NaNoWriMo, Writing Stuff

NaNoWriMo Workshop – Find, and Flush Out, an Idea

This post was originally published on Write Anything, October 18, 2008.

Welcome to Write Anything’s NaNoWriMo workshops! We’re taking this opportunity to help you prepare for NaNoWriMo next month. Please keep in mind, we’re not experts, we are simply writers who are sharing ideas. What works for me, may not work for you. BUT, it might give you an idea of where to start with your own writing. If you have your own tips or ideas you would like to share with the “class” (the Internet is a BIG class!), then by all means, comment. We love comments. 🙂

First things first, in order to write a story, you need an idea.

Of course, finding this great idea is easier said than done.

In fact, let’s not even call it a GREAT idea at all. Let’s simply look for an idea – if you put too much pressure on yourself, to find that all-elusive idea that is going to catapult you into being the next great American novelist, then you’ll likely put too much pressure on yourself and not settle on any one idea at all.

The greatest source of ideas for fiction is experience. It doesn’t even have to be your experience, the experience can belong to someone else; you can observe someone else’s struggle and use it for a story.

Don’t have a story idea? Karen Wiesner, the author of First Draft in 30 Days suggests you try brainstorming.

Constant brainstorming, or brewing (think coffeepot), is the most important part of writing an outline or a book. No writing system, technique, or tool will work for you … if you’re not brainstorming constantly during a project. You must brainstorm from the beginning of a project – before you even write a word of it – through the outlining, the writing, and the final edit and polish.

I firmly believe that creative writing is 75 percent brewing, 25 percent actual writing. Some writers are mentally involved with their stories that brainstorming takes the form of “mini-movies” reeling through their heads.

Or in my case, my dreams.

Don’t try to rein in or discipline your brainstorming – no matter how inconvenient it is. Brainstorming is what turns an average story into an extraordinary one.

Okay, so we need to keep our brains in permanent percolate mode. Let’s explore some ways to generate ideas:

  • Combine two story concepts – like Adam and Eve and Star Wars, for example.
  • Read the newspaper – take the event and weave a story around it. In the mood for a challenge? Open your story with that event and then write a story backward, to the beginning (like in the movie “Memento“).
  • Watch movies. Take a character from one movie and force him/her to interact with another character from a different movie. What sort of situation might arise by placing these very different characters in the same setting?
  • Take a story you really like – now tell it differently.
  • Take a story you really like – and write an alternate ending.
  • Look for controversial topics. Controversy gets noticed, and then more people read your writing. Find a new angle on some hot topic.
  • Generate a book title and then write a story based around that title. (This sometimes works for me).
  • Browse the odd news stories on Yahoo. (I often use this as a source for short stories. Seriously, there is nothing stranger than truth, seriously).
  • Draw on your childhood.
  • Look into the lives of your ancestors and tell their stories. Use your imagination and fill in the gaps.
  • Take a secondary character from a favorite story and write his/her story.

Now, let’s assume you have come up with an idea for your story. How can you flush it out?

Write a synopsis. Now I know this sounds strange, considering we usually think of writing a synopsis after our story is finished, but writing a synopsis before we write our story can actually help us mold our idea into something workable.

From the start, it is a good idea to keep a notebook next to the computer or have notepad open on the computer for planning purposes. The synopsis is usually written from the omniscient point of view and in present tense, but I like to write the pre-planned version of the story from any one of the characters point of view. Later, when it comes to writing the real synopsis, this point of view can be changed very easily. Source.

One of my favorite writing blogs, Paperback Writer, had this to say about synopsis:

With all due respect to the organic writers out there, I advocate writing the synopsis before writing one word of the novel. For me, it organizes my thoughts and reassures me on a couple of levels. I know if I can write an effective synopsis, I know the story inside and out.

I also use synopses for nailing down annoying/lengthy story ideas that won’t get out of my head. It helps get the pesky stuff that I don’t have time to write out of my head, and I always feel good dropping a full synopsis into the idea file.

Here are some links to help you get started on a synopsis:

Five Steps to Writing a Synopsis

Writing a Novel Synopsis

Still drawing a blank? Here are some writing exercises that may help jump-start your creative idea juices.

