You say that I’m a savage

I think  that you think that I

love too strongly

that I grieve like a wild thing

that my anger is terrible to behold…

You say that I’m a savage but

I would rather be a savage than

to be a cold, half- dead whatever it is

that you are.


Silver Bullet

It’s too sunny to go out right now, and I hate heat. That’s what I tell myself but I’ve been laying in this position since this morning and it was probably actually nice out before noon.
The truth is I’m wasting my summer away like I made someone a bet that I’d be the best summer waster the world has ever known.
I didn’t by the way, bet someone, I mean. If I had done this though? I would’ve won by now. Such is my level of awesomeness in regards to emptying my time stores without actually accomplishing a damn thing.
I think the fact that we have time stores just annoys maybe I’m rebelling against society or the fact that my family at least will never run out of time. Honestly though, I’m just a spoiled rich kid whose boyfriend is out of town til next month. Nothing’s really ever felt important enough to me to make me care about it though…not even him.
I have a few girl friends that I could call but I know that they’re still pissed at me for blowing them off the last time they wanted to go shopping.Shopping is boring and my closets are so full they’re throwing clothes up at me whenever I try to take something out. I laugh to myself at the idea of having a bulimic closet.
I’m bored now though..bored enough to sit up and possibly even stand up.
My head spins telling me that I’ve made this movement way too quickly so I sit again and ignore the pull to just lie back down again.
I stand again, this time much more slowly, I  wait and there is no dizziness this time so I walk over to my window.
The crazy lady next door is emptying out her garage, literally pulling out bags and bookcases and lining one side of the driveway with them. It’s so hot that I can feel the heat coming in through the glass at me like an angry hiss and I shake my head wondering why on earth someone would actually choose to be out in it.
Ms. Simmons is her name and she pulls out one last box now, opens it and then rubs her head full of curlers so roughly that a few fall out of her hair and onto the ground. She looks back to her garage and then back at her collection of things and then walks the the very beginning of the line and starts looking into the bag there, pulling things out and laying them on the grass.
Huh, I think, wonder what the bag has lost. She looks frantic but kind of funny in her silver bedroom slippers with pink pom pom dotting the toes and a matching robe of some sort of synthetic and slinky material. It’s around four o’clock you’d think she’d have put some actual clothes on and then tut at myself, let her not wearing Rainbow Brite  jim jams cast the first stone and all that.
A screeching car catches my attention and the speeding silver car turns my head to follow it. The car drives into Ms. Simmons drive way at an angle to avoid the line of junk and a tall guy in a suit steps out.  The guy is raising his arms at her and she starts to shake her head. He’s angry now I mean I can’t hear them but I can tell angry when I see it, he’s all puffed out chest and pointing a finger into her chest, she looks like she’s crying.
I’m getting angry now, I mean I don’t like Ms Simmons, she’s weird and nosy and is always knocking on our door for no good reason, but heck if some guy  is going to get away with making her cry in broad daylight.

It occurs to me to maybe call the cops or something.  I look down at my bedside table looking for my cell phone but I don’t see it. It should be there because I actually charged it last night so I look behind the table and see it there between the table and the wall. A slamming door draws my eyes upward before I can reach it though and I think that maybe I won’t need it anymore-the guy is getting back into his car.
That’s actually a relief because I wasn’t honestly up to dealing with any of this. Not the call to the cops, not them questioning me about things later.

I go ahead and fetch the phone out anyway and then look over at Ms. Simmons again. She’s just standing there wiping eyes and her nose with her hand then her forearm. I think about how small and vulnerable she looks in that instance and a pang of guilt washes over me. She looks up then and noticing me at the window picks up a hand and waves at me. I lift my hand to wave back  right as I see a silver flash of something run into her, back up and then drive away.

It’s almost here..


I spent this week reading a little on the craft of writing and trying to make some sort of outline. That didn’t really happen and I plan to start writing at midnight sooo we’ll see how that goes. 

I at least have a better idea in my head about Goal, Motivation and Conflict.

