yep. it’s nano time. get ready for incoherent ramblings and horrendous literature. i really am giving it a go this year. not like last year, but like years before. when i really REALLY tried to write a complete (and somewhat cohesive) novel in the month of November.
i’m thinking about writing a romance this year, just to make things interesting for myself. plus i feel like it will be a good “over-the-top” license which is pretty necessary to be able to actually do this crazy little thing.
anyhoo. stick around. things might actually get interesting around here. (gimme a break — i said might.)
OK – so here’s chapter one. This will definitely not be kid- or prude-friendly, so beware.
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Travel Log One: Love in The Cuckoo’s Nest
Marcia Borland was in a rut. She had become what she’d always been most afraid of: the crazy cat lady. Just run down the list of criteria, she met them all. Forty-one years old, check. One bedroom apartment, no boyfriend (at least not one that wasn’t battery-operated), no food in the fridge, check. Thirty pounds overweight, check. Five –yes, five– cats, double check. She had hundreds, if not thousands, of books and periodicals littering her entire flat. So many, in fact, that she’d had to create walkways to be able to maneuver between the stacks. Deep down though, really, everything was just as she wanted. She had layers and layers of books and pounds and kitty cats to protect from her real fear – the world.
Marcia had worked at the Houston Public Library, the big one downtown, for the last twenty-seven years. She’d worked her way up from check-out to the Head Librarian, a coveted position in the library and one a person couldn’t even get anymore without a Masters degree in Library Science – something Marcia did not have. In fact, she’d only completed six hours at a community college right out of high school. She’d wanted to be a writer, but after taking English Composition I and being told how horrible of a writer she actually was, she passed the class with a D and also finished Biology, also with a D. She’d decided at that point that maybe college wasn’t for her and stuck to reading books instead.
Marcia loved everything about being at the Library. She loved the quiet, she loved the books, she loved the anonymity. She wasn’t Marcia Borland at the library. She was The Librarian. She was there if someone had a question about where to find something, she was there to shush rowdy children, remind people to turn off their cell phones. She trained the new librarians on proper shelving and how to use BookNet, the computer program used at the library so that everything and anything regarding the library was never more than a few keystrokes away. It was a great resource for the librarians, but it was more than that for her. It was her secret weapon. She studied BookNet for hours on end, memorizing exactly where one could find Ayn Rand (Aisle F12, on the shelf second from the bottom) or Charles Dickens (Aisle F3, third shelf down) or even exactly which issue of Time Magazine one could find the article about the assassination of John F. Kennedy. She used these facts to astound customers and other librarians and to remind them she was indeed, Head Librarian. She didn’t need to look up hardly anything anymore. Even the most obscure titles could be pulled from her brain with one-hundred-percent accuracy without even looking at the BookNet computer. She could see the jealousy in some of the younger girls faces, especially as they fumbled through the system with their ‘umms’ and ‘let’s sees’. She would never proffer help either. She make them come to her. Inevitably they would need her assistance and they’d push the keyboard towards her, saying “I can’t find it”. Marcia would rattle off the location to the customer without even glancing at the computer or the poor newbie who was left feeling foolish and stupid. Just the way Marcia wanted them to feel. This was her home, her queendom. Nobody could do anything without her help. Here she was needed, important, yet still invisible. It was perfect.
Marcia had only one friend in the world, her neighbor, Hayden. He was at least ten years older than her, pretty much bald, kind of greasy looking with splotchy adult acne and was about a hundred pounds overweight. Despite his physical imperfections (besides, who was she to judge?) he made her laugh. He was very well-read and loved cats. Plus he loved to cook elaborate dinners and invite her over to eat with him. He once told Marcia that ever since his wife Eva died he hated cooking then having to eat alone. Marcia had suggested ordering in or even microwave meals but he said he couldn’t stomach the stuff. She had laughed at that statement since he was all stomach. When he’d asked her what was so funny she’d lied and said one of the cats had done something funny. He bought it and she was glad. It wasn’t like they didn’t talk about things like that, but she didn’t see any reason to make him feel badly. Not when she was sitting in front of a gorgeous plate of rosemary-roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes drizzled with truffle oil and a caprese salad topped with shavings of fresh mozzarella cheese. And especially not when she could smell his famous black-and-blue-berry cobbler bubbling in the oven. He’d won a prize for it once at a county fair. The blue ribbon hung proudly on a wall in his den.
