Coming up on another busy time in our household, but this time, I’m not also doing copyedits, my own edits, finishing a novel, and beta reading for 5 people. Both kids have winter concerts, 10yo’s is tomorrow and 12yo’s is next Thursday. In between, we have a Girl Scout camping trip and a cast & crew lock-in (which means both kids out of the house and a real date night on Saturday without hiring a babysitter!).
Anyway, I’m still in edits on Cat’s story, of course, so I’m sharing from that one. This is another bit from the prologue, which is current with the events in Passing on Faith.
WIPmath: 1/13/2016 = (2 + 0 + 1 + 6) + 13 – 1 = 21 sentences
To guard himself from uncomfortable truths, he shucked his jeans, curled up on the couch, and buried his head in a pillow. It didn’t help. All the reasons why he’d avoided situations like the one with Micah swarmed his brain, twisting in a familiar way to leave him feeling shame for his broken, sick body. He felt trapped by a disorder which left him looking whole on the outside while slowly destroying him from within.
Cat wasn’t much of a crier. Sometimes he wished he could be, able to spill out his emotions as they struck. Micah was like that, openly pouring everything out—Cat had lost track of the number of times he’d found Micah sobbing that summer. Whatever else was wrong with him, at least he possessed the magical ability to release his pain; perhaps that was what drew Cat to him in the first place. Cat lay on the couch, wishing for tears that wouldn’t flow. His eyes stung and his throat was tight, but everything remained trapped just below the surface. He closed his eyes and willed sleep to come.
It didn’t. Instead, his mind supplied the details, the things he’d worked for years to shelve and forget. All the reasons Micah was a bad idea stemmed from one source, and in his loneliness and frustration, he finally allowed himself the luxury of reliving those moments. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. More than eight years had passed—almost a third of his life. Yet here he was, still wondering if things might have been different if he’d chosen some other path. As he let his mind go there, he discovered what he’d been holding back even from himself. Desperately, he tried to suppress it, but the dam broke. At last the tears he’d prayed for began to fall, washing away the months and years of guilt and grief.
Oh, David, he thought. I am so, so sorry.
Who is David, and why does Cat feel so guilty? Hm. Guess we’ll find out…but not today. (Actually, those who have read PoF know who David is already, but I won’t spoil it.)
Like what you read? Be sure to check out the other entries and add your own. Just post a bit of your WIP, connect it to the date, and link up with us. Many thanks to Emily Witt for giving us this space. Happy reading and writing!
I know that feeling–wanting to cry and not being able to. Mine comes from depression. Once it gets beyond the crying-over-nothing stage, I turn into a zombie and wish I could cry over SOMETHING. I’m glad Cat got his tears.
I sometimes have the opposite problem, usually due to anxiety. Cat here is at the point of being too angry to be sad, mostly at himself. He’ll be back to his usual sunny Cat-ness, but this particular story is how he gets there.
I so feel for Cat. I used to be a big crier. Not so much anymore. I tend to shut down when I’m sad instead. Sometimes crying helps though.
This is a great snippet.
Oh, sure. Tease us like that. *grumbles*
Poor Cat. 🙁