Category: Writers Block
Hey, peoples! I'm writing a novel, and I can't think of what to do with the rest of it; I have major writer's block. Yes, I know, it sucks badly. Anyway, I decided to post it here, and if you like writing, feel free to add to it. I'm going to post it by chapter. Remember: The content must be appropriate, please! Thank you! Have fun!
Much Love to Y'all and God Bless,
Mel
XXX
Chapter 1
"OK, Jean, gimme the fuse," my older brother Derek said. He lit it and grabbed my hand. We ran for the bushes where we awaited the reaction of our beautiful, deadly creation. It sparked, but nothing further occurred. Derek tried to get up and go to it to see what had gone wrong, but I held him back. We waited for what seemed like hours, and finally, another spark could be seen and many more after. "Five, four, three, two,..." Then, it happened--the explosion. Our bomb burst into the late evening air, showing many colors. We were so astonished that we almost didn't hear our mom yelling.
"Jean Colby Dunn, Derek Anthony Dunn, what on Earth are you doing?! Get in here!" He and I looked at each other and let out a long, drawn out sigh and a laugh.
"Coming!" we chorused. We raced to the porch where she stood, hands on hips. Dad took Derek into the study, and Mom took me into the kitchen. Mom rinsed some dishes and took some bread out of the oven. I could hear Dad reprimanding Derek.
"What on Earth were you thinking, Son?! You put your sister in danger!" I tried hard not to laugh. Bah! Me in danger? Whatever. I sighed and thought of our awesome experiment.
"Get that smirk off your face," Mom said. "Jean Colby, why can't you be like Chelsea Renee? She doesn't get into trouble; she acts like a young lady." I chewed my lip and stared at the wall. Great. The lady-like talk again. "Young ladies stay inside where they belong, they wear their own clothes, they're quiet, they don't belch, they have a taste in music,..." I couldn't take anymore. I banged my fist on the table so hard that my knuckles began to bleed. I ignored that, however.
"Well, I'm not a young lady! I won't stay cooped up inside, I'll wear my brother's old clothes if I please, I'll be noisy, and I'll listen to emo as loud as I can! Mom, wake up! I'm me, not Little Miss Perfect, Girly, Dainty Chelsea Renee Dunn, OK? Sorry I'm not Mommy's little girl! You know, maybe we'd get along better if you would just accept me for who I am!" I stormed through the living room where Chelsea stood in front of the huge wall mirror doing some last-minute touch-ups on her makeup for a date she was to attend with her boyfriend Kevin. She whirled round, her dress and hair flowing in the air and gaped at me. My heart sank, and I looked apologetically into her teary blue eyes. I stood there, frozen in her penetrating gaze. I couldn't take it anymore! I bolted out the front door and onto the porch where Derek stood. He looked at me.
"This was much harder for you than it was for me. I feel so stupid for doing it. Now, you had to put up with that lady crap again."
"It's all right," I said. I swallowed the rising lump in my throat. "It was my choice to participate; I risked it." He smiled.
"You know, you're brave, Jean, very brave." I smiled back at him. We trudged to the middle of the yard where our mess was. We began to clean it, and Kevin pulled up in his shiny red Porsch.
"Come on, Baby! The night awaits us!" he said. I tried not to gag. Chelsea stepped out and walked toward him. A regular prodigy. She had every step down as if she were a model. I remembered the previous incident and looked away in a bashful manner. They drove away. We continued our cleaning.
"Hey, you?!" someone hollered from across the street. I heard bounding footsteps as he approached, but still, I didn't take my eyes off the ground. He knelt down beside us. "I'm Stephen," he said. "I just moved here. That bomb was awesome!" I looked at him. He had crazy, curly, dirty blonde hair and soft brown eyes. He looked about Derek's age. I stared at him, transfixed by his beauty.
"Hi, I'm Derek," Derek said, "and this is my sister Jean."
"Hi," I said, slowly coming out of my hypnotic state. There was a long, awkward silence as he helped us clean up.
