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Koffee's NaNo! I
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Koffee's NaNo! I
Koffee's NaNo! I understand if you want to shorten it a bit Admins. I won't post all of it right now, just the first chapter or so:
((From Amy's pov)):
Before dancing, my life seemed so bleak. Looking back on it now, it’s just a blurry mess of shapes scattered about the drab canvas of my life. After my first dance lesson, I began to feel again. But this time, I almost felt too strongly. Mother was so sure that she would make an actor out of me, and was none too happy when her little girl began cutting drama class to dance alone in the empty studio. Standing on the steps of Juilliard, I long for those blissful hours before the mirror. I long for myself. My father left me when I was thirteen, and I believe that’s what pushed me over the edge. Before he was gone, I could never do anything right. If I avoided my acting lessons, I wasn’t good enough; if I threw myself into them, I needed to make time for other things. These things combined into the deadly cocktail that eventually transformed into anorexia at the age of fifteen. It was downhill from there. I started dancing when I was twelve, and it was my first love. I’d always felt an obligation to acting. To carry my mother’s burden on my shoulders. She’d always wanted to be an actress, and assumed that I wanted the same. I didn’t know how to love anything, so I told myself that I loved acting. That was the first time that I lied to myself. Eventually I learned how to be charismatic and charming. I learned how to hide my grief. I got so good at it that people started interpreting me as “bubbly” or “sweet”. I could never bring myself to show them how wrong they were. I left home when I was seventeen. I wasn’t sorry. That was a year ago, yet it seemed like yesterday. I could still taste the words on my tongue of the fights I’d had with Mother. I could still feel her hand across my face when she slapped me. I’d managed to scrape by, on odd jobs and fast-food swing shifts. I’d been biding my time, waiting for the moment. My only hope of getting into Juilliard was by scholarship. So I danced every day. After work, I danced. When I woke up in the morning, I danced. No friends, no life, no other purpose. It was just me and the dance, inside each other. And then the day came. The audition day. And while I was pulled along in the crowd of students, through the doors of the school, it felt like home. The front hallway was crowded with people, and I look around for a place to sit. I spy a tall girl with dark hair sitting with her head between her knees. I walk over, trying to look charming. I needn’t have worried. My charming self fits like a second skin now. I walk up beside her and smile. “Um, are you okay?” She looks up quickly, a blush rising to her tanned cheeks. “Oh, yes, thank you.” She’s embarrassed, and I’m suddenly self-conscious. I wish that I’d gone to sit with someone else. And that feeling of not belonging claws its way back into my stomach. But I’m Amy. Charismatic, sweet Amy, that’s not haunted by anorexia and a startling lack of self-confidence. So I sit down next to her, still smiling my good-girl smile. “What are you auditioning for?” She looks up, surprised that I’m still here. “Oh, um, dance. Ballet,” she adds with a flutter of a smile, “And you? Singing? Acting?” I see her looking at my small form, assuming that I wasn’t strong enough to dance. My anger flares inside of me before I can stop it. My perfect mask forms a long, harsh crack. “No, I’m a dancer, despite a seemingly popular objection from all my peers.” I’m sarcastic now. That’s not good. Amy is not sarcastic. Amy is sweet and doesn’t get offended. Sometimes I wish that I didn’t have to live up to the charming Amy. Sometimes I wish I could just be me; with a flaring temper and pain inside. It’s like I’m two different people sometimes. I’m always comparing myself to the perfect Amy. The Amy that everyone else sees. The girl is taken aback my abruptness, so I put my charming face back on, “Sorry, I’m just a little sensitive about it, that’s all.” It’s a weak excuse, I know it is, but the girl accepts it and holds out her hand. “I’m Chelsea,” she smiles, “Sorry….sorry about what I said earlier. I come on strong.” She has a nice smile, the kind that you practice in front of the mirror for hours, but still can’t get right. “No worries,” I say, “My name’s Amy.” We shake hands. An awkward silence falls, but I do my best not to seem bothered by it. It’s going to be harder to act perfect as Juilliard. Who knew that masquerading as precision could be so difficult? I glance down at my favorite dancing outfit, hoping that I don’t look horrible in it. Scolding myself, I turn my mind to something other than the Dark Years. That’s what I’d taken to referring to them as. The Dark Years. It seemed to fit, summing up everything; my Father leaving, me falling into anorexia, the constant push from my mother to be better than I could… Stop it, I rebuke myself. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and focus on today! I turn back to look at Chelsea, who looks near fainting. I think of how she had her head between her knees earlier, and hope I’m not keeping her from admitting dizziness. I’m about to make an excuse to go to the bathroom or something, when they call up the next group. We both stand up, and I smile at her again, cocking my eyebrows. Mother once told me that my eyebrows were almost a trademark of mine. She’d said she wouldn’t recognize me without my waggling eyebrows. How I longed for that Mother. The one that told me things like that. Before I’d started cutting class to go to the dance studio. I walk next to Chelsea’s side, and ogle at how tall she is. I’d always been raised to believe that dancers needed to be short. But Chelsea, Chelsea was something different. She walked with an air of grace, all long legs and pointed toes. She walked to the beat of a music I could not hear. She wasn’t a dancer; she was the dance itself, without even dancing. And while I watched her walk towards the imposing doors, I wondered who this girl was, and how she knew Dance like a friend.
