Fiction

Happy Wednesday! Final countdown to school. We’re going away this weekend, so that means no writing or editing or beta reading or anything. I will have my Kindle, though. I’m ready for a relaxing vacation .

On to the WIPpet. I’m going to try to get to any that are posted today; apologies for any that get posted late and I miss them. I’m still drawing from Nightsong. The story ended up in a very different place from where it started, but I think it’s far better than it would have been. Anyway, we’re still with Izzy and his moms, and this is from a talk with Ma Rose. They’re discussing how his moms found out what he does in his spare time. Without saying too much, this conversation is really important.

WIPmath: 8/31 = (3 + 1) * 8 = 32 sentences + 2 bonus sentences because it didn’t make sense to cut it off sooner.

Ma Rose stood up and made her way to the back deck while Izzy helped Eema clear the table. After Eema waved him off, he followed Ma Rose outside. She was seated in one of the patio loungers, cigarette in hand.

“That’s gonna kill you one of these days,” he remarked, plopping into the chair next to her.

“Not if your Eema gets to me first.”

Izzy angled to look at her. “Everything okay?”

She shrugged. “What could be wrong for two old broads pushing sixty?”

They were quiet for a long time. Izzy lay back and looked up at the stars popping out in the deep purple sky. He inhaled the familiar, comforting scent of Ma Rose’s cigarette while he listened to Eema moving around in the kitchen. He closed his eyes.

“She wanted to tell you before that we knew.” Ma Rose’s voice cut through the stillness.

“So, why didn’t she?”

“I told her not to. Said you should tell us in your own time.”

Izzy snorted. “Well, too late for that.”

“Does your father know?”

“Why would he?” Izzy blew out a long breath. “It’s not like he’s going to drive here from New York to sit in a queer bar and watch me sing in a dress.”

“He might.”

Izzy turned his head to stare at Ma Rose. “Right. The man can’t even be honest with himself after burying his own partner. You really think he’d be all right with me?” He swallowed. “With who I am?”

Ma Rose sighed. “There’s a lot you don’t know about him, Iz. Don’t judge.”

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!

Happy Wednesday! I can’t believe it’s just 2 weeks until school starts. Today is supposed to be baking hot and sunny, so we’re off to the beach this afternoon. My grand plan? Bring a book and soak up the sun while the kids play in the water with their friend. Should be nice and relaxing.

I’m sticking with Izzy and his moms having dinner for this week’s WIPpet.

WIPmath: Very short this time. 8/24 = (8 * 2) – 4 = 12 sentences.

They ate in silence for a while, and then Eema cleared her throat. “So, Lynne called me.”

Izzy sighed. The subject of his ex-wife was always touchy. He didn’t mind that she’d remained friends with his mothers; after all, the two of them had been able to become civil again in recent months. The ongoing news reel of her family life was draining, though. Izzy was glad she now had her family, but it did nothing to mitigate the emptiness and loss he felt.

“Oh?” he managed.

“You knew she was expecting again, right?”

“She hadn’t said, no.” The one thing Izzy hadn’t been able to give her—or himself. He stabbed at a pea, not meeting Eema’s gaze.

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!

Happy Wednesday! Summer is winding down, and we’re already preparing for the upcoming school year. In September, when the kids are back in class, I’ll be looking at some new things on my blog. For now, I’m enjoying the slower pace of these last couple weeks of August.

This week’s WIPpet features Izzy’s two moms. They’re not in this a whole lot, but they do show up a few times. If I wrote historical lesfic, I’d give them their own story—that’s how much I love them. If anyone wants to borrow them, feel free. 🙂 (Eema is the counterpoint to abba—it means “mom” or “mommy.” Qabbalat Shabbat is a Friday evening worship service, often with social time and light food afterward. This is different from the Saturday Torah service; it’s far less formal.)

WIPmath: A bit long; 17 paragraphs for the 17th.

