Who wants to help me decide what to work on? I have about a dozen stories started, and I just don’t know which one I should really hunker down with. I really like them all! So, I’m begging for your help. Here are a few lines from the start of each story. Which one would you like to know more about? And, no, I’m not going to tell you what they’re ultimately about. I’m mean like that.
Lynette backed out of her apartment, clinging to the doorknob with a fingertip, the only spare body part she had at that moment. She could all but hear her mother admonishing, “Better to take two trips safely than drop everything in one.”
The bell rang over the door, only five minutes until closing. Before the sound had faded a man’s voice cried, “I have an emergency!”
Di stopped putting the cut flowers into the cooler and looked at him, puzzled. “You do realize this is a flower shop, right? Not the hospital.”
Back and forth, back and forth…even now, after so many years, wiping down the front counter with a damp rag was a pretty Zen experience. Beth—called Boo by most of the population of the town of Outa—knew every ridge, every burn, and every scuff of that old bar. She loved it, and the café, and even loved the day-to-day work that would bore most folks to the bone. She’d had enough excitement in her life, and welcomed the boring, barely acknowledging the usual hum of conversation as she went about her daily routine.
Until it stopped.
Talli cringed as she read the latest review of a restaurant across town, written by the undercover reviewer. Rude servers, incompetent cooks, dirty kitchen. The terrible trio. The kiss of death. She gave the place a month to die. The guy was brutal and mean, even if he was clearly intelligent and well written.
Tash took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the Old North Church. First days were the hardest. And today was her first full day in Boston. So, of course she opted to walk the freedom trail because what was more touristy than that?
Her bare feet thumped the ground as she focused on simply moving forward, disregarding the pain as stones and twigs dug into already torn skin. Branches whipped across her face, her thighs, her breasts as she ran through the late autumn woods. She risked a quick glance behind, and saw nothing, heard nothing but the pounding of her heart, but knew as well as she knew her own name he was coming.
What kind of raving idiot was he? Nick shook his head and groaned. He was clearly the kind of idiot who loved his little sister and would do whatever she asked, including flying to the ends of the earth, or at least to the godforsaken state of Kansas, to see a woman he’d be unable to stop thinking about for the seven years.
Any of them speak to you? I know #6 is a departure for me (and probably the biggest challenge), but I thought I’d add it in there, just because.
I keep opening them, writing a little, saving, closing and opening another. Help me focus! Thanks 🙂