Book Update: [Beta Readers]

Whoa, it's been a while since I’ve updated you guys on the progress of my book! For the past several months, I have been mired in carving and shaping the story into something I wouldn’t be embarrassed by. Hacking away at flowery dialogue, adding new scenes and slimming down drawn out passages that would surely put readers to sleep. I’ll post about my editing journey soon, but for now I have something else to share.

I have found my way to a fourth draft and it is officially out in the world! Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. It’s in the hands of Beta Readers, which for me—the only one to have read the book so far—feels like I've exposed myself to the whole wide world.

Hitting send was both super exciting and super nerve wracking. Exciting because I feel confident about the story and because there are several scenes that I’m extra proud of. Nerve wracking because, well, what if my rose colored glasses are thicker than I thought they were? I guess I’ll find out soon…

In other big news—and why I’m looking forward to getting feedback—I have signed up to attend the 2014 Writer’s Digest Conference in August. I can't wait to meet other writers and learn as much as I can from sessions targeted at helping me to become a better writer. I also signed up for one of the Pitch Slam sessions, where I will have 90 seconds to convince an agent that my book is worth them taking the risk. Yikes! If nothing else, it will be an amazing learning experience.

Well, that’s it for now and I promise to blog about the trials and tribulations of editing soon. Thanks for reading!

Fiction Friday: [Just Enough]

The paint blisters and cracks. Curling, it pulls away from the wood and the flaky pieces dance in the gentle breeze blowing through the kitchen.

She watches, waiting for them to be torn away. When ripped from the wood, they’ll float through the air before settling on the tile floor below. The floor, where tiny, rust colored spots stain the grout.

She absently runs her hand over the finger-shaped hues of purples, reds and pinks on her arm. Slender trails of sickly yellow-green trace their edges. The most delicate spots feel as though her skin had been pulled thin, with nerves electrified at the surface. Glancing over one, she pulls her hand away and sucks her teeth as if it would soften the sting.

She blisters and cracks, curling herself into a ball on the floor. She pulls her attention to the tiles as she rocks gently back and forth.

The tiles will be her advocate. When the inevitable happens—when she no longer exists—it’ll be the tiles that seal his fate. Swabbing between them, they will find her. The bruises will become pieces to a puzzle where the final picture reveals the truth. Then they will know what her life had been. All that she had endured.

Blistering and cracking, she longs to be stronger. Curling into herself, she’s pulled deeper into despair knowing that she isn’t. She feels herself dancing closer to her death. Closer to the day he will kill her.

Until then she will continue to mop up the blood from busted lips and split cheeks, leaving just enough.

Just enough.