Tuesday, March 18, 2008


I write a lot. It's sort of out of control sometimes, so I decided, rather than post random passages from my WIPs, I should just have a story for my blog. So I'm starting this. Just for here. Haven't thought of a title yet, so if you think of one, PLEASE let me know. :D I hope you like it:

Dad’s Honda broke down three times in three states. It was fun. Not. When we finally arrived in this godforsaken place, I believe the locals call it…Oregon, I almost didn’t get out of the car. I didn’t mind trees, but this was like the woods or something. At least the moving truck was already waiting at the curb. Yes. My magazines.

I’d hoped to find attractive moving guys, hauling heavy pieces of furniture as they flexed, but no such luck. It looked more like my Uncle Stanley and his poker buddies. I sighed. Then a Frisbee pegged me in the forehead.

“What the hell?” I reached up, rubbing at my skin, staring down at the bright blue weapon at my feet. There was laughing and by the time I looked up, there was a boy in front of me. A blond one with no shirt. Hm. This day just got interesting.

“Holy shit. I’m sorry,” he said, trying to purse his lips, keeping his smile hidden. I glared at him, not really annoyed but a little sore. I was sure there was a red line across my forehead because he kept glancing above my eyes.

“What’s your name?” he asked.


“Conner,” he said, stretching out his hand. I took it and it was sweaty and hot. And by hot I mean sexy.

Conner ran his hands through his hair and then laughed. “Wow,” he said. “This is so cliché.”

“Uh, what is?” I hadn’t heard anyone other than my English teacher use the word cliché in a sentence. These Oregon kids must be smart.

“You know,” he said, leaning in like he was telling me a secret. “The cute girl next door.”


And this was only my first day.


brittanimae said...

You rock at dialogue. You rock at people who think funny stuff. And you're letting us read you for free? You really shouldn't do that . . .

Dreamer3702 said...

You're always taunting me with snippets of some wonderful story that I'm not allowed to read, because I should be writing! Why do you do this to me? At least, I'll eventually get to read all of this one. Right? Please say yes.