Journey of the moments #16

Last night I decided to post chapter 1 of A Rainy Heart on Wattpad, realizing no category for Contemporary Fiction or Literary Fiction; thus, it was posted under the least popular section of General Fiction.  Not knowing if my writing is not good enough, or because of the category I chose, only one reader on my post.  I wonder if this novel could fit under Romance, or should I write a romance novel one day?  What are your thoughts, my friends?

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Good Books?

Hello my friends, readers and writers, I’ve been wanting to read few good novels the last one year but can’t find the ones that keep me going. Do you have suggestions for me? My all time favorite books are The Great Gatsby, The Awakening, Mrs. Dalloway, The Hours, Jude the Obscure, The Reader, Good Morning Midnight, Call Me by Your Name, Housekeeping, Under the Tuscan Sun…Do you know of great novels that were written in the last decade?  As a writer, I must read in order to improve my writing skills.  The books you recommend, I shall read.  Thank you.

Journey of the moments #15

While editing A Rainy Heart, mind wanders to another place,  the forgotten era of time past.  Words appear so I write them down, for the next novel yet uncertain of the title.  My friends,  readers and writers, what are your thoughts on these few lines?  Thank you.

Journey of the moments #12

A quiet afternoon with my ongoing manuscript reminds me I must edit.  Having no problems with the structural editing, I wonder if I follow all the rules in  revising my novel would ruin the voice or the poetic language? As in the unedited version of A Rainy Heart, seen on the posts, will I jeopardize the true voice of the protagonist and the language rhythms if I enforce every editing tip?  What do you think, my readers and writers?

Journey of the moments #10

The rain has continued.  It falls and stretches, like silk, curtains the sky from heaven.  I watch, the drops fall, the poem RAIN by Edward Thomas appears…because of this poem, it has inspired me to write a novel Bleak Rain…yet unfinished…don’t know if I can write 2 novels at the same time?

A Rainy Heart

A novel, page 5

Somehow, I could not remember what had taken place after I walked away from him that night. I could not recall if minutes or an hour had gone by, and what really happened? Did he stay there, talking to someone or his friends, or even where Nate, Karie, and Brent could have been or doing what? Or did the two glasses of wine made me forget? What did I do?
The night goes on. The strangers leave at the same time. Nate, Brent and Karie say goodnight to the guests outside while I remain inside, gathering the glasses on the table. Steps approaching, is him and he’s coming to me during this time when all are outside.
“When are you going to leave him?” He says.
His eyes appear calm, almost gentle just as earlier. Why the same question when you know I won’t answer because I think you’re insane and why you don’t introduce yourself? You think I will answer to your nonsense when I don’t know who you’re. Don’t know you, and what is your name by the way? Are you teasing and this is how you approach a woman with this manner? But then he’s not smiling, not smirking. He says it moderately, as if he really feels his words. If he’s not joking then he must think I am someone he used to know and I need to tell him tonight is the first time I ever met him, so he can drop all this and I am about to say something, but then he leaves without me saying. I watch as he steps outside. He walks alone. His friends waive from the car, and he walks there. He does not turn. He does not need to look back, and I need not be looking at him from this window. Can he see me, here at the window? Something about the way he walks that makes me continue to see him enter one of the cars. As that car begins to drive off I see his face close by the rear window. He looks at the house, at us, at Nate, Brent, Karie and waives. I want to waive for no reason, yet I have no reason to waive since I don’t know him and haven’t said a word. Too far for me to see how his eyes settle but I imagine he must have looked down on his way back to the motel where the group is staying. So, this is it then. This night ends now and stranger, you’re my past. It’s good after all I did not say a word. It’s better that I remained silent so you now don’t have a reason to ask more questions as you have left. I know Nate won’t take me out to join you or the group in the morning even if you and your friends invite us because you have no idea how Nate predicted things the last one week. Hoping you don’t call Karie and Brent, and if you do just please don’t ask us to come along because if you follow me again then you’re not the one to bear the night and all the nights that I must endure.

A Rainy Heart

A novel, page 4 continues

Is always coming back. The night, each night. Every night and this does not stop. And that night is now here. I often think I can slip that night under my pillow when I am about to fall asleep, but then, guess what, I toss and turn, and it slips out under the pillow into the air I breathe, following me everywhere I go. Interesting. Once again I am back at where I was, now sitting beside Nate. He’s acting like I don’t exist. Just few inches away but I am a blank now, to me or to him, I can’t tell but who really cares now because I feel something. Not quite something. Maybe someone is watching. Maybe I need to stop looking at the red liquid in my hands and start looking as the world is still very big. Maybe I need to stop focusing on just one thing. Yes, just let go, now, and I lift my eyes away from the wine. He stands there, a stranger, few feet away. He looks at me, or is he looking at the painting on the wall behind me? I can’t sit here. This silence with a man next to me and another across the room, I need to get up.
Hopefully with another glass it’ll get me to sleep, and I walk toward the dining room. Some strangers talk about something. They know each other. Of course, only me not knowing any but that’s all right because I only want to put myself to sleep. Ahh, there it is, the sleeping aide. I grab the bottle and start pouring and suddenly the light before me turns dark. I glance up. That same stranger stands before me now. He is slim and tall, dark wavering hair, then he looks at me, with his dark, very dark eyes with layers that I see in his pupils beneath those long lashes like they can hold raindrops for hours if the rain coming down now and he seems to think much or I just imagine because of the dark eyes covering by the lashes entailing a sadness.
So close that we stand and I want to take a step back.
“When are you going to leave him?” he says.
What are you talking about? Leave who, him, you mean Nate? Are you crazy; I don’t even know you. What are you asking me? Am I understanding you right? What a . . . I immediately turn and walk away from the stranger. He does not follow. Good. He’s absurd. Maybe he’s mistaken me for someone else. Maybe, and did someone hear us because I did not look around and I saw only his eyes, and those eyes, why he has such pair of eyes . . . ?