The Friendship Affair

Not all long lasting marriages are happy. But what do you do if divorce is not an option?

University friends, Stephanie and Nick, meet again after twenty years. But life has not been easy or simple for either of them. Will this friendship affair stand a chance against reality?

CHAPTER 9

Dropping the backpack, Stephanie stepped over rocks right up to the edge as far as she dared. Then looked down.

She had to sit. Her mind was incapable of comprehending what she saw.

“Amazing, isn't it?”

Gasping she slipped from the rock holding her hand to her heart.

He had steadied her before she reached the ground.

He sat next to her.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

She looked back at the waterfall dropping into the whirlpool below.

“Is this thing for real?”

She had to shout to make herself heard, even though he was sitting with his shoulder touching hers.

He grinned and nodded.

The water was deafening and yet she felt as if she could just sit there. Sit and listen to the forces of nature. Sit and watch the destruction taking place right before her eyes.

She looked up. The tree canopy was dense, and she could hardly make out the cloudy sky between the foliage.

“Where does the water come from and go?”

He got up and helped her to her feet.

He collected her backpack and started back into the direction of the cottage. At least, that was where she thought they were going. Her mobile was in the pack.

“There is an underground river that runs the length of the city.,” he replied once they were away from the noise. “This is the only place where it runs above ground. It is dangerous, and you shouldn't come here alone.”

She frowned at him. “You were alone. Doesn't make it less dangerous to you.”

He stopped and turned around. “You are right, but I grew up here. I know there is a gorge, not visible because of the plants, not far from where you sat, that drops straight down into the water below. If you stepped into that, you would have died.”

She paled. “You are right. I am sorry.”

She looked over her shoulder. From this angle, she could see a rusted metal grid between the rocks on the opposite side.

She pointed at it. “What about that?”

He sighed. “It wears away. Replacing it has become too dangerous and costly.”

“Shouldn't there be warning signs or something?”

He looked grim. “There were. People still ignored them.”

“How many?” she whispered sensing that this place haunted him somehow.

“Five.”

He abruptly turned and started walking again.

Since he didn't use the path she had, she rushed after him.

When they reached the cottage, they had exited the trees not far from she had entered, he kept on walking.

“Please wait.”

He stopped but didn't turn around.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

“Why?”

She came closer and touched his arm. “Because this place is very personal to you.” She pointed in the direction of the waterfall. “And something happened there to make the memories painful.”

He nodded. “You're right. Three teenage boys ignored the signs and fell into the gorge. Two of the guys working with my dad saw what happened and went after them. They all drowned. The bodies were never found.”

“And they blamed your father?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah. There was nothing anyone could have done, but the families of the boys blamed my dad because their children did something stupid and died. It was the last time he ever came here.”

She held her tongue and followed him back to her car.

He handed her the pack and watched her put it in the trunk.

“Don't go there again, please.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “I won't. You have my word.”

She stepped closer and hugged him as hard as she could. He only hesitated a moment before his arms enclosed her smaller frame.

He stepped back. “You're shivering. Please go home and take a warm shower before you get sick.”

She stepped closer once more and put her hand on his chest. His heart was still racing.

“Come with me.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he looked at her, there was a heat there that had nothing to do with fear. “Are you sure?”

She smiled and stood on tiptoe to give him a soft kiss. “Yes. I am sure.”

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Linzé's Mischief: 6 March 2016

I have been working through a spreadsheet I keep with a list of all the manuscripts I have written up to now. Unlike the spreadsheet where I keep track of the words I have written for each story, this sheet is about the status of each story. Whether it has been published, if it still has to be edited and where it fits into the series if it is part of one.

I also mark the stories that will never be published. Sometimes you just know it will never work, so canning it is part of moving on. I have no sentimental feelings for any of my stories, as I have read that some authors do, so putting a story on permanent ice has no impact on me, except maybe irritation that I wasted so much time writing it before realising it is never going to work.

According to my list I have written, or am in the process of writing, 90 manuscripts. Of these 7 has been iced, 15 have been published on various platforms and 14 are ready to be edited. I don't like editing much, so am a bit lazy when that final step arrives before sending it to a professional editor. Once the editor has worked through it though, I am super quick to get the changes made and get it ready for publication. I am just weird, I think.

So that leaves another 53 manuscripts in various stages of completion, some of which are so close as 90% done. There is a scene or two needed, usually in the middle or at the end before the first draft is done.

