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[writtenbyandria]

KIRA+DOMINIC — 03

It wasn’t often that Kira Mosley ventured out of the quieted comforts of Nassau County without adult supervision.

There were times where, after much pleading with her parents for permission, she’d commute into the Manhattan with a few of her classmates.

Those instances, however, were far and few between.

Unlike those previous occurrences of wandering aimlessly through Central Park until sunset or perusing the liveness taking place at Times Square before embarking on the tedious quest to find somewhere to eat, Kira commuted without her usual group of friends to keep her company throughout the prolonged commute. Rather than resorting to hearing the latest gossip pertaining to whose crush was smitten with who, she commuted to Queens by her lonesome and busied herself with listening to the playlist she spent a majority of her morning curating.

The randomly selected sounds of nineties R&B floated through her headphones throughout the entire duration of her train ride and settled her never ending case of nerves as gathered her belongings and exited the train.

As she hurried up the steps of the 169th Street Subway Station, her stare roamed up the length of the individual sporting a familiar reserved grin. His hands had been stuffed into his pockets.

Before uttering a meek ‘hello’ the moment she raced up the last step, Dominic simply removed her earbuds and toyed with the ends of her cornrows.

“I was startin’ to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“I told you I was.”

Dominic shrugged, “You don’t really know me from nowhere.”

“I know you well enough.” Kira murmured. The fullness of his lips contorted into a blatant smirk that disappeared all within a matter of seconds. “And you still came to see if I’d come.”

“...Yeah,” was all he bothered to say. For some reason, his meekness intrigued Kira. Not because of his sudden tamed behavior was appealing in any way, but because she could see that her arrival to the borough was appreciated. It was almost as if the slight gesture was extraordinary.

Remarkable, even.

“Your people know that you’re out here...with me?” Dominic asked as they waited for the opportunity to cross at the intersection.

“No,” she quickly admitted and later revealed that she used her friend Autumn to cover up her actual whereabouts.

“I’on want you getting in trouble ‘cause of me.”

“I won’t.” Kira said with certainty. With her mother currently vacating with old friends from her alma mater and her father stationed at one of the three hospitals within the county that he happened to have affiliations with, Kira was sure she’d dodge facing any trouble from her parents.

Without saying anything else about her parents or the plausible what-ifs that would ultimately land her in a heap of trouble, Dominic guided Kira across the congested intersection of 169th Street and Hillside Avenue.

She smiled inwardly when he took her hand in his.

Though the stint of hand-holding lasted all of but two minutes due to him luring her into a pizzeria, Kira couldn’t disregard the elation momentarily flooding her.

“For what it’s worth, I’d like to remind you that I was honest with you the moment your mother and I found out about this whole fixer upper nonsense. I said you were in over your head then. And, sweetheart, I’m afraid my stance on it still hasn't changed.”

Huffing, Jackson Mosley pulled his daughter into an embrace in which they separated quicker than expected.

The unfavorable news of her failing to put the foreclosed townhome back on the market was a tough pill to swallow for the fifty-six year old man, apparently.

They shuffled from his parked Land Rover Sport that idled the decent-sized driveway, and up the back steps; the path paved evenly with asphalt was about the only task Kira didn’t seek out to reconstruct. She did, however, plan to have contractors completely gut out the kitchen and bathrooms strictly for remodeling renovations. She also wanted the flooring to be taken up and replaced with brand-spanking-new wooden planks.

Using the duplicate set of house keys she had made a month ago, Kira entered the home and groaned from the displeasing stale stench wafting into her nose.

“What’s wrong with your apartment? Are they increasing the rent?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong with the apartment.” Kira muttered. She trudged through the foyer and headed straight for the dated kitchen simply just to look out towards the expansive yard space. At the sliding glass door, her father joined her. “It’s just that...I don’t know. I think I’m beginning to hate living there. Well, it isn’t so much as I think. I know I’m beginning to hate living there.” Kira admitted. “Gosh. I can’t even believe I’m saying this…”

Years ago -- when enduring the expected slump in freelance journalism and conceptualizing ideas for her own forthcoming blog-site -- Kira would have never imagined she’d eventually grow tired of Brooklyn and actually miss the quieted comforts of the suburbs.

She fled to college not only to earn her degree, but to also be catapulted into a new environment. While studying at Howard University she vowed to never move back to Nassau County indefinitely and made sure to occupy all of her summer breaks with internships that required her to frequent places far from her hometown. Kira had made strides in straying far from Hempstead and established residency in Brooklyn right after graduation to make sure she never had to dwell there too long during. Aside from the holidays where her mother would have to beg her to stay for days at a time, or a massive gatherings (that tended to occur far and few between as of late), Kira hardly dwelled there and regarded herself as a proud Brooklyn transplant who tended to stay within the borough.

In her early twenties, she had fallen in love with everything Brooklyn had to offer; the convenience and close proximity trumped every other amenity.

Her best writing happened in Brooklyn.

Her best years were in Brooklyn.

Some of her more memorable sexual encounters happened to be with Brooklynites.

Kira couldn’t believe it was even possible to loathe Brooklyn as much as she had within the last two years. The neighborhood of Williamsburg had become too crowded for her liking.

Sadly, neither the restaurants, bars, lounges, nor the generous coffee shop barista who gave her fresh pastries due to her being a faithful subscriber were not enough to keep Kira residing there any longer.

Now, in an ironic twist of fate, Kira sought out to move back to Nassau County in a timely fashion.

