3.15

The next Monday night Mel drove out to Tabbi's house for The Collective meeting, knowing she was going to get questioned about where she had been the week before and why she wasn't there. She was still trying to figure out how she was going to play it. Should she tell them the truth and see who reacts in a way that would tip her off to who knew Paul, or should she only tell them half the story? Or maybe she should just lie through her teeth about everything, make up something that sounded convincing enough and leave it at that?
As she pulled up to the house she had almost made up her mind to completely lie, but she wasn't sure what to tell them yet. Before she could formulate a good enough story a set of headlights flashed in her rear view mirror and she knew she was out of time. She could just see Sadie's innocent eyes as she piled her purse and coat into her arms and opened the door. Mel did likewise and they walked in a comfortable silence to the front door. Since the night that Sadie had thrown up all over Tabbi's house and spent the night at Mel's to avoid a run-in with her parents, Mel and Sadie had a better understanding and respect for each other. They could talk easily or sit in silence and be comfortable in each others' company.
That night the two girls had sat on the giant couch in Mel's living room sharing a pot of coffee and getting to know each other. Sadie talked more freely about her breakup with Keith in a way that Mel had never realized had hurt her so deeply. Mel could easily see why it seemed to be the only thing Sadie talked about.
"I thought we were going to get married," Sadie said as a single tear sat perched in the corner of her eye threatening to run down her full cheekbone. "He always said that I was the only girl he had ever felt that way about. That I had everything on his list."
"His list?" Mel said inquisitively.
"Yeah, like a list of things that you're looking for and things that you aren't willing to compromise on. We've talked about it at The Collective before. Don't you remember?"
"Yeah I remember that, but I've never met a guy who had a list like that," Mel corrected.
"But I guess being everything on that list doesn't make up for one thing," Sadie said with obvious disgust layered in pain.
"What do you mean by that? You're great," Mel said, trying to make her feel better about herself.

3.12

After saying good-bye, Mel watched Paul walk down the hall to his apartment for just a moment before turning the knob and slipping quietly into her own apartment. She routinely walked to her bedroom, put on comfortable clothes and went to sit on her balcony in the cool evening air.

On her way out she grabbed the pack of Camel's tucked into a vase of fake sunflowers. She rarely smoked anymore. It had been something she had picked up in college but she knew her parents would not approve of her polluting her lungs so she had all but stopped when she moved back home. However, now that she was living on her own, she thought it was okay to sneak a cigarette every once in a while.

Lounging in a patio chair she placed the small stick between her lips and lit it. That first puff was always the best. She sat reflecting on the evening for a while. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to accept the dinner invitation from a man that she had just met. And who was it that he knew at The Collective? That was something she was so curious about. Her mind lingered on that for some time, trying to figure out who he knew and how he knew them. Many of them grew up around here, maybe from childhood or a family friend. But why did he react that way when she questioned it? It was a mystery to her. She didn't know all these girls' stories well enough to be able to guess where they could have met. She didn't remember a guy named Paul coming up in any of their conversations, so maybe he was long since forgotten by the girl and he was still hanging on to something from a time long past.

3.9

She wasn't sure if she should follow her gut and slip her hand out of his grasp, or just go with it. The last time she just went with it ended with her waking up alone in her apartment expecting to be in the company of the guy who accompanied her home the night before. That led to hurt and destruction, but this guy seemed different for some reason. He seemed to sincerely like her. There was something in the steady way he held her gaze and the soothing feeling that his hand was bringing to her hand that traveled to the rest of her body.
She had just made up her mind to pull her hand away when Paul realized what he was doing and quickly pulled his hand away and it disappeared under the table. Mel was relieved to have her hand back, but her skin was itching to have the warmth of his grasp back.
"So what do you do in your spare time?" she asks, trying to steer the conversation back to common ground.
"My family is really important to me, so I try to go back home as much as possible. But other than that I am a pretty laid back, hang out and watch movies on the couch with friends kind of person," he said. As if on cue, as soon as he finished his sentence their food was being placed on the table in front of them. "That looks really good," he said, looking at her plate of chicken and pasta drizzled with pesto sauce.
"It's delicious. Actually I get it every time I come here," she said, realizing how lame her life was. She had always been a creature of habit. She ordered the same dishes at all of her familiar restaurants, stuck pretty close to her usual daily routine, she even had everything in the shower exactly in the same place. It had gotten worse since she lived by herself, where she could control what was moved. "Do you want to try some?" she asked.
"Sure!" he said, "Wow! That is really good. I understand why you get it every time now."

