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I woke up this morning wrapped in the warmth of courage. I’ve been going back in forth for a while in, should I or shouldn’t I share the novel that I’m working on here on my blog. My instincts for a while have been telling that I should. I have asked some of my friends and family members to read what I have so far. However, I feel like as much as they love and want to support me many of them it’s just not their thing and feedback has been very little. Regardless, I’ve come to feel like the community of bloggers here are supportive, encouraging and inspiring. Therefore, I have finally decided to begin sharing tidbits of my novel here on the blog (of course with cute little sketches to support the snippets).

So it goes… The working title is Old Friends. The novel is about two lifelong friends (Andrew and Crystal) from Kingston Ontario Canada, who have parted ways for a year after they lose their third musketeer (Andrew’s identical twin). Having difficulty coping with his grief of his identical twin brother, Andrew pushes Crystal out of his life until he discovers an outstanding will that can only be settled with Crystal’s presence.

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Segment 1

(I haven’t yet broken it down into chapters.)

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Ahhh, another Monday morning weaseling its way in, I reach for the alarm clock as Tasha pops her head up yawning. “Yep girl, it’s going to be another hurried day!” Wishing I had time to linger, I drag myself out of bed. Immediately, I begin thinking about the time it takes to get across town through morning traffic. Sighing, I can’t help fighting the urge to take the day off, especially considering the time I spend working on other people’s assignments. Recently I’ve been feeling underappreciated with all that I do to help our team run as smoothly as possible. I feel like I’m always the one picking up the pieces for everyone else, including my boss! I head to the kitchen to set the timer on the cappuccino machine, Tasha right behind me.  I leave Tasha in the kitchen happily eating her puppy chow.

Strolling over to the window I notice the first of the autumn leaves gliding gently to the ground. A sudden memory captures my thoughts, sweeping me into a moment like this a year ago. I had been excited that Alexander was coming home. He’d been away for two weeks in Toronto on business. Andrew and I had missed him a lot and were looking forward to his return. However, as we were driving to the airport, we heard that flight twenty-seven coming in from Toronto had crashed. The radio broadcaster announced that only eight people had been reported alive. We had raced the following twenty minutes to the airport to get the list of survivors. Finding last names beginning with H, we could not find his name, there was no Alexander Hemington.

Turning away from the window, I dab at the freshly fallen droplets streaming from my eyes. I anxiously fight against the painful memories stirring toward the surface as I retreat from my room and slip into my robe. I draw some bath water, knowing I need to relax. I can’t help thinking about the newly awoken tension at the memory of losing Alexander. A deep quiver of coldness spreads through me and I need the warmth to bask me back to the reality of his being gone.

After feeling refreshed from my long and therapeutic bath, I emerge from my room and see Tasha sitting in front of the door, waiting for her morning walk. I tell her, “just a few more minutes girl.” I begin collecting my daily essentials, my messenger bag, cell phone, lip gloss, and my iPad. I double check the events of my day ahead. I take a deep breath seeing the long list of articles to be posted on the blog first thing this morning, not to mention I have to be on the air as the six o’clock newscaster for Global News CKWS!

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Tasha, getting impatient begins to bark reminding me of the time, I grab my freshly brewed cappuccino, my bag, and her leash. “Okay Tasha, here we go girl,” she perks up knowingly with excitement as I put her leash on her and open the door. The sun hasn’t quite risen completely over the hills in the distance and the scene is breathtaking. I enjoy our morning walks together as it gives me an opportunity to enjoy the little moments and to take in the beauty of the world around me.

 I arrive at the office with only minutes to spare.  I hustle up the five flights of stairs, reaching the office with the morning news, which is scheduled to air within the next hour. I breathlessly slug my way into my office just as my cell phone rings. I hurdle across my office to dig it out of my bag and put it on speaker, enabling me to speak while continuing to collect other important artifacts, needed for the day’s work.

Responding to my choked hello is the old familiar voice of Andrew Hemmington, Alexander’s younger twin brother by fourteen minutes. I suddenly struggle to respond, frozen by the memory of our last conversation a year ago. I’m drawn back to the present by a concerned, “Crystal, are you there? Hello? Crystal? Are you ok?” I respond with a raspy voice, “Yeah, I’m here. I’m just quite shocked to hear from you, that’s all.” Continuing in a quivering voice, I ask, “After our last conversation I didn’t think I’d ever heard from you again, what brings on this sudden call after so long?” “Listen they just discovered an outstanding will, which states that it is not to be settled without your presence.”

Staggeringly startled, I drop the phone and violently shudder. I sob uncontrollably, impacted by a tremendous onslaught of morbid visions bubbling up like molten lava, threatening to melt my soul away to a desolate state of nothingness. Taking in all the newly obtained information, my head begins to throb. I feel this repulsive taste crawling into my throat. Intense currents of anguish, panic, and nausea penetrate within me. Everything goes blank. With the sound of urgent knocking on my office door and someone crying out “Are you alright,” I snap back to the moment.

I realize that I must have fainted. Turning toward the door to get a view of who was knocking, trying earnestly to get my attention,  there standing in the doorway is Alexander. He looked ghostly with an expression of worry crumpling his delectably delicate young face. Feeling tipsy, I realize it’s not Alexander. It’s Andrew, rushing across my office toward me. He picks me up and cradles me in his arms, but I can only seem to slouch against his chest. I feel paralyzed and the rushing agony begins to threaten all over again.

I hear Andrew’s voice strained and exhausted in the distance, but I can’t bear to open my eyes. The throbbing pulse in my head is urging me to keep them closed. I want to open my eyes and figure out where I am, but all my senses are fighting me. I continue to duke it out in a wrestling match between my conscious and unconscious. However, I don’t know how much longer it’ll last. I hear footsteps approaching, I assume it must be Andrew, but I’m not completely certain because everything goes silent.

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© ArtsyChicCreations 2018

Jenna Gee

All rights reserved

Creative Courage: Dare to Be Vulnerable

TheSunshineArtist


Hello, my rays of sunshine! I’m Jenna Gee, aka the Sunshine Artist, always seeking to brighten the world around me and seeking to help others embrace the magic that’s inside them. Every day is an empty canvas waiting to be painted and an empty page waiting to be written. Let’s fill today with the magic of the world around us!


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9 thoughts on “Creative Courage: Dare to Be Vulnerable

  1. Wow! I admire you for coming up with an interesting book. I can’t wait for it to be finished. Good luck!

    P.S. I have always wondered what your name is. I’m so glad you finally included your name. I was too shy to ask you what name can I call you. 😉

    1. 😁 I didn’t realize I didn’t use my name before, how silly of me.☺️ Thank you so much for the feedback on my book. I hope to share more of it along the way, but maybe a little less at a time because I think I posted too much of it this time and I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with writing so much at once. 😊

    1. Thank you! 🙂 I was just working on it some more a few minutes ago. I try set aside even short 15 minute bursts of writing each morning (it’s not much, but I get a little bit added each time.) It’s funny because as I write I feel like the reader of a really good book excited about what comes next.

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