I'm also looking forward to summer winding down because all the crazy activities that have been keeping me so busy and away from writing also begin to wind down! I can't remember the last time I've been able to sit down on a weekday night, or even a Sunday and write for a few hours. I know, I know, it's all about MAKING time for it...maybe I've felt a bit like I need a break or something since finishing the revisions on the last one. I haven't even looked at or thought about that story since I sent it off to my readers. And that's been somewhat freeing, actually.
However, I actually did start a new story about a month or so ago, which I think I've mentioned before. I have just over 6500 words written- about 15 pages. I'm hoping perhaps a little feedback will spark my creativity and get me motivated to continue on with this one. So, without further ado- here's a snippet from the first three pages of my current WIP. Please remember this is a first draft, so any typos and icky sounding stuff will get cleared up later.
Thoughts, comments, questions welcome!
* * * * *
The breeze whispers secrets to me as I emerge from the woods and into the fields of the old Patterson farm. The wishing well looms about a hundred feet away, camouflaged in the tall, yellow grass scratching at my bare legs. I pause, clutching the paper in my hand so hard it crinkles and almost tears beneath my well-bitten fingernails. A sharp wind dances across the field, lifting my dark hair off my neck and momentarily cooling me from the hot summer sun. I stand motionless, listening, and hear nothing but the sound of my own blood ringing in my ears.
No one knows how long the wishing well has been here. Weeds grow as tall as its crumbly walls that are slick with soft, green mold. Darkness swallows the inside halfway down, making it impossible to see what lay in its depths. As children, we imagined countless coins, a veritable treasure, all coated with grime and algae, each one representing a well-thought out wish. And supposedly, along with the coins, the spirit of Gabrielle King rests, forever drifting amidst the cool stone walls.
Gabby plunged to her death by falling headfirst into the well fifty years earlier, although it is said she actually died of a broken heart. When her romance with her first love ended abruptly, Gabby was so distraught she visited the well with the intent to cast her in her coin and beg for him to return to her. No one really knows if she fell in on purpose or not, but her body was finally dredged up out of the well about a month after her disappearance. A rumor spread in the years following her death: Gabby became the keeper of all wishes; it was up to her whether or not they were granted. Gifts other than coins began getting thrown into the well; flowers, letters, jewelry- all tossed in with the hope that Gabby would be persuaded to grant the gift-givers’ desires.
People claim to see Gabby pacing in the fields near the
well, sobbing quietly into her hands.
Even when you can’t see her, it’s said if you listen close enough you can hear her desperate cries floating up
from the bottomless well. It’s a sound
of pure, aching sadness, the pain of a heart shattering like a crystal vase
thrown violently to the ground.
And I’d never believed any of it.
A memory overcomes me as I stare at the well, and pain slices
through my heart with icy talons so quickly I almost drop to my knees. I take a few deep breaths as it all comes
flooding back to me.
It was my junior year, the autumn before last, the air cool
and crisp and ripe with the smell of burning leaves. Parties in the Patterson fields were common
that year, starting up as soon as the school year did. I leaned against the
well beside Connor, urging him to go talk to Amanda Kappler, the girl he
claimed to have a crush on the entire summer and who didn’t know he
existed. She was several yards away with
a group of girls, standing as close to the bonfire as they could without
getting burned, holding their hands out to it to warm them from the chilly
night.
“I can’t, Janie.
She’ll just laugh at me,” he insisted.
“Come on, don’t say that.
You’re a total catch,” I told him, smiling into his chocolate brown
eyes.
He threw his head back and looked up at the sky. “I’m not like you. I can’t just go up to people and pledge my
undying love to them.”
"When have I ever done that?”
“Well, let’s see.
There was Jack Rubinsky. Adam
Francis. Colin Peck-”
"All right, all right.
God, you’re making me sound like a whore.”
Connor looked at me then and grinned, and I remember
thinking at that moment his smile was the most beautiful thing in the
world. It light up the dark night like a
meteor shower, sparkling stars falling all around me. “You’re not a whore. Just someone who knows what she wants and
isn’t afraid to go after it. Or him, as
the case may be.”
"Ok, whatever. You
want Amanda?”
He bit his lip and nodded, but looked uncertain for some
reason.
“Then this is what you do.” I scooted closer to him and
nuzzled my nose into his neck, inhaling his fresh, soapy scent. I felt him stiffen beside me. “You go up to her like this,” I murmured,
placing one hand on his cheek and turning his face to mine. “And give her a kiss she’ll never
forget.” I touched my lips gently to
his, pulling back to look him in his shock-filled eyes. I’d only ever kissed him on the cheek, and
felt a small jolt run down my spine as his lips lingered briefly on mine. At first, I thought it was from just the
chill in the air. “You do that, and
she’ll melt in your arms,” I breathed, our noses almost touching.
I hadn’t been expecting him to grab me, to twine his fingers
in my hair and tug me back to him, his mouth moving over mine with a passion I didn’t
know he possessed. We sat there against
the well, the stone wall cold on our backs, kissing, touching; practically consuming
each other, while the party behind us raged on.
Connor and I had been friends, best friends, for over a year
at that point and in that time not once had either of us made a move towards
the other. I was always dating someone
and breaking up with them, and Connor was always my shoulder to cry on when it
ended. As it turned out, it was me he’d
wanted all along, not Amanda, not anyone else.
All it had taken was that simple kiss to give him the courage to express
how he really felt about me. And it was
as simple as breathing from that kiss on to just be with him. I’d fallen in
love with him at that precise moment, encircled by his arms, leaning against
the wishing well. But I think I’d
already loved him since the day we met.
And now it looms before me, dusty and lonely in the vast
field of the long-forgotten Patterson apple farm. I can see offerings to Gabby scattered around
the well’s base, sunlight glinting off the trinkets and papers. This is where it all began for us. It only seems appropriate that this should be
where another new beginning can take place, too.
Because right now, in a hospital bed several miles
away, Connor is fighting for his life.
And it is all my fault.
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