Among the homes she came across while perusing several online real estate sites, was a foreclosed property in Long Island’s town of Oyster Bay. It reminded Kira of her childhood home in Hempstead although the properties differed greatly in acreage.

“Do you really need all this space?” Jackson asked.

“Yes. The space would be a benefit.” Kira defended. No matter how persistent Jackson Mosley was about putting the three-bedroom home back on the market, Kira was certain she’d make use of the space.

He father heaved a hardly audible sigh and ran his hand over his face. “What I’m saying is that having all this square footage may be a bit overwhelming. Realistically speaking, Kira, you are a single woman with no children. What on Earth do you need with all of this space? You’d be better off looking for another apartment.”

“Whether I want the space or intend to utilize every square foot is subjective, daddy.” Kira replied sternly, crossing her arms over her chest. “It was a steal. I purchased this home considerably way cheaper than what the homeowners in this area purchased theirs for.” She further noted. “I’m gonna fix this up and use as much or as little space as I please. It’s mine.”

A contemptuous grin etched across her father’s expression, and faltered the moment he advanced towards the old-fashioned kitchen peninsula. The counter space was made of a material Kira couldn’t bear to look at for too long, due to the previous owner’s poor choice of granite that conflicted with the cherry wood cabinets.

“Have you even made the attempt to contact the contractors your mother referred you to?”

“Yes, and I chose not to give those assholes --”

“Kira,” Jackson warned, “watch your mouth.”

She glanced at her father over her shoulder. “Sorry. It slipped out.”

“Now what were you saying about the contractors? And mind your language this time.”

“They were pulling my leg about requesting a quote for a kitchen and bathroom remodel. It’s safe to say I won’t be using them.”

“Kira if you can’t even find the proper contractors to help you make this place liveable, then perhaps you need to put it back on the market like I’ve advised.”

“I’m not doing that. But I will be looking for a contractor this week. I’ll make sure of it.” Kira insisted, catching her father’s blatant eye-roll as he ambled back towards the front of the home. “You don’t believe that I have any intention of finding suitable contractors, do you?”

Rather than sparing his only daughter of having to hear the harsh admission by allowing a prolonged silence to loom over them, Jackson Mosley simply confirmed Kira’s preconceived suspicion by uttering, “No, I don’t.”

“Well,” she took a step, “if you don’t have faith in me to actually find someone for the job, you must have no faith in me at all.”

Adjusting the strap to the crossbody bag onto her frame, Kira made a beeline for the door and muttered to her father that she had no intention to head back her parents’ home after locking up. Almost immediately, she felt immense regret for opting to commute to Long Island by way of public transportation on account of her having to solely rely on her father.

“Take me back to the transit station, please.”

Back in Brooklyn, Kira busied herself with composing drafted reviews of complimentary cosmetics and hair products she picked up from an expo she attended the previous week.

The event specifically curated to gain exposure for black-owned beauty start-ups provided Kira with new content to publish onto her site. Typically, she uploaded the drafted posts throughout the approaching week in an effort to keep maintain her quota of visitor traffic to her blog. The frequent postings not only fed her loyal audience, but also provided her with a substantial amount of monthly revenue from advertisements and contracted branding partnerships.

While thoroughly delving into personal pros and cons she experienced while using a manuka honey leave-in conditioner one of the business owners provided her with, Kira halted in typing another word onto the document and retreated back to the list of contractor companies the web browser’s search engine had provided.

As she skimmed the lengthy list in search of a company that were either within close proximity of the home in Oyster Bay or advertising their willingness to commute to other towns within the state limits, her apartment door opened; a pair of keys jingled as the individual padded down the narrow hallway.

Besides herself, only two people were provided with a set of keys into the private dwelling. Not even her parents were equipped with manufactured duplicates.

“Autumn?” Kira called out, forming the presumption that her childhood friend and infrequent roomie had decided to pop up without calling in advance.

Teeth smackings emitted from Kira the moment her eyes settled on the short crop of coarse curls belonging to her brother Lawrence.

“Shoes --,” Kira chided, “-- remove them.”

Huffing her brother four years her junior turned swiftly on the soles of his bulky basketball sneakers and retreated back down the dimly lit hallway.

“You could’ve called.”

“Didn’t think I needed to. You know, since I got the keys and all.”

Instead of plopping onto the dull grey couch positioned against the adjacent wall, Lawrence raced into the kitchen, failing to wash his hands before rummaging through the refrigerator. When he returned, vegetable lo mein was served on one of the marble plateware she hardly put to use. Her fingers drummed along the wireless keyboard paired to her iMac.

By then, Lawrence sauntered towards the couch and reclaimed his usual seat on the couch’s far left; his feet propped atop the mirrored coffee table riddled with books and flea market knick knacks.

“Any progress on the new place?”

“No, not yet. I’m still in the process of looking for contractors.”

“You’ve been saying you were looking into contractors since before you took your trip. You’re making the task harder than what it needs to be.”

“I know. I’ve been a bit sidetracked this since I’ve gotten back.”

“Back from Long Island, or back from L.A.?”

“L.A.,” Kira retorted and mussed with her hair. “If I didn’t have to go and check on the property, I would’ve slept the entire day away. I’ve been back for two days, and I’m still I’m a bit jet lagged.”

“Shit. I forgot to ask. How’d the meeting go?”

“Fairly well, considering that all my terms are going to be contractually upheld.”

