Sunday, November 11, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Hands (Trevor's Song Era)
A bit of scene-setting here: This outtake takes place during the early chapters of Trevor's Song. It's not essential to the story, so you won't find a hint of it there. This is strictly backstory. Yet when you finally get to close the back cover (and scream in frustration at me over the ending), and you come back to this outtake, it'll all click. I promise.
It was stupid, she knew, but when Mitchell reached for her hands, Kerri pulled them away and tried to stuff them somewhere he couldn't find them. Unfortunately, other than her pockets and behind her back, any place her hands went, the rest of her had to follow.
"C'mon," he said and tried again. "They're supposed to be paint-covered, Ker. It's what you do."
Reluctantly, she let him take her hands, both of them, in his. Palm up, he started to raise the left to his mouth.
He stopped an inch away.
"I know," Kerri sighed. "Turpentine, paint… It's not the world's biggest turn-on."
Mitchell stroked her palm with his nose.
"A woman's hands are supposed to be soft," she said. "Pampered. Or else calloused from all the hard, honest work she does to keep her family afloat. Not…"
"Not?" he asked, his lips barely touching that same palm.
She turned her face up toward the ceiling and let herself drown in the sensation.
He didn't linger long. "You know," he said, slowly easing her hand, still in his, back to her side. Every bit as slowly, he pulled both hands from hers.
She shivered, feeling suddenly alone. Cold.
"Mine aren't much better." He picked up her right hand and tapped the back of it with the fingertips of his left. "A guy's not supposed to be like this." He turned his hand over, claw-like, fingertips exposed. "Shit, Ker, I've got fucking string marks in 'em. On top of callouses a mile deep."
She smiled, not needing to see them. "What a pair we are." Taking his right hand, she massaged it gently at the third knuckle.
He closed his eyes, his breath coming hard. "Ker…"
"No," she said, not sure why or what it meant.
His free hand caught hers. As she massaged, he nibbled her fingertips.
And she knew he'd meant it. He loved her, paint and all.
Did you get to visit with Trevor over the weekend? Scroll down if you missed him! And remember, clicking on the link in the characters' names will take you to their bio pages -- and a list of links to more outtakes featuring them. Have fun!
It was stupid, she knew, but when Mitchell reached for her hands, Kerri pulled them away and tried to stuff them somewhere he couldn't find them. Unfortunately, other than her pockets and behind her back, any place her hands went, the rest of her had to follow.
"C'mon," he said and tried again. "They're supposed to be paint-covered, Ker. It's what you do."
Reluctantly, she let him take her hands, both of them, in his. Palm up, he started to raise the left to his mouth.
He stopped an inch away.
"I know," Kerri sighed. "Turpentine, paint… It's not the world's biggest turn-on."
Mitchell stroked her palm with his nose.
"A woman's hands are supposed to be soft," she said. "Pampered. Or else calloused from all the hard, honest work she does to keep her family afloat. Not…"
"Not?" he asked, his lips barely touching that same palm.
She turned her face up toward the ceiling and let herself drown in the sensation.
He didn't linger long. "You know," he said, slowly easing her hand, still in his, back to her side. Every bit as slowly, he pulled both hands from hers.
She shivered, feeling suddenly alone. Cold.
"Mine aren't much better." He picked up her right hand and tapped the back of it with the fingertips of his left. "A guy's not supposed to be like this." He turned his hand over, claw-like, fingertips exposed. "Shit, Ker, I've got fucking string marks in 'em. On top of callouses a mile deep."
She smiled, not needing to see them. "What a pair we are." Taking his right hand, she massaged it gently at the third knuckle.
He closed his eyes, his breath coming hard. "Ker…"
"No," she said, not sure why or what it meant.
His free hand caught hers. As she massaged, he nibbled her fingertips.
And she knew he'd meant it. He loved her, paint and all.
Did you get to visit with Trevor over the weekend? Scroll down if you missed him! And remember, clicking on the link in the characters' names will take you to their bio pages -- and a list of links to more outtakes featuring them. Have fun!
Labels: creative writing, fiction, Kerri, love, Mitchell, outtake, Poetry Train
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Hearts (Trevor's Song Days)
So far, it had all lived up to its promise: the island was beautiful, the house and beach secluded, the staff discreet, and the bed big and comfortable. So big and comfortable that despite its white sheets, it had been a shame to leave it.