I mentioned this to my writing group and they probably think I’m a huge nut but I honestly didn’t know what writers meant when they said that they read a lot of craft books to help them write better. I thought, okay that’s neat I guess that crafting helps relieve stress or something?

I now know what they meant. And yeah, I feel a little silly now. 

But you live you learn right?

Happy Writing y’all. 🙂

Chapter 10 A Family Secret

Luis, I’m just so happy you are here!”

“I was planning on coming this weekend anyway, I had planned on visiting Grandma.” The last sentence was accompanied by a deep sigh.

The two had hardly visited with their grandma while she lived, but she had always doted on Luis whenever she did see him. In a family prone to having girls, boys were treated as a treasure. That was probably to do with her being part of the older generation too, but it was true that besides their Uncle Nate’s son Thomas, Luis was the only boy grandchild in the family, the only living boy child, anyway.

“Where is mama anyway?”

“She’s in her room with Stella, Luis, she’s not herself. The doctor had to give her something to calm her down last night.”

“Yea, well that’s to be expected, poor mama. Hey, how are you doing by the way?”

“I’m okay. Stella and Sandra have been over a lot since it happened and Dad keeps by mom’s side pretty much, I wish I knew what to do. I don’t know how to help and it makes me feel useless.”

Luis gave her arm a squeeze. “You’re okay. Mom will be up soon too, and then we’ll figure out our next steps together. Hey, I know. If you really want something to do how about being useful and making me a sammich?”

“Oh you din dong, I can’t believe that you are still hungry.  I guess that you’re still eating enough for two. Remember when dad used to say that we must’ve been triplets and that you must still have our brother inside of you?” Lucy tried to swat Luis with a pillow but he ducked out of her room with a laugh and it hit the frame where he had stood instead. She thought for a bit and then walked through the door and called after him, catching him just as he walked into his old bedroom.

“Luis? What do you want on your sandwich? But don’t get used to this!”

The funeral was a long, drawn out blur. There were tons of relatives that she didn’t know and tons that she only vaguely remembered. They had made her and her siblings sit near the front of the funeral home, a row behind her aunts and her uncle. It felt weird to have everyone wishing her condolences and all she could do was to wish them condolences too. Luis leaned close to her and whispered, “Lucy, just nod, smile and shake hands.”

So that’s what she did. Then everyone starting from their row on had to stand up and view her grandma in her coffin. She had never had to do this before and it unnerved her. She had watched her sisters lean into the coffin and peck Grandma’s forehead, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She felt less guilty when she saw that Luis was not going to kiss their grandma either.  Grandma Margarita didn’t resemble herself at all, her skin had lost it’s powder like softness and she seemed a stiff mannequin of herself. To make matters worse, someone had colored her lips and cheeks in with a garish shade of red that she would have never worn in life.

Afterward they gathered at the cemetery and stayed by their mother’s side only moving when it was their turn to lay a rose upon the pearl colored casket. They returned to their mother’s side and although the air turned cold and they felt chilled in their dress clothes, they all stayed until the casket was lowered into the ground.

Usually they would’ve all met somewhere to talk about Margarita while they ate little sandwiches and drank large amounts of sweet tea but Tia Maria had decided against this. Most of her mother’s insurance money had gone on the funeral; whatever was left over could go to the poor. That would be what her mother would’ve wanted. Janie knew that her mother had always cared a great deal for the poor, but she also knew that family was important to her as well. She couldn’t help but think that her mama would have wanted all of the siblings and cousins to come together and reconnect. She had even offered to put something together and pay for it herself. Maria had been enraged at the suggestion. “We don’t need your help now, Juanita. You come in here with your fancy clothes and your nice cars, now you want to sweep in and throw your money around. It won’t make anything better and it won’t make you a good daughter.”

So after the funeral everyone left in their separate cars and met in small groups all over town or headed back to their homes or towns, it felt so wrong. If Maria was the new family spokesperson than any delusions that Janie had of becoming close to everyone again were quickly disappearing.

This is a continuation of my Nanowrimo novel, for part 9 go here, for part 11 go here. All other posts for this can be found on the A Family Secret page. Thanks for reading!