  • Two or three pages. Write down your first three memories. Can you make a story out of any of them? Try.
  • Two to three pages. Write down the first dreams you remember. Don’t mention that they are dreams.
  • Recall a physical or verbal fight, and construct it as one scene.
  • Two to three pages. Think about an incident that you avoid remembering – or can’t clearly remember – and write about it.
  • Write about a moment of terror you experienced, or about a blow to your pride.
  • Two to three pages. Write “My mother never … ” at the of a page, then complete the sentence and keep going.
  • Read Bible stories. Can you make variations?
  • Do historical events intrigue you? Do you keep wondering how things really happened? Write one to two pages.
  • Two to three pages. Imagine some event that could have happened to you but did not – something that you wanted or feared.

Well, what are you waiting for? Brainstorm! 🙂

Did you write a blog entry about finding ideas or writing a synopsis? Leave us a link in the comment section!

Next: Setting

NaNoWriMo, Writing Stuff

NaNoWriMo 2008 WINNER!

youwon

From the NaNoWriMo website:

Through storm and sun (and cold, crappy weather like today), you traversed the noveling seas. Pitted against a merciless deadline and fighting hordes of distractions (like website updates, family obligations and intestinal problems), you persevered. You launched yourself bravely into Week One, sailed through the churning waters of Week Two, skirted the mutinous shoals of Weeks Three and Four, and now have landed, victorious, in a place that few adventurers ever see. (But should! Come on writers! Focus!)

We congratulate you on your hard work, salute your discipline and follow-through, and celebrate your imagination.

You did something amazing this month, novelist. We couldn’t be prouder.

*blush* Why thank you.

Here’s a stupid short video that I shot at the university library today, shortly after I crossed that 50,000 word line. If you think I look tired, you’d be right. 🙂

(The sound is pretty crappy, so you might want to turn your sound up. Thank you!)

Can you imagine a world WITHOUT the National Novel Writing Month challenge??

I can’t. And I hope I never have to. Won’t you please consider donating? I know times are tough, but this challenge is one of the most amazing experiences out there and all for FREE! If NaNoWriMo blessed you, then please, consider donating and help them continue their writing goodness. 🙂

please_donate

NaNoWriMo

Reality Check – Last Excerpt

nanowrimoex-061

Here’s the last installment from my 2006 NaNoWriMo project.

I have comments turned off, not because I don’t want your feedback, but because I can’t afford to think about revising at this point – I hope you understand. 🙂

Please remember, this is straight from my rough draft – I’ve done virtually no editing. 🙂

Thanks for reading and KEEP WRITING!

_________________________

“Should I wait here, miss?” the cab driver asked her.

That was probably a good idea. She didn’t even know if she would be allowed into the house, let alone allowed to talk to Marcus. Perhaps coming hadn’t been the best thing to do.

“Actually, yes, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure if he’ll even see me so … if you don’t mind, could you stick around for about five minutes? I’ll come back out and pay you if it looks like I’ll be staying longer.”

“Right.” The cab driver put his car into park, turned off the engine and settled back into his seat. “Five minutes, miss.”

She opened the door and made to get out when suddenly a body shoved her back in, a male body.

“Hey!” She was shoved across the seat, her body pushed up against the opposite door.

Dalton shouted to the driver. “Drive!

“What?” The driver sat bolt upright and twisted around in his seat to give Dalton a wide, startled look.

“Drive!” Dalton glanced out of his window, a look of trepidation on his face.

“Wait, please,” Brenna placed a hand on the driver’s shoulder then turned to Dalton. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to Jackie.”

Brenna continued to glare at him.

“My sister?” he supplied, his brows lifted. “Marcus’ wife?”

“I know who Jackie is, Dalton! Now get out of my way! I need to talk to Marcus and you’re not stopping me this time.”

“I won’t have to,” he said, his eyes trained on a figure bursting out of the house. It was a woman, and she was carrying a shotgun.

“Get off my property, you little whore!” Jackie started across the front lawn, the gun dangling from her skinny arms.

