So when I began this most recent foray into blogging, I was a writer lost, wandering in the vast emptiness of the Valley of…well, nothing. I had no ideas, nothing to work on. It was sad, really. A writer without a WIP is not a pleasant person to hang out with. While I’m thinking back on that bleak period, thanks to all who listened to me whine about not having anything to write.

As you may have guessed (or not, bitch I don’t know your life!), the fog lifted a couple of months ago and the powers that be decided I’d been tortured enough with that whole lack of ideas thing, and my current WIP began to spew forth with wild abandon. Ok that sounds gross, but I promise, the story is actually pretty decent. And because of this, I’m excited to announce that “Write Something Wednesday” will hence forth be known as “WIP Wednesday,” when I will regale you all with little teasing tastes of the Young Adult novel I’m slaving over. Hope you enjoy!

Notes: I will likely keep these Wednesday postings to a max of twice per month, since my goal isn’t to have the novel become a serial blog type thingamajig. The excerpts will not even be in any real order (this first one is coming from Chapter 10, in fact), and don’t expect context, lol. It’s also important to note that the excerpts in these posts will be largely unedited, first draft quality snippets. If you’re expecting a fully polished and finished product, you’re barking up the wrong writer’s leg ;)

 A sob bounds out of me, and I realize that I’m back in my own bed as I open my eyes. They are wet. The familiar stinging feeling is back, though now accompanied by a fear and dread that Kyle could never have produced in me. I find my mind reaching for him, flailing as if for a light switch in a dark room, despite the lingering horror his last words left me with. I refuse to believe that was the Noel that has had me so fascinated these past weeks. Despite all that just happened I still want his comfort. I would welcome his presence with open arms, but he’s nowhere to be found.

You will need to cross over. To…be like me.

I must be misunderstanding him. He couldn’t possibly want me dead…could he? What was I supposed to do, kill myself? I take mental stock of the conversation, trying to pinpoint the moment that triggered his anger, but this conversation is so unlike any we’ve had before. My dreams of him usually feel so tangible, like I’m straddling the worlds in which he is and he is not. This one is distant, though. All I can remember is how sudden it was, like one of the mountain streams turned giant icicle on the cliff faces of Blowing Rock Road; one second it’s beautiful and breathtaking, then falling dangerously close to your car the next.