Tag Archives: Valentine’s Day

The bait and switch | Short Story

I found this is my drafts you guys. I have no idea why I didn’t post it…so here’s something I wrote in February…

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Bodies were sliding against each other, grinding and bouncing. The club was stifling, the air thick with expectations and cheap cologne. They were all young 20-somethings in the beginning of their lives, and loving it all. Slurping down ladies night cheap drinks and the boys drinking as much beer as possible to try to show they were the men there tonight.

Dani sat on the side, watching as her friends danced around. Forever the purse watcher.

“Dani hold my purse, you’re great!” said a blonde girl on her co-ed floor. She didn’t even know here name, but just added it to the pile. She  wondered why she hadn’t stayed home to read. This just wasn’t her scene. She preferred to go out and watch bands play. Drinking cheap beer with cheaper girls, partying until dawn.

This wasn’t her life.

Someone stumbled into her, and a drinking spilled on her shoulder. No apology. She gritted her teeth, but didn’t say a word.

She sighed, blowing the persistent curl from her light brown eyes. She wasn’t wearing makeup, she felt it was a waste of time. She wore Burts Bees lip balm to keep her lips soft and supple. The purple dress she was wearing was the perfect foil to her dark brown skin. It had a mod feel to it, with orange deco jewels circling her collar. Her legs were thick at the hips. She would never have the coveted “thigh gap.” Surrounded by all of the bodies moving, teaming, sweating in their size 0 bodies, she felt so incredibly out of place. She wanted to crawl back into her favorite dive bar, drinking cheap beers, smoking cigarettes behind the place and dancing to music.

But it was her roommate Sara’s birthday.

So here she was.

She’d quickly learned to get drinks with as few ingredients as possible. Who can mess up tequila, orange juice and grenadine? She took a drink and made a sour face. Apparently, that chick could. Did she put turpentine in there? She shrugged and kept drinking it anyway. Money was money and alcohol was alcohol. She couldn’t go through with this torture sober. The lame EDM wannabe music blaring in the background made her want to stab her eardrums with a toothpick. She took another drink and looked around.

That’s when she saw him.

He walked toward her with a self-confidence that she seldom saw from the boys around here. Dark hair, darker eyes, and a smile spoke of some possibly dark things to come. She stopped herself from glancing behind her to see if he was walking toward her. She was against the wall. There was no one else there.

He leaned down and he smelled like a spicy heaven.

“Hey I’m Chris.”

“Hey,” she said, putting her hand on his arm as she leaned forward to hear him. His forearm felt like it was made from bricks.

“I’m a Marine,” he voice had a low rumble to it. He leaned closer, trying to not glance down at her bared cleavage.

“Oh you are?” Her eyes sparkled. She’d always had a thing for a man in a uniform and from what she could tell, he would wear it well.

He nodded, “Yeah, I’m on leave before I head out to Afghanistan.”

She felt a pang of sympathy, “Wow, shouldn’t you be saying goodbye to your loved ones?”

“I don’t have anyone,” he paused his works, swallowing deeply. “I just wanted one night where I wouldn’t have to be alone before I left. One last night. You know?” He was so close to her, his breath tickled her neck. She could feel his lips gently shaping the words. and she wanted to taste them.

“Yea, I get it.”

And he leaned back and looked into her eyes. Paused a beat. Then patted her on the shoulder. “Yeah, I thought that would work, thanks!” He straightened and walked with that same single-sighted purpose to the busty blonde sitting at the end of the bar. He had practiced his line on her so he could get laid by some other chick. He probably wasn’t even in the Armed Forces. What a- what a-

She was choking with anger. She stood, the chair sliding into the wall with a crack. The people near her turned to see what was going to happen. She grabbed her purse and her half empty glass. She rushed at him, teeth bared. Letting out a warrior cry, she threw it in his face, the plastic cup bounced off his nose.

“Whydon’t you remember that while you’re in Afghanistan? Creep.” She turned and walked out the door.