“She wouldn’t seriously shoot me, would she?”

Dalton ignored her and spoke directly to the driver. “If you don’t want your head blown off, I suggest you MOVE!”

The cab driver took one look at the woman with the gun coming toward them and roared the engine to life. They were moving two seconds later.

Brenna turned around and watched the woman reach the curb. She steadied herself and took aim.

“She’s going to shoot us!” Brenna continued to stare at the woman through the back windshield. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A man was running toward Jackie. It looked like Marcus. It WAS Marcus. “There’s Marcus!”

Dalton slapped a hand on the back of her head and pushed her down to the seat. “You have a death wish, do you know that?”

The driver, panicked and not wanting to get shot, rounded the corner on two wheels, they were out of sight within seconds.

“If she had fired that gun, could I have had her arrested?”

Dalton sat back up and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Just what the HELL were you thinking?”

“I … I … needed to talk to Marcus,” she answered quietly, shrinking from Dalton’s anger.

“At his house? With his WIFE home? What did you expect to happen? That you could just waltz up to their house, ring the doorbell and say in that perky little voice of yours, ‘Hello. I’m Marcus’ mistress. I was wondering, is he here? I need to talk to him. I hope you don’t mind.’” He snorted. “Are you mental?”

“I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking that question to, Dalton.”

“I’m not playing games, Brenna. Jackie is my sister, and I love her, but she’s nuts. Always has been. She’s unstable under the best of conditions, she’s certainly not going to allow you to walk into her home and shut yourself off in a room with her husband just so you can get a few answers.”

“Uh … where to, lady?” the cab driver addressed the question to Brenna, but his eyes remained on Dalton through the rearview mirror.

“Back to the lady’s house,” Dalton growled

The cabbie’s question served to ground them both. Long moments passed with neither of them speaking.

“WHY don’t you want me to talk to Marcus?” She crossed her arms and turned in her seat to stare at him. “What exactly do you not want me to know? What is the big secret?”

“Believe me, I’d tell you if I could.”

“Why can’t you? I’m going crazy trying to piece this thing together on my own. It would be nice if you would meet me halfway here.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

Dalton waved a hand. “Your whole losing your memory thing.”

“I’m not made of glass, Dalton.”

He sighed. “Look. I realize this must be incredibly frustrating for you,” she snorted in response. He ignored her. “But you’re going to have to trust me on this. Dr. Connelly said you lost your memory because of something traumatic that happened to you. This is your body’s way of protecting itself. You’ll remember when you’re ready to remember. Talking to Marcus is not going to help you.”

“It would fill in some gaps.”

“It would hurt you,” he said softly.

“Why do you care? Wouldn’t it be better to make me remember? Then you would have the answers you need concerning the fire, you could get back to work, I could get on with my life, everyone’s happy.”

“It’s not that easy, Brenna.”

She felt like screaming. “It could be! Why do you feel like you have to protect me?”

He was silent for a long time. When she was sure he wasn’t going to answer her, she huffed out an irritated breath, moved closer to her side of the car and stared out of the window.

_______________________________

NaNoWriMo

Quick NaNoWriMo Update

I think I have discovered the secret to making me write:

1. Leave house

When I leave the house, I feel like writing is more like a job. I’m only away from my regular work for three hours but in that three hours, I can, and often do, produce 3,000 words before I completely go blank.

2. Write at the MSU library.

It’s stone quiet there and I can relax and get totally into my story without getting jerked out by distractions. LOVE IT!

I’m telling you folks, 2009 is going to be THE year I start submitting my work places. I’m really fired up to continue this frantic writing pace. I have plans to revise my 2007 NaNoWriMo project in December and try to make something of it and then in January, I’m going to write a series of short stories to submit to two literary magazines that I’ve had my eye on for a while.

Usually, by this time in November, I’m so brain dead from all the writing that I can’t wait to cross the 50,000 finish line. And then when I do, I’m so burned out I don’t want to THINK about writing for a few weeks.

This year has been different. I have just as much creative energy as I did at the beginning of the month and I can’t really pinpoint why. All I know is, something has shifted inside of me and I just feel ready to take my writing to the next step.