It is this list that I have been contemplating for Camp NaNoWriMo coming in April. Three, maybe four, stories to finish before moving on to the next.

With project JOURNEY going to need more and more of my time during the second half of this year, I have decided to do as much now as I can and then re-evaluate the status of my projects later in the year.

I need to re-assess some other things in my life too, but for now they have to wait for about three weeks until things at work calm down to their normal pressure level as opposed to the stress of the looming financial year-end.

Remember to be back on Tuesday for the next chapter of the Friendship Affair.

The Friendship Affair

Not all long lasting marriages are happy. But what do you do if divorce is not an option?

University friends, Stephanie and Nick, meet again after twenty years. But life has not been easy or simple for either of them. Will this friendship affair stand a chance against reality? 

CHAPTER 8

With her chores and shopping done for the week, Stephanie felt that the walls of the apartment were about ready to crush her. She missed the space and the garden of the house, but she couldn't afford to stay there with all the bills.

Medical insurance covered Frederick's care in the centre, but while he was still being treated at the initial stages of the illness, there were a lot of expenses.

At least, she had gotten a good enough price on the house, to get rid of all those debts.

She grabbed her keys. She had to get out.

It had finally started raining, relieving some of the oppressive heat of the past few days. It was still drizzling, but she didn't mind as the car almost drove itself to the fairy garden.

Since the locals didn't want the place advertised, there was no parking in the direct vicinity. She drove to the coffee shop and left the car there.

Flipping open her umbrella, she adjusted the small backpack she bought in the week. It was a pleasant walk, and she was hopeful of a quiet stroll because of the weather.

She wasn't disappointed at all.

The garden smelled fresher and even looked greener with the rain. At the fifth bench, she turned off the main path and changed direction towards the cottage.

It was still there.

He had told her the building wasn't safe to enter, so she stayed outside looking into the windows wondering who had lived there.

“How on earth can you keep a secret like this?” she mused when reaching the back of the cottage. From here the rot was more visible, and she understood his warning. There was another path leading away from the cottage.

Activating the recording function on the navigation app on her mobile phone, just in case she got lost, Stephanie stepped into the unknown.

In this part of the park, the trees and plants were so dense that the umbrella was a hindrance more than an aid. She stopped and shook out the water as best she could, before putting it in a side pocket of the backpack designed for the umbrella.

It was still drizzling, but she decided it wasn't worth fussing about as she started walking again.

Unlike the footpaths in the public spaces of the park, here it was paved with stones and more uneven.

“Good thing, my hiking boots still fit,” she muttered as she pushed yet another branch out of the way.

Was that a river?

She knew the city had a river or two still flowing, but she had never heard of one in this part. Maybe it was a water channel left over from the days when this was still farmland.

Intrigued she kept going. The louder the noise, the more careful she stepped.

Quickly checking that her mobile phone was still operational, she continued.

Stepping into a small clearing, she stopped and gasped aloud.

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Book Review: Latina Authors and their Muses by Mayra Calvani

I volunteered to read and review this non-fiction book. First off, I didn't like the format of the book. It is a collection of one interview after the other. While it is okay to read an interview, this many was a bit of a challenge. The author interviewed 40 Latina authors.

What I should have done, and only realised this about 40% through, was to check the table of contents first to see if I knew any of the authors being interviewed. Not personally of course, but knew as in have read any of their books.

I wasn't familiar with the majority of the authors, purely because I don't read in their genre. I did find one author who happened to be a favourite of mine, Caridad Piñeiro. I love her books and skipped immediately to her interview.

I would suggest that you do the same if you want to read this book.

From the interviews I did read, and I read many of them in detail, the authors were forthcoming in their answers. Their words could serve as inspiration to many young and new authors, and not only if you are of South American descent.

The interviews showed that even though these Latin ladies are published, and many award-winning and best-selling authors, their struggles would be familiar to many authors or aspiring authors. I quite liked their comments on their muses. Despite their sometimes humorous take on the muse, it is clear that inspiration is only a small part of the story and hard work the true way to get things done.

If you are looking to read a book about how real authors deal with the daily grind of producing stories and how they got to be where they are today, this will open your eyes to what the real life of a writer is like.

I give it 

Linzé's Mischief: 28 February 2016

This year is two months old and already people are asking: where did the time go? Time is not ticking by any faster than it did last year or the year before or even ten years ago, and yet people still ask. I have been wondering about that for a while now. Why do we feel that time goes by faster, when in actual fact it does not.

