Shake it Off + The Outside p2
Sometimes your writing's trouble, when you worry you make it double.
Sometimes it’s a sharp critique you didn’t see coming. Sometimes it’s a lack of excitement in what you're doing and sometimes it’s just life weighing in on your art. Whatever the cause, there will be times where you are really down on your writing and your abilities. It happens.
I will tell you that for me, that means its time to step away from the computer and do something to get the blood pumping and my mind off writing for minute. I will go take a walk, go swimming, even mow the lawn, just some physical activity. Not only is it good for your body to get up from your chair, but I think it helps clear the mind and re-centers me.
When you come back to writing, you’ll feel better about it and better about your abilities. I think it’s our need to accomplish something tangible. Pages are tangible but you know they’re not really done, it’s your first draft. So if you're feeling down on your work, try to doing something kinetic. Hopefully that helps.
Speaking of drafts, here is part 2 of the story I’m writing weekly, called The Outside. If you missed part 1, it’s in the previous weeks newsletter here:
The Outside Part 2 - The Guest
Bam, bam, bam!
The noise startled him and he jumped out of bed. The alarm clock told him it was just after 7am. He sat, silently, listening. Straining his ears to hear something not there.
What was that? Waking up to a loud noise does get your heart pounding. He took a few deep breaths to calm down and lower his heart rate. He didn’t want to panic. Still listening, but he didn’t really hear anything. Not steps or scratches or more noises. Unsure, he started to lay back down, when he heard it again, louder.
Bam, bam, bam, bam!
This time, he knew that it was someone pounding on his door. It seemed early. Maybe it was an emergency? Was it his parents trying to wake him up? No one else would really come over at 7am. That must be it.
He hoped that something hadn’t happened to his mom. It would for sure have been his dad pounding on the door. He doubted his mom would do that. What if she got sick? Was she part of the new outbreak that the news was talking about?
He threw the covers off and hopped out of bed. Then it struck him for the fourth time, anxiety clenching at his throat, and the voice.
Do not open the door.
He was frozen. He wouldn’t open the door, but this time he was conflicted. What if his parents needed something? The clarity of the voice made him think of something he hadn’t before. His parents had a key. This wasn’t his parents.
Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam!
It sounded like the door was going to give way. Whoever was there was going to break it down. Who would want to get in his house? A burglar wouldn’t knock, clearly, so it wasn’t that. But who was trying to bang down his door?
He left his room and slowly, quietly made his way to the front of the house. He could look through the kitchen window, while staying out of sight. As long as the maniac pounding at the door doesn’t see him, he could get a look and find out who it is.
The voice was still talking, drowning out his own thoughts. Do not open the door. Do not go outside. Now is not the time to be curious. He learned to listen to this voice and hasn’t had a problem listening to it.
He stopped.
Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam!
It was time to call the police. They can sort this.
He could head to the living room where the phone was. It was hidden from the door and window. It should be safe to make it there and he could call the police. The guy would probably bolt once he heard the sirens.
He still needed to be quiet though, who knows what the guys would do if he knew he was awake, steps from the door. He moved slowly, purposefully. Every creak of the floor had him on edge.
Crash!
The sound of the front kitchen window being shattered!
He abandoned his quest of reaching the phone and retreated into hall. He flung the door of the basement open and quickly stepped inside.
He could hear more glass hitting the floor. Then the crunch of a foot on the broken glass.
He quietly shut the door and locked it. He heard more crunching footsteps. Whoever was at the door, was now in his house.
He was standing at the top of the steps. Too afraid to make noise by moving, but not wanting to be there to hear this stranger walk through his house. The footsteps approached the hallway.
He could hear the person throw open the door to the bathroom, the door handle thudding against the wall. He heard the footsteps move on from the bathroom. Next was the first bedroom. Again the door was flung hard and crashed into the wall. He could hearing things breaking and the dresser he kept in there falling against the floor. He heard the closet doors opened violently, then footsteps back to the hall.
The next door in line was the basement door.
He heard the handle jiggle and turn, but the door didn’t open.
Bam, bam, bam, bam! The pounding one the basement door startled him and he almost lost his balance on the stairs. The handle was jiggled again and hit. The door was kicked at the bottom.
Unlike the bedrooms, this door had a deadbolt. He never used it typically and wondered why the people before him had installed it. Now, he was glad.
The door held and the footsteps moved on the master bedroom. He realized he was holding his breathe when he exhaled. Relief flooding over him.
He could hear his room being ransacked. Furniture was thrown around, breaking glass and shattering frames. Why was this happening?
Then he heard the footsteps break into a run. The person was running through the house, banging on walls, knocking over anything that still stood and yelling.
With all the noise he decided to run down the stairs to the basement proper. He didn’t have much in the way of physical strength or self defense training, but he did have an old shotgun his dad had given him.
It was in the closet, on the top shelf, in the tan plastic case. He got it down, opened up the latches and held the old 20 gauge he hadn’t shot since he was 17. There were a few loose rounds in the case, he had a box somewhere, but it only held 5 and 1 in the chamber anyway. He loaded it, cocked and stood by the stair, ready if he needed to fire.
He stood there, shotgun ready, just waiting for the door to burst open. The noise upstairs eventually started to calm down. He finally stopped hearing footsteps. Still he waited there, watching.
After what felt like an hour of stillness, he unloaded the shotgun, set it down in the case and sat on the bed he had set up in the basement. All the energy in his body left him all at once. Exhaustion took him and he laid his head on the pillow.
He didn’t think he could, but he fell fast asleep.