Chapter 2
Four years passed, and Stephen, Derek, and I became the best of friends, sticking with each other through and through. They would make me laugh when Mom gave me the lady-like lecture, and I would be near tears of frustration. They would console and try to defend me when my dad abused me. In Derek's seventh grade year, he broke his leg at a football game, and Stephen and I saw him through that. In Stephen's eighth grade year, his parents divorced, and for a while until things were settled, the Dunn family had an extra member. In my seventh grade year and Stephen's and Derek's ninth, I went to homecoming with them, and everyone at their school welcomed me as one of the pack. We started a Christian emo band and played dates at our schools, church, and our favorite Christian clubs. Life was the bomb!...
I awoke to my hair being lightly ruffled by Derek.
"Hey, wake up; it's snowing!" I sat up slowly.
"Huh? Wha'?" He picked me up off of my bed and spun me around. Ah, yes, the airplane game. I remembered seeing the room spinning when he played it with me as a child. Now that I was older and bigger, everything looked different. I laughed. He left, so I could get dressed. I came out, and he whistled so as to vex me. We slid down the bannister and bolted out the front door. There Stephen was on his porch, and he waved to us. We resolved to meet in the back yard.
"Now, what to do with all this snow?" Stephen said dreamily, lightly flinging some in my direction.
"Hey!" I snapped. I laughed and gathered a clump of the white beauty and hurled it at him, sending him running. We retrieved our old wagon from which the wheels had been removed years prior, and we took turns riding down the hill. When I went, I flipped over, landing on my rear end.
"Oh, wipe out!" Derek called from the back porch. He ran for me, Stephen at his heels.
"I'm OK," I said. Suddenly, we were all in stitches, rolling in the snow. We made snow angels. We then put on our paint ball gear and had a paint ball fight. Derek got me in the upper arm, and he left a bruise. I tackled him in the snow and wrestled him. Stephen dove on top of us, and we wallowed in the white blanket.
"Hey, I made orange danish and hot cocoa!" Chelsea called. Stephen backed up and ran at the wheelless wagon, jumped in it, let one foot stay out, gave it a boost, and rocketed up the hill. It kind of worked, but he fell about halfway up. From there he just sprinted. "Crazy kids," Chelsea laughed. We sat on a blanket on the living room floor by the fire and ate our breakfast. Derek burped, and he left Stephen and I dying of laughter. I did as well, and Stephen soon after, and we had a burping chorus, which, of course, Mom and Chelsea detested. We then put on some warm clothes and headed for Stephen's house to have band practice since no one was home. While testing the microphone, I belched into it. Stephen played a comedy drum role, I played a nasty power chord on my guitar, and Derek did a crazy scale on his bass. We then began to play. We stopped only for a few minutes a while later to use Stephen's restroom facility, but we kept right on playing. Finally, after six hours, we decided to call it quits. When evening came, we drove into the country and launched a rocket we had built. I adored the way the smoke engulfed us as the rocket disappeared into the late evening sky. I remembered how our fantastic bomb from four years ago looked when it burst into the air. The smell of sulfur from the rocket's engine was appalling, yet it brought back good memories. I loved the sound the rocket made as it ascended into the sparkling bluish-black sky. I imagined myself flying. Oh, how I wished I could!
"All right, Stephen, go fetch!" Derek teased. Stephen chased it and did a fancy slide like the ones in baseball, catching it in his arms. Derek took a picture of Stephen's glorious stance with his digital camera. We put our rockets in the back of Stephen's convertible and got out our Roman candles. We shot them in the air, and Derek took more pictures. We then had a war with them, chasing each other around and shouting victoriously. We sat in Stephen's car and drank Pepsi, and we had a belching chorus once again. We drove home blasting the stereo with Christian metal.
"Whoa! Jeez, dude, slow down!" Stephen yelled. "Ugh, drunk drivers..." Suddenly, another drunkard hit us hard. I screamed as the glass shattered, and Derek was tossed out of the car. My eyes burned, and oh, I felt so sick! I passed out. I dreamt of flying, but this time, I crashed severely. The next thing I knew, I awoke in a hospital bed. I couldn't see. I screamed bloody murder.