He was late. By the time he arrived at his mothers’ house, Eema was lighting the candles. She stood before them, her head covered in an elegant scarf, wafting the light smoke of the candle as it drifted upward. Izzy closed the door as gently as he could then watched her, a smile on his lips. You could take a woman out of Orthodoxy, but you couldn’t eradicate all traces from her life. Even as a little boy he’d been entranced by her graceful motion and the sound of her prayers as they left her lips. He was no less so now, despite all the times he’d seen her do it.

When she was through, she glanced over at Izzy. “You’re late.”

He chuckled. “I know, and I’m sorry. I overslept.”

Eema glided over to him and reached up to pat his cheek. It was quite a distance; Eema was only five-foot-one, and Izzy was almost exactly a foot taller.

“You should get more sleep.”

Leave it to Eema to state the obvious. Izzy knew better than to talk back to her, though. “I know. I’m trying.”

“Good.”

“Did you go to Qabbalat Shabbat?”

“Of course I did. You should come with me sometime. They have one for you young folk once a month, you know.”

The statement carried the weight of its multiple implications, but Izzy only smiled. “Maybe I will, if I’m not working.”

The table was already set, and Ma Rose ported the last of the food, the homemade biscuits she’d been keeping warm. They sat down, and Izzy winced at the stiffness in his thighs. He really needed to get back into running. Unfortunately for him, Ma Rose’s keen eyes didn’t miss a thing. She arched an eyebrow.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Just a little stiff. It’s nothing I can’t cure with a good run.” He picked up his fork and snagged a bite of chicken, using it to stall so he could speak without setting off a new round of questions. “I’ve been picking up extra shifts, so I haven’t had as much time as I’d like.” They were not to know he was referring to his night job.

“You work too hard,” Eema chided. “Do something fun.”

He laughed. “Running is fun! I need to be in shape for spring.”

“Ah!” Ma Rose exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “I’d forgotten you registered for the Boston. You’re in?”

“Yes. First time I’ve ever beaten the qualifying time by enough.” He’d been as surprised as anyone when he clocked in under three in Chicago the previous year. It had been his best time in years.

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!

Happy Wednesday! I’m three days into parenting a teenager, and it feels remarkably like parenting him when he was still twelve. 🙂 Actually, I’m very proud of my big kid. Up next: My daughter turns 11 on Saturday! She’s getting her first phone, and boy is she excited that she can now text us the way her brother can. I think I feel pretty special that the kids are as excited to message us as they are to message their friends. I have always loved and liked my kids, but as they grow, it feels like our relationship is stretching and growing too, in good ways. I really am lucky to have them.

Enough sappiness; time for the WIPpet. Here’s a little more about Izzy. I decided to post this little bit first, but next week I’ll share a moment with his moms. (Side note: While many marathons can be entered just because you want to, with the Boston you have to qualify based on a previous marathon time.)

WIPmath: 10 sentences for the 10th.

When Izzy finally returned home after his shift, he made a beeline for the shower, half-stripping on his way and throwing everything into the hallway hamper. He adjusted the water and stepped under the spray, not muffling a drawn-out groan of relief as the spray hit his back. He thought thirty-six was far too young for his body to protest like this after every shift, desperately needing the hot water and the pounding of the massage setting on the shower head to quell the spasms in his lower back.

It had been happening all too frequently lately, both in his back and legs, and it bothered him. Not enough to have it looked at, but enough that he decided he had to get into better shape. He’d qualified for the Boston marathon and had signed up the day registration opened, and he needed to keep himself fit. He figured all the stiffness was his body’s way of saying he hadn’t run enough lately. It was true; he’d been working so many hours and had become a regular at Switch Hitter over the summer as well. He sighed at the thought of having to go back to being an occasional performer.

If he didn’t whip his body back into shape, he wouldn’t be able to dance in those heels, and even more than running the marathon, he couldn’t bear the thought of giving up his night life.

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!

Happy Wednesday! We’re off for vacation tomorrow, and right after we come back, I will officially have a teenager. I would say it feels like 5 minutes ago that I was holding him for the first time, but that’s not really true. I’ve had almost 13 wonderful years of watching him grow and mature. I feel pretty lucky to be his mom.

