So Near the Fire

Although she was certain of today's date (because she had just one cupcake left from the Rockport HyVee) she'd somehow lost track of how long she'd been away. It had been enough days, she supposed, that she could settle in a bit. Allow her focus to linger for more than just a moment on any one thing. Respond to his questions with more than a startled nod. Permit herself to wonder if he might be okay.

But sitting so near the fire was troublesome. The smoke reduced her already shallow breath to the whisper of a bow too lightly drawn across the strings. The heat seemed to leach the patience from him--his annoyance, irritation, anger ignited by tinder, kindling, fuel.

(Yeah, okay . . . this one's just not going anywhere. Poo.)

Wreckage

When she left the house, she wasn't yet wasted. More than one eyewitness described her as swaggering, not stumbling, and her explosion of expletives when she rounded the corner at 14th and Market was perfectly clear. In fact, no one would have even known about the jack. . . except she dropped her bag when he caught her, and the bottle rolled away.

Had he just called to her instead of reached for her, she wouldn't have run after it. Had he just let her walk away, she wouldn't have fallen into the wreckage.

Hiya

Since I have so much free time on my hands (ahem), I've decided to launch another blog. How come? Well, three weeks ago or so, I wrote this piece and plunked it down on my other blog. But it just doesn't belong there . . . among my rants and questions and promises and struggles.

So, I'm starting a new place for such things: the which-one-of-these-things-is-not-like-the-other kind of writing. I'll still keep Blue is a Circle, of course, and I'll be interested to see which one demands more of my attention. I have my hopes . . . but I'm not sharing.

More soon . . .

UPDATE: And by the way? I'll not be allowing my internal editor much access to these posts. Be warned: Some will make sense. Some won't. One in every 100 posts may be decent, and the rest will be terrible. For now, I'm leaving comments open just because I crave feedback. But honestly, there may be no point, because most of you are too nice to give me less-than-positive feedback. And I want to know the truth . . . because I don't want to be the literary equivalent of that tone-deaf girl on American Idol whose friends and family tell her she sounds just like Kelly Clarkson. Just sayin.