"I can't see! I can't see! Somebody, help!" I realized someone was tightly gripping my hand.
"Relax, Jean; it's me, Stephen."
"You're alive?!"
"Yeah, I only got a few bruises. Derek, however,..." My heart sank. I heard a slowing heart monitor. I knew it belonged to Derek. I dissolved into tears. My eyes burned not only because of the tears but also because of whatever had been sprayed in them during the crash. "You are brave, Jean, very brave," Stephen said, stroking my hair. I could hear Derek saying that with him in my head as I reminisced the day he and I got in trouble for launching that bomb. Stephen gripped my hand even tighter as the heart monitor sang one long, single note. Derek was gone. I wept uncontrollably. "Derek made me swear, Jean, that if anything were to happen to him, I would take care of you." He leaned over and ruffled my hair. "Jean Colby, I intend to keep my promise." With that he kissed me.
Chapter 3
It took me a while to recover both physically and emotionally from that incident. My sight loss, as it turned out, ended up being permanent, for it never came back in the slightest bit. Stephen was loyal and helpful to me all through one year's time of cramming the learning of Braille, adaptive technology, and orientation and mobility into my head. He helped me with my homework, so I could focus more on my adaptive studies. He learned Braille with me as well, and sometimes, we'd pass notes back and forth in class on my slate and stylus, which, of course, were completely irrelevant to the matter at hand. One day I was waiting for him to meet me after school...
"Hey, blind girl?!" someone yelled, running at me. Startled, I unknowingly backed up against the wall. He cornered me, touched my waist, and... did he unzip my jeans?! I wanted to scream, but I couldn't because he stuck his hairy smoker's tongue in my mouth. I grew numb from fear and kept still, for I knew there was nothing I could do. I prayed silently in my head.
"Get offa her, Jackson!" Stephen roared, flying at us. I felt him pry Jackson off of me. Dumbfounded, I fell to the ground. I listened to them sidestepping each other as Stephen scolded: "Don't you ever hit a blind girl; that's wrong!" With that he shoved Jackson, allowing him to fall to the ground with a thud, so we could get away. We walked home into the sinking sun. We sat on my porch swing and threw Pop-its. I loved the sound they made as Stephen took the whole box and tossed it on the sidewalk. A dog nearby had a fuss. We just couldn't stop laughing!
"Stephen Paul Taylor, dinner time!" came his mother's musical call.
"Coming!" he echoed, and he turned to me. A quick hug, a kiss on the cheek, and he left. After about 10 minutes of pondering random things, I decided to go inside. Mom was out grocery shopping, and Chelsea and Dad were in the living room.
"I'll marry him if I please," Chelsea yelled, "and he is not a pussy!"
"Don't you dare sass back to me, young lady!" Dad roared, making contact with her face with his open palm. Silence.
"D-don't hit me," she uttered, backing away. Although she was only 21 years old, Chelsea felt very small. Dad hit her again.
"Stop!" I shouted, making a barrier between them. His alcoholic breath permeated around me as he grabbed me by my collar and said in his slurred, drunken voice:
"Mind your own business, you little brat; you understand me?" With that he thrust me back, and Chelsea caught me in her arms. I stood abroad, and without a second thought, my open palm flew, hitting him back. My fingers tingled from the impact of the hit. Before I could recover, he grabbed my arm and twisted it. A wrenching pain rocketed up it, and I screamed. I felt myself fall to the floor. He had dropped me, but I didn't know why. Chelsea quickly scooped me up into her arms and carried me upstairs into Derek's room, locking the door and putting his desk and chair in front of it, so Dad couldn't get in. We sat on Derek's bed, panting.
"Wh-what happened?" I asked when I finally caught my breath.
"Well, Kev asked me, and Dad didn't approve of it. Bah! I'm 21 years old; he doesn't need to choose whom I marry. Also, he's drunk so..."
