Category: Writers Block
I know that in the past I have shared my love for roleplaying and the importance of finding a good writing partner. Many people view roleplaying as sexual and indeed it can be. And while I certainly do dip in the pond of erotic roleplay, I enjoy stories with substance. I try to create engaging characters who are complex and interesting. I try to make them layered and do my best to develop them so that by the time the collaborative roleplay story has ended, they are not the same. Situations change, scenarios differ and life is full of interesting little tidbits that have shaped them forever and helped them to evolve.
Currently, I am writing such a story with a fantastic writing partner. She is fun and engaging and I enjoy it immensely. Below is the introduction post that shows you a glimpse of my character, Jessi vanderbilt. I love delving in to small southern towns and families with many skeletons in the closet.
I thought that I'd share it with you guys.
Hugs,
Meka
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."
Jessi Chandler stood at the cemetery and glanced around, noting the large crowd that had assembled there. Like vultures, she thought wearily. Some of them had been business associates, others competitors. While the former group was probably wondering how they would fair now that their omnipotent tycoon was dead, the latter was most likely planning a festive celebration. She surmised that only strict Southern upbringing and good manners kept them from breaking out the Jack Daniels right there and giving a toast to the good Lord upstairs for finally having the balls to take Andrew Vanderbilt on home.
She clasped her hands together and bowed her head as though in prayer. The auburn mass was up in a twist, something that she vowed to keep that way. Better in a twist than what had been done with it before, she thought bitterly. She continued to scan the attendees. It felt like the entire town of Windsor was there, all dressed in their sunday best. She imagined her father rolling over in his grave to know that most of those that he'd considered his lessers saw him lowered in to a mound of dirt.
"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters."
It was a beautiful autumn day where the leaves of the trees that shaded the cemetery were rich with golds and reds and browns. A breeze moved through the area, ruffling skirts and dress hems. A red leaf began to fall delicately to the green grass below. Such beautiful grass, she thought. Such beautiful green grass. A shame that there was so much blood all over it. Rivers and rivers of blood seeping through the lush green grass coming for her, coming to claim her. Jesus, why couldn't they stop the bleeding? Didn't all of these people see it?
She thought of the Percelles standing near her. They had been close to her father. Jenny Percelle's grand-daughter was just a little thing. The crimson pool was going to claim her, drag her under. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing would come out. Why didn't they pick her up, keep her safe? Why didn't anyone keep their children safe anymore?
"Jessi looked at the preacher, a tall and stately man of about seventy years or so. He believed what she no longer could, that God cared, that there was something special out there, an afterlife for those who were worthy enough. Couldn't he see what was happening? The expression on her face never changed but her mind screamed for him to look down and understand what was happening to all of them. But he wouldn't see, just as the rest of them had chosen to ignore what was all around them. She'd trusted in a preacher once, she thought wildly. She had trusted and now look where it had brought her.
"He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake," the preacher continued to read.
"Whore. You're a jezebel, aren't you?" The hand struck her across the face. "I told you that we couldn't let the devil in our marriage. We couldn't give him any ground." He struck her again and the beautiful china bowl of flowers fell from her hands. Soft blue and white petals strewn on the floor with shards of glass stabbing its beauty. "Didn't I tell you, Jessi? We can't give him any ground in our life!" Again the hand struck and she tasted blood in her mouth. "Repent, Jessi. Get on your knees and repent. This is all your fault. I don't like having to treat you this way, but you give me no choice."
She looked down again and the glass was no longer there. The petals were beautiful flowers in the lush green grass. There was no blood. The blood had been washed away. Thank you, she silently mouthed to the preacher. They'd think she was talking to herself, but most of them wouldn't care. Or they'd believe that she was the next in line to crack. The preacher had prayed the blood away. Or, maybe it'd never been there at all. The latter thought was a distressing one and it it chilled her to the bone. She was shivering and couldn't seem to stop.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." The preacher's voice was a strong baritone. He spoke with the voice of authority and command.
Jessi would have paid him to stop reading that verse. She didn't want to hear it anymore. She was glad that the blood was gone but now her skin was crawling. It was like Dylan Chandler was a parasite slithering over her pale skin, wrapping himself around her too skinny frame and burrowing inside of her until she couldn't breathe or think or know her own name. She had heard the verse so many times that she knew it by heart and hated every word that was printed there. The rod and the staff didn't comfort her when Julia committed suicide ten years before. Her gaze shifted to the grave next to her father's that held her older sister. She couldn't go there right now, wouldn't go there. There was no need to face evil when you started walking through the valley of the shadow of death because there was more than enough to go around in the here and now.
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cut runneth over."