It was at different dinner at Hayden’s though (just last night, in fact) where things got a little serious. He’d asked her on a date.
He’d said, “Marcia, ya know, you and I should go out sometime.”
“What do you mean,” she asked.
“You know what I mean. We should go out, out. Like on a date.”
Again she’d laughed at him, just like at his stomach comment. This time he didn’t look confused, however. He looked hurt.
“Hayden. You can’t be serious.”
“Why can’t I be serious?” he asked.
“Well, just because, I guess.” That was all she had. Just Because. She sounded like a five-year-old child and she hated herself for it.
“Just because, what? Just because I’m too old? Too fat? Too ugly?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Hayden. You know none of that matters to me.”
“What then. You don’t like my company?”
“It’s not that either. God! Why now? Why does it always have to come down to this? You know, Hayden, I haven’t been on a date in over twenty years. I have my life and it’s very simple and uncomplicated and I like it that way. It has nothing to do with you.” She was lying and he could smell it, smell her fear, hear her heart about to crash out of her chest.
“We have something special, Marcia, and you know it as well as I do.”
No, she didn’t. Not at all. He was just Hayden who lived across the hall. Hayden whom she spent every evening with. Hayden who made her laugh and made her lasagna. It wasn’t special at all. It was just two lonely people who lived near each other sharing a meal, spending a couple of hours chatting, and then going their separate ways. Ways they were accustomed to. Ways they liked even more than they liked each other.
“I don’t know, Hayden. I don’t want to mess this up.” Liar. Scared, phony liar.
“Well, I love you, Marcia. And I’m not giving up.”
There he’d said it. The three words she hadn’t wanted him to say. Ever. The truth was she desperately wanted to be in love. But Hayden wasn’t ‘the one’. The one was someone else entirely. He was dark and handsome. He was worldly and wise. His greatest accomplishment was most definitely not making the best dessert at some crummy fair.
He probably had an accent and taut muscles and sang sweet songs quietly in her ear. He would be able to pick her up with ease. He would kiss her lips softly, slowly at first, then his passion for her would take over and his kiss would become stronger, his tongue needing to be deep inside her mouth. He’d bite her lips playfully, stroke her face, gently pull her hair. She’d moan with desire and he’d smile, then push her against the wall, rubbing her through their pants with his throbbing, hot…
“Hello? Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Hayden, I did. I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” She was flushed and pulsing and wet. Apparently she’d gotten a little carried away with her fantasy and now she was aching. She had to get home.
“I’d hoped for ‘I love you, too’ obviously. But. Well. I guess.” She stopped him there.
“Seriously, Hayden. Please don’t take this personally. It has nothing, and I mean nothing to do with you. I just really like my life the way it is. I like our relationship the way it is. I don’t like change and the thought of all of it -everything- changing at once, it’s just too much for me. It’s too scary. I just can’t. I’m sorry.” She hoped the flush on her cheeks looked like embarrassment and she hoped he couldn’t smell her arousal like she could.
“Okay, I guess, Marcia. But maybe it’s better you didn’t come over for a while,” he said. He had gotten up and was walking her to the door. He was kicking her out! HE was kicking HER out. The nerve. Well, if that’s how he wanted to be.
“I understand,” was all she could mutter and she went home.
She walked through the door, ignored the five mewling cats and went straight for her favorite vibrator. It would be “Hector” tonight. She turned it on and felt the familiar buzz in her hand which shot tingles straight to her pussy, making her even more wet. Not able to wait to get to the bed she fell to her knees and slid down the dildo, right there in the middle of her bedroom floor. She held Hector tightly inside by pulling her panties back over and putting a pillow between her legs. She bounced and squeezed, rocking back and forth, up and down, slowly at first, letting the quivering rubber cock stretch her out, feeling the vibrations course between her legs and up to her tits. She rode a little faster, rocking back and forth, moaning, pinching her nipples severely through her shirt and squeezing the fat cock with her vaginal walls until she finally came so hard she screamed. Her body pulsed against it, she felt the warmth of her come dripping down Hector onto her thighs, her nipples throbbed from her pinches. She lay on the floor, half-clothed, the sex toy still inside her sending waves and shivers throughout her entire body, and she loved every single minute of it.
TMZ has learned the negotiations between Howard K. Stern and Larry Birkhead now have nothing to do with little Dannielynn. It’s all about money.
