2019 Writing Goals.

 

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I don’t like the title of this post, but I am going to keep it anyway. Goals. Goals. Goals.

Goals are important and should be taken seriously. My problem is I’m an optimist until things don’t go my way, then pessimism doesn’t even begin to describe it. I create these goals and abandon them at the first sign of difficulty.

I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was 16 years old, but other than some articles in my school paper over a year ago, I haven’t posted anything. Sure I’ve written. I have stories saved from ten years ago, but I think I’ve reached that point in my life where it’s time write, and more importantly publish. This isn’t to say I will post every single thing I write, but I’d like to commit to a piece a week, postd here, amongst other places.

The chances of making it as a full time fiction writer is slim, but you don’t know if you don’t try.

My plan for today is to read through content I have, do some research and start posting here more regulalry, including my fiction. This starts now, or its just another blog piece about what I want to do, instead of taking the action to do it.

 


Black. Darkness. I’m laying in bed with my eyes closed. I feel anxious, as if there’s a huge weight sitting on my chest. I am coming to consciousness but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to open my eyes just yet. I’m not a fan of this throbbing in my head. I’m thirsty. Or maybe hungry. I feel completely and utterly hungover. What did I drink? When did I drink? Water. I tell myself it’s what I need. My body aches too. This feels like some sort of drug withdrawal (lord knows I’ve been through enough of those)  But I’m starving. This is new.
Laying on my stomach, I move my hand that had been resting awkwardly at my side. I waited for the wincing pain from staying in the same position for too long, but it never came. The body aches persisted, though. As my hand moved up the bed I felt the silk sheets I laid upon. On top of them and the bottom half of my body, there was a different texture. Wool? This wasn’t mine.
My eyelids felt weighed down, a feeling I was familiar with. The amount of drug benders I’d gone on in my life was not something I was proud of. But, it wasn’t something I cared about either way. I smelled sage. If it wasn’t my favorite scent, I might find it overbearing. There was a hint of lavender in the air, almost completely masked by the sage, but I loved the combination.
I forced my eyes opened and they burned. It was pitch black and I couldn’t see a thing. I continued to run my hand up the silk sheets I laid on. I rolled over onto my back. Oddly, it seemed effortless, which was unexpected. What happened next shocked and surprised me, and while it was convenient, it was absolutely unexpected. My eyes began to adjust to the darkness. I still knew it was pitch black, but I could see what was around me. This was when I realized I could hear everything. It was raining, but it wasn’t the rain hitting the ground that I heard. It was raindrops sliding down the window. I heard the wind whistle over the storm. I’d never experienced this before either.
This was strange. Up to this point, nothing surprised me as much as when I saw the figure sitting on the other side of the bed. It startled me and I sat up quickly. Instinctively, I reached for my glasses. Then I remembered two things: I had no idea where I was, so I was reaching for nothing, and oddly enough, I didn’t need my glasses. What the fuck? I’d worn glasses since I was five years old and I didn’t need them.
I saw now the figure was a woman. She stood swiftly with no effort. “Don’t be afraid. Take a moment to adjust and I’ll return momentarily.” She opened the double doors to the room and let herself out. I felt like I was in a room from an old movie. It was huge. From the looks of it, the bed being the dead giveaway, I was in a bedroom. But this was no ordinary bedroom, at least not as far as I was concerned. My eyes had fully adjusted to the room now. The bed I sat upon was like two king size beds put together. The bedding was dark, black from what I could tell. I once again ran my hand over the silk sheets. They were the nicest I’d ever slept in. The comforter was the heaviest I’d ever slept with. I really could have used this the nights I had to sleep on the streets. The bottom was lined with black wool, and the top was suede. I laid my head back down on the many pillows that lined the head of the bed behind me. I gripped the comforter and pulled it over my body until it rested just below my neck. The weight of it was comforting. This must be how dogs felt under weighted blankets. I was calm as ever even though I had no idea what was going on. The mattress laid on a canopy bed frame. There were four bed posts, one at each corner. They were made of wood and had the most intricate details carved into them.
Across from the foot of the bed on the other side of the room was a fire place. Just off to it’s side was a perfectly embroidered couch and a matching chair. The table  that sat between them was made of a dark wood, and it’s carvings seemed to match that of the bed. Between the edge of the bed and the cozy fireplace and furniture was a ridiculous amount of space, filled only with a ridiculously large area rug. It was a perfect shade of maroon with gold embellishments  to match the fringe. I had clearly fallen into the victorian era.