"I figured. But yay for Kev asking you! That's great!" We laughed and embraced. We could hear him yelling from downstairs.
"Come," she commanded, and we climbed out the window and down a nearby tree. We ran for Stephen's house. He immediately let us in, and we called the cops.
Chapter 4
Dad ended up being arrested and charged for spouse and child abuse, and Mom divorced him. Stephen and Chelsea stayed by my side. Stephen always told me how much God loves me, and that kept me going as well. On my 16th birthday, he and I were hanging out after school. He had given me some of his older clothes, which consisted of a black shirt with white sleeves and some baggy blue jeans, and when I walked out of his bathroom, he whistled approvingly. We now looked alike. He then said:
"Stick out your finger." I obeyed, and he slipped a ring onto it. I gasped. "It's just plane ol' silver. I have one too. See?" He extended his palm, and I felt it. He squeezed my hand tightly. "Now, there's one other thing." He sat me down on his bed and rummaged through his drawer to find whatever it was. "Aha!" He sat down beside me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "I think Derek would want you to have this." He handed me an old, worn book. "It's his journal," he said. "Shall I read to you?" I nodded, unable to speak. "'Today, Jean and I created this awesome bomb, and my mom got so mad! My dad gave me a normal lecture, but Jean had to put up with that stupid lady-like lecture again. I feel really bad for doing it, but Jean says she risked it by participating; it wasn't entirely my fault. She's brave. She amazes me sometimes, no, a lot of the time. Anyway, when we were cleaning up our mess, we met a new kid on the block named Stephen. I've never seen Jean so shy around anyone before! Hmmm...'" We laughed. I was amazed at his writing skills at 12 years old. "'I'm getting angry with my parents. First of all, my mom keeps trying to change Jean, but I don't know why; she's perfect the way she is. Just because she doesn't like makeup, dresses, dolls, sewing, cooking, quiet music, and whatnot, doesn't mean she doesn't have good qualities. Heck, I like her better this way than I would if she were a prissy. If she weren't her loud, crazy, boyish self, then, she might as well not be Jean Colby Dunn. I remember when she was born. I was two, and I was so excited. I was the first to hold her, and Mom and Dad let me name her. Anyway, I wish Mom would look at what's on the inside, not on the out. Second of all, my dad has started alcoholism, and he hits Jean, Mom, and Chelsea. I hate it! I get in the middle, and I'll even fight him back sometimes. I really want to tell someone about it, but I'm afraid...'" The memory of standing up against the wall with Mom and Chelsea watching Dad and Derek go one-on-one was all too clear. "'Well, we had a good game yesterday. We won, but in the middle of the game, when someone from the other team tackled Stephen and me, I broke my leg. I didn't realize that, of course, until the end of the game, but anyway, all I knew was, I couldn't play well enough, so I had to sit on the sidelines. At the end, though, my team treated me like a hero. They carefully picked me up and carried me around. Later, my leg swelled badly, and we planned to get it examined today. That's how we found out it's broken. I get to ride around in a wheelchair for a while; then, I'll switch to crutches. Living the life of a paralytic will be rather interesting...'" I smiled. Derek had always had a positive outlook on things. He had been inspiring in that respect and many others as well. "'Well, it's official. Stephen's parents are getting divorced. He is completely mortified, yet he still has faith. He amazes me in that respect, and I am obliged to know him, for he is a massive encouragement to me. Anyway, he is staying with my family until things are completely settled. He is staying in my room with me, which is cool because sometimes, I get lonely at night. Well, he and I are gonna have a pillow fight, so I'll just sign off...'" We laughed. "I remember that," Stephen said.
"Yeah, and 'member when I came in and jumped on top of y'all, and we made such a racket?" I said, my speech broken up in laughter at the thought of us wrestling and whatnot with a sea of pillow feathers everywhere.
"Yeah," he said, picking up his pillow.
"Oh, no, you don't!" I said, standing up. We wrestled for a moment and got back to reading.
