A Literary Girl

Pretty - A Short Story

2010-07-06T20:33:00.001-07:00

Pretty
By Kristen Berry

Clare gasped, the intake of breath so sharp, it sounded painful.

“Look at you,” she exhaled. Josephine gave a little spin; she knew her cues. The tiny, black, pearl-like beads scattered over the short skirt of the dress glittered in the bar light. “When did you get this?”

“Yesterday. It arrived by messenger.”

“Tom?”

“Jacques. Something to remind me of him while he’s vacationing in France with the wife and kids.”

“It’s Chanel, isn’t it?”

Josephine nodded, flashing the sheepish grin she knew everyone found charming. She’s so modest, so down-to-earth to be so beautiful, they said.

“God Josie,” Clare said. “I’d kill for your closet.” Clare was wearing head-to-toe Lanvin, from that season. Josephine knew Clare made this statement for the same reason she flashed her smile. It’s what privileged people did to appear humble.

Josephine’s phone sounded from inside her clutch. She plucked it from inside, glanced at the screen, and made an apologetic face.

“Give me one second sweetie, I have to take this, but I’ll only be a minute. Ricardo, darling, how are you? Slow down, what’s happening? Ah, that again. Don’t worry, I’ll be right there.”

“Another of your boyfriends?” Clare asked.

“No, a friend. His boyfriend just broke up with him – again. I’d better run.” Josephine brushed Clare’s immaculately maquillaged cheek with her lips, exited the bar and entered a cab the valet attendant hailed for her.

The car stopped in front of a run-down walk-up beside a Korean market. Josephine handed the driver a handful of bills, climbed the stairs to building, slipped her key in the lock and went inside.

When she climbed to the fourth floor, she ran into Ricardo, standing in the hallway with two large men in dark gray jumpsuits.

“There she is!” Ricardo cried, his face twisted in anger. “I told you, last time was the last time I’d let you have these men banging on the doors looking for you. This is a family building, I can’t have all this noise! I told you, one more time and you’re out!”

“I’m sorry, Ricardo. It won’t happen again. See? I’m here now. Come on,” she said, motioning to the two men, “come get what you came for.”

Josephine unlocked the door, opening it to a room the size of one of Clare’s guest closets, a tiny kitchenette, bathroom, bed, dresser and television barely visible among the racks of clothing and boxes of shoes, jewelry and gifts that filled the space.

The two men glanced at each other, and then at Josephine.

“Go on,” Josephine said, waving them in, “go get them. Just please, be careful of the clothes. The racks are on wheels, we can move them.”

Josephine opened a bottle of Perrier-Jouet and drained a glass as the men removed the television, bed and dresser from the room.

“I need you to sign this,” one of the men said, walking back into the room with a clipboard.
“Would you like a glass?” Josephine asked, holding up the bottle.

“Um, no. That’s okay. I just need you to sign this.”

“Come on,” Josephine said, pouring a glass without waiting for an answer. “Just one.” He accepted it hesitantly.

“I don’t get it,” he said, sipping the champagne. “Why didn’t you just sell some of this stuff? You could have kept your furniture.”

“I don’t need furniture.”

“But you need this? All of this?”

“Did you ever dress up as a kid? Halloween or anything? As long as you were in that costume, you were what you wore.”

“It never mattered what I wore. I was always the fat son of a Brooklyn mechanic.”

“Not me,” Josephine said, refilling her glass and motioning around the room with it. “When I put on these clothes, I become the person I want to be. People talk to me differently, they look at me differently, they treat me differently. They want to be around me. They give me more things, for free, because of the things I already have. They want to surround themselves with people that mirror the image of what they want to be. These things are my key to that. They’re my ticket. It doesn’t matter if you’re the fat son of a Brooklyn mechanic or the skinny daughter of a Queens garbage collector.”

“But no bed?” he said. “All these things and no bed?”

“Isn’t a bed just a thing?”