This bedroom alone was as big as the halfway house I always ended up in after rehab. I still had no idea where I was,  but I didn’t care either. This was the most comfortable I’d ever been in my life, other than the headache and burning sensation that persisted in my throat.
WATER. I thought to myself again. I looked to the right and aligned with the headboard was a nightstand. To my delight, there was an empty cup and a clear pitcher filled with water. I immediately scooted myself towards it, making sure I didn’t come out from under the blanket. I had no desire to do such a thing. I poured the cup to the brim before setting the pitcher back down. The wood of the nightstand, along with its carvings matched the bed posts, the table, the mantle, and even the bookshelf on the opposite side of the bed. I lifted the cup to my lips and in that moment I knew this wasn’t water. This was vodka, a liquid I’d become quite well acquainted with over the years. As much as I wanted water right now, I didn’t care. I tilted my head back, opened up my throat, and poured the vodka in.
I expected it to burn. Surprisingly it didn’t, which I was thankful for seeing as how I felt like I already held a fireball in my throat, ready to combust as soon as I opened my mouth to speak. The vodka warmed my belly, and the burning decreased by about half. I didn’t feel so hungry or thirsty. I couldn’t explain why, but I didn’t care to. I refilled the glass and drank.  
Looking to the nightstand I knew I must be dreaming. This was by far the best dream I’d ever had and I had no intention of waking up anytime soon.. Next to the pitcher laid a crystal point. It had a hole in one end, and on the top it indented into a bowl. It was filled with a green herb, ground to perfection. A book of matches lay waiting. The front of the book held a quotation.
I want you to believe…
To believe in things you cannot.
How peculiar. I shrugged, opened the book and lit a match with the pipe in my other hand. I inhaled deeply, exhaled in a sigh of a relief.
Lining the left side of the room were curtains. They’d not been pulled up, but seemed to cover glass pane windows. Each panel formed a smile at the bottom, almost touching the floor. A goldl rope with fringe that matched the carpet hung on the right and left sides of them. My eyes met the fireplace once again. I noticed the burning sage, and what could only be lavender. The rain continued to fall outside, and I was relaxed.
The double doors to the bedroom opened and the woman I’d seen earlier walked in. I sat up in bed once again. This time around, I wasn’t afraid. She was beautiful. Her hair was a natural red like mine. By the looks of it, the length was about the same. Hers had to have been a little longer though. Most of it hung down her back, but some laid loosely over her breasts. It fell in perfect ringlets. She was of average height. Her outfit is what blew me away the most. Her white top fell loosely over her arms and the long sleeves cuffed her her wrists. It hugged her chest and the corset she wore over the top left almost nothing to the imagination. The corset was red and barely covered the top of her pants. They were skintight and hugged her ass. She wore boots that reached her mid thigh and donned a heel at least five inches tall. Her face was pale with a subtle pink flesh at her cheeks. Her lips were red as a rose and her eyes matched. I was absolutely certain at this point I was dreaming and standing before me was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I kept searching for a flaw but failed to find one. In her hand she held two glasses filled with a deep red wine. Wine had never been my thing, but I wasn’t about to tell this woman no. In fact, I’d do whatever she wanted. I was now on a mission to make this the best wet dream of my life.
“I’m Evangeline. You must be Kai.” I couldn’t remember my name so I simply nodded. “You must be feeling awful.” She walked along the foot of the bed and then up the side towards me. “Here. Drink this. You’ll feel much better.”
She handed me the cup and my throat began to burn again. The cup touched my lips and something came over me. I began to drink. I was ravenous. This time I didn’t pour the liquid down my gullet. I wanted to savor every drop. Evangeline drank from her goblet as I drank from mine. Whatever this was, it was good. It was warm, almost hot in fact. It soothed the burning in my throat and my headache vanished in the blink of an eye.
The cup was empty far too soon. I felt my heart quite literally stop, followed by an excruciating piercing pain in my mouth. I felt my consciousness fading. Evangeline ran her finger down my face. I remember feeling just how sharp her nail was, and then the darkness returned.

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Krissi Mae is a 30 year old writer & Creative Writing Major residing in Arizona. She identified her love of reading at a young age with The Frog and the Toad & Goosebumps, followed by R.L. Stines Fear Street series, and of course Harry Potter. Though she knew she wanted to be a writer from a young age, she didn't pursue it out of fear it wouldn't bring her financial stability. After losing her father in early 2018, she realized the importance of following her heart. She now lives in happiness with her best friend and fiancé.

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