Wednesday Words: Ghost of a Chance

Today’s prompt from #1lineWed on Twitter is keeping in the SPIRIT of the season and when I went looking for a snippet in NIGHT WISH, I didn’t think I had a GHOST of a chance of finding one that met the criteria. Ha! I got lucky. Sort of. The prompt is **GHOST or SPIRIT** and while I think the Twitterverse might have had a different idea, this is what popped up and it works for me. Once again, we’re in Gen’s POV and man, has her life gone down the…uhm…toilet, shall we say. Anyway, here’s her musing on her current state of affairs.
****
Gen
I’d had a bad day. A whole month of them. I didn’t have bags under my eyes. I had steamer trunks. I giggled, a bit hysterically, at my dramatic thought. Purple prose much? I dragged my three bags of groceries into my condo. I was a stress eater. My food of choice was anything high in carbs. Ice cream. Chips. Cookies. Cheese sandwiches made with bacon and Texas toast and grilled in butter. Lately? I couldn’t stomach the thought of food. I’d bought food, along with some personal necessities like toothpaste and deodorant and tampons. The food was frozen dinners. I could throw them in the freezer and forget about them. Throwing away what had been perfectly good ingredients but they’d spoiled because I couldn’t stomach the idea of cooking and eating just made my depression worse. At least I’d found a job so I could afford groceries. Granted, selling rent-to-own furniture contracts hadn’t been on my résumé, but it was a job.

Why was I even depressed? I’d known from the first time that beautiful—if a jerk—man told me to get on the back of his bike that he’d realize sooner than later that I wasn’t his type. That skank Carla was right. Wizard was so far out of my league.

I put the frozen stuff in the freezer, went upstairs and dumped the bag of personals on the counter in the bathroom, then shuffled into my bedroom. I kicked off my shoes in the closet and stripped down in there with the lights off. No mirrors in the closet, nothing to remind me of the fat. I pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt. I needed to eat something but I wasn’t hungry. Instead, I flopped on the bed still without turning on any lights. Forty-five. I stared up at the ceiling in the dim light filtering through the curtains of my bedroom window. It took about 45 days for a person to starve. Heh. At least I’d die skinny. And after I died, I’d come back as a ghost and haunt Wizard.
****
There you have it. And believe it or not, I made HUGE strides yesterday. Seriously! I mean like I moved ahead four chapters, and weeded out scenes that I’ll rewrite and use for another book. Keep your fingers crossed for an upcoming release date and cover reveal. Yes, I have the cover already so that’s a yay! Anyway, writers, any spirited or ghostly words to share? Readers, do you believe in ghosts?

About Silver James

I like walks on the wild side and coffee. Lots of coffee. Warning: My Muse runs with scissors. Author of several award-winning series--Moonstruck, Nightriders MC, The Penumbra Papers, and Red Dirt Royalty (Harlequin Desire) & other books! Purveyor of magic, mystery, mayhem and romance. Lots and lots of romance.
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2 Responses to Wednesday Words: Ghost of a Chance

  1. Ooo, love it! I can’t wait to see where all of these snippets go.

    Here’s a little somethin’ from Cinder Ugly. It’s the only bit I could find without spoilers.

    “Earth to Jeni.”
    “What?”
    “I was telling you about talking to my Grams.” She gave me the full-on cover model pout. It didn’t work with me, but I tried to focus on her, whether what she was saying was pertinent or not. Cuz that’s what friends do. Right?
    “Anyway, Grams wanted me to call her because apparently the spirits are going like batshit crazy and yelling in her ear or something.”
    “About?”
    “She wasn’t sure at first. They weren’t being very exact. All she knew was they had a message about a young and pretty woman. Of course, she assumed me. Except it wasn’t for me.” Her eyes connected with mine and she looked like she was waiting for something. When it wasn’t forthcoming, her lower lip dipped into a frown.
    After an additional amount of unnecessary silence, I realized what her maladjustment was. “Well,” I said, “as pretty as you are, it was an easy assumption to make. Who was this ‘obviously not as young and pretty as you are’ person?”
    “You.”
    Well, I’d stepped into that one. Right in the face. I tried not to roll my eyes at the obvious set up. “Me? Wait. Your grandmother, the shaman, had a message from the spirits about me?”

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