Sharon L. Clark, Author

Tag: fiction writer

romance story, romantic serial, short story chapters, sharon clark, Sharon L. Clark Author

The Path of Least Dysfunction, A Series: Chapter 9

The drive home must have been navigated by muscle memory, because I was far too preoccupied with nostalgia. Memories of Chris flooded my brain, playing like a ‘Greatest Hits’ movie.

I remembered our first kiss, in the laundry room of Kelly’s basement. It wasn’t the first for either of us, but it was ours. Kissing Chris definitely ranked near the top of my list of best things ever.

The first time he told me he loved me, he whispered it softly in my ear. It was a tender and romantic scene – the kind of thing every teen girl dreams about. That is, it was until I blurted out, ‘WHAT?’ because I hadn’t quite caught what he said. He repeated it then – and many times after – but I had already ruined the moment.

At least it was memorable, right?

When I got home, I found my shoebox of high school memorabilia, going for the deep-dive. Some people threw away everything they associated with an ex.

Not me.

I kept nearly everything Chris had given me. Postcards from when his family went on summer vacation; pictures of the two of us from dances or just goofing around; letters he had written me when we were in college. Reading through everything, I was comforted by how kind he had been, how he had made me feel so important. I didn’t want to forget him. I didn’t want to forget the time we spent together. Why would I? Chris was the first boy I ever loved, and part of me would always love him.

Lying on my couch later, staring at the ceiling, I came to a conclusion: While I loved Chris, it wasn’t romantic. My love for him was built of an appreciation for everything we had shared. He was right that our relationship wasn’t supposed to last. That’s not how first loves work.

But god, was I lucky he had been mine.

I picked up my phone to distract myself with some social media stupidity. As the phone came to life, the lock screen picture flashed open and I forgot all about the absurdity of the internet.

Jamie.

His face filled the screen and my heart melted. It had been more than a week since I’d seen him. With one finger, I traced the line of his jaw, the sweep of his bangs over his forehead, the dimples that framed his mouth. He was laughing and reaching for the phone in the shot, trying to stop me from taking his picture.

That was the day he proposed to me.

We had taken a long weekend trip to Scottsdale, trying to escape the frigid Midwestern winter, if only for a few days. Jamie planned a day trip for some hiking and sight-seeing. But before we started the climb, we had been warned by the locals to watch out for snakes. Mainly rattlesnakes.

Jamie had become so paranoid about being murdered by a poisonous reptile that when a rabbit rushed across our path he jumped two feet in the air and screamed like a little girl. I couldn’t stop laughing and had to take a picture of him immediately so I could remind him of that moment long after we had left Arizona.

Laughing almost as hard as I was, he lunged for the phone just as I snapped the photo. I spun out of his reach and he pretended to stumble to the ground. But when I turned, he was on one knee, holding up the most beautiful diamond ring I had ever seen, asking me to share his life.

I couldn’t dial his number fast enough.

romance story, romantic serial, short story chapters, sharon clark, Sharon L. Clark Author

The Path of Least Dysfunction, A Series: Chapter 8

“Why did we break up?”

Oops. I had intended to be far more subtle about bringing that up. But I was having so much fun with Chris I had started to forget why I was there.

Blurting it out in such a ham-handed manner was definitely worth it to get a spit-take and a hearty laugh from him, though.

“What?! Where did that come from?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you ever think about it? Don’t you ever wonder what went wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away but shifted slightly in his chair. He drummed his fingers on the table – a move I recognized as his standard stalling tactic.

“Nothing ‘went wrong’ Lexi. Things end.”

“We were in love though, right?”

A beat. “Yes.”

“So why didn’t it last?”

Chris leaned his elbows on the table and stared at me.

“Because we were 17…? I don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to last forever. It’s called a ‘first love’ for a reason.”

I blinked. “But how did you know it wasn’t going to last? How is a person expected to know the difference between a fleeting love and…and forever love? Is it even really ‘love’ if it doesn’t last?”

He looked like I had slapped him. Damn.

“You…don’t think it was real love?”

