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Out like a wet lamb…

/ Alex Whitehall / Leave a comment

March Goals

1. Write 6,000 words. I’m not upping the count yet. I want to see if I can get more than one month with goods word counts.

2. Do some level of physical activity every day (even if it’s just a 5-minute routine).

3. Do that final loose end that I need to do. 

Okay.
So. March.

1. I didn’t reach this. Halfway through the month I was maybe going to hit this mark, but my weekends were incredibly busy and, more importantly, instead of writing over my lunch breaks I started working on edits. I have a pile of things I want to move on to possible publication, so my writing is going to take rest for the moment.

2. I’ve been hit or miss on physical activity. On one hand, I was SUPER physical last weekend and lost 5 lbs. Otherwise I’ve been doing things most days.

3. That loose end is done-ish. It’s more of a WIP now, but that one I successfully completed!

Aaaaand now for April. First off, how the heck is it April already? Seems super shady to me.

April’s goals

1. Do light edits/clean up 2 shorter stories and find beta readers to see if they are worth seeing the light of day.

2. Work on BAW, which I just printed out. That’s kind of a monster of a task, since I need to write the end and reevaluate the whole thing. Cue weeping.

3. Get out to the barn more and actually get on a horse. For the first time in nearly 2 years.

So. Many. Edits.

Screaming into the night

/ Alex Whitehall / Leave a comment

I am one orgasm away from finishing my Shifters book.

Unfortunately I have a million things on my plate, I can’t write sex scenes over my lunch at work—Okay, I can but they tend to be awkward to write and on screen—and my next two weekends are packed.

I’m already behind on my word count for the month, I don’t even remember what the other goals were, and I’m wondering if I actually will have time to get all the knitting projects done that I scheduled this year (it’s, like, 3 projects. I aimed low).

Okay. I just needed to get that off my chest.

February’s out, March is in

/ Alex Whitehall / Leave a comment

February’s Goals1. Get in a good exercise at least 3 days a week.
2. Write 6,000 words this month.
3. Tie up a lot of loose ends for random things.
4. Find at least one place to submit something to (whether or not that story is finished for submitting).

So we survived February.

1. Not really. I tried to exercise, but some weeks I was super busy, some weeks I was just tired, and some weeks I had no excuse. I need to get back on this wagon.

2. 8,966. So I ended up almost 3,000 over my goal. I want to celebrate, but part of the success was writing over my lunch breaks, which will only work until spring, when I go on walks. However, it did give me a nice push on my shift story (which is only a few thousand from finished, I’d guess). And now I have a few stories fighting for next. It’s a lovely feeling.

3. Pretty much tied up things I needed to. I have on last item on my long-term to-do list. It’s not really a loose end, but it is on the check list. But otherwise cleaning this up helped a ton.

4. As I said before, this is on hiatus, I think. When I wrote the goal, I was in a different place in my head. I’m fine with having not done this. Focusing on #2 was more important.

So February went pretty well. It was super busy, but I still hit half my goals (more than, really). In fact, considering how much time I spent working, I’m surprised I did half as well as I planned. But now it’s March!

March Goals

1. Write 6,000 words. I’m not upping the count yet. I want to see if I can get more than one month with goods word counts.

2. Do some level of physical activity every day (even if it’s just a 5-minute routine).

3. Do that final loose end that I need to do.

I think that’s it for March. I have busy weekends, #3 will take a good chunk, and the other two will involve a level of daily focus. Whew.

I had an adventure. Almost.

/ Alex Whitehall / Leave a comment

Today was much like any other day: haircut, errands, out to lunch with mum, home to do taxes (because they are getting more complicated and yelling at my father helps me think things through), then finally head back to my place! Whew. A long day. I look forward to unpacking from my venture home, heating up dinner, and doing all the work I didn’t get done today.

And then my phone rings. (Which, if you know me, means there has to be an emergency, because I abhor phone calls. So everyone nicely texts me.)

My friends are stranded at the grocery store with a dead battery. They need a jump. Don’t I have cables?

I do! Or I did. When my last car was totaled, my dad saved them from the car and we left them at home. I don’t remember why. (Seemed like a good idea at the time?) I think I had visions of me buying  my own set instead of borrowing his spares. The point is I didn’t have the cables.

So I drove back to my parents’ house, picked up the cables, lifted the hood and stared. New car. Where the hell was the battery? The red cap seemed to indicate the positive, but where was the negative? I hung around until my dad arrived to remind me my battery is in the trunk, and he said those were all fuses, but the battery wires went to the red cap, so that was that.