Fuck these people. She needed a real drink.

***

This story is the incredibly late addition to the #writestuff TweetChat monthly prompt. February’s prompt was Anti-Valentine’s Day. Here’s what came up. Let me know what you think in the comments.

Aloha y’all! 

PS: Did you read Chapter One from the Just One Night serial? Click here and check it out. 

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Poetry ripping at the heart: Robert Wilson

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! Today, I bring you the gift of another indie author. Yesterday it was more about carnal knowledge. Today, it’s matter’s of the heart. (Did you check out yesterday’s post, by the way. If not do a lil’ click here. You’re welcome.)

Let me introduce you to Robert Wilson. I’ve known Robert for years. I remember when we were hanging out at the now defunct Fuel bar (It was more of a hole in the ground than a hole in the wall) where we did Fueled Poets and Comedy Caravan. He was just starting to read his poetry in front of people and even then his words were dark and mysterious.

Now he is an indie author, who has released his debut poetry collection today! He writes about love and love’s loss with an aching heart and a bitter tongue. The title “Love and Black Holes” is quite fitting.

Here is a lil sample. Just a taste my friends:

He extracted inspiration from the roses growing from her wrists and used it to paint pictures across the ceiling. There were burning buildings, decapitated husbands, and hanging wives strewn across the peeling paint around them. He collapsed on the mattress next to her when he was finished and lit up a cigarette. “It’s all beautiful,” she said after surveying his work.
“I know,” he replied, exhaling a torrent of smoke. “It’s everything I see when I look at you.”
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Whew. Startling, yet beautiful, isn’t it?

Here’s a bit more about Robert, other than my gushing endorsement:

Robert Wilson

Robert Wilson is an indie author and poet residing in Morgantown, WV. Always controversial, his writings tend to veer towards the darker side of life that most other writers fear to tread while using surrealism and dark humor to convey his views. He recently completed his collection of romantic prose, Love and Black Holes, which is set to be released February 14th, 2015. For more information on him and his work, you can visit his website or email him at: robertjw4688@gmail.com.

Check out Robert’s site and give his poetry a go. Buy his book and support an indie poet!

Let me know if there’s another indie author you’d like me to spotlight on PenPaperPad. This is probably my favorite series that I’ve done on here. So much fun to give shoutouts to under known writers.

Aloha y’all! 

Indie Author Spotlight 2

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Valentine’s Day gift for your writer (Guest Post)

Hey you guys! It’s that time again, guest blogger day! Today, we have that wicked insomniac with a bad attitude and a case of the swears, Starr from The Insomniac’s Dream. If you’re new here, she is my bloggy bestie and we pop up on each other’s blogs often. In fact, I visited hers on Wednesday and talked about taking chances. (You may want to drop by and read that, too.) Today Starr is giving you advice on what your writer really needs for Valentine’s Day. (And if you’re the writer, pass it on to your significant other.) Take it away Starr…

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http://penpaperpad.comIt’s Valentine’s Day. On this momentous (and quite frankly, commercialized and worthless) Holiday, what could you possibly get for your writer to make her happy?

Buying Valentine’s Day gifts is hard enough.  The Holiday is notorious for horrible gifts, thoughtless gestures, and pissed off couples everywhere fuming at their significant other.   Throw a writer into the mix, and you’re doomed. 

Well, maybe not.  Chances are your writer doesn’t even know what day of the week it is or what planet she lives on, let alone that it’s that contrived day of the year when you’re obligated to buy something for her to prove your love. Even if she is aware it’s the “day of love”, in most cases, whatever story she’s wrapped in, whatever tale she’s weaving, is far more fascinating than your failed attempt at romance once a year.  

(Never mind the other 364 days of the year you can tell someone you love them.  Never mind that you can show someone how much you care without materialistic and overpriced gifts.)