He looked into his empty glass. Josephine picked up the clipboard, signed the form and handed it to him with a smile.

“Thanks for the drink,” he said, smiling and walking out of the apartment.

Josephine looked around the room. She took her phone from her purse, dialed a number and held it to her ear.

“Donovan,” she purred. “Free for a late dinner? Fantastic. Dessert is on me.”

A Perfect Woman - A Short Story

2010-01-21T19:15:00.000-08:00

My, it's been a long time. Here's a short, under-500-word piece about a character I'm thinking about. Feel free to leave your comments below!

A Perfect Woman

By Kristen Berry

“You’re beautiful,” Mark said, “and smart, and funny, and wonderful. You’re perfect, really. The best girlfriend I ever had. I’m just . . . I’m not ready. I thought I was ready, but I guess I’m not. I’m not sure when I will be. And it wouldn’t be fair to make you wait – I couldn’t ask you to do that. Seriously Jane, you deserve someone better than me. Someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved . . .”

Jane stopped paying attention. She could recite the speech by heart. The semantics varied, but the sentiment remained the same: It’s not you, it’s me . . .

She performed the next several acts on auto-pilot: she collected the few things she’d left around Mark’s condo (a nightgown, her pricey face cream, the novel on the nightstand), kissed Mark on the cheek and walked out the door with her head held high.

In the safety of her Mercedes, she allowed herself to weep. After five minutes, she pulled a tissue from her purse, blotted and buffed the tear streaks from her face, reapplied her lipstick and pulled away from the curb.

Jane drove to the nearest bookstore. After a moment’s pause in Periodicals she selected a copy of Italian Vogue, then located the travel section and selected a book at random: Philadelphia.
She walked into the salon around the corner.

“Jane,” called the receptionist. “I’m sorry, did you have an appointment today? We’re booked solid.”

“Please?” Jane asked, her smile charming. “It’s an emergency.”

The receptionist winked. “I’ll find a way to get you in.”

In the lobby Jane flipped through the magazine she’d purchased and ripped out a page.

“The usual blowout today?” the hairdresser asked once she was in the chair.

“No,” she said, placing the magazine page on the immaculate counter, “I want this.”

She spent the next two hours having her honey-colored hair died chocolate brown, several inches chopped off so the ends hovered precisely just over her shoulders, with bangs that just concealed her green eyes.

Then she drove home to her undecorated, pre-furnished one-bedroom apartment. She taped the magazine page to the bathroom mirror, and regarded her reflection. She wiped off her pink lipstick, replacing it with a nude shade, and traced her once naked lash line with black liquid, coating the lashes with more. She took a Polaroid camera from a shelf in her bedroom and turned it backwards, the flash illuminating her face. She tossed the photo into a shoebox filled with others just like it.

It took less than the time to transform her hair than to pack her things. Once on the other side of the door, she removed the key from her chain, placed it in an envelope with a note and a few hundred dollars, and pushed it through the mail slot.

And like a hundred times before, Jane was gone.

Everything - A Short Story

2009-03-16T21:08:00.000-07:00

I know, it's been a looong time since my last post. Better late than never, right? :-p Here goes, my first 500-word story of the year. Enjoy!

Everything
By Kristen Berry

I should have seen it coming. But when I saw him on the other side of the restaurant with her, my insides did that awful thing when half your parts hit the floor and the other lodge in your throat. I suppose he felt the same way, as I sat there with Jack. I saw it, too; the muscles under the skin of his face went to stone.

He didn’t come back into my life overnight. For a while, I would just see him from afar in public places, though I was never sure he saw me. Not until he appeared behind me one day at Borders and asked, “Are you haunting me?”

Never one for small talk, he immediately asked me to coffee. A person could have coffee with an inconsequential ex, someone with which you had only shared a few memories and too much time. But Kevin . . . It had been seven years, and still he inspired the novels that paid my bills. No, there could be no coffee between us.