Please, Earth, open up and swallow me. Now.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“Are you having some kind of existential crisis?” He sat straight up, his eyes wide. “You aren’t dying, are you?”

Our eyes locked and then we both burst out laughing. That, apparently, was the cue for the waiter to bring us our checks. Chris tried to grab both of them, but I slapped my hand down on his.

“Don’t you DARE!”

“Come on, Lexi. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t pay for dinner?”

I tried to peel his fingers up off the paper.

“The kind of gentleman who is here at MY invitation. This was my idea. I should be the one to pay.”

He shook his head and refused to budge.

“Don’t be a caveman, Chris! I am perfectly capable of covering both checks.”

He glared at me and I glared right back. If he wanted a staring contest, he’d get one, and he would lose.

“God, you have always been stubborn.” He slid his hand out from under mine. “Fine. But you’re not paying for me!”

I grinned and threw my fists into the air.

“Victory!”

He walked me out to my car, showing me pictures of his son on his phone. I didn’t have baby fever – nothing even close to resembling it – but that kid was damn adorable. Curly blond hair, green eyes, chubby cheeks and the biggest smile. The spitting image of his dad.

“He’s almost 5 and he’s my best buddy. I miss him when he’s with his mom, but Angie’s really great with him.”

I handed him his phone.

“Now, I could tell you why that relationship didn’t work out.” He shuffled his feet and smirked at me. “But us?”

Shaking his head slowly, he tucked one of my stray curls behind my ear.

“Chris…”

He took a deep breath. “My mom already told me you’re engaged, Lexi. I didn’t come here with any kind of expectation beyond spending time with someone who was an integral part of my life – of who I am.”

I don’t really know what I was expecting from Chris, but he seemed to know exactly what I needed anyway. He opened his arms and I leaned into him, pressing my cheek into his shoulder while he rubbed soothing circles on my back.

“There’s no way to know when love is forever.” He kissed the top of my head. “You don’t read the last chapter of a book first, do you? If you know how it’s going to end…well, what’s the fun in that?”

I sighed and clung to him for a few seconds longer.

novel editing, manuscript editing, query writing

Behind the Scenes: Editing Week 7

Since this is my first foray into editing my own novel I really had no idea how challenging it would be. I’m still plugging along, but it’s not the blazing trail of triumph I had been hoping for.

One good thing – I don’t hate my story.

I did when I first started, but now I feel a bit more hopeful. At the beginning I was staring down 163,000 words. Well, after seven weeks I am thrilled to tell you that I have pared it down to 147,000. Yikes.

An upcoming workshop I’ll be attending offers professional query letter or partial manuscript critiques, as well as face-to-face pitch options with a variety of agents in attendance. While there will be one agent there that I think would be a good fit for me, I am miles away from being ready for that. Instead, I chose to have both the first ten pages of my manuscript and a query letter critiqued.

That’s some scary stuff.

Preparing the ten pages was, honestly, pretty fun. I rewrote the entire first scene, adding in some dialogue to show what a jerk one of the central characters is. When I shared the new lines with my husband he was sufficiently offended by the passive-aggressive insults, so I think I got my point across.

However, it took me a good three days to write the query letter. Condensing a full novel into roughly 300 words designed to pique the agent’s interest enough to want to read the whole story is HARD. I almost gave up several times, but I had already plunked down some money for this service.

Plus, writing is something I’ve wanted to do for as long as I can remember.

Editing has turned out to be more enjoyable than I was expecting. I thought that I would either sob more frequently or chuck the whole thing in a fire long before now. My goal is to finish up around 100,000 words total – fewer, if possible. There are some scenes that I know are unnecessary and should simply be deleted and there are others that can be rewritten much more efficiently. The trick is determining which is which.

I know this is my own story but I can’t wait to see the finished product! The plan is to have it ready to query by the beginning of summer. Then I need to start editing my NaNoWriMo novel from last fall and have THAT ready to query before November.

And then I’ll start the process all over again.

How do you keep yourself accountable to your editing timetable? What has been the most challenging aspect of editing? I’d love to hear from you – comment below!