Thoughts? I'll post some from Chelsea's pov later :D
submitted by Koffee
(November 2, 2009 - 11:52 pm)
(November 2, 2009 - 11:52 pm)
yes more! Don't leave us hanging! I just have one question..how old is Amy and Chelsea? Were waiting for mooore! :)
(December 1, 2009 - 11:24 am)
More, please. I've been reading this silently from November fourth, not being able to tell you how much I like it with words. Please, more? Please?
(December 8, 2009 - 6:57 pm)
Yes please can you post more!!! Please! Please! *gets down on hands and knees and begs*
(December 11, 2009 - 10:09 pm)
Don't you mean, "We're waiting"?
(December 12, 2009 - 3:31 pm)
'kay here's some more, still from Amy's point of view. These scenes are some of the really bad ones. Like, they're not edited at all and the writing quality is horrible. So please be gentle :D :
It’s nearly one in the morning before we go to bed that night. Tanya is unexpectedly good, and by the end of the night she’s dancing well, if a bit worn out. Eventually we both fall asleep sprawled out in the middle of her floor, fast music still blasting. Lord only knows how the neighbors slept through it. Tanya wakes up first, gently shaking me awake. “Ready to get your tummy pinched?” I’m still groggy from sleep, so I roll over, curling into a tighter ball on the floor. “What time is it? And what are you talking about?” I can hear her chuckling behind me. “Don’t you remember, silly? We’re getting our belly buttons pierced today! And it’s almost noon. So get up!” she pushes me over until I’m facing her again. I scrunch my eyes closed tighter against the light of the room. “I don’t have any money! How am I supposed to pay for it?” I’m slurring the words together, my voice made deep by sleep. “It can’t be that expensive. And I can pay for yours.” This jerks me awake so quickly that I’m standing over her in a second, my hands on my hips, trying to lean over her, but not succeeding because of my height. “No! You’re already being too generous, Tanya! I’m not going to ask you to give me something that I don’t need at this point.” “Deal with it, Amy. I’m already giving you food, clothes, and a place to stay. Sure it’s going to stretch my funds a lot, but seeing as how I’m already doing all that, why shouldn’t we splurge on something like this? It’s not going a make a difference of how much I’m already giving you.” This forces me into a rather abrupt silence. For almost the first time, I realize the situation I’m in. I’m living at a stranger’s house, eating their food, and wearing their clothes and otherwise being an extreme nuisance. And I never really stopped to think about what this would mean for Tanya. I hang my head a little, dropping down to sit cross-legged across from her. “I’m sorry. And, and I’m sorry that I ever met Liam on the subway and came here to give you all this trouble. I guess I should probably be going now.” And with that I stand up, padding towards the front door in my bare feet. I scoop my clothes off the couch as I go. “Amy, you aren’t going anywhere and we both know it. We’re stuck with each other now. It’s not as if I’m going to kick you out on the street like this. Maybe I’ll come to regret the day that Liam saw you, but there’s no going back now.” I breathe in deeply and hold it for a moment, trying to reason with myself. The logical side of me wins over, so I don’t go marching out into the freezing cold in a stranger’s pajamas and my bare feet. “Come on, go get dressed,” Tanya urges gently. “We’ll go out on the town. We can go window shopping and get our belly buttons pierced. There’s a dance shop down on 5th Avenue. You might have seen it on your walk here.” She looks at me in that motherly way again. She holds out her hand towards me, “Come on, I can show you my clothes. Some of them might not fit you, but I’m only a couple inches taller. We can fix you up to look really nice.” I let her lead me back to her room to look through her clothes. Not an hour later, I’m feeling gorgeous as I walk down the sidewalk side by side with Tanya. Until I do a face-plant off of the heels I’m wearing, but I’m feeling so good that nothing can bring me down, not even a mouthful of dirty, slushy snow.
