Interesting theme for #1lineWed today. I thought it would be an easy one to find a snippet for. I mean really? The theme is **LETTER**. You’d think I could find at least a text message or something in one of my WIPs. Nope. But that’s okay. It worked out because I needed to write a snippet about a letter and then this idea hit me. I was stuck in Jen and Wiz’s story. I hadn’t painted myself into a corner, per se, but I was well and truly stumped. The puzzle pieces weren’t coming together. Then my fingers typed out these letters, forming these words, and I now have my direction. The snippet, in Jen’s POV is pretty self-explanatory. I hope you enjoy.
I stared at my monitor, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. Could I do this? Leaning back in my desk chair, I dropped my hands to my lap. What I was planning would be considered totally insane by anyone who knew me. Heck, absolute strangers would think the same.
The office hummed around me—ringing phones, the fax machine tones, two people talking in murmurs, the copy machine whirring. I rubbed my sweaty palms against the slick material of my tailored pencil skirt. I was a professional. I wore suits and heels. I sat in on executive-level corporate meetings. I did not ride on the back of big motorcycles clinging to an outlaw biker like my life depended on it. Except my life had depended on it. More than once.
And I was miserable. Absolutely, completely, massively miserable. I hated sleeping alone. I hated how empty my apartment felt when I came home after work. The first week, I ignored the ache in my heart. The second week, I cried every night. The third week…well, it was pretty much a blur. Let’s just say that I found a new BFF and her name was Margarita. I shuffled through the fourth week like a zombie, only I didn’t crave brains, I craved the man who’s hard body set mine on fire.
Time just sort of…wrapped around itself at that point. I got through my days at work. I struggled through the nights by binge watching stuff on Netflix and Hulu. Except I couldn’t tell you one thing I’d watched. I couldn’t tell you what I ate. I often didn’t. Eat. It hurt to breathe, hurt to move, hurt to do anything. I craved Wizard like my next breath.
He’d walked away from me. Dumped me out at his clubhouse in Missouri, turned and freaking walked away without a backward glance. One of his brother’s handed me my car keys. All my stuff was loaded in Rascal. No one said a word. They all just stared at me like I had some sort of horrible disease that would rub off on them if they got too close. Even the old ladies who were there—the one’s who’d pretended to be my friends. That hurt too.
I hoped. For awhile. Wiz never called. And no matter how many stars I wished on, he didn’t show up at my door. I called him a couple of times but only got his voice mail, no matter what phone I called him from. I drunk texted him at Margarita’s urging. She said it was the salt that made me do it, not her excellent top-shelf tequila. The last time I called him, I got a “number not in service” message. Wiz had changed his phone number.
So here I sat, three months later, all but crazy for wanting him. I had to be close to him. I couldn’t explain why but I knew—deep inside—that if I was physically closer to him, I wouldn’t hurt so much. I didn’t believe for a minute that he’d take me back but if I could occasionally catch a glimpse of him, if…
So many ifs.
My hands moved on their own. My fingers tapped on keys and words formed on the open document on my monitor.
RE: LETTER OF RESIGNATION
I was going to do this. I was going to quit my cushy job—that I mostly hated, pack up all my stuff, and move to Kansas City. I’d find a place to live and get a job up there. And pray that our paths crossed and that Wizard didn’t hate me as much as I thought he did. I didn’t know what else to do. I did know that I had no choice.
Letter writing might be a lost art. Writers, what about your characters? Any letters in their stories? Readers, when’s the last time you wrote a letter?