The trip in which she traveled strictly to negotiate the preliminary stipulations to her pending collaborative venture left Kira jet-lagged, but more so afflicted with procrastination. Well before making the trip to Los Angeles, company bigwigs -- a duo consisting of a marketing strategist and a branding consultant -- were ardent on gaining consumership with women of color. In the wake of teasing the release of a new formulated foundation produced in a broad range of shades, the renown cosmetic company’s marketing specialist specifically sought out to acquire black beauty bloggers and other online beauty content creators to assist in advertising the brand’s forthcoming fall release.

Kira’s site traffic and faithful readership coupled with her previous ventures with a cosmetic startups and well-known brands were three components that happened to land Kira on the strategist’s radar. Over brunch, at some pretentious eatery, the twenty-seven year old pressed for the rather extensive amount of money she sought out to obtain for the collaborative venture. And by dinner the following evening, Kira was mulling over a newly drawn up, non-binding contract that had already been both faxed and emailed to her lawyer.

Given the approval from the lawyer she kept on retainer, Kira happily signed the contract, and prematurely relished in acquiring the approaching lump sum by overindulging in drinks.

And, of course, Omari Grant.

At the mere thought of the retired quarterback and their tryst in his hotel room, Kira shuddered and rubbed her neck.

“I’ll have a number to a contractor by tomorrow. Mark my words.”

“Ai’ight,” Lawrence expressed with great doubt, “I’ma hold you to it.”

Kira’s eyes narrowed, “Hold me to it?”

“For whatever reason, you’re prolonging the process. If you aren’t one-hundred percent invested in this whole remodeling project, then you shouldn’t even be bothered. Either get the ball rollin’ on hiring contractors for the renovations or put the shit back on the market.”

“Alright. That’s enough. I can’t take any more of you lecturing me on what I need to do. You sound like dad.” Kira rushed out. She resumed with perusing the list of established general contracting companies.

At random, she selected Johnson & Parsons Home Improvement. As stated on their website, The New York-based contracting firm offered services throughout the listed cities, including the town in which the foreclosed property was located. “Dad’s fine, by the way. Just in case you were wondering.”

Kira averted her eyes from the desktop’s massive screen and peered over at Lawrence.

The sudden disinterest in the conversation as it pertained to their father was aparrent in his deadpan expression.

“He asked about you this afternoon.”

Her eyes rolled instinctively when recollecting the awkward drive to the train station. Jackson Mosley simply couldn’t take the hint to keep the conversation to a minimum.

Instead of commuting in silence, he turned on the radio, hoping that the songs playing from the Hip-Hop and R&B station would lure Kira out of her momentary irritation. But when that was proven to be unsuccessful the middle-aged man followed the stint of humming along to the catchy instrumentals from yesteryear by asking about Lawrence.

“He’s fine.” She remembered tersely retorting, later mentioned the creative strides her brother was making, as of late.

For some reason, Kira hoped that Lawrence would have perked up the moment that tidbit of information swept past her lips. Sadly, to no avail, her younger brother sported the same look of indifference he often had whenever the topic of conversation reverted to Jackson Mosley.

A deafening silence loomed over them subsequent to Lawrence sticking a fork in the cold helping of leftover takeout. In that discomforting lull, Kira could feel the harbored resentment radiating from her younger brother as he remained silent; the marbled plateware balanced atop the couch’s broad armrest. Lawrence mussed with the hairs sprouting from his chin.

“Call him, Lawrence.”

The agonizing contempt evaded him.

His pursed lips gave way to a smirk of sudden amusement. Laughter escaped him soon afterward.

“What’s so funny?” Kira queried.

“Nothing.”

“No. Tell me. I wanna know.”

“Nothing,” Lawrence fixed his lips to say again before releasing an exasperated sigh, “It’s just funny how you’re advising me to speak to him when you’ve been on the outs with him before, too.” Lawrence spat prior to grasping the fork and stuffing his mouth with noodles. He ate with gusto and hadn’t thought to stop until the plate was bare. “I can recall a time where you and dear old dad weren’t on the best of terms.” Lawrence recounted. “You and mom weren’t so amicable back then, either. In fact, I could vividly remember you went nearly a whole semester without speaking to them.”

“I was a freshman in college --

“ -- I know you not about to cop out with that excuse again.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“It’s a bullshit excuse. It always was.” Lawrence insisted. “You’re gonna hold onto that, aren’t you? Will you ever be honest and say that you still had that chip on your shoulder from senior year. So much so that you insisted on staying with Autumn and her family during winter break.”

Silence pervaded the room, prompting Lawrence to sigh inwardly.

“I guess not.” He muttered. “Sometimes I believe you only interact with him now because I choose not to. Dad could hardly stomach the fact that you and him were estranged all that time. I couldn’t even imagine how crushed that man would be if both of his children decided to steer clear of having any interaction with him at the same time.”

It wasn’t until Kira jotted down the number to Johnson & Parsons Home Improvement on a nearby post-it note that he muttered, “he should’ve made a better attempt at being a father.”

Lawrence’s statement hung in the air, prompting Kira’s shoulders to visibly contract as she set the ballpoint pen down beside the mouse and it’s respected stark white mousepad; the tension pervading the living room was thick and also somber the longer Kira continued to ponder on not only her underlying grievances with her father, but her brother’s as well.

The children of Jackson Mosley idled within the confines of Kira’s Williamsburg apartment, failing to utter anything to each other.

The weight of their father’s disastrous approach to parenting evident as time progressed.

[writtenbyandria]

KIRA+DOMINIC — 02

The unrelenting summer sun beamed onto Kira’s exposed back, causing her to shift throughout the duration of her sitting on the bleachers. One hand nursed a bottle of water while the other continuously smoothed over the kempt cornrows dangling past the nape of her neck. The style she hadn’t sported since her elementary school days took some time getting used to due to the tightness forming at her scalp. Huffs swept past her lips riddled in tinted lip balm, her attention rearing from the ongoing basketball game.