After several weeks of ignoring his emails, I finally gave into an e-conversation with him. We compromised on the terms: seeing each other would be too dangerous; calls too personal; letters too romantic. We would communicate through email alone, deleting each other’s messages as soon as they were read.

It filled a void. When we forced ourselves to stay focused on what we had and not wish for more, we actually made up for all the little things we’d settled for in our partners.

For a moment, we had everything. But then I saw him at the restaurant, sitting with his wife, and all the things I couldn’t have were the only things I wanted.

I needed to leave. But we were only halfway through our appetizers and I didn’t want to arouse Jack's suspicions. Not that he would ever suspect anything anyway. Good, sweet Jack. He deserved so much better than me.

I excused myself with a smile and walked toward the ladies’ room. It was locked. I rested my hands on the table in the hall and hung my head.

I hated myself. Our affair might not have been physical, but I was still just like the shoes that tracked the dirt onto the rug I stood on, dragging grim bits of the outside onto something bright and beautiful, ruining the thing over time.

I mean, weren’t Jack and I happy? Even if he didn’t fulfill my every need, even if he never understood me the way Kevin did, even if he couldn’t sum up the world with all the eloquence and wisdom of an epic poet, weren’t we still happy?

Then I felt his hand on my back. I was a column of Jenga blocks just after the last piece was pulled, swaying fruitlessly, trying to right myself though in a matter of seconds I would be dashed to the floor in a million broken pieces.

I've Been a Bad Blogger . . .

2009-03-03T10:11:00.000-08:00

Actually, I've been a good blogger . . . it's just been for another blog (http://www.newsforpeoplewhoreadgood.com).

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about "A Literary Girl." Now that "News for People Who Read Good" is up and running, I'm definitely returning my attention to fiction.

Stay tuned! My goal is to get another piece of super-short (500 words) fiction up by next week.

New Year, New Blog

2009-01-10T05:55:00.000-08:00

I apologize for the lack of posts lately. As I'm sure you could tell from my last several posts, I've been thinking a lot about the disconnect between traditional publishing and the Internet age. Instead of continuing to simply comment on it, I decided I should try and do something about it, even if only in my own, small way.

I've decided to launch a new blog (it won't replace "A Literary Girl") to provide readers and writers with a single source for literary news, presented in a fresh, irreverent voice. Check it out at www.newsforpeoplewhoreadgood.com/. Save it to your bookmarks, and subscribe to the feed!

"Move Over Kindle; E-Books Hit Cell Phones"

2008-12-30T14:03:00.000-08:00

The other day my boyfriend and I were talking about the popularity of Amazon's Kindle. "Wouldn't it be cool if you could skip buying the $400 gadget and just get the books straight to your smartphone?" I asked.

Turns out, people already do. And, according to BusinessWeek, people are downloading books to their smartphones at a lower price than those using Kindles. Not to mention at a lower price than those buying the books the old fashioned way, at actual bookstores.

Interesting . . .

"Move Over Kindle; E-Books Hit Cell Phones," BusinessWeek, Dec. 30, 2008

http://www.businessweek.com/technology/content/dec2008/tc20081229_937226.htm?chan=top+news_top+news+index+-+temp_news+%2B+analysis

NYTimes: More Readers Picking Up Electronic Books

2008-12-23T15:43:00.000-08:00

Continuing the ongoing conversation about the future of the publishing industry, the New York Times published a story about the rise in electronic book sales:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/24/technology/24kindle.html?_r=1&partner=rss

Dropping the Ball: A New Year’s Eve (Short) Story

2008-12-18T18:27:00.000-08:00

Ah, the holidays. The perfect fodder for fiction. My writers' group is off until January, but I thought I'd continue our short story tradition with 500 words of fiction inspired by the holidays.

