Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
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Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
(No Title)
Hey, I'm up to 18,000 words toward a 50,000 word goal, so I'm still somewhat on target. Thanks for all your encouragement while I attempt this crazy challenge. A piece of novel for today: "Call us if you need anything," Dad said, when he dropped me off at her house that evening. "We'll be home all night, and we can run over at the drop of a hat." We had the run of Diana's otherwise empty house all night, with the exception of the locked den, which eliminated any activity involving the computer, or the coveted three thousand books. But we raided the fridge umpteen times, had all the TV and videos and CDs we could stand, took turns in the whirlpool tub and wound each other's hair in old-fashioned sponge curlers we found buried in a vanity drawer. We painted our toes, after a sophisticated and complete pedicure, and finally, around three in the morning, we headed up to bed. As long as the lights were glaring and the music was blaring, and we could peek out the window and see that at least one other neighbor still had a kitchen light on, we were fine. The house was huge, but we were wide awake, and familiar with each nook and cranny and creak. But at soon as we turned off most of the lights, set the alarm system, and tiptoed up the stairs, we both started to get nervous. It's the being in your own safe bedroom that gets you in the end, don't you think? Because even though it is a tranquil sanctuary when you know the rest of your family is downstairs reading, or napping, or playing Nintendo, or even in the bedrooms next door to yours sleeping, when you're in the house alone, in your very own safe bedroom, you're trapped. If an intruder, a bad person, a terrorist, bypassed the alarm system, made your dead bolt alive again, and let himself into your home, and you were alert enough to hear his very first foot fall upon the bottom step, could you get away? We closed the door to her spacious bedroom, but it suddenly felt cramped, small, and without sufficient air. It was the memory of the rest of the house, and its vastness, and the recent deathlike silence that had fallen over it, that made us whisper. You would whisper at the wake of someone you hadn't known very well, wouldn't you? It's not just out of respect for the dead, at that point, but also to keep from jarring and jolting the living. So we, too, whispered, though we imagined we had been intimate friends with the old place, for to offend the house at this late hour might be to invite unspeakable retribution upon our heads. And then we heard it. The first foot fell.
Posted by Katy on 11/13/01 at 05:39 PM
Fallible Comments...
- I love you people so much I'm posting the next part of this part of the story now.
Posted by Katy on 12/31/69 at 12:00 PM
- ouch
Posted by Scott on 12/31/69 at 12:00 PM
- Mom, I'm getting a little nervous over here in Manhattan.
Posted by Carrie on 12/31/69 at 12:00 PM
- *da-dum*
-----Posted by Dee on 12/31/69 at 12:00 PM
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