When the team her brother Lawrence played for somehow foiled the setup to score from the free-throw line, the recurrence of regret set in; immediately Kira wished she took her friend Autumn Nelson up on her offer to lounge around her pool all afternoon. Releasing yet another huff, Kira placed her water bottle beside her; her finger briefly grazed over a hand belonging to the occupant of the space to her left.

A toothy smirk played the foreground to an immaculate complexion similar to the unrefined cocoa powder her grandmother sifted over the top of her homemade cakes. Under the afternoon sun the pigment of his skin deepened, and appeared richer than it had the moment Kira’s eyes initially settled on him.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you sitting there.” Kira said apologetically. She gathered the personalized purple water bottle dampened with condensation and placed it in between her exposed thighs. The wetness surrounding the aluminum sports’ bottle temporarily cooled her fervent skin, quelling her frustrations for making the rash decision to sit out in the heat for a majority of the afternoon.

This summer, the directors of the annual summer tournament were making strides to incorporate other other promising summer league teams into the scheduling. Teams hailing from other counties were typically unauthorized to compete; the longstanding rule inevitably prevented outsiders to recognize the athletic prowess the players possessed.

The new band of players were ultimately hidden gems; undiscovered talents that were often kept under wraps.

“Nah, you good.” The young boy murmured. His deep baritone startled Kira upon her hearing the bass-filled utterance.

Boys as young as she presumed him to be hardly possessed voices that deep. Even the voices belonging to the guys she attended school with hadn’t had such resonance as the no-name sitting beside her. “You starin’.”

“What?”

“I said you starin’, ma.” The young man repeated evenly. A round of snickers pervaded the sweltering air, emitting from a group of slightly older looking guys he must’ve known.

The gruffness lacing his words prompted Kira to apologize yet again, her attention reverted back to the ongoing basketball game that had finally reached halftime. Kira’s brother Lawrence retreated to the respected benches positioned on the court’s opposite end. He and a few of his teammates crowded around the water cooler, filling the provided wax paper cups generously with Gatorade. Kira's eyes remained affixed to her brother’s lanky frame as he goofed around with classmates she often spotted idling around their kitchen or living room after school, and sighed inwardly as the guy beside her began playing music directly from his bulky black iPhone lacking a proper case.

Rap -- the type of music that her parents chided she and her brother for listening to, the type of rap that hardly made it to radio due to the raunchy misogynistic lyrics and obscenities -- penetrated her hearing.

Before Kira’s mind could register her forthcoming actions, her head bopped along to the piano cadence easily muddled by the lyrics spewed out in a sing-songy rhythm. The lyrics bellowed out in a throaty rasp were vulgar, albeit, but the almost melodic approach to the familiar beat was infectious.

Kira could feel the eyes belonging to not only the young man sitting to her right but the guys seated behind him as well. Her body halted in its aimless swaying while under their watchful stares; her heightened cheeks turned a tinge a red. “I like the beat.” Kira bashfully admitted simultaneous to hearing the referee blow his whistle. Kira’s brother Lawrence and his teammates retreated back onto the court subsequent to tossing the paper cup into the nearby trash can. “I don’t think I’ve heard of him before.” Kira murmured.

A look of amusement etched its way across her face when the young man seated beside her titled his phone in her direction, unveiling the screen displayed the album artwork of a man sporting cornrows just as thick as hers with a fitted cap concealing the top of them. Amidst a horde of cash that had been photoshopped onto the cover art the rapper’s moniker was emblazoned in bold lettering. “...Young,” Kira read aloud, “Ah, Young Travie.”

Her warm and earnest smile was met with one the young man meagerly offered in return.

“He ain’t mainstream. Not yet, at least.” The young man informed.

As the group of guys averted their attention elsewhere, the stare between her and the boy with impeccable dark skin never faltered.

“Kira.” She mumbled.

“Huh?” The boy muttered.

“Kira -- my name’s Kira.”

He nodded sparingly. “Dominic.”

Her mind often wondered to thoughts of him.

Even in the height of merriment, shaking him was proven to be a difficult feat to achieve.

Whenever the opportunity to travel arose, Kira toyed with the idea of running into him somewhere.

Maybe at a mall shopping for kicks.

Or maybe, by chance, they’d run into each other at a random grocery store where they would ultimately have to engage in conversation.

The optimist in her would’ve wanted nothing more than to reunite with him if only for a brief moment.

However, from a realistic standpoint, Kira Mosley was almost certain she and Dominic Parker would never cross paths again.

Her manicured hand enclosed around the highball glass containing the disproportionate amount of vodka and tonic she flagged down the slim bartender for; the incessant urge to guzzle down the glass’ contents grew dire the longer she pondered on what her mother formerly regarded as Kira’s delayed stage of rebellion.

A slight chortle escaped the twenty-eight year old as she brought the glass coated in condensation to her lips and chugged half of the lime garnished beverage before placing it back on top of the sopping wet napkin the bartender provided.

Lipstick, a vibrant shade of currant, smudged the glass’ rim.

“Celebrating?”

A voice queried from behind her, belonging to a man sporting a suit she noticed upon her arrival to the swank rooftop bar. Her eyes lingered on him only briefly, almost as if she recognized him from somewhere.

Kira shifted atop the lucite stool. Hints of her skin exposed by the burgundy jumpsuit she wore felt sticky, courtesy of the L.A. smog.

