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[19.] admitting out loud that you've been thinking about this for a while. | cherry x mark (coral island), 900 words
Cherry stepped outside Fishensips, Mark half a step behind her. The door swung shut, cutting off the low din of conversation and the gentle twanging of Theo's guitar. The sky had been clear when they'd gone in for a drink, but some time in the hours since, it had begun to rain.
"It rains more in the summer," Mark said, and Cherry stifled a laugh—she had heard that more times than she could count, the common refrain on every townie's lips whenever a warm summer storm rolled in. He shifted behind her, chest bumping against her shoulder, and a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer evening air rolled through her. "We can go back inside."
Cherry didn't want to go back inside. She turned, stepping close to him, pressing herself further into that something between them, heavy as the humidity that thickened the air, electric whenever their hands brushed, their own summer storm brewing for weeks now, finally making land. She took the risk first—rising on her toes, fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, she pulled his lips down to hers, and kissed him.
His hands found her waist before she could even spare a thought to how he might respond, his lips parting against hers as he pulled her close against his broad chest. She pulled back, grinning into the slight space between them and meeting his eyes, and said, "My house isn't that far."
Mark didn't say anything to that, only looked at her, his eyes dark in the soft lights that decorated the tavern's awning. He might say no, just to be contrary, just to pretend she hadn't pushed past the solitary image of himself he presented to the rest of the world, but—there! The sweet, almost shy smile broke across his features, the one that kept her coming back no matter how disgruntled he was when she arrived. She stepped away from him, holding out her hand, and he laughed, warm and deep, as he grasped it.
"Lets go, adventurer," she said, and pulled him into the rain.
Cherry's back met the solid wood of her front door, and her lips met the warmth of Mark's. He crowded her against the door, his hands hot against the small of her back where they slipped beneath her top. The rain still fell warm and heavy down on them, so she reluctantly freed one of her own hands from the back of his neck and scrabbled for the doorknob. It swung open behind them, and they stumbled through with quiet huffs of laughter. Cherry stepped away to shut the door and cast an eye out for Bubblegum, whose soft hops she could just hear over the rain.
"You have no furniture," Mark said. He sounded amused—she couldn't see his face, but she was sure he had an eyebrow raised.
"I've had a lot on my plate," Cherry said, leaning around him to look into the empty darkness of what should be her kitchen. She'd only been here a few months, and in that time she'd had so much to do—diving work for the lab, clearing monsters out of the cavern, learning to grow crops and build bee houses and tap trees until she had just enough money to buy herself a few chickens and cows. It took time. Besides, had he seen the prices at Joko's furniture store?
She stepped away from the kitchen, pulled her top over her head, and said, "I have a bed."
She laughed as Mark lifted her, lips moving across her neck as he carried her the few feet to the bed. He set her down, surprisingly gentle, and Cherry gripped his shirt again and pulled him down after her, gratified by the weight of him on top of her. Their lips met again, and her hands wandered, rucking up his soaked T-shirt and sliding across the expanse of his back. She sighed against his mouth when he cupped her breast over her bra—she might have worn something prettier, something with lace, maybe, if she'd known they'd end up here, not that he seemed to care—
This time Mark pulled back, leveraging himself onto an elbow so he could look down at her. It was hard to make out his expression in the dark, but there was a gravity to the way he paused, to the part of his lips as he watched her. He said, in a gravelly whisper that rumbled a slow heat through her body, "I've been thinking about this a while."
"Yeah?" He was difficult to read, sometimes, even in the light, but the words struck her as vulnerable, the sweet follow-up without the leave-me-alone that came before. She cupped his cheek, and felt his slight nod more than she saw it. "Me too."
It was the truth. He had spent the last twenty minutes of their date telling her all the reasons he'd make for a bad relationship, a bad partner, and still, she couldn't stop herself from wanting it—him, this, more than one night together. Mark's stolid demeanor broke, as it always did for her, his mouth curving into that shy, sweet smile. She had just enough time to find it cute before he kissed her, and then she couldn't think of anything else.
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[19.] admitting out loud that you've been thinking about this for a while. | cherry x mark (coral island), 900 words
Cherry stepped outside Fishensips, Mark half a step behind her. The door swung shut, cutting off the low din of conversation and the gentle twanging of Theo's guitar. The sky had been clear when they'd gone in for a drink, but some time in the hours since, it had begun to rain.
"It rains more in the summer," Mark said, and Cherry stifled a laugh—she had heard that more times than she could count, the common refrain on every townie's lips whenever a warm summer storm rolled in. He shifted behind her, chest bumping against her shoulder, and a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer evening air rolled through her. "We can go back inside."