Dropping the Ball: A New Year’s Eve (Short) Story

By Kristen Berry

There’s never a good time to break up with someone. There’s no hour of the day or section of the calendar during which the news hurts less. There are bad times to break up with someone, however. Like around the other person’s birthday. Or Valentine’s Day. Or perhaps, worst of all, during the holidays. Because unlike one single, emotionally-charged day, the holidays are a barrage of them. That’s why I decided to break up with Frank in January, once all the bright, shiny decorations, holiday cards and party invitations were put away.

Frank had celebrated New Year’s with his best friend, Colin, since they were undergrads at NYU. That year Frank and I doubled with Colin and his girlfriend, Delia, a WASP-y girl whose every sentence ended with a question mark. It irritated and amused me equally; I found myself asking her questions regularly just to hear her do it, like a child that picks at a scab though it hurts.

“So, how’s the job going, Delia?” I asked as we hovered near the buffet, me loading my plate with small exotic-looking appetizers as Delia watched, holding a glass of champagne in one hand while absent-mindedly running her hand through her blonde hair with the other. I was pretty sure 80% of the hair wasn’t hers.

“It’s going great?” She replied. “I actually just got promoted? I’m a floor manager now?”

“Wow, Delia. That’s great. Congratulations.”

“Thank you?”

Suddenly there was a chirp of feedback from the stage. All of the emcee’s sentences ended with exclamation points. I thought he and Delia would make an excellent couple.

“Okay everyone! The clock’s winding down! If you’re not already with him or her, I suggest you find your date and get ready to pucker up!”

Delia and I wove through the maze of couples until we found Frank and Colin.

“There you are babe,” Frank said, wrapping an arm around me and pressing his lips to the crown of my head. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d found another man to kiss at midnight.”

The irony of his words cut me. I looked at Frank and wondered how much I’d miss him when he was gone.

“Okay everybody, it’s that time! 10! 9! 8...”

The electric crackle of anticipation filled the air. All around me women clutched their dates’ arms eagerly, and the men chanted the countdown with the same glee they might their college fight song.

“… 3! 2! 1! Happy New Year!”

As the balloons and confetti rained down from above, Colin grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me full on the mouth as both our lovers watched.

Even now, eight years later, I still tell Colin it was the cruelest way anyone could announce a breakup. He argues that the pain was sharp but quick, like ripping off a friend’s Band-Aid unexpectedly so he wouldn’t have to do it himself.

The (Uncertain) Future of Publishing, Part II

2008-12-16T08:56:00.000-08:00

Speaking of changes in the publishing world, the Detroit Newspapers announced a major change today, "emphasizing more online delivery of news and information and cutting back home delivery days."

Read the full story at: http://freep.com/article/20081216/FREEPRESS/81216032

The (Uncertain) Future of Publishing

2008-12-15T20:39:00.000-08:00

The publishing industry is having a difficult time adjusting to the Internet age. We’ve become a society that expects to get all of our information and entertainment instantly, whether it’s our news, gossip, music, movies, or books. Because the print forms of this information don’t lend themselves well to this instant-access age, many are beginning to fail. Newspapers are closing, and book publishers are shrinking their staffs.

“It's been a difficult year for the book industry, which has seen its share of job cuts and consolidation,” read an article in today’s BusinessWeek (http://www.businessweek.com/innovate/content/dec2008/id20081215_635136.htm).
“As major publishers such as Simon & Schuster, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, and Penguin announced layoffs and salary freezes, and new ways of distributing books, such as Amazon's (AMZN) Kindle electronic reader, continue to alter the consumption of long-form information, the future seems uncertain.”

I love books. . . the feeling of the pages turning in my fingers cannot be duplicated by an electronic device. I love buying newspapers and reading them through and through over coffee, pulling the sections free and folding their pages over. Alas, I am of a dying breed.

However, the BusinessWeek article continued by saying, “what is unlikely to change—especially in a time of such uncertainty—is the need for innovative ideas and smart, fresh ways to explain them.” I happen to agree. The question is, what are the innovative ideas that will take the publishing industry successfully into the future?

