jessi's writing blog

batsock:

Does anyone else like…

Play a fanfiction in their head

and it’s really good and keeps you occupied

but when you actually sit down to write it

just

My life. I do this with my other writing as well.

5 months ago

:)

Finished writing my first novel today. It was a surreal experience.

5 months ago (1 note)

#trigger warning

This chapter is a little different than the others. More stream of consciousness like, my apologies if it makes no sense.Warning, this chapter does contain premeditated violence against women and stalking. Please read at your own discretion.

They believe they are safe. It’s a silly little fantasy, so easily broken and torn apart. He laughed at them silently, relishing their ignorance. For now, they could continue living in their imaginary bubble of security. However he was growing impatient. He lit a cigarette, blew the smoke out of his car window, and let the ashes fall out onto the pavement.

The light turned green and he gunned the black town car to life. Carefully he held the cig just inside the window pane to keep it from flying out from between his fingers. Weaving through the offensively slower drivers, he raced back towards his modest apartment, armed with the newest surveillance of his marks. His car spun into the parking garage, and into a parking spot, ignoring the tan sedan angling itself to enter first. The driver sent him several nasty curses and a gesture not often seen in polite company. As he stepped out of the car, he tilted his head upward and slid his blazer away from his waist, revealing the holster beneath. The driver scowled and drove off.

Upstairs, he didn’t even bother to flip on the lights, heading directly to his computer the moment the door was shut and locked. Although he was dying to peruse the photos he’d taken, he knew it was better to get the real work out of the way first. A quick check of the inbox… and he was in the clear! No work emails. And no emails from her. Honestly he was growing tired of following her petty orders, but unfortunately he relied on her money. Why was he always financially bound to some egotistical aristocrat? He was by far much smarter than they, much slyer than they, much more ruthless. He grabbed a beer from the small fridge by his desk and took a large swig, erasing any unpleasant thoughts of his benefactor. Right now, he was going to sit back, relax, and enjoy the fruits of his labors.

Read the rest here: They believe they are safe. It’s a silly little fantasy, so easily broken and torn apart. He laughed at them silently, relishing their ignorance. For now, they could continue living in their imaginary bubble of security. However he was growing impatient. He lit a cigarette, blew the smoke out of his car window, and let the ashes fall out onto the pavement.

The light turned green and he gunned the black town car to life. Carefully he held the cig just inside the window pane to keep it from flying out from between his fingers. Weaving through the offensively slower drivers, he raced back towards his modest apartment, armed with the newest surveillance of his marks. His car spun into the parking garage, and into a parking spot, ignoring the tan sedan angling itself to enter first. The driver sent him several nasty curses and a gesture not often seen in polite company. As he stepped out of the car, he tilted his head upward and slid his blazer away from his waist, revealing the holster beneath. The driver scowled and drove off.

Upstairs, he didn’t even bother to flip on the lights, heading directly to his computer the moment the door was shut and locked. Although he was dying to peruse the photos he’d taken, he knew it was better to get the real work out of the way first. A quick check of the inbox… and he was in the clear! No work emails. And no emails from her. Honestly he was growing tired of following her petty orders, but unfortunately he relied on her money. Why was he always financially bound to some egotistical aristocrat? He was by far much smarter than they, much slyer than they, much more ruthless. He grabbed a beer from the small fridge by his desk and took a large swig, erasing any unpleasant thoughts of his benefactor. Right now, he was going to sit back, relax, and enjoy the fruits of his labors.

——

Read the rest on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/301346?chapter=8

"Writers don’t write from experience, though many are resistant to admit that they don’t. I want to be clear about this. If you wrote from experience, you’d get maybe one book, maybe three poems. Writers write from empathy."

When my non-writing friends try to get me to go camping.

:)

Tales; Chapter 8: Him