YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan

Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.  Enjoy!

Photo by: trublueboy

Your Biggest Fan

By: R.M.Gilbert

“If you can’t get him to meet me, you can forget our little deal,” Carrie yells over the noise of the crowd.

“What if—”

“Nope.” A smile curls her cherry chapsticked lips. “We agreed. You land me some time with Phin or I go to the Dean—”

“Okay, I get it,” I say.

She disappears among the thousands and waits on Phin to take the stage. A hush falls over the crowd. Blinding flashes of strobe lights explode overhead. With each blaze of light a member of the band begins to play until finally beams flicker around Phin, drenching him in literal lime light and a mix of shadows and stage fog.

The crowd erupts. Bouncing up and down, arms pounding the air above their heads while they sing along, as if they know his songs better than he does. At the end of his first set he struts offstage. The place reeks of sweat and alcohol. Girls tug their shirts off, happily exposed. The guys enjoy the flesh show as much as the concert.

I circle the outer edge of the crowd, flash my all access pass at the stage manager then head to Phin’s dressing room. The faces behind the scenes are as familiar as my own. Cameron, his stylist, empties half a can hairspray on Phin’s hair as I slip into the room. He spots me in the mirror.

“Lara, darling,” Cameron coos.

“Hey Cam.” I force a smile. “Can I get a minute with Phin.”

Cameron looks disappointed, but after another couple squirts of hairspray, he leaves.

“What’s up?” Phin swivels in his chair and puts his baseball cap on. If Cameron were here he’d have a beautician conniption.

I ignore the waste of Cam’s effort, and say, “I need a favor.”

“Yeah?” His brows joggle.

“Not that kind of favor, perv.”

“One of these days you’re going to change your mind.”

I shake my head. He forgets I know how many girls he’s seduced, or rather, how many girls he hasn’t needed to seduce, since so many of them try to reach him through me. So I start how I always start, “There’s this girl—”

“Sure Lara, I’ll meet her.” He usually makes me beg for it, but this time he lets me off easy. “Just tell me what this one’s holding over your head.”

“The thing is…” I fidget. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

His brows furrow. “Since when?”

“About a month now.”

“But—”

“Carrie saw me sneaking out of the dorms and threatened to tell the dean and my parents.” The rules are clear with both the school and my parents: No boys and no going out after curfew.

“So you met someone?” He leans back in his seat.

“Try to keep up, Phin. If Carrie tells them, I’m screwed. Mom and Dad will hit the roof and Dean Sanders…” I lift my hands in exasperation.

“Do you like this guy?”

“What?” I cock my head. Phin’s never cared who I’ve dated. Of course, maybe that’s because I’ve never really dated before.

“Have you done him?”

“Are you kidding me?” My arms link over my chest. “This isn’t one of those, I’m gonna be your macho best friend and protect your honor things, is it?”

He removes his hat, giving me full view of his eyes, they remind me of the lime stage lights, only they’re a calmer shade of green. “What if it is?”

“Trust me, I’m fully intact. I can’t seem to get any, even if I want to.”

“Do you?” He pushes from his chair.

I stare up at him. He’s a whole foot taller than me and on all accounts looks like a sex god. I swallow hard. “I’m going to be eighteen soon.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question, does it?”

“Phin, come on.” My face heats. It’s almost painful to admit what I think he already knows. “I’ve never gotten to second base with a guy.”

“Really?”

“Just forget it,” I say and turn to go.

“Wait up.” He follows me. “Bring this Clara—”

“Carrie.”

“Whatever. Bring her by after the show.”

“Thanks.” I smile.

“But you come too?”

“Okay.”

Tonight, when he finishes his set.  His people inform me that he only wants to see Carrie and me. Everyone else is turned away as I knock twice on the dressing room door. It swings open and he stands there with his button-down shirt open, bare chest exposed, pants riding low on his hips. Suddenly his dressing room feels hotter than the mass of fans I pushed through to get in here. It’s not like I’ve never seen his chest before, but it catches me off guard when I do, I can’t help it. It’s like an animal that jumps in front of your car and all you can do is react. But he’s way hotter than any squirrel I’ve ever seen.

Carrie nudges me.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat, hating introductions the most. “Phin, this is Carrie Solet.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says giving her one of his performance smiles.

“You too.” She giggles. “I’m one of your biggest fans.”

It’s at this point I usually leave, but Phin shuts the door and gestures for us to sit down. I stand in case I need to make a quick getaway when Carrie throws herself at him.

I listen as they talk a while, then he hands her a signed photo, in which, she asks for him to write that he had a great night with her, and he signs it with his signature, P. Afterwards he shows her out and when he comes back, I watch his every step. Until I finally get the nerve up to ask, “So that’s it?”

“Yep.”

“No kissing, or fondling, or sex,” I whisper.

He laughs and takes a snapshot of the two of us off his dressing room mirror. He scribbles something on the back then hands it to me.

I flip the photo over in my hand.

To the only girl I want to cover all the bases with!

Your biggest fan,

Phin

©2010, August 30, rmg.

Thanks for coming by. Please be sure to drop by my fellow YAFFers blogs and don’t forget to leave a comment.

Mindy Buchanan

Rebekah L.Purdy

Vanessa Barger

related posts:

• YAFF Muse: Toothfairy
• YAFF Muse: In the Eye of the Beholder

YAFF Muse: Sunkiss

Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.  Enjoy!