To me the idea of reading an entire novel on a small electronic device seems cold and cumbersome. But what if those same stories were published serial-style online, the way they once regularly were in newspapers and magazines? Perhaps writers’ blogs could become money-making ventures as well, to supplement their traditional publishing and to build a buzz for their upcoming projects.

There are people making money in all sorts of simple ways on the Internet. I think it’s time for us writers to start putting our heads together with Internet and new media experts. With all the creativity between us, I have no doubt that we can continue to make publishing profitable and popular in the future. It just might look a little different from what we’ve grown accustomed to.

NY Times 100 Notable Books of 2008

2008-12-04T08:19:00.000-08:00

I am a voracious reader. Always have been, always will be. So how is it possible that I've only read one of the books on the New York Times' 100 Notable Books of 2008 list?

I blame the lag time between the date the books are published and the date they arrive at the Royal Oak Library. I've tried buying all my books in the past - trust me, it isn't economical ;-)

See the list for yourself at: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/07/books/review/100Notable-t.html?pagewanted=1

Office Fantasy - A Short Story

2008-11-26T14:02:00.000-08:00

We've all thought about it . . . how fantastic would it be to walk into your boss' office and tell him exactly what you thought of him?

That was the inspiration for this story. The writing prompt for this assignment was to begin a story with the sentence, "Alice tried to remember who had given her the key."

Enjoy!

Office Fantasy
By Kristen Berry

Alice tried to remember who had given her the key. She had taken careful notes in the beginning, but, as always, she had begun to cry before she escorted the first person out of the building. By the time the last key was handed to her, her sob-induced hiccups caused her hand to shake until her notes became illegible.

“Cheer up Alice, your job is safe,” Robert had said bitterly as he left. “If they didn’t have you, who’d be around to show us the door?”

Alice pushed aside her ledger and box of keys just as a new email announced itself on her computer. It was from the partners, declaring the latest batch of layoffs to the staff.

“Take heart,” the email said in closing, “Deveaux Public Relations is as strong as ever!”

The partners always hid in their offices on the days of the firings, sending out trite, insincere emails from their comfortable confines while Alice, the H.R. director, was left to do the dirty work.

“Hey Jackie,” Alice called out of her office, wiping away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. “Do you have plans for lunch?”

Jackie looked pained, as though she suddenly wished she had chosen another route to wherever she was headed.

“Um, sorry Alice,” Jackie said. “I’ve got . . . a lunch meeting. Sorry.”

Alice sighed, thinking of the days before she had become the office pariah. Though everyone knew she had no hand in deciding who stayed and who went, Alice was the harbinger of this news. And precisely because she had no say in the matter, she was a safe scapegoat for their resentment.

But not any more.

Alice gathered her box of keys and ledger and walked down the hall. She marched into the office without knocking. Bill Bishop, senior partner, was leaning over the phone on his desk, two account executives leaning forward from the other side, as a voice droned from the phone’s speaker.

Alice lifted the box and turned it over, spilling the dozens of keys onto Bill’s desk. The two account executives jumped backward. Bill regarded Alice as though she had sprouted horns.

“What . . . hello?” the voice from the speaker squawked.

“There is a way to do things,” Alice said, her voice quavering, “and there is a way not to do things. This is not the way to do things, Bill. Why don’t you consider that maybe, after working for you for however many years they’ve been here, maybe they at least deserve a face-to-face conversation and a handshake from you at the end. Maybe they deserve at least that much.”

Alice opened her ledger and pulled the pages from the spiral spine in fistfuls, shredding them and scattering them over the desk. Bill stared up at Alice, his blue eyes simmering with contempt.

The voice from the speaker continued to chirp.

“Take my advice or not, I don’t care,” Alice said. “But it’s your mess now, not mine.”