3.8

This one may not totally fit in with what I have already written but I had a stroke of possible genius last night and figured I would see where it takes me! So bare with me while I explore this idea. Same basic story, just might be a little different.

The apartment was clean, the bright colored trinkets laid out on the reclaimed wood coffee table, the teal accent pillows neatly placed in the crevice of the charcoal gray couch and Mel was showered, dressed and heading out the door headed for The Collective. It had been a very productive day and she was in a great mood. As she closed the oak door and clicked the deadbolt into place she heard someone walking past the many doors to other apartments in the building. She felt herself tense up a bit. Having never felt threatened or afraid in the years she had lived here, her reaction was curious to her. But there was no time to dissect her feelings now.
"Hey, how's it going?" a deep, clearly male voice said, close to her now.
She turned only to find a scruffy but handsome face about 6 inches above her own. His brown eyes were kind and she saw no threat in them. Racking her brain for any kind of recognition of who he was, Mel came up empty. Maybe he was new to the building.
"Hi," she said with a smile, "Where did you come from?" she asked and then mentally yelled at herself for how cheesy that sounded.
"Well originally I'm from West Virginia, then I moved to North Carolina, then I lived in Alaska for a while but just now I came from my new apartment at the end of the hall," he said with a smile. "I'm Paul."
"Wow! That's a very impressive resume. I'm Melissa, but you can call me Mel. Why all the moving?" she replied, grateful that he just went with it.
"I grew up in West Virginia and was stationed in North Carolina and Alaska while I was in the army," he said, sounding a little smug about it, probably knowing what a man in uniform does to girls. Little did he know, that didn't really do much for Mel. Her dad had been a fireman most of her life and she saw what it did to him. She never wanted to marry someone who had the kinds of issues her dad and his colleagues had developed from the high stress career. Military was even worse in Mel's mind. She was so proud of the men and no one would call her unpatriotic, but it was not something she wanted to be a part of any longer.
"Well that's impressive. When did you move here?"
"I moved to Evansville about 2 years ago and just moved into this building 3 weeks ago. I haven't been out and about much lately though. I work from home now, so I don't have much reason to leave the house most days," he said. "I'm just on my way out to grab something to eat. Would you be interested in going with me so I don't look like a loner alone in a restaurant?"
"Well, you're forward!" she exclaimed taken aback by his boldness.
"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to get to know my neighbors. If you're not okay with it I'll leave you to whatever you were headed out to do," he said with a touch of apology in his voice.
"I'm sorry. Actually dinner sounds great," she said, seizing the opportunity to get to know a guy in her building. Who knows when you might need a handy man around after all.
"Great! Where would you like to go?"
"Um, I don't care. You can choose," she replied.

Soon she was seated comfortably in a lush booth at McPhran's across from Paul and his chocolate brown eyes and lean, muscular body, all thought of The Collective gone. He was a kind and patient man, not even flinching when Mel sent the waiter away twice before finally settling on what she wanted to eat. They talked easily about family and friends and work. Turns out his job is to set up school visits for Army recruiters to speak to high school students about joining the military and other PR type avenues for the Army.
"Were you deployed while you were on active duty?" she asked, not being able to place why she was so curious about his past life as a killing machine for the country.
"Only once actually, to a small base in Turkey for a year. It wasn't too bad. Mostly just patrolled like a police officer would and monitored terrorist activity in the area. Nothing too exciting," he said, judging by her facial expressions that he hadn't lost "cool points" in her eyes. "So what do you do for fun?"
"I like to run, and I actually just started going to this woman's group through my church. But it's not really a church thing, technically. It's hard to  explain. It's called The Collective and really we just hang out and talk and eat," she said, knowing that she was on the verge of babbling on and on out of discomfort. And her discomfort only deepened when Paul suddenly sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, avoiding eye contact. "Is everything okay?" she asked concerned.
"Oh, yeah I'm fine. I just know someone who used to go to that. She doesn't really like me too much."
"Who is it?" I ask trying not to seem too interested in his answer. If curiosity killed the cat, I'm glad I'm not a cat because I would be beyond dead right now.
"I would rather not say if that's okay with you. I am trying to distance myself from the whole thing and move on," he said, still avoiding Mel's interested gaze.
"Yeah no problem. Consider it dropped," she said, trying to make him feel more comfortable again. Instinctively, she reached across the table toward him, resting her hand a few inches above his silverware still wrapped in a napkin. "Hey, what else do you want to talk about?" she asked, trying desperately to salvage the conversation she felt like she had a hand in destroying. Suddenly he sat forward and put his hand on top of hers. Mel was so startled she should have pulled her hand away, but something kept her hand glued to the table, warm under his large hand.
"There's something different about you from other girls I know," he said, his eyes locked on hers making it impossible for her to look away.
"How so?"
"I don't know exactly. Most girls would be hounding me trying to figure out who of their friends I know and how I know her and trying every way they know to get more information out of me. But you just except it and move on," he said.
"I mean, don't get me wrong I want to know, but I know there are things in my past that I wouldn't want to talk about so I wouldn't do the same thing to others. I'm not really anything impressive," she said, trying hard to pull her eyes away from his in vain. His hand is still pressing hers lightly into the table.

