Scene in Makers Gold 1

The bourbon was making it all slick - too slick to pick up successfully. That and the blood - gripping the edges of the broken bottle was difficult with one's vision obscured. Looking up, she realized that he had walked in and seen her like that, hands bleeding all over the glass, red blood on red wax on bourbon, like some horrifying travesty of luxury and velvet. She held her hands out to him, letting the shards drop from her open palm, as if in testament to her innocence - as if the bottle's presence was somehow capable of exonerating rather than implicating her.

Post the First

It's amazing how often we open our mouths only to make fools of ourselves. Even at our most cautious moments, those times when we think most fervently to ourselves, "this is an entire room/building full of people here I do NOT want to think I am an idiot," that need to express ourselves, that passion gets the better of us. And if we are smart enough, or verbally competent enough creatures, we come out relatively unscathed, or even the better, for our folly. But people like me, with no verbal (or physical) gymnastic skill to veil us, we end up nervous, our voices quavering. We are the idiots at school in the goofy silk pajamas that only our dreams can concoct for us, sweating in ways that only silk allows. And yet we continue.
Stubbornness, then, has been and will continue to be the ultimate ruling factor in my desire to write, and in the continuance of this strange new media outlet they call a "blog." Maybe i'll learn something along the way.