Kira took a moment to ponder on the unknown man’s inquiry, confirming his suspicions with a subtle nod. “I am, actually.”

“Well, would you mind if I joined you?”

“I wouldn’t. Have a seat” She replied after a short pause. From the adjacent barstool Kira she retrieved her clutch and smartphone.

With intent she watched as the caramel complected man unbuttoned his blazer; his muscular build easily made out through the cotton white button-down and navy trousers. “You like whiskey?”

“I don’t dislike it.” Kira answered blankly, catching the barest hint of a smile creeping up the side of the man’s lips. He waved down the bartender, his eyes solely trained upon Kira as she finished the rest of her vodka and tonic with haste.

In under five minutes, two Manhattans rested before them. The man sporting the tailored suit waited for Kira to reach for one of the cocktails before he sought out to do the same.

“Cheers.”

In unison, the two generously sipped from their glasses.

The initial sharp taste of the whiskey and vermouth combination burned the back of Kira’s throat, but she recovered and downed a great amount of it.

“If I may ask, what are you celebrating?”

She set the glass down, her tongue ran over the fullness of her slightly parted lips, savoring the bittersweet aftertaste. “A new business venture.” Kira sparingly divulged. She had yet to inform her parents of the lucrative finalizations pertaining to the latest venture. She wasn’t about to be as forthcoming about her business matters with some random simply because he ordered her a drink. Kira tucked one of her fine tendrils behind her pierced ear, revealing the faded crescent moon and stars behind her dainty lobe. “I would tell you more, but I don’t wanna jump the gun and speak too soon. The ink on the contracts haven’t dried yet.” She fibbed.

“I understand.” The man retorted, smoothing his hand down the length of his pants. “Where are my manners? I’m Omari -- Omari Grant.”

He extended his hand forward, the width of his palm nearly covered Kira’s entire hand.

“Kira. Kira Mosley since we’re being all formal.” She initiated the separation of their ongoing handshake to sip the remaining brown contents idling the bottom of the rock glass. “Omari Grant --,” she murmured to herself, “-- I’ve heard that name before. Where have I heard that name?” As her mind trailed off into deep thought, her lip stained with a ruddy red hue embedded itself between her teeth. “ The Essence 2013 Men’s issue. You landed the cover feature.” Kira muttered faintly. “You had me, for a second. I, uh, almost didn’t recognize you without the locs.”

She smirked once noticing the kempt tapered fade that made him look even more polished than she recounted.

During a brief period of contributing content exclusively through the publication’s website she was lucky enough to land an opportunity to write a feature on the infamous Baltimore Ravens quarterback who earned the franchise their second Super Bowl championship on the heels of winning announcing his retirement.

“I wrote that feature. Among other pieces I wrote up until that point, that feature about you was regarded as one of the publication’s most raved about exclusives that year.”

“It was nicely written.”

“It was a fixture in cleaning up your image, is what it was.” Kira replied, and pushed the empty rock glass aside. A tight, contemptuous grin etched its way across her face. “And it wasn’t what I initially wrote. Your PR team practically strong-armed me into rewriting the feature hours before my deadline. They threatened to contact the magazine’s editor to complain if I didn’t rewrite it.”

Kira’s statement hung in the air while Omari continued to nurse the chilled Manhattan; her inberiation set in as time ticked away.

“Perhaps I should’ve known better than to email your people an outline of what the article entailed. That was my fault for being so foolish.”

Failing to hear Omari Grant utter anything pertaining to the power moves that could’ve potentially tarnished Kira’s reputation and livelihood, she padded over the bar’s surface in search of her belongings. When Kira recovered her iPhone and clutch, she paid her bar tab which consisted of the two vodka and tonic beverages she drank prior to Omari joining her.

Rising onto the heels of her staggering ankle-strap sandals, Kira ambled towards the entrance leading to the rooftop’s elevator embankment. She navigated past the stragglers pouring in by the groups.

Omari Grant steered close, however. His cologne wafted into her nose before she felt the immense presence of the two-hundred and fifty pound retired quarterback behind her. Rather than uttering a disingenuous apology for enforcing her to revise her original write-up and pander some sugar-coated PR orchestrated bullshit to the public, Omari placed his hand on her exposed shoulders, grasping them gently as the elevator doors diverged and granted Kira entry inside the cab.

An inward sigh slip pasted her lips when he shuffled in behind her.

While in the elevator Omari Grant never expressed his remorse.

Kira did, however, hear his blatant advances to accompany him to his hotel suite.

Slightly buzzed, albeit, she willingly obliged.

The same man whose team successfully disintegrated his former controversial reputation of misconduct both on and off the field, had ushered her into his suite, without a care. The same man whose hired professionals could have potentially severed her professional relationship with one of the few respected black publications she frequently worked for attempted to engage in awkward small talk by the balcony doors; a breathtaking view of the ocean quelled Kira’s flourishing nerves as Omari gathered her tightly wound curls and sloppily kissed her neck. She flinched beneath his touch and at the same time welcomed him to remove her snug jumpsuit after she removed her heels.

By the end of the heated encounter that took place on the floor, while riding out the orgasm coursing through her, Kira’s body completely stilled upon hearing the only two words she desired to ever hear from Omari Grant.

Kira had no ounce of care to hear how pretty he thought she was, or how great of a lay she happened to be.

A wave of emotions afflicted her when he finally uttered that he was sorry for placing her in that tough predicament. She took satisfaction in finally hearing the retired quarterback’s apology for the brash power play he subjected her to simply because of her position.

His near breathless expression delivered with mild gawking at Kira’s naked frame diluted the moment, however.

