kisses are just the beginning (another story AKA this is just a character, not a real-life story of mine)

When you’re young, you think that your first kiss will be everything. I remember day-dreaming in third period about my first kiss. I wanted it to be with this cute guy that sat a row behind me. That is, until my face broke-out with acne and I had the self-esteem as– … well let’s just say I had low self-esteem in middle school. It wasn’t until I was a freshman in high school that it happened. On that fateful night I was at a varsity football game, JV just seemed to point out the fact that I was young, so I went to varsity games to watch the younger varsity players. I was a science geek though, so I didn’t have many chances with the jocks of the school. Little did I know how little these titles would mean as I got older. At the time, it felt like the end-all-be-all. You were either someone, or no one, there wasn’t much of an in-between. Regardless of my luck with the athletically gifted, my first kiss did occur at a football game. I went with a bunch of friends from my science class, and there was this one brunette with glasses. Needless to say, he wasn’t that guy that would sit a row behind me in middle school. No, this boy sat in the same row as me, in the front of the class. This boy and I had been talking for a few months, and it was clear that we liked each other. Well, it was clear if you were not either of us two. We legitimately had no clue.

My first kiss:

Scene- the football field track, the players have just left the field.

My crush and I were hiding in the bushes. We both shared curiosity of what the field would be like after everyone left. So, we decided to do a stake out. My mom thought I was at my friend Jenny’s house for a sleepover after the game. Jeff, my crush, was who I was actually with, but Jenny’s house was through the woods, so I was going to go there afterward. Anyway, back to the kiss. My crush and I had been building up tension, walking slower, talking slower. We basically were slowed down to half-speed for any bodily function– I’m not sure, but I think my heart was even beating slower– or faster, maybe it was the only odd one out. “so, I don’t know how to tell you this, but–” before I could speak anymore, he grabbed my hand. I stopped, and he looked into my eyes. He pulled me in, and we kissed. It was awkward and fumblingly moving our mouths (mimicking what we saw in the movies), and neither of us had a clue what we were doing. Our arms were moving, but not really going anywhere. He pulled me closer, causing my balance to be thrown off– but I didn’t care. I was kissing another person… my lips were touching somebody else’s lips. To me, that was surreal. I didn’t know how to process it. We went on to date for two months.. I ended it.

Next stop, sophomore in high school. I realized I didn’t like science anymore, at least not as much as makeup, cheerleader, and boys. I know, I know. High school cliche… should’ve stuck with something more academic. I was sixteen at this point, cut me some slack. I was now the girl version of a jock. My hair was long and smooth, my acne had been under control a bit more, and I grew into my body. Before, at the beginning of these four years… I was honestly uncomfortable, but at a point I felt like I came into my own, and that’s when I felt like exploring other options. I became really interested in physical activities, and cheer-leading appealed to me because of the gymnastics aspect. The jocks noticed me now. I was part of the crowd. That crowd of someones that are only someones within the confines of those school walls. But I was someone, and to me, that mattered. I wanted to be liked by the guys I liked. It was all so simple, yet it felt so complicated. Sophomore Year: I was dating this football player, Andrew. We had gotten to second base, which for me felt monumental, I thought that I was in love… I found him and my best friend kissing each other by his pickup truck after a football game that I missed cheering for one night. My best friend was a cheerleader too, so we all knew each other. I had broken my ankle, and I wasn’t able to cheer that night, but she was, and she walked him to his car.. I was waiting on the other side to surprise him after the game. They won that night, but my heart was broken.

Last stop, at least for now. I’m turning eighteen, and am going to be an incoming freshman at a university this fall. My boyfriend and I have been progressing physically fairly fast, and I don’t know what to do when I reach this next step. I know I’m young, but I feel safe with him, but then again, I felt safe with Andrew. He keeps asking me things along the lines about how I feel about having sex with him. Truthfully, I’m unsure. A lot happens in four years, and I’m about to experience a lot more as I start this next four year journey. I know that now I can handle the things that felt so big when I was younger, but everything feels so monumental as you’re approaching it– as you’re experiencing it. I’ve gathered one thing, kisses are just the beginning.

Again guys, this is just another story. This was my response to a story-telling prompt.

OBJECTIVE: Write a scene that involves a tuning fork

It was a rainy day and as I looked outside I saw the intense raindrops crash on top of the branches of the trees near my office. Clarissa, my daughter, was working on her drawing on the floor for an art project while I heard a ring at the door. We were expecting the piano tuner to come anytime today, but I would’ve understood if he hadn’t made it. Lord knows that I wouldn’t have gone out on a day like today, not after the accident. It was all three of us in the car, Clarissa, me, and her father, that is. We were driving down a quiet street on a rainy afternoon and the next thing I knew it felt like we were floating. He was driving the car and Clarissa was in the back seat behind the passenger’s side where I was. Nobody prepares you for that kind of trauma… to look over into the seat next to you and see a loved one in that suddenly still state. It wasn’t real… it couldn’t be… and that’s what i thought for a good few years. I wasn’t going to be alone, my husband did not die driving my daughter and i home from the first parent-teacher group meeting we’ve ever had… it’s like we had just started on this great journey together, and now I was all alone. All alone in raising her… We had dreamed about how wonderful she was supposed to grow up to be as a result of our combined efforts. The parent-teacher meeting was years ago now, she might have been in the first grade. Today, she is in the fourth grade and she is so beautiful. Her father would have been ecstatic to have seen her at her recital this last winter playing a classic Christmas piece that has been played over and over again countless times nonetheless, but doing something that was beautiful and wanting to learn how to make music.

“Miss?”

“yes?” I asked as I looked up from the computer screen.

“I’m here to tune the piano?”

And that was when we first met. George was my husband’s cousin. He hadn’t been in contact with him since before he met me, so I never met his cousin, who’s name was Drew.

So this was a writing prompt that I wrote a response to months ago. I thought I’d share it with you all. What do you think? Should I continue with the story?

touchy subjects

So I was just on pinterest. There was this thing about how writer’s blocks are most likely caused by how writer think people will view the work that they want to create. Instead, they get in this ‘block’ where they can’t create anything new, because they are trying to think of something acceptable. In my opinion, we should, as writers: Write things as if no one other than you is ever going to read them. Don’t imagine one day your: mother, brother, sister, father, or any other relative or friend, ever reading it. Write for yourself, and for the flowing of your creative energy. So many great stories have probably not been written for fear of how the writer thinks people will perceive it. Just yesterday, I started this random story out of the blue. I’m experimenting with writing in the second person. It’s crazy how many times I find myself writing the word “you” in this story. But, I’m trying to write as though no one will judge it. Is it my problem if they think the main character is a little off her rocker? NO! It’s my story, I can do what I want with that. Now just wish me luck with keeping that mindset throughout the whole book 😛 

Anyways, I always find myself writing stuff that is about a romance, or writing stuff where romance and “romantic” scenes are involved. I think to myself that I don’t want my mom to read my stories, because I don’t want her to get worried. I don’t write the stories off of experience or anything, I just write with a pretty free hand. Do any of you find it uncomfortable to put certain scenes in your books because your afraid of your parents reading it?