Photo title: Wooden Gate

Sunkiss

By: R.M.Gilbert

Seven hundred twenty-five days, I’ve been confined to the upper level of the white chalet. Suffocating, in my bedroom—my five-by-seven foot personal prison. I toss my book aside on the desk and watch as groups of kids pass by. School let out for the weekend, so I won’t see them until they walk by again on Monday.

I pick my book up for the second time and glance at the vampire donning the cover of my newest purchase. “At least you turn to dust in the sun,” I say. Not me, I break out in a rash and my throat closes in, choking off my air supply. Turning to dust and blowing away in the wind would be welcome, compared to this hell.

“Allergic to the sun,” I mutter and turn to the chapter where Tristan McGregor swears he’ll always love Juliet Rodea. When something tinks against my window sill and collides with the curtain.

A tiny pebble lands on the floor, near my feet. I stand, leaning forward to peek out the window. Below, a boy, about fifteen, stands there. From here he looks cute. Not pretty boy cute either, but scruffy. Like he’d stopped on his way home from work, instead of school like the rest of the kids. And for a second I think he’ll toss another stone, but he just stares up at my window until eventually he fists his hands in his jacket pockets and leaves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. Not in all the days I’ve spent at this window, peering out beyond our gate. If only he could take me away from this place. If only he didn’t go away…

What am I saying? Mom would have a fit if she saw him here, which makes me glad she’s gone to the market.

With a sigh, I lift my book:

Tristan watched as sweet Juliet took her final breaths. He had promised he’d never take her as his own without her consent.

He whispered softly, “As your blood courses through the generations, I will find you. I promise my beautiful Juliet, as your children grow and their children after that, I’ll always remember it is your blood that courses through their veins.” He paused to kiss her cheek, tempted to take her blood and keep her forever. But instead he made his oath, unmarred by time or circumstance. “One day you will need me so that you may live. For this reason, I will stay with you until the end of time. I will follow your bloodline until you give me a sign that you are prepared to live a life at my side.”

Juliet drew her last breath.

Tristan leaned and spoke into her ear. “Place un caillou sur votre seuil.”

~~

I stare at the final words in the book. Of course they’re in French, which is Tristan’s native tongue. I flip to the very last pages, where thankfully the publisher has thought to add a French glossary, defining the forty or so phrases Tristan spoke in the book.

“Let’s see.” I flip through the pages, repeating “Place un caillou sur votre seuil,” over and over as I slide my finger down the page. When I spot the phrase, I trace my finger over to the translation. “Place a pebble on your sill,” I read.

Wait. What?

I glance at the pebble on the floor. Then turn to the final page of the story once again.

“One day you will need me so that you may live. For this reason, I will stay with you until the end of time. I will follow your bloodline until you give me sign that you are prepared to live a life at my side.”

Juliet drew her last breath.

Tristan leaned and spoke into her ear. “Place un caillou sur votre seuil.”

I close the book and pick the pebble up off the floor, grasping it tight in my palm.

©2010, August 25, rmg.

This weeks YAFF story was, in part, inspired by my daughter. I was going to write looking from the outside-vs-the inside, but she suggested going inside the gate…so I took it a step farther. The other bit of inspiration came from a program I saw a few years ago about people who have sun allergies. I remember being surprised that there was such a thing as being allergic to sunlight. And for one reason or another this program came to mind. (to learn more about sun allergies visit: MayoClinic.com)

Thanks for coming by. Please drop by my fellow YAFFers blogs and don’t forget to leave a comment.

R.L.Purdy

Traci Kenworth

Vanessa Barger

related posts:

• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan
• YAFF Muse: Toothfairy

YAFF Muse: Untarnished

Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.  Enjoy!

iturnedaround by: inessaemilia

Untarnished

By: R.M.Gilbert

Skin slick with sweat, I take the man’s shirt from the floor and slip it on before heading outdoors. Cool mountain air licks my body dry. I shiver. He didn’t take my innocence; it was stolen a long time ago. Little by little. By a man who should have loved me. It’s this thought that drives me forward.

I hike the path down the side of the mountain, through the trees, to the dock. The stillness of the water greets me and I wait for the familiar feel of the dock tipping under Dean Boucamp’s weight.

“You did alright today,” Dean says coming up behind me. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

I shake my head no, like I always do.

He stands next to me. “We appreciate your help.”

“I know,” I whisper and glance at him from the corner of my eye. Badge clipped to his waist, gun strapped in a shoulder holster, dress shirt, tie, and the most trusting face I’ve ever seen in my life. It almost hurts to look at him. The department assigned “young detective Boucamp” to my case years ago. After they realized I was going to catch these men one way or another—with or without their help.

There’s just one thing I never came to expect, how I’d feel about Dean. I stare down at my feet. What right do I have to feel anything for him, when he’s seen how tarnished I am?

“You’ve got a big birthday coming up at the end of the week, don’t you?” he asks, always polite.

“Yeah, my eighteenth.”

“Do you remember what you told me?”

“I remember,” I say, thinking back to my high school graduation a few months ago when I shared with him my plans to join the police force.

“Well, I brought you a present.” He reaches in his shirt pocket, pulls out a business card, and hands it to me. “When you decide you’re ready, he’s expecting your call.”

I take the card and study it. “Thank you for this…and everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you helping me—”

He pivots closer. “You would have done just fine without me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His fingers rake his hair. “Everything you do is perfection. And after all you’ve been through.”

“Perfection?”