 

Have You Met…Derek Franklin

Editing is coming along slowly, but I am enjoying getting to know my characters all over again! Previously I introduced you to Katie Parker. Now I’d like you to meet her delightful boyfriend, Derek Franklin.

Growing up in San Francisco and traveling extensively for work, Derek finds Katie’s small-town demeanor fascinating. Where she is quiet and awkward, Derek is charming with self-confidence oozing out of every pore. He is beautiful, turning heads everywhere he goes. More than once he is compared to sunshine – when he turns his attention to you, you can’t help but respond to the warmth. Women want him, men admire him, and mere mortals long simply to be near him.

I immediately saw Derek as the exquisite and adorable Chris Hemsworth. To be honest, I never paid attention to the actor until Thor: Ragnarok and his portrayal of Kevin in Ghostbusters. Seeing a far less serious side of him made him exponentially more appealing, and I definitely see that in Katie’s relationship with Derek.

But Derek has secrets. There is another layer to him, one that few get to see. Only Katie knows the way he manipulates and controls the people around him. While she sees glimpses of his darker personality, Katie is shocked when she learns the truth about him. Underneath the dazzling smile lie shadows that only come to light when it’s too late.

Derek Franklin is the perfect boyfriend, the perfect employee, the perfect male specimen. But Katie soon comes to realize that when you get too close to the sun, you can get burned…

Short Story: Watching

My editorial calendar says today’s blog post is supposed to be a book review. Well, I am fully unprepared to do that today. Instead, I will be sharing my latest creepy short story with you!

My family will agree that inside my mind is a mysterious and sometimes frightening place. I consider myself to be friendly and pleasant with a big imagination and an alarming amount of anxiety. These factors, coupled with the amount of Criminal Minds in my mental repertoire, are the generous sponsors of this little gem. Enjoy!

 

Watching

He took a drag off his cigarette, his eyes lighting up from more than the glow of the embers. She sure was beautiful. Flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows in a flirtatious challenge. His heart skipped a couple beats.

When she smiled, he could feel the warmth of it, even from this distance. Her eyes sparkled in amusement at something she heard around her, and she threw her head back to laugh. So free. So full of life.

She was so animated as she talked. Shrugging her shoulders one minute, pouting the next, her arms waving to punctuate whatever point she was trying to make. It seemed as though a light surrounded her, drawing him in, and he was powerless against it.

He licked his lips, imagining how her mouth would taste. That necessitated a shift in his stance, since his body reacted strongly and immediately to that idea. It was okay, though, she wouldn’t notice how excited she made him. She couldn’t even see him.

But she would.

Crushing out the spent cigarette, he quickly picked it up and pocketed it. He certainly didn’t want to leave his trash around – especially when it would have traces of his DNA on it. Once he introduced himself to the object of his affection, he knew the very spot he was standing would be scrutinized thoroughly. He sure as hell wasn’t going to make things easy.

This was his favorite time of year, the early winter. It wasn’t too cold yet, but cold enough that doors and windows were closed. It got dark pretty early, too. No one ever noticed him walking on the path behind the row of houses. He could find a solitary spot to set up for the night before the residents were even home from work. And they were never the wiser.

His lip curled as he lit another smoke. These people. They fancied themselves so far removed from any danger just because they lived in a nice suburban neighborhood. With their big houses, expensive cars, fancy security systems, they felt so safe. Even though it was pitch black outside, it was barely dinner time, so there was no reason to set the alarm quite yet – that would happen just before they all went to bed. At least it seemed that’s the way they went about their lives every night.

They’d arrive home just after dusk, flipping on their lights, rifling through their mail. Always leaving their curtains and blinds open. Dummies. It was almost like a delicatessen or a bakery, allowing him to make his selection based on what he could see, displaying their wares just for him. It was the ultimate in window shopping.

He chuckled at his own joke.

Husbands kissing wives, kids begging for this toy or that new gadget, dinners being made or delivered. He could see it all. He watched it all. The sliding glass doors shining brightly, like a movie screen just for him, letting him peek into the lives he would interrupt very soon.