The act in itself made her feel dirty and even a bit foolish for screwing the man and receiving a half-assed apology afterward.

Instead of joining him in the suite’s bedroom he retreated to, Kira redressed and made a beeline for the door.

Kira failed to bid Omari a proper farewell

[writtenbyandria]

KIRA+DOMINIC — 01

“I’m so proud to be your father.”

Kira Mosley winced at her father’s admission.

Days prior, at the height of what she considered to be her family’s most heated quarrel to date, Jackson Mosley was singing a completely different tune -- one far different from the jubilant expression he had uttered to her as they awaited at for the cue from the announcer.

“You look beautiful tonight, babygirl.”

He was laying it on a little too thick, Kira thought.

Certainly Jackson Mosley was over exaggerating when he made the decision to compliment her on the stark white, a-line number her grandmother took the liberty of altering herself. The subtle changes to the now snug lace bodice weren’t enough to disregard the mount of tulle covering her heel clad feet, nor was it enough to overlook the massive frilled sleeves both her mother and grandmother regarded to be nothing shy of ‘lady-like’.

‘Lady-like’.

Since sacrificing her Sunday afternoons to prepare for the debutante ball, she began to loathe all things associated with the foolish term. As of lately, it seemed as though nothing Kira did was considered to be appropriate. Her recent actions were apparently a stark contrast to the prim and proper young woman the Mosley clan raised her to be.

“You’re just saying that because you feel obligated to, daddy.” Kira muttered. The grasp she maintained around her father’s calloused hand weakened just as his went slightly limp. Beneath the tacky frills she decided against removing herself the previous night, her meager shoulders contracted as the buxom announcer brought the microphone to her mouth again.

For what seemed like an eternity, she waited at the bottom of the atrium’s steps; her heart nearly thudding out of her chest the moment the announcer’s voice resonated throughout the banquet hall.

“Introducing Debutante Kira Cherise Mosley. She is the daughter of Jackson and Deidra Mosley, and the granddaughter of Malcolm and Bernadette Mosley…”

A round of applause followed subsequent to her father hooking his arm around hers, prompting Kira to showcase the hours she spent strutting around in her heels. A smile parted her set of lips coated minimally in a lipstick from her mother’s personal horde of cosmetics. It mirrored Jackson Mosley’s, although her father’s showcased his momentary contentment for the evening’s festivities while Kira’s expression feigned the joy she wished she possessed.

Through the massive turnout of folks seated around the provided tables, Kira was able to spot her mother practically beaming with excitement beside her grandparents. Her lips twitched a bit from the sight as her father initiated their separation; her designated debutante escort — Kareem Bryant — took her hand in his and guided her towards the front.

“...Kira Mosley attends Hamilton High School in Hempstead, New York. She has completed sixty hours of debutante community service. Kira is a member of the black student union. She is also a member of Hamilton High School’s scholars program. Upon graduation, Kira plans to attend Howard University in Washington, D.C. to study Journalism.”

“Nice dress.” Kareem snickered before they made it to the steps. She had the urge to somehow pinch him but unfortunately for her, the long, satin lined gloves she donned prevented her nails from sinking into the exposed flesh of his hand.

Rather than making the attempt anyway, Kira softly advised Kareem to ‘go straight to hell’ while he assisted her up the three steps leading to the constructed stage. She faced the ball's announcer briefly before turning swiftly on the four-inch heels, and stared out towards the crowd, offering those in attendance the curtsy and smile combination she seemed to have perfected.

At the end of the stage, Kareem idled, waiting for his cue to emerge from the stage’s edge. His hand enclosed around hers again, and he ushered her down the steps toward the awaiting chair draped in cloth.

“Tonight, Debutante Kira Cherise Mosley is escorted by Kareem Bryant. He is the son of George and Camille Bryant. He is a senior at Hamilton High School in Hempstead, New York. Kareem is a running back on the varsity football team, and also a member of the Cartwright mentorship program. Upon graduation he plans to attend Ohio State University in Columbus, Ohio and major in Business Management...”

A pang swelled in Kira’s chest and dropped right into the pit of her stomach. Tension the size of a fist formed at the base of her throat just as her eyes threatened to brim with tears. The back of her honey colored eyes stung the harder she tried to keep the onslaught of tears at bay, though the rumbling at the base of her throat was a sure sign she wouldn’t win the battle of restraining them.

“...Ladies and gentlemen, Debutante Kira Cherise Mosley.”

Sparing tears released from each of her ducts when the applause commenced. By then, her mother, father, younger brother, and surprisingly her Nana were on their feet proudly expressing their approval for the joyous moment. Her ailing grandfather, however, remained seated on the cushioned chair. Her grandfather’s dark brown eyes were weakly trained upon her; lifelessness evidently evading him.

As she locked eyes with her mother yet again, her shoulders slumped once she made out the inaudible advisement to wipe away the tears that trickled down the height of her cheeks.

Kira Mosley simply tucked a lock of bone straight hair behind her ear, instead; thoughts lingering at the forefront of her mind wholly captivated her attention, causing her to nearly miss Kareem’s blatant hint for her to occupy the empty seat so the following debutante could advance past the entryway.

When seated the young woman just a few weeks shy of her eighteenth birthday sighed inwardly, feeling every bit of unhappiness the longer she pondered solely on one individual.

Dominic Parker.

[writtenbyandria]

You know you already got a fan! I was just about to ask you about Different Worlds but this will surely do 😁

Aw thank youuu Alena! I’m always so appreciative of your support 😊

I’m really trying with Different Worlds lol. It’s going to return. I’m not going to let Hill and Tarin just dissipate.