On to the WIPpet. This week’s snippet is about Izzy, the other main character. He’s an EMT who moonlights as a drag queen at Switch Hitter, an LGBT+ bar. This scene is based on a real-life situation. My father-in-law was an EMT for many years, and he once had to transport a mummy to the hospital so they could do scans on it. I changed the details, but it’s not as far-fetched as it sounds.

WIPmath: No math. It’s the first of the month, and these are the first lines of chapter 2.

Israel “Izzy” Kaplan turned away from the radio and hollered over his shoulder, “Morales! Morales, get in here!”

A petite, dark-haired woman poked her head around the corner. “Yeah?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” Izzy shook his head, chuckling. He couldn’t hold back, and deep belly laughs rolled out of him.

“Kaplan, get it together.” Valeria poked him in the side.

He composed himself, trying to keep a straight face despite the snicker filtering through. “We have a patient to pick up.”

“And you’re still sitting here because…?” She waved her hand at him.

“It’s not an emergency.”

“It’s not like you to mock the homeless guy who keeps calling.” Val’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Izzy clammed up then cleared his throat. “Sorry. Not the homeless guy, either. You know I wouldn’t make fun if it were. When haven’t we gone to take care of him? It’s something else.”

Val huffed. “Yeah, okay. Get to the point already.”

“We’re supposed to go”—he laughed again—“pick up”—another snort—“a skeleton.”

Val’s face registered confusion. “Someone’s been dead a long time.”

“A real long time,” Izzy agreed. “On the order of millions of years.”

“Uh…”

He guffawed again. “We have to transport a dinosaur. That’s not a metaphor.”

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!

Happy Wednesday! Busy day—the kids had a big track event at camp, which I went to watch. Sadly, that meant no writing or editing or beta reading today, at least not so far. I got extra done on Monday, but I’ve now lost two days’ worth of work due to post-activity fatigue. I’m hoping to make up for it tomorrow.

On to the WIPpet. Directly after last week’s, and Nate…well, his heart is in the right place, but he doesn’t always have a lot of tact. Plus he can’t seem to decide if Jamie is a delicate butterfly in need of freeing or if he’s simply choosing poorly. (Note: he’s referencing something which happened in Anthem, but it’s not vital to the main plot of either story.)

WIPmath: 7/27/2016 = 2 + 7 + 2 + 0 + 1 + 6 – 7 = 11 paragraphs

Jamie relaxed visibly and ran a shaking hand through his hair.

“Thanks,” he said.

“He’s an ass,” Nate remarked.

“Please don’t,” Jamie snapped, his posture abruptly changing. “You don’t understand.”

“Understand what? I have no idea what you were arguing about, but damn it, Jamie, it gets old.”

“Oh? I’m sorry my life is ruining yours.” Jamie pushed past Nate and took off down the hallway to his room. He slammed the door, leaving Nate alone in the kitchen.

Nate closed his eyes and breathed slowly. Great. Another friendship on the verge of collapse because he simply couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He thought about Trevor and the mess he’d created there by accidentally-on-purpose outing him in a public and humiliating way. It had worked itself out, but it would be a long time before he could reconstruct their trust again. Now here he was, hurting Jamie too.

He smacked his hand on the counter. Enough was enough. He wouldn’t lose someone else because of his overdeveloped sense of what was right. Nate went to Jamie’s room and knocked on the door.

“What do you want?” Jamie asked.

“I want to make sure you’re okay. I’m sorry I was a jerk just now.”

A moment later, Jamie opened the door. They stood there, Jamie craning his neck to look up at Nate, who was a good ten inches taller. Jamie’s eyes were red-rimmed. Nate put a hand on Jamie’s arm and squeezed gently. He let go, and with a nod, Jamie stepped back into his room and closed the door with a soft click. If Nate’s eyes misted over too, no one else needed to know.

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!