My Cardboard Balcony

End of the month introspection. Wish I had more to say, but again, everything's sort of on the same linear path. I'm still working and writing. I'm still applying for teaching credential programs (while trying to verify the hours I've worked for the appropriate age level. Guh). Lately, the only updates have been my squeeing over the first The Fault In Our Stars trailer, reading over my completed novels and manuscripts just for kicks, and trying to find outlets to see works of mine performed or filmed. Really, there's not much else I can say. I'm sure that'll change at some point. We shall see. At least I've got a quotation to share, though. Writer's Quotation of the Night: We can destroy what we have written, but we cannot unwrite it. - Anthony Burgess Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

"Caramel Kisses" is an unfinished novel I began to write back in 2009 and stopped working on in 2010. The two main characters - Adriana Maguire Reynard and Emma Burking - would ultimately be revised for my later completed novella, "The Liffey Is Half-Asleep," in 2011. Several elements of "Liffey" can be found in their original forms in "Caramel Kisses," such as the characters' names, the haiku scene, and Adriana's penchant for writing. Because of its influence on my later writing, I figured that this story, though incomplete, was worth sharing. Caramel Kisses: Chapter Eleven by Belinda Roddie I spent another night wide awake, pondering, secluded in the August heat rolling through the bedroom window and keeping my head heavy on top of my neck. I drew my knees up to my chin, damp skin against damp skin. My hair lay in a tangled knot on my head, and I involuntarily reminisced, like it was a knee-jerk reaction. Or a sharp kick to the sku

The entire wedding would be televised on every oblong, platinum screen, the glow of silver and gold in the eyes of every chip-bloated, beer-bubbling civilian. The ceremony of the gods, complete with crowns of laurels that blinded the humility of the groom and bride. Everyone in the country would be watching, and everyone would be awed and inspired. Then they'd return to their magazines and microwave dinners and lattes, and no one would give a fragment of a shit about the new Queen What's-her-name.