It’s an incredible feeling.

A question to other NaNoWriMo’s out there – how are you coming along with your projects? Are you going to make it 50,000 before midnight Sunday?

NaNoWriMo

Reality Check – Third Excerpt

nanowrimoex-061

Here’s another installment from my 2006 NaNoWriMo project.

I have comments turned off, not because I don’t want your feedback, but because I can’t afford to think about revising at this point – I hope you understand. 🙂

Please remember, this is straight from my rough draft – I’ve done virtually no editing. 🙂

Thanks for reading and KEEP WRITING!

________________________________

She sighed. “They were in a car accident.” She closed her eyes and relived the memory as she spoke. “It was late, around 1:00 in the morning, I believe. We were coming from dad’s retirement party. It had been great,” she turned and smiled at Dalton. “The associates at Liberty really went all out. They had rented a huge auditorium at the Plaza Hotel, champagne flowed, I remember there was a lot of laughter. Everyone had pitched in and bought him a really nice silver watch AND,” she held up two fingers, “two tickets for a Caribbean cruise.” She smiled at the memory. “They were so surprised! And very excited. My father was sort of a workaholic – he would never take vacations even though mom begged him to. This cruise would have been perfect for them.” Her face fell. “They never had a chance to go.” A white hot stab of grief sliced through her heart and tears began to pool in her eyes. “I … I had been following them. We were going back to their house to wind down and just … celebrate, as a family.” She sniffed, a lone tear followed the gentle swell of her cheek.

Dalton reached for a tissue and handed it to her. She took it and blew her nose.

“I saw it happen,” her voice was so low Dalton had to lean forward in order to hear her. “A drunk driver crossed the medium and hit them. The police told me he had to be going 80 or 90 miles per hour. My folks … never … had a … chance.”

She swallowed and continued softly, her voice breaking at irregular intervals. “I watched them die.” She lifted moist, glassy eyes to him. “I slammed on my brakes and almost rear-ended them. I swerved and ran off the road. I got out of my car so fast I tripped and twisted my ankle. But I didn’t notice. All I could do was pray that my parents were okay. That they somehow survived.” She crossed back over to the bar stools and sat down. She grabbed another tissue and blew her nose again.

There was a long pause. Brenna could hear the soft rustling of leaves outside, a distant police siren, the steady tick, tick, ticking of the wall clock. “I reached the car.” She breathed in deeply. She shredded the tissue as she spoke. She could see it all so clearly. It had happened right next to a streetlight. Her parents’ car was bathed in soft blue light. She approached the vehicle from the rear. It was in perfect condition. She had almost convinced herself it had all been a bad dream until she walked around to the passenger side door and saw the shattered windshield. She hadn’t wanted to look inside the car, but she had to. If she could somehow save her parents, she had to try.

“I yanked on the passenger door. I could see my mother. Her head was resting on the headrest. Her face …” she swallowed, “her face, neck and chest were covered in blood.” She sobbed, grabbed another tissue and buried her face in it.

Dalton clasped his hands between his legs, lowered his head and sighed. “I’m so sorry, Brenna.” He didn’t offer more. There was nothing he could say that would make her feel better.

She didn’t hear him. All she could see was her mother, lying prone on the seat, her beautiful lavender silk blouse soaked in blood. She wasn’t breathing.

“I knew she was dead,” she continued, her voice toneless, dead. “I ran to the driver’s side. I could see my father slumped over the steering wheel. His head was resting on his right hand, his left hand was on the dashboard, as if he were still bracing for impact. He wasn’t bleeding, at least on the outside,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “His eyelids fluttered. I think I screamed, ‘DAD!’ though I can’t be sure. All I remember was trying to frantically get his door open. It was crumbled inward. I pulled so hard I dislocated my right shoulder. But I didn’t know that until later.” She stated matter of factly.

“I opened the car door behind him and crawled into the back seat. I scrambled to reach him, desperate to save him.

“He was breathing, but only barely. I could hear a soft wheeze with each labored breath. I gently touched his shoulder as I leaned in between them.

