Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Three things that are NOT my revisions

Revisions are not happening today (and they didn't yesterday either, sigh) but here are three things I wanted to share.

1. Here is one of the photos (maybe the most fun) from my recent trip to Ireland.  We don't know why Peter thinks so little of himself.  We did not end up going to see him that night, but I am sure he was not, in fact, a Dud.

2. I paid a visit to my local library this evening and picked up a few books that are on my GOODREADS "To-Read" List including The Giver by Lois Lowry, Shrimp and Cupcake by Rachel Cohn, and Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld.

3. When I was at Grub Street's Muse and the Marketplace conference in the Spring I wrote and submitted a short short to an online literary magazine.  The piece was not accepted for publication, but I do like it and thought I would share it here.  It's called Last Ride:

There was something indecent in the way she drank her soda, the way her lips wrapped around the bottle top sucking out the root beer.  It made me angry watching her and a little bit almost turned on.  She took her last sip as we were boarding the 36 bus and I thought the driver was going to wet his pants.  I thought I would say something to her about it.  A snarky comment that would hurt her feelings just a little.  But she turned to me just then as we were sitting down and smiled her radiant smile and told me how much she was going to miss me this summer.  I told her I would miss her too.  She meant it. 

We had been best friends for five years, a long time when you are 14.  It was the last day of school.  Tonight she was leaving to spend the summer with her grandparents and I was staying here.  I knew already that our friendship would not last until the fall; not for the reason everyone may think- that she was beautiful and I was not and high school didn’t work that way.  No, not exactly.  She would stick by me.  She was like that.  It was me.  My affection for her would always have to compete with my jealousy and I knew the day was quickly coming when jealousy would always come out on top.  It had just about arrived.

The ride to my stop took exactly 13 minutes.  I held her hand- this was the last day we were still young enough to do that.  I watched our reflections in the window and drank in her beauty.  I would miss being this close to it.

As we got closer I started to cry.  She thought I was crying because we would be separated for the summer and she began to cry too.  I was crying because I would have to spend the summer trying to forget all the good things about being her friend and because I would miss her almost as much as I wouldn’t.

The bus stopped and we hugged, saying our iloveyous through tears.  The sunlight was hitting the windows as the bus pulled away and I could not see her waving but I knew she was.  Of course she was.  She was the good friend.


  1. I really like your story. I like the sign too. Peter the Dud, to bad you didn't get to see him.

  2. I love the story, you've nailed it. 'She was the good friend'.


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