Does it have to do with the rat race we found ourselves in? Or perhaps it is the increasing levels of stress we have to deal with every day? Or perhaps...I don't know...drifting along doing what is required - work, family, chores, work. Would we feel the same if we lived life for ourselves?

I don't mean that in a selfish, egocentric way, but do we even bother to make an appointment with ourselves, to meet our own needs of comfort and pleasure and self-expression?

My husband mentioned that December and January flew by at the speed of white light, but didn't make the same statement about February. While I was sketching today, I had a thought about that.

Yes, December and January for us had been hectic. Some things unplanned crossed our paths and for that he could be forgiven to think that time flew by.

But February was not like that, was it? Yes, we were busy, for him especially but that is normal in our lives.

I did another lesson in my tai chi class today - I am a bit behind on learning new forms, although I have been keeping up with my practicing. Especially after my horrible day yesterday, had an awful migraine that kept me in bed most of the time, another lesson was a welcome distraction. But it also reminded me of what I am doing with my time. My tai chi teacher (I am doing David Dorian-Ross' course) mentioned that a student of tai chi should be more aware of her next move. Her next choice. Her reaction towards a threat or simply what is going on around her. This way you have a measured response, a responsible counter reaction.

I think it is true about everything going on around us. A little philosophical perhaps, but maybe it is necessary to step back once in a while and think about the future. Time is only in our future. We cannot do anything about what has gone past. If we are more aware of what we spend our time on, on where we are wasting our time, will this not help to not ask the question 'where did the time go?'

Maybe I am more aware of time with the passing of my mother recently, but I think it was just one more prompt for me to look at what I am doing with my time and my life. Am I using time as best I can, or am I fooling myself about it?

Francois had been to a Photographic Society board meeting today and upon his return, he asked me what the soccer score had been between Man U and Arsenal. I had no idea. I didn't watch the game. I was utilising my time on the activity I promised myself as my new year's resolution - doing art. It will be a gift for a family member. Until he asked, I didn't know they had a game today. I used to love watching, but it has become less important to me. Maybe it never really was that important to begin with.

Are you still keeping up with that resolution for 2016? Is your time spent doing the important things you have been promising yourself? Do I dare ask the question: where did your time go this year?

The laundry, the writer and the timer they both used

I wrote 8500 words last weekend. I decided to sit and write my story for the JOURNEY project and get the first draft done after weeks of excuses. I did write, but other stories, so I wasn't procrastinating. I was avoiding the story that I should have been writing. The reasons for the avoidance are many, but let's just say that writing a story where grief is the main theme just after my mother passed away, was not going to be easy and I dreaded that. But I did it.

Before I get into the how of that, a small laundry lesson. My washing machine beeps when it has finished the program I had chosen for that load. I use that as my timer. I don't have to watch the clock or worry about how much time or how many words I still have to do. I write, and the washing machine's beeps will call time for a session. Since the lengths of the programs vary according to the load, how many rinse and spin cycles I chose, etc., I can use that to suit my energy levels.

Mid-morning will require a shorter cycle since I have to watch my blood sugar and eat at predetermined intervals. After I had something to eat, I can select laundry that requires a longer cycle. While this might be weird to you, it helped me to write a story that I had to write, but had been avoiding. With a deadline (that I set) not too far away, I had to make a plan to force myself to do this. And here is how I did that:

Saturday - it was short before 11 am, and I had to have a meal at about 12 pm. I went through my laundry basket and chose light fabrics, of mixed colours - typically clothes I would wear to work that won't get dirty because my job is mostly office based. Cycle = 40 minutes.

I started writing at 10h56. I didn't hear the machine beep because of music playing on my computer and the air-conditioner running in the passage outside my home office. I stopped at 11h57 and managed to get from 466 to 1651 words in that time.

The scene was emotionally draining, and I felt tired, so I took a long break. Took care of the laundry, had lunch, took some time to play with the dogs and got back to my computer at 13h39. I had another load of laundry ready but this time, the cycle was 1hr and 35min.

Again I stopped at 14h49 and managed to get to 2921 words. I was beginning to see a pattern that had nothing to do with the story. I could sit and write for about an hour before I had to get up and move around because of a back problem. I had noticed this before (also at work) but never really paid attention until I had this story to write. Okay, now I could work around that too.

Saturday evening I added a few more words and went to bed with 4527 words written. Not bad for a day where I had multiple tasks to do and had a story to write.