Yes, the blonde. She was definitely the winner. He could see her smiling up at a man – Husband? Boyfriend? Lover? Didn’t matter. They were all the same to him. Merely an obstacle to be overcome, an appetizer before the main course. Damn. There went his libido again, trying to jump the gun. He adjusted himself and took a few deep calming breaths, to remind himself he had to wait – it would be so much sweeter if he could just wait.

While he had a general plan he followed every time, he cocked his head to the side and tried to determine the best order to do things with this family. Kids first – always the kids first, there was no need for them to suffer in terror for long. It was usually his plan to take them out immediately so they didn’t have to face the fear that would be visited upon their parents. But would the blonde or her husband be the most satisfying?

The man was tall and thin, didn’t look like a fighter – more of an accountant. In a suit and tie, probably didn’t even own a hunting knife, much less a gun or any kind of survival skills. It should be easy enough to subdue him so he could enjoy the show. That was always how he liked to work. Maybe this guy could even be a participant this time. That was something he hadn’t tried yet. He wasn’t opposed to taking the man, too, it just hadn’t really occurred to him before. And then, after…then he could focus on the blonde.

His eyes closed as a thrill ran through him. The thrill of the chase. The ecstasy of seeing the confusion and fear as she ran. That was almost the best part. The moment she realized exactly what was happening – what was going to happen – and that she was powerless against it. He could tell this one would be a screamer. Delicious. She would beg and plead, try to bargain, try to figure out what she had done to deserve this. There would be tears, many, many tears, and he would lap them up like mother’s milk.

The anguish of the significant other who felt he had failed to protect his family…that was almost as satisfying. They always yelled, made threats they had no way to carry out, offered him money. He sneered. It almost always came down to money. That’s not why he got into this recreational activity. He never took anything with him – just the sights, sounds, smells of the encounter. That’s all he needed.

Creeping closer to the edge of the tree line, he leaned against a trunk where he could see the scene a little better. The man hovered around the pretty blonde, pecking her on the cheek every now and then. Oh yes, he would feel guilt. And shame. The last thoughts in the husband’s head would be of despair and self-loathing.

Voices on the trail behind him caught his attention. He froze and cupped his cigarette in the palm of his hand to hide the glow. It was a pair of middle-aged biddies, power walking and chatting up a storm, arms pumping nearly as fast as their jaws. Neither one even glanced in his direction, although he heard one complain, “Ugh – can you smell that? Someone must be out on their back porch sneaking a smoke. I hate having to walk through that! Anyway, Louise was just devastated, and the stylist refused to fix the color…”

The sound of their droning faded into the night. Did they have even an inkling of how close they passed to death just then? No one ever saw him among the trees. Was there nothing left in people, in the modern Homo Sapien, that triggered that sense of danger? No wonder it had gotten easier and easier for him to satiate the need for violence that he’d been carrying inside him most of his life. These meat sacks all around him had gotten soft and weak. He was the apex predator now. And these rich neighborhoods were full of easy picking.

It wasn’t just the complacency that gave him nearly free reign. People were more isolated now than ever before. Most of these folks barely knew their neighbors’ names, much less paid any attention to what was going on in their homes. He lived in a society of ‘none of my business’ where everyone was afraid to stick their noses where they weren’t invited. The busy body with the binoculars on that one show about the witch might have saved a few lives, had she been the norm now. Glancing from house to house on display in front of him, he shook his head and sneered. Even if there was screaming or yelling or even a gunshot, not one of these lazy pieces of garbage would do more than peer out the window, pressing their faces against the glass and shading their eyes to see in the dark a little better. But it would be too late.

Okay, one more cigarette and then the kids would be in the basement while the parents were curled up in the den above them. Each would have their own idiot box commanding their attention – the adults watching scary movies or reality tv and the kids engrossing themselves in the latest bloody video game, their headphones firmly in place to block out any distractions.