I’m dressed in dark wash jeans and funky leather boots. My top half wears a stylish jacket and a graphic tee. Tanya had done my eyes up in a smoky effect, and my head sported a neat, cute little black hat. My hair was still wavy from the braids the night before, and now it’s in two little pigtails that stick out from under the cap. Tanya is, if anything, even more stunning than me. She takes it all in stride, though, her ease and coolness fitting with her trendiness better than my wobbly unsureness. Her outfit seems ever-changing; I feel that every time I look at it I notice something different. Though she’s dressed a bit more eccentrically than me, it fits her. She’s sporting violently ripped jeans that have green leggings beneath. On anyone else, this would have looked like a circus clown, but somehow Tanya managed to pull it off. Besides the leggings, she dressed similar to me, with a stocking beret over her hair that’s adorned with so many buttons it’s a wonder it doesn’t fall straight off her head. We’re nearly to the shop when it starts raining. I laugh and tip my head back, letting the rain run into my eyes. I execute a single twirl and leap, and Tanya watches with a mild curiosity. After a few moments, I’m done, and I settle back to walk with Tanya. She unfolds an umbrella from her bag, but I don’t walk under it next to her. We walk back the way that Liam had taken me the night before, and soon the dance shop comes into view. I’m like a child again, getting so excited to be going out with a friend for the first time in a long while. A few moments later I’ve shed my jacket and boots, and am sliding my feet into a pair of silver Pointe shoes. And seriously am wishing that I hadn’t left all my money in that dance studio. It’s whilst wishing for these silver Pointe shoes that I’m hit by a palpably obvious thing. It’s not as if they’d have stolen my money and iPod and shoes, is it? They’ve probably got them in the lost and found or still in the dance studio. Or Chelsea or Josh has them, if either of them made it in. Standing up, I quickly slip back on my coat and boots, hurrying out of the shop with such urgency that when Tanya catches up to me, she has a concerned look on her face. “What is it?” she’s matching my hurried strides with ease, worry creasing her perfect brow. “I’m so stupid! I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this! They probably have my stuff back at Juilliard! You wouldn’t mind paying for the subway fare, would you? I have some money saved up that was in my bag. I can pay you with some of it. It should be enough for a while, I hope. And besides, I’ve got to have those Pointe shoes!” Tanya’s laughing by the time I’m finished. I realize that she’s never seen me like this; she’s only seen the weak and broken Amy, not in-your-face, all-business Amy. “Wow, you certainly don’t waste time when you set your mind to something!” But I see her buckle down as she walks next to me, with just as much of a purpose as I’m walking with. For a girl almost as short as I am, she makes amazing time, and soon I’m almost out of breathe trying to keep up with her quick strides. We reach the station in record time. And there’s a surprise waiting for me, sitting on the bench right inside the doorway, glancing over a newspaper. I call out, my voice echoing over the tiles of the station. I narrowly avoid doing another face-plant as I run over, calling out to Josh. “Amy!” he looks up from the newspaper. “What are you doing here? I figured you’d flown back to Chicago!” He stands up and we hug awkwardly. We never did really know each other very well. “No, I’m staying with Tanya. She’s… well, it’s a long story. Ride the subway with us and we’ll explain.” He boards the subway with us, discarding the newspaper into a trashcan as he walks by. When we’re seated on the train he turns to us, quizzical look on his smiling face. I remember how he and Liam have the same smile. It’s a good smile. “So?” he queries, and I realize I haven’t explained anything yet. So I do. When I forget little bits, Tanya keys me in. It’s amazing how much she remembers. And I tell Josh everything. About my life, about how Brandy’s face transformed before I punched her. He’s a good listener, nodding and saying ‘oh really?’ and ‘wow’ at all the right times. A thought hits me when I finish. Since he’s here, that means… “Oh Josh! Did you make it in? After I left?” his face tells me all I need to know. And my heart falls down through the floor of the train to be crushed by the wheels below. A tad dramatic, I know, but it so strongly illustrates the loss of that day. How it’s a life or death situation. “Oh, I’m sorry…” my voice fades at the end. But Josh shrugs it off. “It’s not any big deal. I don’t care about these things as much as you do, Amy. I’m signed on with a dance company already. Juilliard was just a hopeful thing. A stab in the dark. I knew that I probably wouldn’t make it, but I thought that if that company wanted me, maybe Juilliard would. But I didn’t pin all my hopes and dreams on it, like you and Chelsea do. But I figured I’d just go for it, and if I made it in, whoo-hoo! If not, keep on going.” I’m in awe of his indifference. Of course, it’s probably pretty easy to be indifferent when you have a secure job and a place to sleep at night. But this isn’t the time to be angry. So instead of making a comment that will make him stutter, and apologize and look for the right words, I smile and nod, being the supportive friend that Amy should be. “How about Chelsea?” I say when he’s done. “Did she make it in? Or did the vulture woman crush her spirit as well?” He actually laughs out loud at this, which surprises me. “No, Chelsea made it in, even after that Brandy gave her troubles,” He smiles that crumply smile again, but I’m not looking at Josh anymore. I’m looking out of the window into the blackness of the tunnel, and thinking about how much I love the subway.