Let’s be real, folks.  Flowers die.  A box of chocolates is, on average, going to relinquish two nuggets of delicious delight and the rest will be tossed into the trash after one nibble.  Unless your writer is a famous author going on a book signing tour, just when do you think she’ll ever have occasion to wear jewelry?  In the middle of the afternoon when she’s trying to hit a deadline; still in her pajamas, her bedraggled bed hair sticking up all over, I’m sure she’d love to wear fancy pants baubles.  

So, what does every writer want?  What could you possibly give her on Valentine’s Day that would make her love you oh, so much?

1.  Time:  Your writer needs time.  Between work, the house, the kids, and your needy selfish ass, she hardly has any time in the day to write all the words she wants to write.  Give her the gift of time.   Whatever you can do to free up her hours and afford her more time, do it.  Run a load of laundry, take the kids to Kung Fu, or cook dinner. (On second thought, don’t do that, you’ll probably just make a huge mess in the kitchen she’ll have to deal with later- order out.)  Give her time.  Leave her the fuck alone and let her make words.  

2.  Quiet:  Much like time, quiet is one of the most sought after comforts a writer seeks.  And seldom afforded.  Turn off the TV (and stop yelling at it, you are never going to change the outcome of a sport by yelling like a barbaric ape) and take the kids out for awhile.  If you have noisy, annoying pets, take them to the pound.  Just kidding.  Don’t really take your animals to certain Euthanization.  Just muzzle them for the day. 

3. Food:  Bring your writer her favorite fattening dinner from a greasy fast food place.  Wherever she goes to eat her feels, pick that place and you’re an automatic winner.  Drop it off on her desk.  Don’t talk.  Don’t bother her.  Do not stand there and wait for recognition and appreciation.  

If your writer does wish to dine out for the evening, take her somewhere fantastically fun.  Writers like to experience new things and they love to people watch.  If you can hit both of those and feed her, you might get lucky later.  

4.  Coffee:  Writers are notorious for their outrageous intake of the caffeinated beverages.  Get your writer her favorite brew from Starbucks, and I don’t mean bring her a cup of coffee, you cheap ass.  Buy a bag of coffee grounds that will bring her enjoyment for several days.  Get her a new coffee mug, something special that speaks of her.  I refer to these as “writer mugs”.  A writer’s favorite mug(s) are something special.  If she’s a nerd, get her a TARDIS cup; if she’s “one of those” moms get her the “World’s Best Mom” mug.  Choose carefully, and she will treasure this mug and use it often.  

5.  Booze:  Yet another beverage writers are famous for imbibing in great quantities.  Buy her a bottle (or ten) of her favorite alcohol.  In fact, this is a great idea for both of you.  She’s happy.  You get some action after a few glasses.  It’s a win for everyone.

6.  Journals and pens: Nothing screams, “I love you and understand you, honey!” like gifting your writer with journals and pens in her favorite colors that express her personality.  Much like coffee mugs, these need to be chosen with care.

7.  Books:  Writers love to read as much as they love to write.  Get her a few new novels by her favorite author.

Most of all, be understanding and patient with your writer.  In fact, do this every day of the year.  Love her, support her, attempt a bit of understanding every day, and your writer will return your love tenfold.

She might even dedicate her next book to you. 

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http://penpaperpad.comStarr works from her home in Arizona as  a freelance writer. Her writing ranges from humor laced snarkfests, gritty non-fiction all the way to her recently discovered dark world of Erotica. The author behind The Insomniac’s Dream, she claims blogging was only the beginning of an amazing freelancing career.

She also writes fiction and is working on a book in her spare time, when she’s not busy with her two tween boys. Her claim to fame is her caustic wit, copious swears and an ongoing battle with insomnia.

She aspires to be a Vampire someday. Catch her if you can on Facebook, Follow her on Twitter. Check out her Pinterest boards.

 

Let me know if you’d like to guest post. I’m always looking for new people to talk about the writer’s life. Aloha y’all!

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