A page from my book! (And other life updates!)

Apparently the months of October and November have a track record of not being great months for my blog writing!

I do have an excuse: I moved. Not just down the street…1,400 miles away! I started a new job and have been on operation: MAKE FRIENDS.

I was able to do a bit more editing on my novel and thought I would share a page I recently was touching up! For those of you who don’t know I’m writing a Romantic Suspense Novel set in the 1920’s. My first book is called, “Just A Dream” and is the story of a wealthy southern girl, Angel,  who after recovering from a car accident which robbed her of 11 months of memory, returns to her home of Charleston, SC to marry the wealthy and family favorite,  Kale Desmin. As the wedding day approaches, Angel is haunted by dreams of being in love with a man she has never before seen and of the unsolved murder of her future father-in-law. Will she solve the the secrets of her past, before it is too late? (I know that sum up sounded a bit cheesy! It’s a good story…I promise! =) Or I like to think so…)


 

From Just A Dream by Autumn Komzik

He touched the tip of my nose. “So, when you fell asleep I realized you never said what are you most afraid of?”

I stared up at the sky, still engulfed in a sleepy euphoria. What was I afraid of?

I saw her face–those crystal blue eyes looking at us, staring at me as if I was disgusting.  Watching me with him.

Mother. I whispered her name.

I bolted up to sitting position, suddenly awake.

“Mother!” I cried, jumping to my feet. “She’ll kill me!”

At my command, he dropped me off on the very edge of my driveway. I flung myself out of the car without muttering a good bye and ran along the grass and twisting oak trees that lined our road. To my relief, the house was engulfed in darkness. Mother had gone to bed. My heart hammered against my ribs at the thought of how late it was. What excuse could I tell her in the morning? I could say there was car trouble at the movies and Pearl and I were trapped there for hours. Would she believe it? I tried to silence the sick curls of terror that twisted in my stomach.

As I rounded the back of the house to enter through the staff’s doorway I smoothed my wrinkled dress and touched my hair. It lay recklessly about my shoulders, the bobby pins jutting in and out, suspended loosely against the tangles. I plucked out the bobby pins and reinserted them, my fingers shaking. If anyone saw me, they would see him. They would see him in my eyes, my swollen lips, and my tangled hair. It would all be over.

I slid through the door and down the hall way without one creak. I moved into the main area of the house which was thick with warm air and darkness and the twisting shadows of the furniture which was touched by the moon light. I sneaked towards the staircase and clutched the rail.

Clink.

The sound came from behind me, paralyzing me instantly. In the corner of my eye a bright ember glowed against the blackness and moved as if it was suspended in air. Smoke touched my nostrils. As if on cue the moon light eased through the windows, illuminating the room in silver.

There she was. The glowing end of the cigarette cast a shadow across her face, distorting her fine-boned features and darkening her crystal eyes. Her fingers from her other hand clutched the smooth glass neck of a bottle of Vodka. Mother. Was this my Mother, the very woman who stood in line and waved signs to end alcohol production…who forced Father to smoke outside? Was she even real? Or was this the frightening production of my imagination?

“Angelina,” her voice shattered any doubt of her reality.

A gasp escaped from my lips.

She tapped at the cigarette, sending ashes fluttering on the table. “Tell me the name of that young man with whom you have clearly been either fornicating with or are on the brink of fornication?”

I tried to say something, form words but the paralysis I felt in the rest of my body seemed to find its way to my lips. That boy she referred to was pure gold. He had never been anything but gentle and honorable.

Mother stood to her feet. “Tell me his name.” Her command was direct, her voice as sharp as a knife. “You know I’ll find out.” She stood to her feet, her eyes locked onto mine. “Angelina, tell me his name.”

My mouth opened. I tried to keep it closed, fought to keep it closed but it opened against my will. “W-W…”


I hope you enjoyed!!

 

The little seed that sprouted into a book

I was thinking today about the first little thought I had that led to the creation of my book. What was it? Where did it all begin? What was that one little seed of an idea that led to something huge–hopefully really huge, as in published huge–?

The idea of my book literally came from a dream I had a long time ago, when I was in my teens. 

Several types of people show up in dreams…there’s you, the main character; then sometimes, many times your best friends, they are the side kicks or the Robin to you, Batman; then there’s the people you think about ALOT, the Prince Charming of your dream. Of course you have your dream villains who come out in every shape and form (cafeteria lady, random customer, your arch nemesis, a cupcake….etc.). Beyond these main players in a dream you also have random people–the fillers; they make up the backdrop. I don’t know about you but half of the time I am like “who are these people?!?!” I don’t recognize them at all…not a bit! I’ve told myself they come from images my mind retained but I don’t remember at all. For example–the people you pass by in Walmart. 

Getting to the point, one of these filler people appeared more and more in my dreams….slowly working up to becoming Robin status. And I wondered if the person really existed out there somewhere. 

There was the idea. 

My book is about a girl who in her dreams is madly in love with a guy who in real life doesn’t exist….or does he? I threw in a murder and a wedding, to spice it up. 

So that’s my story on how a little thought sprouted into the creation of my book. 😀

What about you? What was the idea, life moment that led to your book? 

Writing (such an original title, I know)

I think one thing that makes someone a writer is not just the urge to write…but the NEED.

I had a long weekend spent in Virginia…a weekend without a piece of paper or keyboard or a pen–not really, all of these objects were available–the real problem was my inability to steal away and write. I think getting away from it all is always a good thing. Breaks work wonders for the mind and body! However, I had that itch. You know that feeling…where you have got to write (or it could get ugly…;) ). I made it back late Monday night, surviving with the knowledge I could write to my hearts desire after I got off of work the next day. Then I checked my email. It’s past 1:00AM, I am lying in my bed, I have to work in the morning…and (after of course the habitual checking of other social media sites) I check my email.

One new message.

I bolt up to sitting position. It’s from a job I applied to. I have an interview! Then I realize the interview will take place…on Tuesday. What was then just about 16 hours away. If you have ever read my post about what happens to me during an interview (mind goes blank…panic mode turns on….etc.) you know I have to give interviews a lot of prep time so I am completely ready for anything blown my way. Thank goodness it was a phone interview…but still….the writing would have to wait.

I’ve heard people say writing can be therapeutic. I think that’s for me it’s absolutely true. After the interview I realized a move literally across the country to Seattle might be in my future (I couldn’t believe I actually heard back from a job so far away). Was this what I really wanted? Seattle? The same day I found out my best friend is moving…OUT OF THE COUNTRY. =(  Life can change so quickly. The good news was my dreams of visiting Europe felt more like a reality. We decided we would meet up in Europe, (I threw out that we’d meet in Greece, I’ve always wanted to see the Mediterranean ) when I finally have enough saved up to go. After the interview, after talking to my best friend…I felt I don’t know…sad and heavy. I had the weight of making a huge decision on my shoulders and was already missing my friend (kindred spirits don’t come around every day!). Writing seemed like the last thing I should do when I had a lot to think (worry…analyze) about.

Yesterday I brewed up some coffee….and instead of pondering life… I just wrote. And gosh, I felt so much better! Writing sometimes helps us focus on something different, helps us get our emotions out and share our hearts. Long story short, I got some of that novel done (and wrote a poem!)….and felt refreshed and renewed. Writing was able to bring me that feeling you have on a really hot day, when your throat is parched and finally take that first sip of ice cold water. AAAHHH.