Victory! Back in my car and heading to my friends. They call. Someone finally stopped who HAD cables and was going to give them a jump.

Of course.

So I headed home, pleased I at least now had cables, and only slightly frustrated my dinner was pushed back an hour and a half. And nothing else is getting done tonight.

Maybe.

Out with Jan, In with Feb

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So January started strong but…kind of failed

January’s Goals
1. Keep on exercise routine.

I sort of kept with my exercising. As in, I kept exercising. But it dropped from 4 days a week to 2 for some weeks. 

2. Write for three hours every week (doesn’t have to be at once).

I had decided to not do this yet and instead just track my word count for the month and try to increase on it every month. Which worked at the beginning of the month, but I’ve written nothing for the last two weeks. Total word count: 5,255
3. Finish current knitting project.

This one I did! I finished my mobius scarf and a pair of mitts. Yay for one success!

February’s Goals
1. Get in a good exercise at least 3 days a week.

2. Write 6,000 words this month.

3. Tie up a lot of loose ends for random things.

4. Find at least one place to submit something to (whether or not that story is finished for submitting).

So here’s hoping.

Writing Exercise: 1/18/14

/ Alex Whitehall / Leave a comment

My other stories have been slow in coming. I need to reorganize some things in my life inside my head.

I got practically nothing written this week, but this morning I woke up with a vignette in my head begging to be written. It’s not going to develop into anything more, but it was a nice writing exercise. Of course, one day I’m going to go back and look at all these short pieces and roll my eyes at them and want to fix them up. Also, I need to do more exercises that push my skills, but that’s another story.

This one is just about heartbreak….I guess.

Oh, college life.

I crouched by my bag in front of my dorm room door and searched the pouch where I remembered leaving my key before going to class. Nothing. The sounds of Soul Caliber drifted through the crappy door, and then my roommate, Harry. “So how do you put up with fucking him?”
Will snorted. “What does that mean?”
“I’m just saying. What’s it like?”
“Why, you want to fuck my boyfriend?”
“Um, no.” Even through the door, I could hear the curl of disgust. “Just wondering. He’s so lanky and boney.”
“Well, yeah.” A pause, followed by the curses of one player getting several combo attacks on another. A soft chuckled. “It is kind of like fucking Jack Skellington.”
I stood on shaking legs and stared at the door. But the voices still came.
“He’s aptly name then, huh?”
Will laughed and the curl of unease froze in my gut. “Shit, how did I never think of that before?”
“Obviously because you were so in love.” The eye roll was clear through wood and cement.
“Obviously.” Another snort of laughter from Will.
I shoved my hands in my pocket and curled my fingers around the keys there. Oh, hey, found my keys.
The clatter of controllers hitting the hard floors barely registered. The sound of tussling was not that abnormal, so I slid the key in the lock, thinking I’d call them on talking shit about me behind my back.
Then a groan. Not a ‘that hurt’ groan. Not a ‘don’t hit me there’ groan. But a ‘oh yes, again please’ groan.
I turned the lock and twisted the knob. Pushed open the door.
And yes, my roommate was lying on top of my boyfriend, one hand between them at their crotches, my boyfriend’s legs wrapped around his waist. Harry did something and Will did that groan again, his hips arching up into the touch.
I swallowed down the bile of betrayal, grabbed the doorknob, and slammed the door shut. It was only a moment more to reclaim the key, put my school bag in order, and walk–quickly–down the hall.
Looked like I needed a new boyfriend.
And a new roommate.

Fuck.

Writing Exercise 1/7/14

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Another writing exercise, because I couldn’t build up the courage to jump back into the story I’m working on. And I figured writing something is better than nothing. Once again, no editing or re-reading has been done to this piece.


