I’m making it short and sweet this week. Sometimes the best thing you can do is shut up and just do your job. Lately, my day job has been taking over me doing my other dream job–writing. I’ve had these ideas building in my head all week, and I’ve feared they would be lost in the abyss of my mind if I didn’t write them out. I’m glad to say I was able to retrieve them, and I’m going to keep going as soon as I’m done with this post. Writers often talk about Writer’s Block, and that seems to be something different to everyone else. It won’t be the first time I’ve said that I don’t honestly believe in Writer’s Block. I’m not saying I don’t ever sit and think I want to write, but then find I can’t. I just don’t write if I don’t feel like it. I think Writer’s Block is a creation from the tenant “write everyday even if it’s crap”. I’ve never agreed with this, and I never will. If I have “Writer’s Block” at all it’s because I physically don’t have the time to write when I want to. Today, I said screw that, and I’ve been writing for two hours–4,000+ words later. I’m figuring on another 2,000 by the end of the night. I’m halfway there with Flawed Perfection, book one of Beautifully Broken. My job is to write, and sometimes that’s all we need to do. Shut up and do your job. Stop complaining–no excuses. Don’t force it, just do it. In my case it’s great because it’s what I love. So here’s a peek at what I did tonight (please keep in mind I haven’t re-read this, so it could have grammar and/or spelling errors):
As the song came to an end his shoulders collapsed, his hands holding the guitar neck too hard and I knew he was crying. I stood slowly and pulled his head to my stomach, running my hands through his hair to comfort him.
He didn’t respond to my touch at first, but then as I continued to run my hands through his hair, he caved, wrapping his arms around my waist as his back wracked with a silent sob.
“I’ll never be enough, River, never enough for them,” he finally whispered, his voice cracking.
He pulled away from me one arm still around my waist, fingers tangled in my back belt loop while the other wiped his face.
“Why do you always try to be enough for them?” I asked.
He shook his head as his chest rose with a deep breath, before his red eyes met mine.
“Don’t you always try to be the enough for someone else?”
The truth in his words silenced me. I’d never told him, so how could he know? Was I that transparent?
“I don’t know what you mean.”
His eyes fluttered as his tongue ran over his parched lips. He stood, free hand moving the bass guitar behind him, one arm still around me.
He let his fingers run up my arms as he leaned his lips to my ear.
“You’ll always be too good for me,” he whispered, sending an electric shock up my spine.
His lips traced my jawbone and my body stiffened against his touch before his lips found mine.
My hands rushed into his hair, tangling in it as his arms pulled me tightly against his body. When he pulled away we were both breathing heavily.
“Holy shit,” Adam gasped. “If I’d known kissing you would be like that, I’d have done it a long time ago.”
FLAWED PERFECTION, COPYRIGHT 2013, CASSANDRA GIOVANNI