He clears his throat. “I mean, you’re strong and bright and you’ve taken control of your life instead of letting the hurt control you.”

I spot movement on the path; it’s his new partner. “Hey Boucamp, we’re about finished here. Fredrick’s on his way to county lock-up with the perp.”

“We’ll be right up,” says Dean without taking his eyes off me. “Give us a minute?”

“You got it,” his partner says, then disappears up the path.

“How’s it going with him?” I ask.

“Pretty good.” Dean inhales loudly and gazes out at the water. “You know your Uncle’s being released this weekend?”

“Uh-hm, on my birthday.” My stomach knots. “Seems like a cruel present, doesn’t it?”

“I was thinking maybe I ought to come over that day.”

“Dean. Detective. You don’t have to—”

“I won’t be on duty,” he says.

And at that moment I feel hope. “So you don’t think I’m tarnished?”

“What?” Surprise catches in his voice. “No. I think you deserve all that’s good in the world.”

©2010, August 17, rmg.

If you or someone you know is/has been affected by child abuse please follow the link below:

CHILD HELP

Or Call: National Child Abuse Hotline: 1-800-4-A-CHILD

Child abuse and neglect are nothing new to our society, but as long as it continues to exist we owe it to the children to address it. In this instance, I wanted to show a victim who’s come full circle. I wanted to express how she’s taken something painful and let it empower her. And in the end allow her to see that she’s not seen as ruined. That a future awaits her.

Thanks for coming by. Please drop by my fellow YAFFers blogs and don’t forget to leave a comment.

Cambria Dillon

Mindy Buchanan

R.L.Purdy

Traci Kenworth

Vanessa Barger

related posts:

• YAFF Muse: This Girls Life:The Perfect Kiss
• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan

YAFF Muse: Toothfairy

Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.  Enjoy!

kozarevets story 2 by: pstoev

Toothfairy

By: R.M.Gilbert

“I can’t believe you rode that bike to school. It’s sort of lame,” Taylor says, sticking me in the ribs with her elbow.

“Mom needed the car and I missed the bus,” I mumble while my lockers slammed shut by a couple of guys screwing off in the hallway.

“Yeah, but that bike is so…old.” Her nose wrinkles.

Taylor’s idea of ‘going without’ is taking her dad’s Hummer to school instead of the vintage Mustang. So there’s no point in explaining to her that Mom is on the verge of losing her job at the bar and grill, since her cars left her stranded three times in the last two weeks. Taylor would shrug and say, your mom can get a new job. And move on like it’s that simple. And for some people life is, but for others…

“Are you coming to my party Saturday?” she asks and gives a wave to a few of her other friends.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

She pouts. “Why not?”

“Mom’s gotta work behind the bar until two, so I’m babysitting Johnny.”

“Can’t she find someone else?”

There is no one else, I want to tell her, but instead I shrug and we head for our first period class. “I’ll see if I can find somebody.”

“You always say that.”

She’s right, I do always say that, but it’s the best I can do since Mom can’t afford a sitter.

***

SATURDAY NIGHT

“So what’ll it be tonight Johnny, Spongebob or Scooby?” I ask holding up two DVD’s. We’ve practically worn them out; they’ve been watched so many times.

He smiles, a big toothless grin and points at Scooby. And when I settle in next to him on the couch, he whispers, “Do you think the toothfairy will come tonight?”

“Sure she will.”

“But she didn’t come last night. Or the night before that.”

“She’s busy, kiddo.” I try to smile, but it is difficult knowing that after paying rent and the electric, mom needed to barrow twenty-five dollars from a friend at work for gas money. And next week’s check is needed to cover more of Johnny’s hospital bills. I sigh. Whoever thought a bit of change from the toothfairy would be so hard to come by?

I stand and go to the kitchen. “You hungry?”

“Yep.” He hops like a bunny across the floor.

“How about peanut butter sandwiches?”

“Can we have jelly?”

“We’re out of jelly,” I say.

“Still?”

I nod.

He frowns and curls his tiny hands over the countertop and stretches to his tippy-toes, when a knock sounds on the front door. “I’ll get it.” He pushes away from the cupboard and races through the house.

“Hey, is your sister home?”

“Taylor’s here,” he shouts when I’m a foot from him.

“I see that.” I glance up at her. “Weren’t you having a party tonight?”

“It canceled.” She hands Johnny a pizza box.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I have this friend that needs me and whether she knows it or not, I need her too.” Taylor kicks her shoes off and bends at the knee in front of Johnny. “It looks to me like someone’s had a few visits from the toothfairy.”

He shakes his head. “Nope, she’s been busy.”

“Johnny,” I say, clearing my throat. “How about you go put the pizza on the table?”

“K.” He toddles off and Taylor comes to her full height again.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I didn’t know things were this bad.”

I choke back the tears.

She leans in and whispers, “I’m going to be a better friend.”

“You’re my bestfriend.” I hug her.

“No,” she says, “tonight I’m the toothfairy.”

© 2010, August 3, rmg.

Had a bit of a rough week, trying to explain to our kids how ‘good’ they have it. And how there are others out there that are not as fortunate as they are. You could say this was inspired by these discussions. Thanks for coming by. Please drop by my fellow YAFFers blogs and don’t forget to leave a comment.

Cambria Dillon

Mindy Buchanan

R.L. Purdy

Traci Kenworth

Vanessa Barger

Jennifer Fischetto

related posts:

• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan
• YAFF Muse: In the Eye of the Beholder

YAFF Muse: This Girls Life:The Perfect Kiss

Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.  Enjoy!

