.

And you know what I'm okay with my 100th post being nothing special, because you know what. I made it to 100 posts and that is something I'm proud of.

Hope everyone has a nice day!!

3rd Annual No Kiss Blogfest!!

Alright, so for the past three years the lovely Frankie, has hosted the No-Kiss or Almost-Kiss blogfest. Where writers get to post a scene where their characters share an almost kiss. I've participated in the past two, and seeing as it is tradition had to participate in the third. Below is my meager contrabution. I advise however that you head over to the reliable Mr. Linky and read all the posts that were composed especially for today, or sign up yourself it is never to late.

I hope everyone's New Year has gotten off to a nice start, enjoy the lack of kissing!!

---

Caleb glanced at the propped door, to anyone else it would have looked closed but he could see the thin piece of tape protruding over the lock, holding it down just enough so someone could get in and out of the room with ease. He glanced at the plaque next to the door: Roof Access Employee’s Only.

A small smile tugged at his lips, she had said she’d wanted to watch the fireworks tonight and what better place than to watch them from the roof. His eyes darted up and down the hallway, he didn’t see anyone so he slipped open the door and headed up the rickety stairs, pausing at the top fixated with awe.

He could see her through the tiny sliver of window, his hand hovering over the doorknob to the rooftop. She was perched on the ledge, one leg folded up against her stomach the other bouncing back and forth against the brick of the building. The sky was molting, shedding its crimson glow for the deep blue shimmer of night. All he could think about was how beautiful she looked against the tapestry of the night. The light was refracting through her hair just so, giving her auburn curls an unearthly glow. He watched her for the longest moment, her shoulders shook ever so slightly and even from a distance he could see her hand trembling as she ran it through her hair. He loved that nervous habit.

He had never seen her like this, open and unguarded, he’d come to the roof expecting to find Teagan the girl who never let anything get to her, and instead he’d stumbled upon a creature he had never seen before, a vulnerable, trembling, girl who appeared to wear her heart on her sleeve. For a moment he was tempted to leave, to let her be alone, but he couldn’t.

Her head snapped up at the sound of the door opening, she wiped her hand under her eyes removing the last trails of tears from her cheeks. Any moment she expected to hear someone hollering at her to get down, that she wasn’t supposed to be up here. She braced herself listening as the footsteps got closer and closer. She did not expect a warm jacket to be draped around her shoulders.

“You know, coming up here in a tank top and shorts will get you sick.” Caleb said, collapsing down next to her dangling both his legs off the ledge. She was tempted to remove his jacket from her shoulders and cast it down over the ledge, but she had been slightly cold. She didn’t respond, watching him from the corner of her eye, when he looked away she tugged the jacket closer, pulling in the warmth and his smoky, earthy scent.

“How’d you find me?”

“Well, I saw the tape on the lock—cute trick by the way, what’d you do swipe a key off the cleaning lady when she wasn’t looking open the door, rig it, and put the key back, with her none the wiser?”

“Something like that,” the corners of Teagan’s mouth turned up in a smile, her thoughts drifting to her brother and how he’d taught her to pickpocket.

“Why up here?”

“It’s quiet up here, nice. And the fireworks are going to start soon, its best to watch fireworks from rooftops.” She shivered as a quick burst of wind brushed by them. Caleb inched slightly closer, so their hips were just touching.

“You cold?”

“A little, nothing I can’t handle though.” She forced a smile.

“Teagan are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I’m fine, really just needed some air.”

“Teagan,” his velvet voice wrapped itself around her, just the sound of her name made her stomach do back flips in her chest. He reached out for her, one hand resting on her damp cheek turning her emerald gaze upon him, the other falling gently on top of her upturned palm entwining his fingers through hers. Immediately her pulse skyrocketed, he was close too close. But she wanted him close, wanted to pull him to her and become wrapped in his smell, have her hands in that brown hair, lips pressed against his.

Caleb leaned in, his lips pursing as though pausing over a word before opening just slightly as he leaned in, eyes closed. Teagan could almost feel his lips against hers they were millimeters apart all she had to do was lean in. lean in and let his soft lips crash against hers, let them pull her out of her own way and remind her what it was like to feel something again, to have passion running through her veins.

She wanted to become lost in him. To forget everything and everyone and for once just do what she wanted, what she felt was right. His thumb stroked the side of her cheek, waiting patiently for her to sink into him. She tilted her head, her lips parting, and for a moment everything felt right. But being with Caleb would never be right.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that the boy he blamed for his sister’s death was her brother. That she had lost not only her best friend to a horrid act of violence but her twin as well, that each day they traveled together she was searching for a way to clear her brother’s name, to prove that he had died a hero, not a murderer.

No one would listen. No one would understand. Especially not Caleb.

She yanked herself away, tumbling backwards onto the hard rooftop.

---
I'm apologizing now for any typos or errors in general I literally just pumped this out and haven't gotten to proofread it yet. I hope everyone is enjoying the kiss-less day so far and I cannot wait to read all the entries! Have fun!