Kanye West – “808s and Heartbreak”

2008-11-23T09:20:00.000-08:00

I am a Kanye fan. I’ve been a Kanye fan before I even knew his name, when I was bobbing my head to the songs he produced on Jay-Z’s “Dynasty” and “Blueprint” albums. By the time “Through the Wire” dropped, I was hooked. One of Kanye’s greatest strengths is his versatility, and his ability to weave personal and sometimes self-deprecating revelations – a departure from the typical pure bravado of hip hop – into his music. As a listener, I always felt that I was getting more from him than a glossy image he wished to convey – I was getting him, the real Kanye West. And if you’ve ever seen him perform in person – particularly at his latest concert, the “Glow in the Dark” tour – you know that he leaves his heart and soul on the stage.

Kanye is testing the limits of those strengths on his latest effort, “808s and Heartbreak,” releasing November 24th. While the personal admissions given in his earlier music were often told with tongue-in-cheek, witty plays on words over catchy, danceable beats, the emotion on “808s and Heartbreak” is raw, bare and unabashedly exposed, told over beats created on a Roland TR-808 drum machine, and with the distinctly synthesized voice distortions of the Auto Tune machine made famous by Roger Troutman in the 80s and re-popularized by T-Pain over the last few years.

Though there are cameos by such contemporary hip-hop stars as Young Jeezy, Lil Wayne and the up-and-coming Kid Cudi, don’t be fooled; “808s and Heartbreak” is not a popular music album, and it’s certain to leave many Kanye fans scratching their heads – myself included. When I first heard “Love Lockdown,” the first single off the album, I thought it sounded as though Kanye had locked himself in a basement with his voice and drum machines for a week and produced an album which might have better served as a private diary entry than a public release. We all know the tough several months the artist has been through – with the sudden death of his beloved mother and the dissolution of his engagement – and he is clearly working through the feelings caused by those events on this album.

But there is something deeper going on here. Kanye is pushing the boundaries by exploring something that has been lost in the genre that made him famous for some time now – emotion, loss, and heartbreak. Sure, every hip hop album released today features a requisite “love” song, and the occasional reflection on a lost friend or family member. But I can’t recall another example of a popular, commercially-successful hip hop artist putting forth something so personal, so introspective, and so risky.

Because “808s and Heartbreak” certainly is a risk. And while I doubt that Kanye will see the skyrocketing sales he experienced with his earlier albums, I think he achieved something more important with this one. In a genre flooded with half-hearted, cookie-cutter, emotionless music, Kanye West pushed himself to create something new. He tried something here, something beyond the proven, money-generating formula.

I think the album forces us to question what is more important – an artist creating an album for his listeners and his fans, or for himself. Because I do think “808s and Heartbreak” is a cathartic release for Kanye rather than an album created with his fans in mind. I can’t write this entry without also noting that while Kanye is a talented rapper and lyricist, he isn’t much of a singer, and since most of his latest album features his vocal styling rather than his rhyming, the musicality of this album is called into question. I personally think that, musically speaking, Kanye is best when he finds a happy medium between the personal and the commercial – take the moody, haunting “Flashing Lights” from his latest album, the wildly successful “Graduation.” The song was an enormous hit, and though it was a song about love gone wrong, it was a song people enjoyed listening to. And though it had a head-bobbing beat and a catchy chorus, it wasn’t any less powerful than many of the songs on “808s and heartbreak.”

While I can’t see myself driving around with this album playing in a constant loop for months as I did with his earlier albums, I can’t help but appreciate the effort behind “808s and Heartbreak.” Listen for yourself at: http://www.kanyeuniversecity.com/blog/?em3106=214212_-1__0_~0_-1_11_2008_0_0&em3281=&em3161=)

A Mercy

2008-11-11T06:08:00.000-08:00

Toni Morrison has been my favorite author since I read Song of Solomon in high school. More than just a supurb, Nobel Prize-winning writer, Morrison is one of the world's best storytellers. Her latest novel, A Mercy, is in stores today.