Grass Kiss 2 By: Criswey

This Girls Life: Episode 63: The Perfect Kiss

By: R.M.Gilbert

“And cut!” The director calls out.

I push off the ground.

“Now we just need to get that same kiss from three other angles and we can call it a day,” Quentin says, still in the grass. I blush. He plays opposite me in This Girls Life. We’ve known each other since the show’s first pilot five years ago, and this is the first time our characters, Gage and Gloria, hook up.

If only life was as simple as our script. For years, I’ve crushed on Quentin and never had the guts to tell him. And kissing like this is anything but romantic.

“Places,” says the director.

I straddle Quentin, or rather, Gage, and lean in. They measure the distance from our mouths to the camera, angle our body’s so they can capture the light just right, and we listen as they instruct us on how to pucker our lips.

“This Girls Life: Episode Sixty-three: The Perfect Kiss. Angle 2. Take 1. And action.”

Fifty people surround us while we kiss. I’m being paid to make it look good and feel ‘real’ for our viewers. But it’s uncomfortable, almost painful.

After another five takes from the final two angles the director calls it quits for the day. Everyone claps because they think they’ve nailed the shots, saying that it really is the most perfect kiss.

I head back to my trailer to take off the pound and a half of make-up, asking my assistant for a minute alone. Tears well as I sit in front of dressing room mirror. For so long I’d imagined my first kiss would be different. Not something in front of a camera crew. Definitely not something scripted. Sighing, I pick up the make-up remover, strip away Gloria and return to plain old me.

“Sam.” My assistant knocks on the door. “Hey, Samantha.”

“One second, Kara,” I say, pushing my dark hair behind my ears before I stand, then open door. “What’s up?”

“Someone to see you,” she says and steps aside.

Quentin slips alongside the trailer. He smiles, his cheeks turn pink.  “I thought we could talk.”

Kara glances between us. “I’ll come back later,” she says and strolls toward our last shoot.

“I wondered if…” Quentin rolls back on his heels. “The thing is, I thought maybe—”

“Do you want to come in?” I ask, pushing the trailer door wider.

“Yeah.” He glances over his shoulder before entering and stumbles on the top step, nearly falling on top of me. He uses the wall to steady himself. “Dang-it I wanted to do this differently.”

I close the door and try hiding the disappointment I felt only seconds ago. I turn to face him. “Do what differently?”

“This,” he says, capturing my face between his hands. His mouth brushes delicately over mine. Tingles dance across my body. And when he goes to deepen the kiss, our foreheads bump and tongues intermingle. He tastes like pizza and our teeth scrape, but I don’t care. I circle my arms around him. There’s nothing forced or awkward about this perfect kiss.

©2010, July 27, rmg.

This short came to me last second. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to write about, mostly because I thought “How can you look at this picture and NOT see ‘Twilight’. The thing is, I didn’t think there was enough room for me to write a ‘twilightesque’ <–yes, that’s a word, novel. So, here I am thinking ‘Twilight’ when it hits me. No matter how much we love those movie/TV moments, they’re not real. How would a young actress feel if her first kiss was something scripted? My goal was to capture some of the awkwardness of being a teenager, no matter what your path in life.Thanks so much for reading.

After commenting, be sure to stop by other YAFFER sites to see how the picture inspired them:

Mindy Buchanan

R.L.Purdy

Traci Kenworth

Vanessa Barger

related posts:

• YAFF Muse: Untarnished
• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan

Blog Bling: Beautiful Blogger Award!

Thanks so much to Anne over at Classy Career Girl for thinking of me for the Beautiful Blogger Award.

There are just two award rules: Pass this on to 7 other Beautiful Bloggers and share 7 facts about yourself.

So, here are my choices for 7 beautiful bloggers:

• Susie- Motherhoot
• Debora- Author
• Rebekah- Writer Adrift
• Adrienne- Stories from the Shoebox
• Cambria- Writer
• Min- Never as the crow flies
• Alexandra- Good Day, Regular People
• Chelle Sandell- Writer

7 facts about me:

1. I’m a bit of a rebel. No, really, it’s true. I listed 8 beautiful bloggers, rather than 7.
2. Ketchup has never been a major food group for me. And I rarely use it with french fries. And yet, I love tomato sandwiches.
3. I prefer breathing through my nose. Especially after I found out people swallow spiders while they are asleep.
4. I’d rather be a passenger than a driver. Trust me, it’s better for my muse and safer for other drivers.
5. Most of my writing gets done on my laptop at our dining room table.
6. Shopping is not this girls best friend. While I don’t mind going on occasion, I do believe it may be a bit overrated.
7. I’ll eat the same thing over-and-over again, because of cost and accessibility. We’ve had squash with our meals 5 out of 7 days this week, just because we’ve grown so much of it in our garden.

I think that about does it for me. Don’t forget to check out the *WINNERS* of the blog award today. And thanks again, Anne.

related posts:

• His Big Award!
• Shop-o-holic, I am not!

YAFF Muse: Singing Sands

Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.  Enjoy!

Musical Burial by OfficialTwilamore

Singing Sands

By: R.M.Gilbert

Summer vacations always the same: help Grandpa run the Tiki Treat, hit the beach at 4, ride some waves, then go home for dinner. People think living on an island is great, but that’s because they’re here on vacation. Instead of trying to escape from here to the mainland.

“Aloha,” says a girl, trying to use local lingo.