Andy rolled over. The streetlight, filtered through five dollar curtains, cast water shadows across Trey’s dark, smooth skin. He closed his eyes, but when he reopened them, Trey was still spread about beside him, one hand resting on his chest, the other by his thigh, the sheets clinging at his waist. It almost made him look nude.
But he wasn’t. And Andy needed to keep that in mind. Needed to remember that Trey was here because the alternative was lying on hard plastic totes. Because Andy had invited him–as a friend. Because friends didn’t make their friends sleep in dusty warehouses.
Friends didn’t study the slope and curve of one another’s chest as it rose and fell, the sparse hair that gathered thicker near the waist and then vanished beneath the sheet. One little tug and…
And he’d see boxer shorts. Because friends didn’t sleep naked in bed together.
He rolled over, tucking his hands under his pillow. Turning away didn’t hide Trey’s skin, matte in the dimness, anymore than the dark had. But at least now he wasn’t tempted to reach out and touch it. His hands clenched one another. Or at least he thought he had more control to not do it.
He shouldn’t have invited Trey over. But what kind of friend abandoned their buddy without a place to sleep?
The smart ones who have been harboring crushes on their hot coworker.
So not him. Because he was an idiot who gladly invited said crush into his bedroom to sleep beside him. Platonically. Of course. He closed his eyes and squeezed his hand to the point of page. He was the biggest fucking idiot.
“Mmffg.” Trey shifted behind him, and Andy held his breath, waited, but nothing more happened.
Of course. Because the love interest slipping his arm around the besotted fool’s waist in the middle of the night only happened in cheesy romances.
“Mmm.” Trey shifted again, and this time a hand landed on Andy’s hip and slid around to his front, holding him there and drawing him closer as Trey wiggled behind him. Spooning him.
A string of curses, prayers, and hallelujahs streamed through his head before he managed a whispered, “Trey?”
Nothing. Then an aborted snore that rubbed against Andy’s shoulder.
Oh. He was still asleep. Cuddling. In his sleep.
He wished Trey had mentioned this little quirk. He inhaled and closed his eyes, ignoring the reasons and the whynots and just feeling the arm around him, the body behind him, the heat and scent and…well, the boner. Nothing to be done about that (literally, unless he wanted to risk waking Trey up with the motion).
He could always pretend he’d been dreaming about a hot chick or something. Afterall, it was Trey who had started the cuddle party.
Andy pressed his hips back, just enough to feel Trey’s dick press against his crack. He froze. Trey snuggled closer, hips pressing closer, body plastered against him. Wasn’t Trey hot? The air conditioning was doing its best, but still…
Though, maybe it was his pounding heart that was making him so warm.
He exhaled in a rush, then sharply inhaled as the hand on his stomach slid down–oh fuck–and bumped into the Boy Scout troop stationed there. Trey made another sleepy noise behind him and the hand slid up to his chest, once against holding him as Trey wiggled behind him, crotch–hardening cock!–nestling firmly in his crack.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuck.
Trey nuzzled against Andy’s short hair, probably envisioning kissing the crown of some high school sweetheart.
“Mmm,” came his sleepy voice. “Am I turning you on?”
That gravelly question should not have made him shiver, but it did. He also realized–several seconds too late–that the question was a little too keen for someone who was sleeping. He froze.
“Trey?” his shadow whispered.
“Mmm. Yeah, Andy?”

——–



Goals and Aims

/ Alex Whitehall / Leave a comment

Happy New Year!

As the new year comes, people across the country make resolutions that (most likely) won’t last. And for the past year or so, I’ve decided making forgettable resolutions aren’t my thing. So once again I’ll be doing monthly lists with goals for that month. January’s are below.

However, I do have ONE aim for the entire year: Get down to my pre-injury weight of 125 lbs. As of writing this, I weigh 135 lbs. It’s not a huge jump, so it shouldn’t be unreasonable, but I LOVE food and being tired and in pain so much of the time has diminished my workout ethic. But the new workout schedule is going pretty well, so I’m optimistic.

January’s Goals
1. Keep on exercise routine.

2. Write for three hours every week (doesn’t have to be at once).

3. Finish current knitting project.

Giving thanks at the Solstice

/ Alex Whitehall / Leave a comment

On the longest night of the year, I like to remember who brings light into my life and helps guide me along the way.

This year, those who have brought light in my life:

Mom & Dad, who took care of me after my accident and put up with my mood swings, crying spells, driving me to doctors’ appointments, letting me stay with them, and then letting me pull away again.

Tuna, who keeps in touch, keeps me grounded, and lifts my spirit.

Em, who hunted high and low to get me a stuffed otter and then made accessories for that otter.

Lexi, for emotionally scarring my 9-year-old character.

Bry, for putting up with me and driving me to and from home when I wanted to be with my friends.

The trips, for being a surprise happiness in my life. I still don’t like kids, but I love you guys!

Each of you plays a special part in my life, and I’m grateful to have you there for me. I hope I can be there for you as well.

