You know that things have gotten out of hand when you walk into your room and you can't see the ground. Like, literally cannot see where your feet are supposed to go. Granted, we have a king size bed and plenty of furniture to help with the unseeing ground issue, but really, that's a cop out.
I just didn't know where to start. There was sh*t everywhere. Clothes, suitcases (yes, from Tennessee. Don't judge me.) Books and pens and toys, oh my. I was overwhelmed.
But instead of putting it off and grabbing a book like I usually do, I got to work. And I clean. I actually cleaned.
Many of you are probably thinking, what's the big deal? But if you knew me, than you'd know. I picked up and organized and folded and dusted and vacuumed and dusted and vacuumed again. I don't think I've ever picked up so many tags. Like, clothes tags. From the store. I like to rip them off and leave them on the floor. I probably could have gone back six months and told you how much every piece of clothing in my closet cost. Well, needless to say, fifty thousand sneezes and thirty-six million groans later, it was done.
And again, if you know me, you know how big of a deal that is.
I, Raquel Valldeperas/Wyckoff, finished something besides a book.
Now all that's left to do is finish the laundry I started.
In other news, the second book to Toxic is currently in the works and coming along pretty nicely. I've got a working title and the whole plot pretty much figured out (in my head.) The writing is flowing, the words flying from fingertips to keys to computer screen. It's an awesome feeling, thinking something and seeing it come to life. It's even more awesome when it actually works out.
What? What's that, you say?
You want a teaser? A little taste? Well, since you've asked so nicely, here it is! Get ready to have your mind blown. (Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit. Maybe it'll be more like a hiccup instead of an explosion.)
They both nods their heads, look anywhere but into my eyes. "Let us know if there's anything we can do," cop number two says, handing me a card.
My hand reaches out for it, but it's not my hand. My voice tells them thank you, but it's not my voice. I am not me right now. I am no one and everyone and all Emily and Joshua have left. I am no longer Nathan Hawkins, star quarter back at UM, or Nathan Hawkins, eldest child of Sarah and Wesley Hawkins. In this moment, I am just a boy who falls to his knees and cries for the parents he loved, the parents that were taken from him too fucking early. For the little boy upstairs who will never get the chance to truly understand how much they loved him. For the just barely seventeen year old girl who will be forced to grow up too quickly and without a mom. I cry for the injustice of it all, but mostly I wish it was me instead.
I'm hoping to be done writing by the end of May, and have the final draft ready to be published by the end of June. It'll be longer than the first one and will definitely provide a lot more information since Nathan won't have chunks of time missing like Lo. Updates will be made as I go along!
Now that I've gotten the once-a-year-spring-cleaning out of the way, it's back to writing and reading for me!