She turned her head slightly and looked at the woman sitting in the wicker chair beside her. Catherine Vanderbilt had been a beautiful woman in her day. Jessie's heart leapt in her throat as she saw her mother, thin and frail. Tears streamed down her cheeks for a man that didn't love her enough to be faithful to her. She sobbed for a man that was like a dictator, a man who had struck her on many occasions. A man that blamed her for the still births and the miscarriages, insisting that she still try to give him a son to carry on his name. Anger and pity consumed Jessi and for a moment her own eyes misted with tears. No, she couldn't cry. She would never cry for her father, and she couldn't weep for her mother. Not now, not in this place. She brushed gentle fingers against the older woman's pale face. When had Catherine finally not been able to take anymore? What had prompted her mother's breakdown? What had prompted her not to speak again?
Jessi knew that most of the town would say that it was the way of the vanderbilt women no matter whether they'd been one by blood or had married in to the family. grandma Joleen was dead, as was Julia. Her mother may as well have been. She was living in a nice place now where Vini had signed on to care for her until the day that Catherine died. Jessie feared that it would be sooner than anyone expected. Maybe she wouldn't die in the Vanderbilt house as every other family member over the years had. Maybe her mama would be free.
She fidgeted and straightened her mother's dress. Why did many insist on wearing black? If Jessi wasn't tied down to good Southern training and if she knew that her mother wouldn't be upset, she would have worn neon blue. Something that was bold and stood out in defiance the way that she longed to defy everything.
Glancing over, she saw Vini Collins, their maid and her mama's dearest companion making certain that Catherine was alright. What had made her mother go inside of herself and never speak again? And worse, would it happen to her?
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever."
"Amen." the crowd said, some more enthusiastically than others. Jessi felt her stomach heave and she wondered what the gossip would be like if some of the greatest talkers of Windsor discussed the way she'd puked in her father's grave. Now that would be quite a sight. For the sake of the little family that she had left, she breathed through the nausea.
The service was over and people began walking up to her and offering their condolences. She recognized many people; she'd known most of them for her entire life. Well, known was a bit of an understatement. She'd never allowed anyone too close. Vanderbilt Estates had a way of ruining people's lives in a myriad of ways and she didn't want to get too close to anyone. cold as ice, she'd heard them all say.
Of course there were reporters there as well all wanting to get pictures of the grieving widow that spoke no words and could no longer take care of herself. A shrewd businesswoman who was unable to function made a great piece to go between stories about shootings and traffic jams.
She stood in front of her mother, effectively shielding her from the prying eyes of others. She kept her hands by her sides, digging her fingernails in to her palm. The pain would steady her, keep her from falling apart.
"My family appreciates all of your condolences and sympathy. As you can see, it has been a very difficult time for us all.' She hoped lightning wouldn't strike. Things had been difficult, yes, but her father leaving for the great beyond was more like a blessing if she believed in such things anymore. "There will be a reception in his honor planned by his business associates. I am certain that you will all find out in a timely manner." Her voice was flat, emotionless. "If you will excuse us."
She motioned and Vini's eldest son picked her mother up in strong arms. Jessi kissed her mother's cheek and opened her mouth to tell her that she loved her, but the words clogged in her throat. "You'll be alright, Mama." she said softly.
She stayed at the cemetery for quite some time, becoming wrapped up in conversations about her father and his business. Of course folks wanted to know if Jessi would be taking over the operation. Jessi wanted no part of Vanderbilt Estates, but what could she say to these people?
She thanked the preacher for his time and collected her things. She was so greatful that Grandmama Joleen wouldn't let them build a cemetery on the vanderbilt property. It was bad enough that so many people seemed to die there, but there didn't need to be constant reminders. As it was, they had their own sprawling area as a macabre testament to what it really meant to be rich.
"now what?" she thought dully. She didn't want to spend a single night in that house again, not ever again. Maybe she'd go out. She was tired and ached everywhere, and damn it, maybe doing something entirely foreign to her nature was in order. She sagged against one of the trees as the ice began to crack. She took deep breaths and dug her nails hard in her palms. She needed to focus. What if she ended up like Julia? No, damn it. Suicide was the coward's way. She was stronger than that, better than that. She also knew that for now her life was tied to this terrible place with all of its ghosts and memories and she hated it. She hated all of it. She closed her eyes and counted to ten in her mind, lips moving as she did so. she knew that there were many who were still there; some of them had already started gossiping. She let the words flow over her. If she could undo every past hurt that her father had inflicted on a good portion of this town, she would have in a heartbeat. "Damn you, Daddy." she whispered. "If there is a hell, I hope that you're burning in it until you can't burn anymore."