“Hello,” I say using hers. She blushes. “What can I get you, haole?”

She smiles, proving she’s oblivious to being called a foreigner. “Can you make something with banana?”

I nod and watch as she fiddles with the lei dangling from her neck.

“Wikiwiki!” Grandpa shouts from behind, always trying to rush me. Not realizing these things take time.

I whip together one of our more popular smoothies and hand it over the counter. “Eight fifty,” I say.

Her brows lift, she pulls a pink iPod from the pocket of her shorts and sets it on the counter to search for cash. Pulling out a ten, she slips it over to me and says, “For this price it better taste good.”

No thank you or anything, just the ungrateful payment. I tell her its “ono” and she stares at me a second before asking what I said.

“That means it’s delicious,” I say, handing the change to her.

She takes the money greedily and pockets it along with the iPod, ignoring the tip jar. Actions like this make what comes next easy.

“You’re new to the island?” I say before she steps away.

“Yes. I’m here with my parents. They’re back at the resort being boring.”

“Yeah, that sucks.” I smile as if I care. “If you get the chance you should visit the singing sands.”

“Is that so,” she says, flicking her tongue to capture her straw. After she takes a sip, she makes her eyes big and puffs her chest out. “And just how do I find it?”

Just like so many others before her she takes the bait. “I get off in five minutes if you want to wait.”

“Sure.” She giggles.

Minutes later I yell to Grandpa. “Pau. Aloha.”

“What’s that you just said?” she asks as we leave the Tiki Treat.

I give her a thoughtful look. “I told him I finished and goodbye.”

Leading her down the beach, I think of college in the mid-west. How after this summer I won’t be forced to work my in grandpa’s shop or…

“This is it,” I say.

She turns disappointed. “Are you kidding me? It’s just a beach.” Her fingers clench tight to her banana smoothie, crushing the edges of the cup.

“Just wait. Listen.” I lean, dig my hands into the sand and then call out, “Akua.”—spirit.

The sands shift beneath us, the voices of many rising from within. I step back to watch as the ground spins into a great whirlpool. At first the girl watches in awe, but when the sands shift ripping the earth from under her, sucking her in, she screams.

“Help me! Please!” Her fingers tear in every direction, for leverage. Fear creases her features until she disappears. The only things left, protruding from of the sand, are her iPod and smoothie. They look as if someone has left them to go for a quick swim.

Picking up the cup I take a drink. Hmm, still cold. I smile and gather the iPod as well. Then, make my way back to the Tiki Treat.

“Ahola,” Grandpa says, looking surprised to see me. “I thought you are going surfing tonight?”

“Yeah, same old—same old. I just needed to drop something off,” I mutter, hiding the iPod in a box with my other souvenirs.

“It’ll be a big sacrifice, having you leave this island for college.” Grandpa shakes his head.

“You have no idea.”

© 2010, July 13, rmg.

This weeks inspiration was mostly the picture. Not a very thrilling explanation, I know. Maybe I’ll give a bit of advice too: be careful when vacationing, never follow some guy running a smoothie stand to a ‘popular hangout’. Also, remember the old adage ‘never talk to strangers’ and possibly add to that, if you must talk, try and be nice.

After commenting, be sure to stop by other YAFFER sites to see how the picture inspired them:

Cambria Dillon

Mindy Buchanan

R.L.Purdy

Traci Kenworth

Vanessa Barger

related posts:

• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan
• YAFF Muse: Toothfairy

Pivotal Moments In Writing

Sometimes it’s difficult reaching those pivotal moments in a manuscript. You know the ones. Where if  you screw up the reader will be throwing the book across the room, screaming about how they can’t believe a writer could write such crap after they’ve read over 200 pages, only to be let down?

Yeah, I’m at that moment.

So what’s a writer to do?

For each of us I think this process varies. Mine goes something like this: I let thoughts simmer, then write a little. Let the thoughts simmer some more, reread what I’ve written since pulling into hesitation station, and delete half of it.

Occasionally, I take some time to to enjoy that feeling of  wanting to pull my hair out mixed with the urge to bang my head against the wall.  After that, comes more thought and then–shock and awe–words. Real ones, and lots of them. All hopefully spectacular, flowing through my fingers as if I never pulled into the station at all.

Wah-lah! Done.

Sort of.

I say sort of, because there are critiques to apply, edits to complete: grammar, punctuation, simple–small rewrites (crossing fingers for that one), identifying areas in the manuscript that need strengthening of descriptions/characters, or sometimes reigning them in. Next comes the first read through, then betas, which hopefully come back clean. More read throughs, getting down a query letter and a synopsis. Until finally the big day, submissions!

Hmm, I guess I’ve a long way to go. I suppose there’s no reason to sit idle at the hesitation station.

What’s your process during pivotal moments in your writing? For readers, what books have the best moments and what are some that fell flat?

related posts:

• Mad State
• Love. Hate. And relationship foreplay.

Mad State

I’m compelled to write this post because of all the nuts from Michigan making the headlines lately. The state I love seems to be teeming with extortionists, murderers, authors who shoot their fathers… the list goes on and on. Okay, so teeming may be a bit over kill, but my home state hasn’t exactly been making national headlines for the ‘good stuff’ it’s got going for it.

Contrary to what some may believe there are normal, average, sane (emphasis on sane) people who live here. And hopefully soon we’ll see someone in Michigan making the news for something better than extorting money from a celebrity. Maybe a writer getting a book published and donating to local charities.