(December 13, 2009 - 11:11 am)
This. Is. So. GREAT!!!!!
(December 21, 2009 - 5:58 pm)
AH!! I just read the rest of it and I want MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My GOSH! This is SO GOOD!!!!! More more MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I want you to publish this so I can buy it and show it to all of my friends!!!!!!!! The characters are so believable, so deep. It's really spectacular!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Don't stop!
*repeats 'MORE' a bazillion times*
please!
(December 24, 2009 - 3:58 pm)
Hey my birthday!
GAH! I want more! Please hurry up and get it on here!!!!!!! I'm dying of suspense!!!!!!!!!!!!
(December 24, 2009 - 3:59 pm)
Er, I only read the first post, but Koffee, that is amazing. Now I see why I don't win contests. You are a true writer.
(December 24, 2009 - 2:52 pm)
*blushes* Thank you :D Here's a bit more. I'm hesitant to post too much for fear of copyright....hm. I'll post the prologue. I added that after i was done. and the epilogue. but I don't really want to post any more in the middle...
Prologue:
The girl’s spirit is easy to break. She crumples on the floor before the man while he screams in rage, veins popping in his forehead and ears turning red with the effort. She clutches her concave stomach, curling her too-thin legs into her body as she waits for him to hurt her. Spittle sprays out in front of his mouth while he yells, and he kicks her squarely in the back. She makes a noise like an injured dog. The tall man turns and disappears out the door. A woman stands in the corner, pressed up against a kitchen counter. She does not move to help the girl. Instead, she scurries over to the doorway, calling out, begging the man to come back. The man will not come back. He will not come back that night, or even that week. They will never see the man again. The girl crumpled on the floor, silent tears streaming down her cheeks and reddening her eyes, couldn’t care less. That girl is Amy Emerson, and within an hour, she’ll be sneaking into an old dance studio to get away from her mother. Her mother, who will never forgive her for not being perfect. Two years later, that girl will stop eating. But she’ll never stop dancing alone in the studio that’s right on the edge of her broken town in Chicago, Illinois.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Many miles away in a rather fancy home in New York, right next to the big city itself, Chelsea Miller gets home from ballet practice. She has nice new Pointe shoes, and her mother drives her to dance every night. Both her parents are doctors, and Chelsea can’t imagine a life other than this. She is twelve years old, at the time, and she doesn’t know there are people that live like Amy Emerson. She doesn’t have to worry about her future; her parents will back her all the way. She doesn’t know about the pain in the world, or the hurting and suffering. Amy learned this long ago. The two girls’ paths will cross someday, when both are wiser to the world. It will open both of their eyes. But for now, Amy continues dancing in that old studio, and Chelsea will remain in her perfect home, with her perfect life, never knowing a single person could hold as much pain as Amy does.
And Epilogue...
A few years later, Amy Emerson and Chelsea Miller will meet again on Broadway. They’ll find their old friend, Josh Whitman, and don’t lose touch this time. Tanya and Liam will come to watch Amy. The five become close friends, and there’s a startling lack of romance in their mix. Chelsea never does see Reese again. Or Adelphi, Prosper and Adriell for that matter.
When she’s twenty-five, Chelsea marries a high-class business man, and she moves back to the town where she used to live. She has a fancy house, similar to her parents’ and slowly falls out of touch with Amy and Josh. She never really did like Tanya.