He’d been watching them for close to a week. A WEEK. During the day, he would show up at his job, clean and handsome and charming. Making eye contact and small talk with everyone who stopped into his store. Some he even got to know by name, they spoke to him so frequently. Pushing the dark drive down inside himself for so long had taught him how to appear ‘normal’. He was a pro at showing his teeth and asking if there was anything else he could do for them. A wink here and there almost always produced a pretty blush in the housewives who smiled so invitingly at him. Through mimicry he had perfected the most disarming tone of voice that put people at ease almost immediately. When families came up missing or when bloodied and violated bodies were discovered, no one ever thought of him as ‘suspicious’.

Picking up the latest spent filter and tucking it away, he shifted his weight from one foot to another. The kids were getting settled, he could see them through the walk-out basement sliders. Checking all the other windows, he grinned when blondie and her beau settled themselves down to stream some mind-numbing television and ignore their offspring. God, this was going to be easy.

Whoever planned out this neighborhood obviously didn’t have any kind of darkness inside them. A person who had at least a little bad inside would have thought like a monster for at least a minute and tried to figure out how to thwart one. But no…there were no fences, no barriers at all – unless you counted the line of trees that had been left standing after the cement for the path had been poured. But really, anyone with half a criminal mind would have seen it for the perfect camouflage it was. There was barely fifty feet of yard separating the trail from the back of the house. Pulling on his second pair of latex gloves, he threw a silent “thank you” to the powers that be. None of this would have been possible without all of you milk toast suburban developers.

He hated wearing the gloves but it was a necessary precaution in these endeavors. It was so easy to leave fingerprints – there was no way, in the throes of ecstasy, to remember every single surface you had touched to wipe it down after. He had started wearing two pairs of gloves after a particularly lively encounter that had ripped a hole in the fingertip of his solitary pair. No sir, that was not a risk he would take again, no matter how much the gloves interfered with the full sensation of feeling a life leave a body.

Walking through the back yard, he was able to take his time. No one here had dogs, no one here looked out their windows – hell, a lot of them were covered now. But not this one’s. The angle from outside the house let him see into both the den on the first floor and the basement game room at the same time. The anticipation was glorious, knowing what was coming and knowing that they…didn’t.

Oh, his heart was racing and he was no longer able to control his arousal. Pulling the gun out of the back of his waistband with one hand and rubbing the front of his jeans with the other, his tongue darted out to lick his lips. This was it. God, it had been so long. A quick slide of the basement door, two head shots through the silencer, then it was up the stairs for the main course. A solid shot to the shoulder – maybe one to the knee – would put mister man down pretty good, and then the panic would begin. Her eyes would fly open wide, not sure what she just saw, and she would freeze in uncertainty. It was getting harder and harder to keep his hand away from his crotch now, but no – not yet. The knife was burning a hole in his pocket and it was the wet work that this was all about. If he could just hold onto that arousal without giving in for another thirty minutes – sixty, tops – it would be so worth it.

As he expected, the walk-out door was unlocked. He slid it open just far enough for him to slip inside, shutting and locking it behind him. When he turned and lifted the gun, the older kid saw him in the screen’s reflection and his mouth made a horrified “O” before his brains marred the image and his brother had time to react. Two quick shots, older brother first, no suffering. No kid deserved that.

His eyes were lit up with excitement, his breathing fast and shallow – oh thank god, it was finally time! – and he crept up the stairs. Silently, slowly, there was no need to rush. No one had heard a thing. His teeth were bared in a wide, delirious grin as he reached the main floor. He could see the flickering of the television from the room in the hall.

It was time, at last, to meet the neighbors…

 

some days are strange, writing, author strugles

Some Days Are Just Strange

We all have those days.

You wake up feeling “off.” No real reason why, just not really into it that day. It could be a lingering bad dream, or a negative comment online – or worse, ZERO comments online! Maybe you slept wrong, you couldn’t sleep, the atmosphere is charged with an impending snow storm, the planets are out of whack.

It happens to the best of us. Since this is the real world, and we’re all adults here, you can’t just pull the covers over your head and wait it out. Shoot, when you get to be my age, lying in bed all day just makes things worse. The creaks and hitches become cracks and full-on joint failures.