"'Well, Stephen and I took Jean to homecoming with us. Everyone welcomed her as if she were a regular student. She participated in the guys' burping contest, and she was one of the best. Then, our band played for everyone, and they loved our stuff. Some people got saved, and it was amazing! My heart literally jumped for joy as the prayer was said. That was my favorite part of the whole deal. We had brought our merch and stuff, and we made good money on it--around literally $15,000 because there were about 3,000 people there, and nearly everyone bought a T-shirt. We think we'll donate 10% of it ($1,500) to our church because they really need it, and we'll use the rest of it for recording an EP. We're so excited!...'"
Chapter 5
I was over at Stephen's one day, and we were listening to our EP.
"What are we gonna do about our band?" Stephen asked. "It's been two years since we've played. Should we just break up, or should we find a new bassist?"
"Well," I said, chewing my lip in deep thought, "Derek would wish us to carry on, no?"
"Yeah, I guess with that positive, striving outlook of his, he would." Throughout the week, we posted signs around our schools and and church, and we sent e-mails to our subscribers. We received word from Noah, a good friend of ours from our youth group. We practiced a couple times and decided it was official. Noah was in. One day a week before Chelsea's wedding with Kevin, we decided to make a special acoustic song just for them, for she had asked us to play.
"How should we start it out?" Noah asked, giving his dark-haired head a thoughtful scratch.
"Uh..." Stephen said, drawing out that one word for about 10 seconds. We laughed.
"Hmmm..." I said. "Aha!" I cleared my throat dramatically and sang: "When I suffered from my first breakup at the age of 13, I never thought I'd find the guy who was just perfect for me,..."
"...But one day God put you in my life, and you swept me off my feet,..." Stephen sang.
"Nuh-uh, I ain't singin'; I'll screw it up," Noah protested. We laughed and didn't push him. Stephen continued:
"...And when with you, I feel invincible like I could dance in the street!..."
"...And I never woulda stopped to think that we'd be standing here today..."
"...So as we join together in Jesus's name, I'll look you in the eyes and say:..."
"Dang, you guys are naturals!" Noah interrupted. "It's almost like you can read each other's minds! Ooh, mwahaha!" We laughed at his sinister inflection.
"'...I do; I'll cherish you for the rest of my days. I do; I promise you: I love you in every way. I do; I'll stay with you until we are old and gray. I do; I'll cherish you for the rest of my days,...'" Stephen and I sang simultaneously.
"Woo!" Noah applauded.
"...Now, I know we'll climb some rocky hills,..." I sang.
"...And I know we'll endure shocking bills,..."
"...But that won't stop me; I have faith and will..."
"...To keep on climbin' up this hill,..."
"...And I never woulda stopped to think that we'd be standing here today,..."
"...So as we join together in Jesus's name, I'll look you in the eyes and say:..."
"Aw, y'all sound so cute!" Noah exclaimed.
"'...I do; I'll cherish you for the rest of my days. I do; I promise you: I love you in every way. I do; I'll be with you until we are old and gray. I do; I'll cherish you for the rest of my days.'"
"Hmmm, maybe I'll record when we play that at Chelsea's wedding, so I can play it during y'all's!" Noah teased. We tackled him. If Derek had been there, the exact same thing would have happened. We polished and perfected the song, and it was ready for the wedding.
Chapter 6
"Can you grab my comb?" Chelsea asked. I ventured across the dressing room to get it. I was her bride's made, and I couldn't really help with her makeup or anything because of my lack of vision, so I acted as a fetcher of combs and whatnot. "I'm really nervous," she said, smoothing every little lump in her hairdo. I smiled as I thought of the last song Stephen, Noah, and I would play. I couldn't stop thinking about Stephen, and it was driving me nuts! I could see vague images of his face, his crazy, curly, dirty blonde hair, and his soft brown eyes, but they weren't as good as they used to be. I knew I'd most likely forget it. But since I had seen Derek's and Chelsea's faces so many times, it was hard to think of forgetting theirs. I hoped that I wouldn't forget anybody's. The next thing I knew, there Chelsea was, walking down the aisle. OK, so I didn't see her, but Stephen described every detail to me. He said she looked like a glowing angel floating on a path of flowers, which a few of her friends had tossed around just right. I could just imagine her, walking on a sea of roses. Chelsea and Kevin, after six years of dating, would finally be together forever. I smiled, and a pleasant shiver ran down my spine; then, it ran back up again. We all said a prayer, and Chelsea and Kevin said their vows.