[writtenbyandria]

Retribution

01

Fighting the sleep that threatened to pervade her had become quite the norm for Corrine Clarke; a habit she wished she hadn’t subjected herself to, among other unfavorable practices.

Throughout the week, in the wee hours of the morning, she tended to stand idle in front of the window and look out towards the manicured front lawn.

There, in the foyer -- uncomfortably nestled between a massive banana leaf plant and other terra cotta potted greenery she cared for -- the twenty-six-year-old woman waited rather impatiently for a familiar set of halogen headlights to advance beyond the property’s automated gate. On nights where her eyes grew heavy from exhaustion, she drifted to the same area which happened to provide very little wiggle room and stood upright, sometimes as hints of morning broke over the slender birch trees surrounding the stately New Jersey home.

On those nights, her harbored contempt for her significant other and his lucrative illicit dealings resurfaced,  further fueling the recurring worry of his wellbeing.

Thankfully for her, albeit, Marcus -- her better half-- typically arrived well before daybreak; his anticipated emergence momentarily quelled the unfavorable scenarios that typically drifted to the forefront of Corrine’s mind whenever he departed from home.

A sigh of relief escaped the young woman when she made out the gate barriers diverging by the tree-lined boulevard; the Mercedes-Benz SL 450 Roadster veered around the property’s meager curve and cruised up toward the home’s abutted driveway. In haste, Corrine trekked from the console table, nearly knocking into one of the potted plants as she haphazardly turned the lock and pulled the carved door open just simultaneous to her lover exiting the two-seater.

He hadn’t bothered to look up from the walkway emblazoned with surrounding orange azaleas until he stopped twirling the key fob in his hand. He gazed longingly at Corrine as she stood in the threshold, her weight shifting from one leg to the other.  

A crooked smile masked by a desolate expression faltered upon spotting her. His hand that occupied the key fob took to stroking the kept hairs sprouting from his hollow cheeks; his pearly whites gleamed beneath the bright sensor detectors implemented around the house’s perimeter.

“Cori,” Marcus affectionately called her, “-- baby, it’s late.” His bushy eyebrows lightly furrowed, prompting fine lines to groove along his forehead.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to wait up,” Marcus said, trudging up the remainder of the way. He stood before her at the threshold, tugging lightly on the hem of the silk satin slip that she sported. His large, calloused palm rubbed down the length of her slender thigh. “You should be in bed...gettin’ some beauty rest.” Chuckles swept past the fullness of his lips when muttering the last bit. He stepped even closer to Corrine’s frame, allowing her to smell the potent cologne still lingering on his attire. Without words, he crooked a finger underneath her chin, caressing her cheeks with the pads of his fingers.  “I don’t want you waitin’ up for me no more.”

“I want you home at a decent hour. Is it asking for too much if I want you home at night?” Corrine challenged when leading him inside the quiet home. At this point, reiterating her struggles with sleep in his absence was pointless, being that Marcus disregarded the topic whenever she brought it up.

“Cori…” Marcus groaned, releasing her hand to remove the patent leather oxford shoes he donned.  “Don’t start.” He warned. Haphazardly he left the pair of dress shoes by the console table and took off after Corrine once she made a beeline for the curved staircase.

Silence loomed over them as she padded up the steps,  weighing her seemingly farfetched proposal pertaining to Marcus Johnson coming home at a respectful time.

The brash suggestion was, perhaps, improbable for a man of his profession. a man who served as the leader of a network distributing drugs throughout the tri-state area.

A man who had been completely immersed in this life well before he met her.

“You know how this shit goes.” He painfully reminded her. “There will be times where I might not make it home until the following afternoon. Maybe the following night. Then there’s always the possibility that I might not make it back home at all.”

His unfavorable hypothetical hung in the air, internally resonating with Corrine well after he muttered the plausible possibility that caused her to halt in her movements altogether.

Beneath the thin straps to her midnight blue slip, her shoulders contracted and slumped; her breaths grew erratic as she latched onto the wrought-iron banister.

Sensing the sudden shift in her demeanor, Marcus reached for her arm, letting out a huff when she attempted to pull away. With a bit more force, he placed her against his navy sports coat.

In his embrace, she breathed in his intoxicating scent -- the very same cologne that appealed to her the evening they met.

“I could’ve gone without hearing that.” Corrine finally admitted through dreary breaths. Her body stilled against Marcus as he let out an exasperated breath while running his hand down the length of her torso. “I stay up mainly because I worry, Marcus. I worry about you and whether or not you’ll come home to me.”

He pressed his chin atop her head, shushing the stifled groans sweeping past her bare lips.

“I know, baby. I know,” was all he was able to say.

Soon, his hands wandered down to the small of her back; the wideset pads of his fingers pressed against the slip clinging to her fair, fervent skin. Marcus initiated the separation, just as he always had.

Corrine dreaded the moment immediately, recovering from the gesture physically, though internally she yearned for the intimacy she knew Marcus would never placate her with.

[writtenbyandria]

Jane Friedmann:

Showing a character’s emotions isn’t always easy, especially when powerful emotions are at work. Characters may feel exposed or unsafe and instinctively try to repress or disguise what they feel. This creates a big challenge for writers: how do we show readers what the character is feeling when they are trying so hard to hide it?