Hope to see things turn around. Soon.

What’s your state doing in the news lately?

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• World responsibility…just imagine.
• Pivotal Moments In Writing

YAFF Muse: In the Eye of the Beholder

Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.

Without further delay, this weeks YAFF Muse pic was provided by YAFF Member: Cambria. Don’t forget to check out the other ladies stories, I’ve linked their sites at the end the post. Enjoy!

Gold By: Kizunachan

In the Eye of the Beholder

By: R.M. Gilbert

“You’re beautiful on the inside as well,” Mom says through the bathroom door. At seventeen, I know that’s a nice way of saying, I love you too much to tell you you’re ugly.

I bury my face in the cool washcloth to douse the burn of tears. For three days running, I’ve been humiliated beyond belief and no one gets it. Mom sure doesn’t, she’s perfectly proportioned. While dad’s about as handsome as they come. And of course there’s my sister, Mel. If I were to describe her in one word it’d be, gorgeous.

Then there’s me, five foot eleven, crooked teeth, oily, acne prone skin and plain, hazel eyes hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. Jipped by the gene pool, that’s what I am.

“Come out.” Mom knocks softly. “I’ll make you no bake cookies and we can watch a movie.”

“Go away,” I say, listening for her footsteps to fade down the hallway.

I drop the washcloth in the sink and lean against the vanity. My thin frame, reflects back at me. Hair teased into a huge fro. Eyelids painted with green and gold eye shadow.

You’re the picture of beauty, the photographer’s words echo in my mind as he snaps another shot of me in a barely there bathing suit. My cheeks warm thinking about it, I feel like a fake—someone wearing another person’s skin. What would it be like to look like my sister? I wonder when another knock sounds on the door.

“Jez?” Mel calls from the hallway.

I hesitate, but crack open the door.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, sucking back more tears. But she pushes her way through the door and closes it behind her. I watch her as she crosses to the linen closet and takes the eye makeup remover from the shelf.

“I’ll help you take off the makeup if you’d like.”

Nodding, I sit on the closed toilet lid. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Her smile shows off her perfect teeth and it reaches all the way to her electric blue eyes. She pushes her hair behind her ears, its smooth like melted chocolate with a color to match. “Can you take off your glasses?”

I do as she asks, and set them on the vanity.

“You’re lucky you know?” she says.

“How?”

“You’re kidding me?” Her brow lifts as she wipes off the thick covering of cosmetic base. “For starters, you’re going to be the cover model for Teen Scene.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I attempt a smile.

“Plus, you’re beautiful.”

I withhold a laugh, but say, “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder Mel, trust me.”

© 2010, July 13, rmg.

This weeks post was inspired by the photo as well as my past and also thoughts of girls nowadays. It’s so easy to want to look like someone else. Want to be someone else and think that the grass is greener, and if only. The truth is I think a lot of people suffer with image issues at every age and don’t realize that there’s someone else who’d trade places with them for whatever reason. It was a little tricky to write, but I hope the message was clear.

After commenting, be sure to stop by other YAFFER sites to see how the picture inspired them:

Mindy Buchanan

R.L. Purdy

Traci Kenworth

Vanessa Barger

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• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan
• YAFF Muse: Toothfairy

YAFF Muse: All Roads Lead Home

Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.

Without further delay, this weeks YAFF Muse pic was provided by YAFF Member: Cambria. Don’t forget to check out the other ladies stories, I’ve linked their sites at the end the post. Enjoy!

Autostop By:Criswey

All Roads Lead Home

By: R.M. Gilbert

An old pick up slows at the signal of my extended thumb. A haggard man, who sits behind the wheel, leans over the passenger seat. For a second I swear I hear his bones actually creak. His tired eyes settle on mine. “Where you headed?”

“Wherever,” I say.

He pulls himself straight using the steering wheel. “I’m heading there too I suppose, gonna make one more stop before I go, if’en that’s all right.”

“Sounds fine to me, mister.” Pulling open the door I slide onto the bench seat. The torn fabric from years of use scratches my legs. Rust falls off the door as I try for a second time to slam it shut.

Once rolling, the pick-up chugs along at a whopping 50 miles per hour, which seems much to slow, but it’s faster than I can walk and cooler too.

I glance over at the man in the driver’s seat. Hunched up and looking about a hundred years old, he squints between the steering wheel and dash at the road ahead. Of all the people who stop, why did it have to be someone so…ancient?

“What’cha planning to do when you get to wherever?” He asks.

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. There were no big aspirations, like seeing Sally Mae Preston in lights, or anything. The idea is to get away from this no horse town any way I could. And figure out the rest when I get there. “I’ll probably get a job.”

“You got folks that’ll miss ya?”

There was mom, dad, and Billy. But they’d still enjoy a Sunday cone at the local Dip and Split and manage the farm fine without me.

“I’ll be in touch after I get settled,” I say.

Minutes later we pull off the road, near a black, wrought iron gate, rusted open on its hinges. Overhead, scrolled in twisted iron are the words Millbrook Cemetery.

“Do you mind helping an old man?” He half says and half coughs.

“Sure.” I push open the door and hurry around to help him from the truck. He limps along pointing me in the direction of a small cluster of headstones.

“My families buried up here,” the old man says, “My wife, Ginny, and little Bill.”

“Oh weird that’s my mom’s name and I have a brother Billy.” I pause. “What happened to them? Your family?”

“An automobile accident the day our youngest disappeared.”