‘Dad,’ I said. ‘Help is on the way. Hang on, please hang on.’ I couldn’t see his face very clearly, he had it turned toward the window, but I could hear something, a raspy whispering, as if he were trying to talk to me. I stopped breathing and listened.

‘Is she dead?’ I wasn’t sure what to tell him. My parents have always had a sixth sense when it came to each other. They were so in love you see,” she sputtered an exasperated, desperate chuckle. “I knew he would know if I lied. But I tried, I honestly tried.

‘I think she’s okay, unconscious, but okay.’ He didn’t believe me. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she.’ What could I say? So I said nothing. ‘You’re going to be okay, dad. Just please, hang on. Some other cars have stopped. I’m sure someone has called 911.’ I can’t be sure of this part,” she paused and tilted her head toward the ceiling as if studying the tiles would somehow confirm her doubts, “but I think he chuckled. ‘You could never lie to me, Bren. I know she’s gone. I can’t feel her presence anymore.’ He said. I began to cry. I couldn’t handle this, I couldn’t handle watching him die. I could hear sirens in the background, help was coming. ‘Dad, do you hear that? They’re coming, hang on. Please, dear God, don’t leave me.

I love you, Brenna’ he had said. And I knew. I knew as soon as he heard mom was dead he was going to give up. His soul mate, his lover, his best friend was gone. There was simply nothing left for him to live for. I stroked his hair. I kept talking to him. I kept fooling myself into thinking he was still breathing and trying to cling to life.

He was dead before the ambulance reached us.”

NaNoWriMo

Reality Check – Second Excerpt

nanowrimoex-061

Here’s another installment from my 2006 NaNoWriMo project.

I have comments turned off, not because I don’t want your feedback, but because I can’t afford to think about revising at this point – I hope you understand. 🙂

Please remember, this is straight from my rough draft – I’ve done virtually no editing. 🙂

Thanks for reading and KEEP WRITING!

________________________________

She slammed out of the car, entered the shop and stalked to the smiling, waiting girl behind the counter.

“I’d like a six-inch turkey and swiss on whole wheat bread please. A small amount of mayo, honey mustard, cucumbers, tomato and lettuce.”

The girl’s smile dropped at her clipped tone of voice “Of course.” She took out the bread, slapped on some turkey and swiss cheese and slid the sandwich down to the boy next to her.

Dalton walked up to the girl and smiled, silently apologizing to her for Brenna’s bad manners. The girl visibly relaxed and returned his smile.

Brenna rolled her eyes and watched the boy put the condiments on her sandwich. She wasn’t sure why she was so annoyed with Dalton. He was only doing his job. And she wasn’t sure why she felt reluctant to talk about Marcus. All she knew was that she wasn’t quite ready to do so.

She had reached the cashier and waited.

“Would you like chips and a drink?” another pimply-faced boy asked her.

“No.”

“Uh … okay, that’ll be $3.69 then.”

“He’s paying.” She nodded her head toward Dalton.

Dalton walked up to them. “What’s the holdup?”

“I’m waiting for you to pay.”

“I’m …?” Dalton scowled and pulled out his wallet. “Fine, whatever.”

Brenna snatched up her sandwich, snagged a cup for her water and walked to a corner booth. She slid in as Dalton approached. She held out her cup.

“Water please, lots of ice.”

“What am I, your servant?” he snapped.

“You are if you want your questions answered,” she shot back calmly.

“You don’t have a choice, Ms. Foster,” his eyes began to darken with irritation.

She continued to hold out her cup. He continued to stare at her.

Seconds ticked by as they continued to look at one another.

He snorted in disgust. “Fine.” He snatched the cup from her fingers and headed to the soda fountain.

She smiled and unwrapped her sandwich. She was beginning to like him.

Dalton returned and dropped her cup of water in front of her. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re irritating?”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re nosy?”

“That’s my job, missy.”

“Why are you so interested in my boyfriend? What has he got to do with anything at all? And don’t call me missy.” She sunk her teeth into her sandwich.

Dalton sighed and sat back in the booth. He crossed his arms and studied her before saying, “You really have no idea, do you.”