But Mitchell had wanted to go snorkeling, and that meant Kerri'd had to go into town to buy a bathing suit, something she hadn't owned in years. Mitchell had warned her to choose a basic suit instead of a sexy one; when the band was touring, hotel pools were his favorite place to spend down time. A sexy suit would interfere with swimming.
While she'd been out shopping, she'd stopped and picked up a few sundresses, another thing she hadn't owned in who-knew-how-long. They were coming in handy, though, because when Mitchell's manager had given them use of the house for a two-week honeymoon, he'd added the condition that they visit his favorite restaurants. If she had to wear clothes at all on this dream vacation, Kerri thought, she was going to wear something skimpy and beautiful.
She and Mitchell were seated on a patio along the beach at one of the restaurants on the list, their dinner orders just placed, when Mitchell got up, left his Vans by the patio's edge, and wandered down the beach. Kerri cocked her head as she watched him, not sure what he was doing and itching for a sketch book. There seemed to always be a light wind near the shore and it blew his silvery-white hair across the shoulders of his loose black tank in a tantalizing way. Add in his camoflage cargo shorts and he was a hell of a vision as he bent to play in the sand near the surf. Nothing at all like a powerful rock star; just a regular guy.
She sat there, savoring, still wishing she had the means to draw him, until he turned and waved at her. It was, she could tell, an invitation to come see what he'd done, so she kicked off her sandals beside his black slip-ons and followed.
"What did you do?" she laughed as she got close enough to see.
"What's it look like?" he laughed, holding his arms out to show off his masterpieces.
"It looks like a bunch of hearts."
"Well, then," he said with a definitive nod. "Guess this is what happens when there's no guitar handy and I hear music."
"Looks to me like you hear hearts." she said, smiling as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He brushed her hair away from her forehead and kissed her temple.
"It's your damn fault, woman," he breathed into her ear, making her shiver.
"I think I'll take it."
check out more stories of love at Scribbit's cool site. Click here for the contest itself. And for more, visit Write Stuff around the 17th.
But Mitchell had wanted to go snorkeling, and that meant Kerri'd had to go into town to buy a bathing suit, something she hadn't owned in years. Mitchell had warned her to choose a basic suit instead of a sexy one; when the band was touring, hotel pools were his favorite place to spend down time. A sexy suit would interfere with swimming.
While she'd been out shopping, she'd stopped and picked up a few sundresses, another thing she hadn't owned in who-knew-how-long. They were coming in handy, though, because when Mitchell's manager had given them use of the house for a two-week honeymoon, he'd added the condition that they visit his favorite restaurants. If she had to wear clothes at all on this dream vacation, Kerri thought, she was going to wear something skimpy and beautiful.
She and Mitchell were seated on a patio along the beach at one of the restaurants on the list, their dinner orders just placed, when Mitchell got up, left his Vans by the patio's edge, and wandered down the beach. Kerri cocked her head as she watched him, not sure what he was doing and itching for a sketch book. There seemed to always be a light wind near the shore and it blew his silvery-white hair across the shoulders of his loose black tank in a tantalizing way. Add in his camoflage cargo shorts and he was a hell of a vision as he bent to play in the sand near the surf. Nothing at all like a powerful rock star; just a regular guy.
She sat there, savoring, still wishing she had the means to draw him, until he turned and waved at her. It was, she could tell, an invitation to come see what he'd done, so she kicked off her sandals beside his black slip-ons and followed.
"What did you do?" she laughed as she got close enough to see.
"What's it look like?" he laughed, holding his arms out to show off his masterpieces.
"It looks like a bunch of hearts."
"Well, then," he said with a definitive nod. "Guess this is what happens when there's no guitar handy and I hear music."
"Looks to me like you hear hearts." she said, smiling as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He brushed her hair away from her forehead and kissed her temple.
"It's your damn fault, woman," he breathed into her ear, making her shiver.
"I think I'll take it."
check out more stories of love at Scribbit's cool site. Click here for the contest itself. And for more, visit Write Stuff around the 17th.
Labels: creative writing, fiction, hearts, Kerri, love, Mitchell, outtake