“Sorry,” I whisper.

“She took off a long time ago. Never heard from her again, but I go looking for her wherever,” he says then points to two headstones resting in the ground side-by-side. “Ah, well here we are.”

I look down at the headstones. Ginny Preston. Bill Preston Junior. It can’t be. My gaze finds the old man’s.

“I’ve come up here every week since.” He shakes his head. “And pray for another chance.”

“Can you bring me home?” I ask my father.

© 2010, July 6, rmg.

This weeks post was a quick push. I really didn’t think for more than five minutes on the entire writing. Once I came up with the title the rest fell into place.

Do you ever write based on a simple title and see where it leads?

After commenting, be sure to stop by other YAFFER sites to see how the picture inspired them:

Cambria Dillon

R.L. Purdy

Traci Kenworth

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• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan
• YAFF Muse: Toothfairy

YAFF Muse:She Rains

Welcome again to YAFF Muse: blog rounds. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.

Without further delay, this weeks YAFF Muse pic was provided by YAFF Member: Cambria. Don’t forget to check out the other ladies stories, I’ve linked their sites at the end the post. Enjoy!

Around the Streetmarket by: Plamen Stoev

She Rains

By: R.M. Gilbert

“We’re here to help build a larger medical facility,” the youth pastor explains. “But we’re also here to administer to the people. You’ll be split into two groups and alternate between visits to the current medical station and here.” Pastor Carl gestures to the construction site. “Jason, Marcus, and Sara, will help build today, and Leesa and Kent will go with our translator, Seshawn Rea, to the med center.”

“You ready for this, Leesa?” Kent asks.

“Sure.” I nod.

We follow our translator to a path that leads into a mass of trees. My stomach tightens when a mosquito the size of my fist swarms past my head. Breath, you’ve had your shots, I remind myself. I had too, in order to get the passport to come to this remote community in the middle of the jungle. Heaven, what was I thinking.

“This way, this way,” Seshawn says, waving us forward.

The path narrows and winds. Massive trees, nothing like the ones back home, tower overhead. They grow so tall and so close together it’s like looking at one gigantic green wall. And mud clings to everything. Thankfully, we’ve come at the end of their rainy season.

When we reach the medical facility its little more than large pieces of canvas sewn together, held up by logs. We’re ushered in and instructed to “sit and visit” with the children waiting for treatment. I settle next to a little boy, about seven. He grins, a toothless grin, but then struggles to take a breath.

“What happened to him?” I ask the translator. He rattles on in the native tongue.

The boys face grows serious and he reaches into his tattered pants and pulls out an old, torn piece of newspaper. Instead of showing me an article, he opens his tiny hands as if offering me a gift. There in his palm is a photo. He thrusts his hands toward me.

I smile and take the photograph, examining it—it’s beautiful—a girl running in the pouring rain. It’s dark and mysterious, intriguing and playful all at the same time. “Will you tell him I think it’s very pretty?”

Seshawn nods and speaks to the boy, whose brows crease more than any child’s should. Tears fill his innocent eyes. His head shakes and he mutters.

“What did he say?”

“He says, not pretty. He says, he thinks rain is fun, but she is his death.”

I say a silent prayer for the child and before I’m led away I glance back at this small defeated person. “Do you know what happened to him?”

The translator’s gaze sweeps the room. “Not just him. Them.”

Them? There’s better than a hundred children under the cover of the tent-like room. “How?”

“The acid rain falls on plants and animals. They eat and get sick, here.” He pokes at his kidneys then covers his chest. “And here.”

A week later our mission trip has come to an end.  Our youth group boards a plane home.

I glance out the window of the small commuter jet, catching a glimpse of a girl on the runway alongside of us. Black hair, contrasting white, ashy skin, it’s her, the girl from the boy’s picture.

The plane engine roars and we speed forward. I look to see if anyone else notices the girl, but they’re busy talking among themselves.

Twisting back to the window, we’re in the sky. The higher we go, she follows, stalking us. I watch as she evaporates into the air, streams through our jet engine then reappears in a distant cloud. “Wait,” I cry out and turn to our pastor.

“What is it?” he asks, coming to my side.

My finger traces the edge of the window. “Rain,” I say.

“Hmm. You don’t worry about that Leesa, we should be out of the area before it hits.”

©2010, June 28, rmg.

I really loved this picture, a hundred thoughts on what to write came to mind over the course of several days. The idea for ‘She Rains’ came to me at about 5:30 in the morning during a ride with my husband to pick up our car from his bosses house. I liked the idea of writing a short story with a message.

Acid Rain is a reality. It affects our food and water sources and often the consequences go unnoticed. Despite its name, acid rain looks the same as any rain shower, but the harmful pollutants are there. Like those caused by burning fossil fuels. For more faqs on acid rain, please visit: Outside air pollution-faqs.org

What cause(s) do you think deserve more attention and why?

After commenting, be sure to stop by other YAFFER sites to see how the picture inspired them:

Cambria Dillon

Mindy Buchanan

Penny Randall

R.L. Purdy

Traci Kenworth

Vanessa Barger

related posts:

• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan
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YAFF Muse: Breaking Free of the Forum

Well hold onto your pants for our new blog series. The ladies of YA Fiction Fanatics have come together for YAFF Muse. To have a little fun, explore different styles of writing and to give you some kick-butt shorts to read.

Without further delay, this weeks YAFF Muse pic was provided by YAFF Memeber: Cambria. Don’t forget to check out the other ladies stories, I’ve linked their sites at the end the post. Enjoy!