Runaway Train - A Short Story

2008-11-10T18:03:00.000-08:00

Last week my writers group meeting ended with an assignment: a 500-word story that must contain three elements - a bowl of goldfish, a man in black and a train.

I love writing prompts; it's so interesting to see how a group of people interpret the idea-generating keywords individually in each of their stories. Take a look at the blog list on the right to see what the other members of Writers by the Woods came up with.

Here is my take on the assignment:

Runaway Train
By Kristen Berry

It had been another hasty escape, which was why I found myself on the last train out of Chicago with a fishbowl on my lap. It had been frighteningly easy to smuggle it onboard, with only a trench coat thrown on top. Each time the train veered, water splashed against the fabric, soaking it with murky, fishy water. I repeatedly lifted the coat to make sure Coltrane hadn’t flopped to the floor. I’d left Jeremy a thousand times before, but I’d shown him that I was serious this time; I’d taken the fish with me.

“Is that a goldfish in your lap?” The man across the aisle asked, amused.

“No,” I replied briskly. But when he continued eyeing the odd bulge under the coat, I sighed and unveiled it.

“What’s his name?” The man asked. He was a generically handsome business traveler. He smiled at me the way the guys at the diners I worked at often did, like they thought if they tipped me enough I might go home with them.

“Coltrane,” I said.

“Odd name for a fish. How’d you come to that?”

“It’s the only thing we had in common. Jazz.”

“You and who?”

“Me and the man I’m leaving.”

The man nodded, as if this made perfect sense.

“Going to Ann Arbor?”

“Detroit.”

“You should stop with me in Ann Arbor for dinner. I know a great place.”

“It’ll be two in the morning when we get there.”

The man smiled. “I’ll take you to the train station in the morning.” He said this like I should’ve jumped at the chance, as if a woman like me should’ve been flattered instead of insulted.

I sighed and tapped a fingernail against the fishbowl. Coltrane came immediately to me, his mouth opening and closing in a silent warning.

“So this man of yours,” the man said, “why are you leaving him?”

“He’s a friend of Tina.”

“What?”

“A meth head. He’s a meth head.”

“Oh,” the man replied. I’d hoped this revelation would disgust him, but he only seemed more intrigued. “What’s your addiction?” he asked.

“Assholes, apparently.” I re-covered Coltrane with the coat and turned to the darkness passing outside my window.

My mother would’ve been thrilled if I showed up back in town with a man like that. She didn’t realize that assholes came in all kinds. Sometimes they were hopeless stoners like Jeremy who wore caution signs on their foreheads, but they could also be like this guy, professional types in $300 shoes who asked you to bed before asking your name. The train was speeding toward a thousand I-told-you-sos, but I didn’t care; at least I’d be away from him.

But when the train reached the station, Jeremy was standing there, waiting for me. He must have pushed the old Lincoln like hell to beat the train. My traitorous heart was happy to see him, but he was dressed all in black, like a bad omen.

Welcome

2008-11-07T12:51:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone! Welcome to "a literary girl," a blog about all things, well, literary. I created this blog for both writers and readers, and hope both groups will find it useful and entertaining.

As a lifelong writer working towards becoming a published author, I will post excerpts from new pieces I'm working on, as well as interesting articles, news, and insights related to the art and business of fiction writing. Your thoughts, suggestions and critiques are always more than welcome.

I'm also an avid fan of music, movies and fashion, so occasional posts about those subjects are bound to creep in once in a while, but I'll do my very best to stay on topic.

I would like to send a special thank you to the members of Writers by the Woods, the phenomenal writers group I recently joined: though I am new to the group, you've already been an incredible source of inspiration, education and motivation; without you, I never would have created this blog, or taken a cold, hard look at the first draft of novel #1.

Thank you all for visiting! Enjoy, and come back soon.

- K. Berry