The requirements for the story are a minimum of 9000 words, so I was aiming towards that. This was the basic story, I would have to do a lot of editing, but this minimum target was not a bad place to aim for.

On Sunday my husband and I had our usual breakfast out, so I could only start writing again once we were back home a few minutes before 10 am. I didn't do much laundry, except some underwear because I was running low. Since I now knew that my body could handle being still for an hour at a time, I could work with that without worrying about the clock or my word count.

Here is how my Sunday went:

10h07 to 10h49 - I added another 858 words.

By 12h03 I had 6042 words in the story.

14h23 - 6451 words

14h34 - 6663 words

16h35 - 7485 words

16h50 - 7751 words

17h01 - 7984 words

17h31 - 8455 words

18h11 - 8975 words

As you might guess, I wasn't writing continuously, but that was okay. I had been able to consistently add words to my story until I felt the story was done. The above info I wrote down on a piece of paper next to my computer. This habit of mine to keep track of my words helps me to keep going.

Yes, my story is not 9000 words, but it will require more words to paint the complete picture that I want for my readers.

Don't misunderstand me - I cannot do this every weekend. I have other obligations most weekends, and I was utterly exhausted afterwards. So much so that at work on Monday I was having a hard time focusing. This it not the most number of words I have written over a weekend. If memory serves, I have done more than 10 000 words for NaNoWriMo one year.

These 8500 words came at a high emotional price for me, but having read the story afterwards (not ready for editing yet) I feel it could it be a story worth publishing. Let's hope my writers' group agree otherwise I will have to come up with a new idea - and soon!

The Friendship Affair

Not all long lasting marriages are happy. But what do you do if divorce is not an option?

University friends, Stephanie and Nick, meet again after twenty years. But life has not been easy or simple for either of them. Will this friendship affair stand a chance against reality?

 

CHAPTER 7

They met the following Sunday afternoon at the coffee shop.

“How has your week been?”

“Rough, but I managed. Yours?”

Nick smiled at the memory of his kids' visit two days earlier. “Splendid actually. Work was busy as usual.”

Stephanie pointed to his mouth. “That smile tells me there is more.”

A few minutes later she was laughing with him.

“Sounds like your children want you to be happy.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I think so too.”

They finished their coffee and decided to go for a walk in the fairy garden. They didn't go to the cottage but stayed on the public paths.

There were more people in the garden, some even with dogs or baby strollers out to get a breather from the heat.

They didn't talk much, each lost in their own thoughts.

He wondered what she would say to a change in their relationship. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to kiss her, hold her, make love to her. And yet something was holding him back. She was not like the others. They were friends and he wanted that connection to stay.

Maybe it was people always saying that you lose the friend if you gain the lover.

He watched the sun sprinkle highlights in her red-brown hair, and wondered why they hadn't been lovers all those years ago. She was highly intelligent and beautiful on top of that. They were almost the same age, and yet time had been her friend when he compared her to other women of his era.

When the path might a tight turn, they were almost enclosed by trees and shrubs in their own little world.

He caught her looking at him.

“Will you—”

He cut her words off by sealing his lips to hers.

And then the world exploded in an array of colours and flavours.

* * *

Stephanie caught herself smiling at the oddest moments. Even her oldest friend knew something was up when they met for lunch on Monday.

While Denise knew about her husband, Stephanie never told anyone about the affairs, fearing her friend's censure and loss of friendship.

With a great deal of effort, Stephanie managed to get through lunch without making a fool of herself.

Neither did she tell Denise about meeting up with him again. She too knew him at uni, might even have dated him once or twice. But Nick was her secret. Something she didn't want to share with friends and family. Her own happiness.

Stephanie stopped in her tracks. Happiness?

When was the last time she felt something even remotely resembling that emotion?

She opened the door to the building of her afternoon appointment. After signing in at security, she got into the elevator.

Many people returned after going out for lunch and the car stopped at every floor. She stood at the back and watched the numbers of the floors slowly roll over.

Her cheeks heated with the memory of the kiss in the garden. She touched her lips remembering the way his moved and teased hers. Even her body recalled its heated reaction.

Nick wanted to be lovers, he made that clear, but he didn't kiss with sex on his brain. There was desire, and heat, which they shared once she got over the shock of that first touch. She wanted him too. All because of a kiss that made her happy. Happy? Could a kiss do that? How could he do that?

The floor number rolled around that woke her mind to the reality of getting back to work.

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