Photo Credit: valyeszter

The Trouble with Tea

–R.M. Gilbert

It’s totally lame when Mom says I have to stay with my grandma over the summer. I’m sixteen for shits sake. Definitely beyond pampers and bottle feeding. Smart enough not to allow some strange door-to-door salesmen in the house while Mom’s at work. And I’ve always hated helping in the kitchen, so I’m not about to burn the house down using the oven. Why then, am I going to be stuck spending my summer with some old lady who I only see at Christmas?

Here’s why:

“She’s starved for company, you know.” Mom parks the car out front of a tiny shoebox house.

“Why don’t you stay with her then, and I’ll pick you up in a few weeks?” I say.

She scowls. “Out of the car, now.”

Okay, not to be a jerk, but really, what a pain. I push out of the car muttering about injustice while Mom heads to the front door.

She sucks air and pulls a note that’s been taped to the window. “Oh shoot?”

“Now what?” I grumble.

“She’s out back for tea.”

“What am I suppose to do?”

Here’s what:

Mom says, “At the back of the house there’s a path, remember? You played there,” she pauses. “Goodness, over ten years ago, I think.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I was like five and you expect me to remember that? Why don’t you walk me back? She’s your mom.”

“Can’t, I’m wearing Jimmy Choo’s.” She points at her newest pair of heels.

“Fine.” I take off for the side of the house when she calls after me.

“I’ll set your bag inside. See you in a couple weeks.”

Whatever, I think moving on. Mom’s high maintenance. I don’t know if Dad was. He’s gone. He died when I was about six. Mom doesn’t talk about it much.

On the path, I work my way through the winding maze of trees until I come to a small clearing.

“I wondered when you’d come.” Grandma sits on one of two wicker settees, under the cover of a rundown gazebo.

The steps creak under my weight as I join her, a small wooden table between us.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She lifts her thin arm–skin and bones–and gestures at the nearly dried up swamp and dying timbers.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask.

“Tea?” She offers without responding to my question.

I stare down at the dainty cup about to refuse, but she pours me a drink regardless of what I want.

She says, “Sit. Drink.”

Um, no. I look over my shoulder, back up the path and wonder if I hurry, if I can catch Mom before she leaves. But I sit down, pick up the cup and take a sip of the bitter liquid. Squinting out into the tree line I spot a teacup dangling from a small branch. A pattern of blue flowers delicately painted on its side. Then I spot another. And another. Like ornaments on a Christmas tree.

“Hey, what are all those cups for?”

“Those who’ve come for tea.” Her voice rasps. “The white one with the blue flowers was your fathers. We had a drink years ago, such a sweet man.” She sets her cup down. “You know the trouble with tea? It makes me hungry.”

“What?” I turn. Catching a glimpse of her crimson stained teeth and black eyes.

She lunges at me…

Here’s lunch.

**

©2010, June 21, rmg.

So here’s where I’m suppose to say what gave inspiration to the story. Well, I have to admit at first I was like ‘eh’ over the picture but after about five minutes of staring at the pic I knew exactly what I wanted to write. There were two things that inspired me to write The Trouble with Tea. The first, obviously the picture. The second, my hubby’s grandma.No she’s never eaten anyone who’s come for tea. (At least not that I know of).

Seriously though, Grandma is a blessing and every time we spend a morning chatting she’s put the tea on. A cup, saucer, milk…the whole shi-bang. So it didn’t take long to incorporate Grandma into the story. But then, I needed a twist. Let’s face it, I write Fiction. So while Grandma never lunges over the table to take a bite out of her Grandchildren, the one in my story does.

So tell me, did you see the end coming? How do you take your tea?

After commenting be sure to stop by other YAFFER sites to see how the picture inspired them:

Cambria Dillon

Mindy Buchanan

R.L. Purdy

Traci Kenworth

Vanessa Barger

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• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan
• YAFF Muse: Untarnished

YAFF Muse: Breaking Free Blog Rounds Wednesday!

That’s right, Wednesday is the start of Yaff Muse: Breaking Free of the Forum. The beginning of a weekly installment of blog rounds for your reading pleasure. Some of the women from YA Fiction Fanatics have gotten together and decided to write shorts: (250-500 words –possibly more if their muse is going crazy.)

Each week one of YAFF’s members will post an inspirational picture to the group then we will write something fabulous based on the awesome amount of inspiration we get from the picture. We’ll also link to the other group members so you can read the different perspectives a single picture can trigger. And maybe you can pinpoint some similarities too.

So I hope you’ll join us, starting this Wednesday and enjoy reading the unique writing styles of the woman in our group.

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• YAFF Muse: Your Biggest Fan
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A Father’s Gift

There are things I do differently than my Dad. Things that my children will do differently than me. But here’s a list of things I will pass on that my dad has given me.

Hope: When he became saved.

Gift: Sharing music together.

Reassurance: Being supportive and letting me know it would be okay whenever things are tough.

Guidance: Whether I’ve wanted it or not.

His opinion: Again, whether I wanted it or not.

Confidence: That I’m okay as I am.

Help: Whenever there’s a need.

Encouragement: To do better.

Love: He didn’t have to love me, he chose to love me.

It seems like just yesterday I was a little girl tapping my foot and singing along with my dad while he played the guitar. My how time goes by. What will you pass on that your father has given you?

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• Pivotal Moments In Writing
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