Tuesday, February 25, 2014

The Measure of my Sanity and a Snippet

I've decided life is never easy. Sometimes you get a small break where you can take a deep breath and feel relaxed, but most of the time it's a struggle. I don't deal with stress very well. It weighs on me. I've found ways to cope, eating healthy, writing, yoga, staying mentally, physically, and spiritually balanced. But these are not cures for stress. They help, but can't make it go away. I know I'm not alone. I know other people go through the same things I do. We're all human. We all have emotions. Some people seem genuinely happy and carefree. Perhaps they are. But even they experience pain and heartache--it's the way we deal with it that separates us.

On that note, I'd like to give you a sneak peek of how I keep my sanity. I've been writing.

This story will be part of a SHINE novella that will (fingers crossed) be available on the kindle someday. This story is called REVEN. Read please, and comment. Would you like to spend three novellas with these characters?

June Brighton has the ability to hear heartbeats. Her little sister, Katelyn, is sick, and her parents are away on a charity trip. This scene takes place at a dance at the newly built Arizona governor's mansion. She dances with Memphis Stone, a guy she has a tenuous alliance with as they attempt to save a person who's been captured by the Shine bounty hunters, the Revens. The dialogue starts with June speaking:

“It’s been just me and Katelyn for a couple weeks now. I don’t know how my mom does it. We have the money, but she never hires maids or nannies. She says we’re too important to let someone else raise us. I miss Katelyn. I miss my mom. I don’t know what it would be like if they were both gone.”
“It’s hard,” he said. “It’s hard looking out on all these people. Here, in New York, back home in New Orleans, anywhere in the entire the world—and know that not a single person cares for you, that no one out there actually feels for you. If you died, there wouldn’t be anyone out there to miss you.”
His words broke my heart. Whatever hatred I’d harbored for him disappeared. My hands shook as he held on. Hearing the painful thump of his heart only made it worse. He didn’t want my sympathy, but how could I feel anything else?
“I’m here,” I said, my voice only a little louder than a whisper.
His eyes locked onto mine, confused, as if he saw me for the first time. “Are you sure about that?”
Was I? He’d captured me, shown violence to me and my best friend and who knew how many others. Could I really bear my soul and admit that I—June Brighton—cared for him? I didn’t want to break my heart, but I didn’t want to break his either. Good Gandhi, why is it so hard to say the things you feel?
“Memphis,” I spoke his name softly. “You don’t have to look very far. I’m here for you. I’ll never leave you. I promise.”

I felt hope in his gaze, his eyes wide and vibrant, like looking into a fire. Did he think of me as a friend, or maybe even someone closer?  But then he looked away, and the moment ended. “You shouldn’t.”

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