"I now pronounce you man and wife," our church pastor said. "You may kiss the bride." We rejoiced as they kissed, and the reception began.
"All right, get ready," Stephen said." As everyone exchanged gifts and whatnot, I made sure my guitar was perfectly in tune, and Noah did the same with his bass. Stephen did a few warmups on his bongos.
"This song's called 'I Do.' To Mr. and Mrs. Kevin Matthew Blake!" Everyone cheered. We played the song. Everyone stood against the wall and watched Chelsea and Kevin slow dance in the center of the room. There wasn't a dry eye in the room when Stephen and I sang the last chorus. As I strummed the last chord, everyone screamed and whistled and whatnot.
"More! More! More! More!" they chanted.
"Uh, which one do you wanna do?" Stephen asked me.
"Um, let's play a PNW song..." I trailed off in thought.
"'Breathe!'" Noah suggested.
"OK," Stephen said. I nodded.
"All right, guys, this song's called 'Breathe.' Most of you should know the words, so you can sing if you like. For those of you who don't, this is a rather repetitive song, so you'll know the words by the second go-around." We sang, and I got the audience to clap their hands. We ended off the song with a crazy guitar solo, which sounded awesome on my acoustic. Everyone cheered. "Thank you; good night!" I said. We put our stuff away and joined the festivities. Chelsea and Kevin had a cake fight, which was rather comical. In the midst of dinner, Noah left the table, and all of a sudden, I heard one of Stephen's and mine favorite songs "Rawkfist" by Thousand Foot Krutch begin to play.
"Jean and Stephen, getcha booties on de flo'!" Noah sang along with the original words.
"Noah?!" we chorused. He was always causing trouble. Everyone else in the room began to root for us. Stephen took my hand, and we stepped onto the dance floor. All eyes were on us as we unexpectedly, to everyone else, that is, did our version of dancing--a sort of "Ring Around the Rosie" thing, except we did not sing.
"Come on, folks, join the fun!" Noah said. Soon, everyone was spinning around. Finally, the song ended, and it was time for Chelsea and Kevin to drive off to their honeymoon in Kevin's shiny red Porsch. Chelsea gave Stephen, Noah, and me a big hug and a kiss, and so did Kevin.
"Thank you so much for that song," Chelsea said, nearly squeezing me to death.
"Come on, Baby! The night awaits us!" Kevin called. I tried not to gag. Slowly, Chelsea walked away with those model steps of hers. We watched them until we could see them no longer.
Mel I sympathise pal and its a feckin pain..just leave the story alone, concentrate on other things and if you can't finish this then look upon the writing of it, as a way of developing your ability...
LOL, thanks, Goblin, but I have decided to make this story an experiment and allow others to participate in writing it; I think it would be fun. So as I said in the first post on this topic, you guys can add to this if you like, but please keep it clean. Have fun!
God Bless,
Mel
XXX
Wow the imagry... ya know you talk about the bomb as such a nice thing (must've been a small one) and then go on to later say "Life was the bomb." Profound.
James
P.S.,
I didn't know smokers had hairy tongues.
James, thanks, and yes, I just learned in health that one of the effects of smoking, along with cancer and bad breath and whatnot, can also get a hairy tongue. Bleh.
ok good luck with it...I'll defer due to lack of inspiration and a head full of rugby...
ok good luck with it...I'll defer due to lack of inspiration and a head full of rugby...
Yes Melmel that one scene involving the hairy tongue scared the beep out of me lol ... I'll try and think of somethign to add I can't think of anythign right now sorry eheheh xoxoxooxxoox.