Nightsong

Let the drama begin! Onstage, that is. Both my kids will be in the cast of their school’s production of Elf Jr., the Musical. My older one will be playing Buddy (the Elf of the title, if you haven’t seen the movie or the stage show). My younger one will be in the ensemble, and this is her first show, so it’s pretty exciting! I already have the main song stuck in my head.

On to the WIPpet. Last time, Nate ran into an old boyfriend. You can see in this snippet what became of that encounter, although it’s not looking like it will end well.

WIPmath: 9/28 = 28 sentences + 2 bonus because I can’t math today.

Nate was almost too blissed-out to notice when Rocco’s phone rang. Through his sleepy haze, Nate felt motion next to him. He rolled over and admired the curve of Rocco’s butt as the sheet slipped to reveal it when he reached over to the night stand.

“This is Rocco.” Pause. “Yes, that would be fine.” Pause. “I’m with a client right now, but I can set it up after my meeting.” His eyes flicked to Nate. “No, that’s not possible.” He covered the phone with his hand and whispered, “Be right back.”

He rose from the bed and stalked into the bathroom. For a moment, it was quiet, and then he heard Rocco’s muffled voice. He sounded angry, and Nate caught a few words like “let’s not do this now” and “we’ll discuss it later” and “it’s not a good time.”

Rocco opened the bathroom door and stepped out. “I’ll call you back shortly.” He ended the call and set the phone back on the nightstand then lay back down on the bed. “Sorry about that.” He ran his hand over Nate’s chest and kissed him.

Nate shrugged, but his gut twisted. Del’s words haunted him, his advice on which men to avoid. He was nothing more than a “client” for now, someone Rocco could write off to his wife—whether or not she was really soon to be his ex—as a lunch meeting. How many other “clients” had Rocco had before, hotel bills he claimed were just drinks at the bar to entertain a business associate? Nate thought back to their first encounter, how easy it was to find Rocco and how he’d been eager to go with Nate even though he claimed he couldn’t be caught with an old boyfriend’s phone number. They’d been meeting up regularly for close to a month with no indication from Rocco where it was going. Nate thought back to his acquaintance who had claimed a two-year affair with Rocco. He wondered how many others there had been.

It was a sobering thought, one which brought on a new rush of worries he dismissed. “It’s fine,” he said, even though he really wanted to ask Rocco a few pointed questions.

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!

Week one of school down, and the kids have already had the first info meeting for the middle school musical. They’ll be doing Elf Jr., which should be a lot of fun. Meanwhile, we start bell choir practice tonight and music lessons Friday. I know it sounds like we’re very busy—and we are!—but most of what we do is only a short part of each day, and a lot of it (like bells) is volunteer stuff. The fun of being involved in the arts.

On to the WIPpet. Nate continues his pattern of poor decision-making, helped along by circumstances. Here, he reconnects with an old acquaintance.

WIPmath: 9/14 = 14 – 9 = 5 paragraphs

Dating apps had never appealed, mainly because Nate wasn’t generally interested in hooking up, but Del had assured him he knew a number of people who had found a long-term match that way. Maybe Nate could locate someone who was bored on his lunch hour and wanted a cup of coffee and some casual conversation. He was about to open an app when a shadow fell across him. He looked up, shielding his eyes. A well-dressed man carrying a briefcase was on his way up the steps.

Their eyes met, and recognition struck both of them almost simultaneously—Nate saw his own realization reflected in the other man’s face. His mouth dropped open, and he scrambled to stand up.

“Nate?” The man gaped at him. “Nate Kingsley?”

“R-Rocco Alessi,” Nate answered.

His heart sped up at the sight of his high school boyfriend. Rocco at twenty-four was even more strikingly handsome than Nate had remembered him at eighteen. A tsunami of memories, good and bad, hit him. Rocco had been his first everything—first official boyfriend, first sex, first “I love you,” first person to smash his heart into smithereens. Even now, years later, he had the ability to turn Nate into a pile of awestruck goo with a single glance while simultaneously causing him to ache with dashed hope.

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 just sent my two off for their first day of school, grades 6 and 8. Both of them are excited and nervous but ready to get started. I can’t wait to hear how it all went when they get home. Meanwhile, this is the longest stretch of uninterrupted work I’ve ever had. My day now starts at 7:15 when the kids leave, and I have until 1:30 when I take the dog for a walk before the kids arrive home. It’s strange and wonderful all at once.

On to the WIPpet. I’ll bet you’d all like to go check in on Nate and see what he’s up to. In Anthem, Nate made some poor choices which affected his relationship with his best friend. Here, in Nightsong, he’s somewhere between “still being an ass” and “doing penance for his sins.”

WIPmath: Very simple; 7 sentences for the 7th

On the commuter rail, Nate answered his cell phone halfway through his “You Draw Me In” ringtone. That was the song which had caused all the trouble—Trevor’s Christian radio hit which was actually about the time Trevor sucked off his boyfriend in a bar bathroom. It was probably in poor taste to use it as Trevor’s ring, given the fact that it was Nate’s fault Trevor’s life had gone sideways over the summer. Outing Trevor during the furor over the song hadn’t been Nate’s best move. Using it as his ringtone was his way of constantly reminding himself not to create drama anywhere but on stage if he wanted to keep his friendships intact. Trevor didn’t know he was using it, seeing as he didn’t call Nate while in his presence. What he wasn’t aware of wouldn’t hurt him.

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! 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!