“Wha arliugliut,” she paused to chew before continuing, “what are you talking about?” She nabbed a napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth.

“Marcus Waters is …” he paused. He really didn’t want to hurt this woman but he had to know if her relationship with Marcus was really over, for Jackie’s sake.

“Yeah? Marcus Waters is … an outlaw? A criminal? A crooked lawyer? A Republican? A law-abiding citizen? Is a …”

“My brother-in-law.”

“Your … what?” A lump of turkey lodged in her throat. She began coughing.

“My brother-in-law.” He arched a brow as her coughing continued. “Take a drink of water.”

She began flapping her hands in front of her face.

“What, are you choking or something?” He scoffed.

Brenna wrapped her hands around her throat and her face began turning various shades of purple.

“Oh God, you ARE choking.” He scrambled out of his seat, grabbed a handful of her sweater and pulled her toward him. The heel of her boot caught on the back of the seat as she was exiting the booth and she fell into Dalton. He caught her and spun her around. Balling a hand into a fist, he placed it just under her diaphragm. Using the palm of his other hand, he wrapped it over his fist.

“Okay Brenna, let’s do this.” He jerked back against her abdomen in quick, staccato movements.

Brenna jumped like a rag doll against him with each thrust.

Finally, the bit of meat flew from her mouth and landed on their table.

She gasped for air. She turned around and hugged him to her. She couldn’t speak, so she squeezed her thanks instead.

He resisted the urge to hug her back. He could get used to this sort of gratitude. He released a nervous chuckle, both at his thoughts and at her public display, “My pleasure, little lady.” He helped her back into her seat. “Here, drink some water.”

She took a few small sips before resting her forehead in the palm of her hand. The other patrons in the shop began to settle back down once they realized the excitement was over.

“Geez, could I BE any more stupid?” Her chin was resting on her chest, her voice came out muffled and husky.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she paused to take in long, deep breaths. “I am now. You don’t truly appreciate the simple act of breathing until you can’t anymore.”

“I can imagine.”

“Sorry about that.”

He crossed his arms and grinned at her. “You’ll do anything to get out of being questioned, won’t you.”

“Oh, hardy-har-har,” she grumbled. “Eat your sandwich, it’s getting cold.”

He chuckled and picked up his roast beef. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m good for another day at least.” She picked up her sandwich and eyed it doubtfully. “So, back to Marcus … he can’t be your brother-in-law; he’s not married.”

NaNoWriMo

Racing Heart – Second Excerpt

Racing Heart

I’ll be posting excerpts from my 2008 National Novel Writing Month project, Racing Heart, every Tuesday in November. I have comments turned off, not because I don’t want your feedback, but because I can’t afford to think too much about what I’m doing at this point – I hope you understand. 🙂

The story is progressing nicely. I’ve been playing around with writing it from the male protagonist’s POV and this has not only given me more material, but it’s giving me a better look at my male protagonist. I hope by doing this, it will make the story richer, more satisfying.

So far, I’ve been pretty faithful with my writing and am writing every day. I took a day off yesterday (and felt TERRIBLY guilty about it!) thereby dodging my first burn out. I plan on holing up at the university library today – I have no intention of breaking my writing momentum at this point. The third week looms though, and I traditionally struggle through the third week – we’ll see how it goes this year.

Thanks for reading.

_____________________________

Chapter One

“You act like I wanted to kill him.”

“Now Julie, we didn’t say …”

“You sure as hell weren’t paying attention,” said the tall, thin man on the left-hand side of the bed.

“Right dad,” Julie scoffed. “It was my intention, all along, to kill my only brother. You caught me. It must feel great to be right all the time.”

“Now see here, missy …” the man said while moving around the bed toward her.

Julie’s entire body tensed. Though she was sure her father wouldn’t hurt her, she wasn’t sure she could count on that.

“Dad,” the male voice from the bed said. “Leave her alone.”

“Alex! You’re awake! Mike, our son is awake!” The slightly pudgy woman leaned in closer to the prone figure in the bed and lightly took one of his hands.