Alex

Exercise: 12.17.13

/ Alex Whitehall / 1 Comment
Just an exercise, so no editing/re-reading has been done. 
Prompt: 
Trey plopped down on the long tote packed full of books, the sturdy plastic and sheer mass of paper holding his weight. Not soft, not comfortable, but sturdy.
And his bed. At least for now. He had plans. Good plans. Great plans, really, if they’d just follow through like he wanted. But for now he was happy with a job, a place to crash–as long as the boss didn’t find him–and enough money for a meal now and then. Once he got his first paycheck. For now, a bed was enough.
The sheet over the totes almost made it look like a bed, even if it was just there to cut down on dust. And it was warm enough he didn’t even need to pull his blanket out, although he should put it down for an extra cushion to sleep on. Once he had the energy to get move again.
He’d just stripped off his shirt to use as a pillow when the unmistakable ku-chink echoed across the large storage unit, practically a warehouse. Shit.
He jumped to his feet and yanked his shirt, trying to find the bottom to pull over his head as the door ground open. Creeeeeeeeak.
Shit. Shit. Shit. He’d gotten his head through the arm hole, somehow. He nearly ripped an ear off pulling the shirt from his head.
“Trey?”
He winced. Andy’s smooth voice echoed in the room, despite the books lining the walls. He fisted his hands in the shirt and stared at it. “Hey.”
The door clanged behind Andy, although he didn’t move in any farther. “What are you doing here?”
His fingers clamped harder. The words he’d prepared, the jokes he’d wanted to make for just this occasion, fled him. Instead, he blurted, “Please don’t tell James.” He winced.
The flat soles of Chucks scuffed across the floor. “But why are you here?”
He risked looking up. Andy stood on the other side of the totes, dark brown eyes flickering from the sheets to Trey, then around and back to Trey. He swallowed and dropped his gaze back to his shirt. “I just needed a place to crash.”
“Crash? Crash? You’re sleeping here?”
He shrugged. “I just needed a place for a bit. I wasn’t hurting anything!”
“I didn’t think you were, T. But why are you sleeping here?”
Trey peeked. Andy looked seriously confused and concerned. Jeezy Creezy. Why else would he be sleeping here? “I’m kinda between places.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So if you could not tell James, I’d–”
“But why?”
Trey jerked back, the words a knife in his chest. What the fuck was Andy’s problem? Did he not understand anything more subtle than I’m a homeless motherfucker right now?
Andy must have seen something on his face, because he quickly added, “I mean, why didn’t you say something! I thought we were friends!”
“Really?”
It was Andy’s turn to look hurt. “Yeah. But I guess not.”
“No… It’s just… Jeez. Hey, by the way, I’m homeless isn’t exactly third day of work conversation, you know?”
“Yeah…I guess not.” Andy’s smile looked sad, which just wasn’t right on the guy. “Sorry. But we have been working together for three months.” He paused, his brow wrinkling. “Have you been sleeping here the whole time?”
He looked back down at his shirt.
“Dammit!” Andy stepped over the book totes and grabbed Trey’s shoulder, hauling him in for a rib-crunching hug. “Way to make me feel like shit, man.”
Trey was suddenly very aware that he was shirtless and the summer heat made their bodies stick, cling, the ripe scent of young man clinging between them. Thankfully he’d gotten a shower the other night at the gym with the shit security, so it was only a heady scent and not a changed-my-mind-about-the-hug stench. Andy’s hand rubbed up and down his back, his breath a humid sigh against his shoulder. “I wish you woulda told me.”
“Not something I go bragging about, you know?”
“Yeah.” Andy squeezed, then slowly let his arms slip away. “Get your things.”
“What?”
Andy stepped back, shoulders hunched defensively as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Get your things, you can stay with me. I’ve got a roommate and no couch, but we can share a bed, it’s cool.”
He swallowed. The warehouse environmental control must have kicked in, because it suddenly felt warmer in there. That didn’t make sense at all though. He swallowed. “What?”
“I mean, I know it ain’t ideal, but it’s a big bed, and it’s gotta be better than these, right?” He toed the tote.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to put you out or anything.”
Andy sighed. “Jeez, you’re a dumb ass. Get your things, you’re not putting me out.” He paused and chuckled. “Heh. Putting out.”
Trey’s face flamed and he yanked his shirt on over his head, actually getting it through the neck hole this time. “You don’t gotta do this.”
“I know.” Andy waited until Trey looked up. “But I’m doing it anyway. Now get your shit and let’s go.”
So Trey grabbed his shit–one bag of clothes, a book, his wallet, and some stupid-ass keychain he’d found that now carried the warehouse key so he could open up in the mornings. “What were you coming in here this late for anyways?”
Andy smiled, his eyes distant. “I’d forgotten something.”
“Yeah? What?”

The smile stretched. “It doesn’t matter, I have it now. Let’s go.”