writing prompts 3.5

Re-imagine a real event
Think of something that happened to you, or someone you know, or someone in a news story, and ask yourself, "What if?"
What if you had picked up that hitch-hiker, and she turned out to be a psychopath? What if you decided to get revenge on your evil coworker? What if your neighbor is really living a double life?
Come up with an interesting situation and try to imagine as realistically as possible how it would play out.
Break it down
Here's an exercise that will help you generate your own story starters.

1. Think of a strong emotion (for example: rage).
2. Quickly write a list of ten situations which would inspire that emotion (for example: when someone harms a family member).
3. Choose some of those situations and make them more specific. Come up with several scenarios for each one. (Using the example of someone harming a family member, one version might be that someone mugs the character's grandmother. Another version might be that the character's mother is unfairly fired from her job).
4. Now, take some of these scenarios, and make them even more specific. (Using the example of the character's mother getting fired: Maybe it is a case of sexual harassment. Or maybe an envious coworker is telling lies about her...)
5. Keep going, getting more and more specific, until you find a story you want to write.

Tell it out loud Having trouble writing? Fine. Don't. (For a while).
Instead, try this. Go get a voice recording device (your cell phone might have this function) and just talk to it. Describe the scene you wanted to write. Pretend you're talking to a friend, and record what you say.
Next, transcribe the recording. Just play the recording and write or type your words.
Now you no longer have to face a blank page. You have a written text that you can use as a starting point. Read what you have and decide what to add, to cut, to rearrange. Start building it into a draft of a story.
Build on a name
Go to a phone book, and pick a name at random. If you don't have a phone book handy, you can make up a name, or feel free use one of these: Hank Jenkins, Trevor Smythe-Hewitt, Tatiana Zeleny, Margaret Wintergreen, Mimi Howard, Jasper Krupp.
Try to picture how someone with this name might look. I imagine Tatiana Zeleny as in her early twenties with long dyed black hair, a round pasty face, ice blue eyes, crooked teeth, and elaborate silver jewelry. There is no right or wrong to this -- just try to form a mental image of a person.
Ask yourself more questions about this person. Does he/she have a job? A family or relationship? What are his/her dreams and fears? You can use our character questionnaire to develop a fictional character.
Present this character with a terrible problem. How will the character react? Start turning this into a story.
People-watch
Go to a public place like a coffeehouse or a mall, and watch the people around you. Imagine what their lives might be like. Everyone has secrets -- guess at the secrets of the stranger you see. You can turn some of these people into characters for a story.
An added bonus: this exercise gets you away from your desk for a while. A change of scene may be just what you need to inject new energy into your writing.
Keep a journal
Keep a journal, where you describe the people, places, and events from your day. Describe the details of how things look, sound, smell, and feel. Try to capture the details that you couldn't have imagined if you hadn't observed them for yourself. If you use them in your fiction later, they will give it a texture of reality.
Whenever you're stuck for creative writing ideas, you'll be able to mine your journal for material.

Writing prompts

Here is an interesting site about writing prompts. My favorite one (and one I will probably use in my novel is "Sometimes the ones we love can't come back"


http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/forums/word-wars-prompts-sprints/threads/960?page=1