Since I was very young it has always been my dream to be a writer. To have something published anywhere that could get my voice and my stories across the world. Stories that would speak to that heartbroken, over-dramatic romantic Romeo that hopelessly dreams about his die hard lover.
Maybe even to those comedic fans of fiction that love to read about intergalactic space travel or a coming of age story about a nerdy teenager and his various misadventures. But what makes a good story an excellent story is the beginning. The way characters are introduced right off the bat with some form of connection and heart. Now I do not know everything about writing entrances and story beginnings but what I do know is that if you want someone to pick up your book you need a story that can be told and can be heard. For that story to be read you need the beginning to catch the reader's eye. So If I were to write a story this would be my beginning.
It was a warm summer's night of May, When I met her for the first time. A night where the moon hid herself within the shadows of the clouds. All the stars, had as if vanished from the universe.I was in New Orleans at the time, trying to forget all the pain that my life had already gave me on a silver platter with some refreshments. Right as I was about to take my 17th sip, she bumped into me. Her eyes were blue. They resembled the ocean, so deep. Every time I gazed into them I found myself lost with no hope of returning. But who said I wanted to. Yet even the purest of oceans have their tidal waves. Her waves were was the pain she was harboring within herself.
By the point that I met her, she had already found a way to strangle her inner voice. The soul that was supposed to help her through all the calamities of a basic life was buried underneath her inner demons. It hurt me deeply that if faith hadn’t been such a fickle mistress, I may have found her earlier in my life. Maybe and then just maybe I could have stopped her heart from bearing such a cruel wound. She had a way with words I will give her that. Her ability to compare you to the behind of a donkey and get away with it, was uncanny. A tongue sharper than the devil and the mind of an intellectual poet are harsh combinations. You never know when the poison of her illicit vocabulary would grab hold of your heart. She could get away with murder due to her smile.
Vinnie, oh how she put me at a loss for words. I found it difficult to find a way not to think about her. Not only had she become part of my midnight conversations but what I tried to find at the bottom of my jack bottle.
Solace.