Cherry didn't want to go back inside. She turned, stepping close to him, pressing herself further into that something between them, heavy as the humidity that thickened the air, electric whenever their hands brushed, their own summer storm brewing for weeks now, finally making land. She took the risk first—rising on her toes, fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, she pulled his lips down to hers, and kissed him.
His hands found her waist before she could even spare a thought to how he might respond, his lips parting against hers as he pulled her close against his broad chest. She pulled back, grinning into the slight space between them and meeting his eyes, and said, "My house isn't that far."
Mark didn't say anything to that, only looked at her, his eyes dark in the soft lights that decorated the tavern's awning. He might say no, just to be contrary, just to pretend she hadn't pushed past the solitary image of himself he presented to the rest of the world, but—there! The sweet, almost shy smile broke across his features, the one that kept her coming back no matter how disgruntled he was when she arrived. She stepped away from him, holding out her hand, and he laughed, warm and deep, as he grasped it.
"Lets go, adventurer," she said, and pulled him into the rain.
Cherry's back met the solid wood of her front door, and her lips met the warmth of Mark's. He crowded her against the door, his hands hot against the small of her back where they slipped beneath her top. The rain still fell warm and heavy down on them, so she reluctantly freed one of her own hands from the back of his neck and scrabbled for the doorknob. It swung open behind them, and they stumbled through with quiet huffs of laughter. Cherry stepped away to shut the door and cast an eye out for Bubblegum, whose soft hops she could just hear over the rain.
"You have no furniture," Mark said. He sounded amused—she couldn't see his face, but she was sure he had an eyebrow raised.
"I've had a lot on my plate," Cherry said, leaning around him to look into the empty darkness of what should be her kitchen. She'd only been here a few months, and in that time she'd had so much to do—diving work for the lab, clearing monsters out of the cavern, learning to grow crops and build bee houses and tap trees until she had just enough money to buy herself a few chickens and cows. It took time. Besides, had he seen the prices at Joko's furniture store?
She stepped away from the kitchen, pulled her top over her head, and said, "I have a bed."
She laughed as Mark lifted her, lips moving across her neck as he carried her the few feet to the bed. He set her down, surprisingly gentle, and Cherry gripped his shirt again and pulled him down after her, gratified by the weight of him on top of her. Their lips met again, and her hands wandered, rucking up his soaked T-shirt and sliding across the expanse of his back. She sighed against his mouth when he cupped her breast over her bra—she might have worn something prettier, something with lace, maybe, if she'd known they'd end up here, not that he seemed to care—
This time Mark pulled back, leveraging himself onto an elbow so he could look down at her. It was hard to make out his expression in the dark, but there was a gravity to the way he paused, to the part of his lips as he watched her. He said, in a gravelly whisper that rumbled a slow heat through her body, "I've been thinking about this a while."
"Yeah?" He was difficult to read, sometimes, even in the light, but the words struck her as vulnerable, the sweet follow-up without the leave-me-alone that came before. She cupped his cheek, and felt his slight nod more than she saw it. "Me too."
It was the truth. He had spent the last twenty minutes of their date telling her all the reasons he'd make for a bad relationship, a bad partner, and still, she couldn't stop herself from wanting it—him, this, more than one night together. Mark's stolid demeanor broke, as it always did for her, his mouth curving into that shy, sweet smile. She had just enough time to find it cute before he kissed her, and then she couldn't think of anything else.
If you don’t let go of your prejudices and past grudges, your heart won’t blossom. 2013 is coming, let’s make a change. We only have one planet so let’s show each other some kindness.
I hesitate to make this a sweeping statement, but I do think that to be a writer, you have to on some level love words as an artistic medium. Words can't just be the annoying limitation that make it more difficult to share your beautiful daydream. They can't just be the storytelling method you choose because you don't have the skills or resources to make any other kind of media.
You have to love the art of words for its own sake. Love the sound of words--how you can make music of a million different rhythms and moods, how the words and sentences you choose can make a million different atmospheres. Love what you can do with words--paint an image, share an emotion, put a person into a scene that only exists in the world of imagination. Love the different ways you can use words--different points of view and tenses, different formats and styles that can each provide a different experience of the story for the reader. You have to love words as your artistic tool and delight in learning new ways to wield them and new effects that you can create with them.
If you don't love words, there are other ways to tell a story. Writing is an artistic medium with it own strengths and weaknesses, and using it as your artistic medium should be a deliberate choice made out of love for this artform.
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I used to use Google docs, but the white mode only was really annoying me (tires my eyes), so I swapped to Ellipsus (which I genuinely love and recommend), but it was bothering me a bit that I need wifi in order to use it, so now I switched to LibreOffice Writer, which I do like.
It very much has a Microsoft Word feel, but is open source and you need no accounts to use it. It's local on your device, so no AI can scan it, and no wifi is needed.
I still wish it had the Google Docs cards, because, bitch, that thing is so good for easy organizing.
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