I was tempted today. Instead, I decided to shake things up a little.

I’ve been working on a fantasy story for my NaNoWriMo project. I have reached the 50,000-word goal and can now focus on making sure all my plot points are included and that my characters are behaving as they should. The problem with that is my brain is a bit frazzled today. So I poked it.

While some of you may be picturing Shel Silverstein’s drawing for the poem “Warning” from Where the Sidewalk Ends(It’s just me? Go look it up. You won’t be sorry) that’s not quite what happened. A few years ago, one of the kids got my husband a book of writing prompts called 642 Things To Write About. I decided to dust that off and see if anything jumped out at me.

On the very first page of this book I read, “A houseplant is dying. Tell it why it needs to live.” Now I have a new 1700-word short story out in the world and I feel better.

Here’s a little snippet*:

That was about the end of my pep talk and I was freaking out a little. There had been no change and I didn’t know enough about plants to be really effective. I lifted up one of the long, thin stems of the half-flowers and looked it over.

“Oh! And this little flower thingy that you have here? What would the bees do without this? You provide them the building materials they need to make their homes and their honey. Did you know all the bees are dying? If you weren’t here, you’d be hurting them, too! You have to do your part. Think about that. Plus – you are right in front of this glass, where all the other inside flowers can see you. If YOU give up, the one big strong plant that actually lives IN the sun and the fresh air, what will the rest of them think?”

I was really starting to connect with this plant and suddenly realized I didn’t know his name. Closing my eyes, I reached out with an open mind and waited for him to tell me. He wasn’t very forthcoming at first, and I’ll admit I started to doze off in the silence. I mean, the sun was warm, it was still early, and let’s be honest, he wasn’t too entertaining. In an attempt to revive myself, I took another big swig of water, sharing a little with the plant, too, before resuming my meditative state.

Finally, a name made itself known to me: Bernard.

Some days are just strange.

How do you “poke your brain”? Do you have any tricks to get your creativity flowing again – or even just to do the things you need to do for the day? Comment below or feel free to shoot me an email!

*You can find the rest of the story on my Channillo Channel

NaNoWriMo, novel writing

…And So the Writing Journey Begins!

November has rolled back around, and I am bursting with ideas and creativity!

And terror.

Last year, on a whim, I decided to join NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) with the goal of writing a 50,000-word story, just to see if I could. It’s a daunting task for anyone and can be exceptionally challenging for someone just starting out. Through my writing journey last November and over the course of the year I learned a few things about myself.

I am far more goal-oriented than I could have guessed. The burning need to meet daily word goals, to stay on track to reach the winning word count on time, shocked me. I would get up early or stay up faaaar too late just to make sure the words were there. Having a deadline and a bar to clear was exceptionally motivating!

Being in a room full of other writers helps me work harder and reach farther into my own creative stores. THAT was a surprise, too. I had always considered myself a pretty solitary writer. Even now I prefer to put in my headphones and lose myself in whatever music fits the mood of the scene I’m working on. I feel more creative when I’m surrounded by creatives.

One of the most shocking revelations, though, was that I was more motivated and encouraged in my writing when I was encouraging others in theirs. By shining a light for writers who had hit a wall or were struggling with self-worth I was able to grow faith in myself and my writing. You know the saying, “A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle”? Not only did I lose nothing, I gained a confidence and a joy I hadn’t possessed in a long time.

Last year was my first attempt at NaNoWriMo and I had very little idea of what to expect. I went into it with a plan, with character biographies and a plot outline, but I wasn’t prepared for the welcoming spirit of the Central Iowa writing community. Somehow, I stumbled into a gaggle of supportive, fun, interesting and encouraging fellow authors. I now consider them my friends as well as writing buddies, and I am convinced that joining NaNoWriMo was one of the best decisions I ever made. I have found my tribe in this group of intrepid writers.

Throughout November I invite you to join me on my writing journey as I share my NaNo experience with you. Ask me questions, make comments, and engage with me in this endeavor to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days!

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