Liam finds another girl a few years later, but he’ll always love Amy. He winds up going to Harvard University and graduating with a degree in economics. He’ll have a nice job and family, someday. He still visits Tanya regularly.
Tanya gets her degree in engineering, and gets a well-paying job. She remains single, but she does that on purpose. She doesn’t want to be tied down by some boy. She’s waiting for the summer so she can show off her belly button stud.
Josh stays with his dance company and has a decent life that suits him just fine. He’ll marry a singer a few years later. He tries to keep in touch with everyone, but soon their lives drag them all separate ways.
Amy will become an almost permanent fixture on the Broadway stage, usually playing small, supporting roles, but occasionally getting lucky and having a big role. She calls her mother eventually, assuring her that she’s all right. She doesn’t give specifics towards her new life. She doesn’t marry, and might not ever. But for now, she is content in her life. Though she stops hating, she doesn’t love either. She loves nothing and no one except for her dance. And she will never stop dancing in the rain.
Whaddya guys think? A few things in the epilogue won't make sense unless you've read the whole thing, but..
(December 25, 2009 - 2:04 am)
I'm so sad to think I'll not get to read the rest! Sad too, that if you ever publish, I know the end. I hoped she would learn to love, preferably Liam, but this is good too. I'm glad she calls her mom. :) Too bad she and Chelsea lose touch, I think they were good for each other, little though I know about them.
So, I have a question. When you write, do you have the plot all planned out beforehand, or do you let your story lead you? Because whenever I write, I try to follow a plot, and generally drift off of it as my story decides its own course, but often that makes it dull and unrealistic. Any tips?
(December 28, 2009 - 2:07 am)
The way that I think of it, I'm not making up the story, but putting it into words that the rest of the world can understand. I don't usually map things out before I write, but I made an exception with nanowrimo, because I didn't want to write myself into a corner. My best advice would be to keep your outlines highly vague, only noting really important things that need to happen in the story. It will surprise you by making these things happen in ways that you never would have thought. Another thing: don't think. I wind up reading everything I've written, because I just sort of get into a trance, and am not fully aware of what I'm writing down. I just see pictures in my head, like a movie almost. i hope I don't sound really stuck up, these are just some of the things that help me write, I don't know how they'll work out for you. And I'm quite honored that you mistook this for a book :D
(December 29, 2009 - 8:38 pm)
No no, not at all stuck up! I do some of the same things.... Thank you very much for the tips. I think they might help. But see, my stories tend to have minds of their own. I'll be heading in one direction, typing away as fast as my fingers can carry me, and I'll go back and reread to see how it flows, and realize, it's going in the opposite direction I planned! It never seems to turn out bad that way, but then, after a while, I tend to work myself into a corner, as you said. Perhaps I'm just not looking hard enough. Possibly, there's still an angle I didn't go, and I can back out of the corner onto a whole new level, but until I find that angle I'm usually stuck.
I once wrote a story (the only story that I liked that I actually finished), and what happened was, I think my family was watching a Harry Potter movie, it may have been the fourth, and I was too scared to watch it until they had, so they could tell me if there was anything nasty, so I sat down at the computer, where I could still see the TV clearly if the desire came to watch the movie, and I just typed. I wasn't even aware of what I was writing. I just spent the whole movie typing, and I wasn't even a fast typer back then, I hardly even used the computer! And it turned out pretty darn great!
Somehow I do tend to be able to work in some major details, but often I have to come up with NEW major details.... I'm working on this story right now, and the inspiration I had was from this amazing abandoned house up in Sonoma. I planned and plotted this book for months, I even had the ending almost worked out, but as soon as I started typing, it began to drift away, and now, I don't know if the character will even walk past an abandoned house. I'm beginning to think I need to make another story, if my fingers will let me, just to get the one I originally planned, out on 'paper'.
Again, thank you so much for the advice! *blushes* I thought it should be a book.............
(January 9, 2010 - 1:10 pm)
Oh Koffee, I just said to my brother, I keep wanting to read the really good book I'm reading, but then I remember it's Koffee's REALLY GOOD NaNoWriMo posts!!!!!!!! GAH! You GOTTA POST MORE!!!!!!!!!
(December 24, 2009 - 6:16 pm)
*Randomness* I tried a ballet class when I was 8. I hated it. Ballet is like torture to me. Awesome story!
(December 27, 2009 - 9:42 pm)