Mike smiled gently as he looked back at Alex. “I can see that, Helen. Welcome back, son.” He stood on the other side of the man and lightly patted his shoulder. “Now stand back Helen, allow the boy some breathing room.”

Julie Meadows tucked herself into a corner of the room and stayed away from the cozy scene in front of her. She watched as her parents’ normally stern, serious faces relaxed and softened as they looked down at Alex. She couldn’t remember the number of times she had witnessed this transformation in her parents as they talked to Alex over the years or how many times she had wished they would have looked at her the same way.

She knew her parents loved her, but she also knew they loved Alex more. Alex was their golden child, their prize child. They had trained and primed him to be a race car driver and he had fulfilled every one of their dreams. Together, father and son had made quite a name for themselves over the years. The Meadows Match, the racing industry had dubbed the father and son team. They had been unbeatable.

Until now.

It had been a long 48 hours and she was exhausted. She leaned up against the wall and crossed her arms. Would her brother remember what happened?

Would he remember whose fault it was?

“Julie?” Her brother called for her.

Julie straightened away from the wall and approached the bed. Her mother reluctantly shifted positions to allow room for her but kept Alex’s hand in her own.

“Hey,” she said softly, her smile gentle and full of love. “How are you feeling, bro?”

“Tired. Like I haven’t slept in months.”

“So in other words, pretty much like normal,” Julie said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he grinned and Julie could see her mother squeeze his hand. “What happened?”

Julie shot a quick look at her father, who shook his head in warning. He didn’t want Julie talking about it.

“Just a little fender bender, nothing serious,” Julie said and forced a nonchalant shrug.

“Fender bender, my ass,” he shot back and Helen sighed.

“Watch the language, Alex.”

“Sorry ma,” Alex said but kept his eyes on Julie. “Straight up, Jules, why am I here?”

“You had a little accident, Alex, don’t worry about it,” her father said. “You just concentrate on getting better.”

“Okay,” Alex began slowly. “So, what’s wrong with me.” His eyes shifted from each person in turn before coming to rest back on Julie.

“You mean other than your being retarded?” Julie quipped with a grin. “Nothing,” she paused and her smile disappeared as she looked at her parents. “Actually,” she said, her tone of voice turning serious, “we’re not sure yet. We haven’t seen the doctor yet this morning.”

“But I’m sure everything is just fine,” her mother said and continued to stroke Alex’s hand reassuringly.

Alex squirmed and tried to find a more comfortable position in the bed. He grimaced slightly before freezing, his expression a mask of concern. “Can anyone tell me why I can’t feel my legs?”

“What?” Julie gasped.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Helen groaned and sank into a nearby chair.

“What do you mean you can’t feel your legs, son?” Mike asked.

There was a pregnant pause while Alex stared at the ceiling. A myriad of emotions flitted across his face – determination, concern, alarm and finally, horror.

“I mean,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously, “I can’t feel my fucking legs.”

“That’s because you broke your back, young man,” the doctor said as he grabbed Alex’s chart from the door and stepped into the room. “You’re paralyzed from the waist down.”

“What?” Alex blinked at the man several times.

Julie had to turn away from Alex’s tears. The only other time she could recall ever seeing her brother cry was when they had found their golden retriever, Butch, dead on the side of the road, the result of a hit-and-run driver.

Alex had been twelve, she had been eight.

Julie left the group of people and went to stand by the window. It was a beautiful winter day. Sunlight reflected off the ice in the trees and sprinkled tiny gems of light across the fresh snow. The light bounced off the granules of moisture and winked up at her, it was breathtaking.

The silence in the room was nearly overwhelming. Julie reluctantly tore her gaze from the peaceful scene outside to look at the group surrounding the bed. Her father looked shocked, beads of moisture dotted his forehead and his cheeks were tinged with green. Her mother had Alex’s hand tucked in her own and pressed against her cheek. Fat, salty tears ran down her cheeks and seeped between their intertwined fingers. The doctor stood at the foot of the bed, quietly turning pages in Alex’s chart.

Alex was staring directly at Julie.

Julie felt faint from the guilt.