[writtenbyandria]

writer culture is:

forgetting whether you are writing in past or present tense

accidentally jumping points of view between characters

accidentally jumping between first/second/third person in the middle of a sentence

not remembering what era you started a work in (is this the 80s? the 90s? 1920s? forty years from now? who knows!)

not remembering who is supposed to be dead or alive 

forgetting where you are going with a work because you didn’t write an outline for it

forgetting where you are going with a work even though you wrote an outline for it

carpal tunnel syndrome

[writtenbyandria]

Trevante Rhodes by Smallz & Raskind

[writtenbyandria]

Joan Smalls at Brandon Maxwell S/S 2019

[writtenbyandria]

JOAN SMALLS, Tom Ford, S/S 2019

[writtenbyandria]

Some words to use when writing things:

winking

clenching

pulsing

fluttering

contracting

twitching

sucking

quivering

pulsating

throbbing

beating

thumping

thudding

pounding

humming

palpitate

vibrate

grinding

crushing

hammering

lashing

knocking

driving

thrusting

pushing

force

injecting

filling

dilate

stretching

lingering

expanding

bouncing

reaming

elongate

enlarge

unfolding

yielding

sternly

firmly

tightly 

harshly

thoroughly

consistently

precision

accuracy

carefully

demanding

strictly

restriction

meticulously

scrupulously

rigorously

rim

edge

lip

circle

band

encircling

enclosing

surrounding

piercing

curl

lock

twist

coil

spiral

whorl

dip

wet

soak

madly

wildly

noisily

rowdily

rambunctiously

decadent

degenerate

immoral

indulgent

accept

take

invite

nook

indentation

niche

depression

indent

depress

delay

tossing

writhing

flailing

squirming

rolling

wriggling

wiggling

thrashing

struggling

grappling

striving

straining

[writtenbyandria]

Self-Publishing: A Breakdown

Self-publishing can be really confusing and intimidating when you are trying to get started. There are lots of things to consider! Do you want a print copy of your book? How much money are you willing to spend? Can you edit, design, and market your book yourself, or do you need outside help? These decisions are big and complicated enough. But once you make them, the real fun starts—you have to decide where you want to get the services you need. There are dozens of online self-publishing retailers, and all of them come at the problem from a slightly different angle. Let’s try and make this a little simpler.

Basically, the world of self-publishing businesses can be broken down into three markets: print-on-demand, e-book publishing, and ancillary services for self-publishing authors. I will explain what these three different services entail, as well as what you should think about before you use them.

Print-on-demand

These websites allow authors to do what used to be considered “vanity publishing”—self-publish a small run of print books. This is a pricey option and definitely not for everyone. If you just want a single copy of a book for yourself or a family member, this is a nice option, but if you are thinking about seriously creating your own book, you need a serious chunk of change. For a 100-copy run of 100-page trade paperbacks, you’re looking at $300 out of your own pocket.

Before using print-on-demand

Consider where you want your book to end up. Who is going to get your book? Is it a small run for family and friends? Are you trying to get your book into actual bookstores? Each of these questions will influence how many copies you make and how much you pay for them.

Consider how many copies you want. If you want a large number of books, you’re going to need quite a bit of money, even for small paperbacks.

Consider what you want the final product to look like. Most print-on-demand services offer a gigantic selection of hardcover and paperback styles, varying in price. They can also offer different cover and binding styles, so you really need to think about what the final product should look like, as well as how much you can afford to spend.

Consider formatting, editing, and design.  Do you know how to use formatting programs like InDesign or Publisher? Are you willing to do that work yourself? Do you feel confident in your copyediting and proofing skills? Can you create attractive covers? Do you know anything about fonts? If the answer to any of these questions is ‘no,’ you might need to find a graphic designer and/or a freelance editor.

E-Books

E-books are the new big thing in self-publishing. They offer almost no risk to the author and to the retailer, so it is a cheap, easy option for people who have an audience for their book but no desire to go through the traditional publishing process. However, the e-book market is highly saturated with badly designed, badly edited books, so potential authors really need to put time into their work and ensure it looks as good as possible before putting it online.

Before publishing an e-book

Consider formatting and editing.  Just like with print publishing, e-books have to be formatted and edited by someone. Many e-book retailers offer editing services, so if you do not feel confident taking care of these steps yourself, you can find someone to do it for you (for a price).

Consider design.  This one gets its own bullet point for e-books because an attractive cover is everything. People aren’t going to buy a book that looks like it was designed by a third-grader. Also, e-books offer their own special design challenges because of the file formats they use. Make sure to upload your potential book onto some kind of device and check it over before hitting that submit button, because the pagination can get screwed up in the file conversion process.

Consider your synopsis. People are only going to buy your book if it sounds interesting, so work really hard on your book’s summary to make sure you are putting your best foot forward.

Consider marketing. If you want your book to make any money, you have to advertise it somehow. Do your friends know about your book? Does your family? How are you going to get people outside of that circle to buy your book? Do you have a Facebook page? A Tumblr? A Twitter? Is the first book in your series cheap or free?

Ancillary Services

These are services that help self-publishing authors access resources offered at a traditional publishing house, like professional designers and editors. None of them are cheap, but if you are unsure how to do these things yourself or where to start, they are a big help. For examples, see Bibliocrunch and FastPencil.

Before using an ancillary service

Figure out how much you can do yourself. If you are a terrible proofer, a professional should definitely go over your work to avoid embarrassment. If you can’t use Photoshop or InDesign, you might need a designer to help you out.

Figure out how much you are willing to pay. Freelance editors and designers don’t come cheap. Packages through actual companies like FastPencil or Bibliocrunch are not cheap, but they can take a lot of the hassle and worry out of self-publishing.

In General

Think carefully before choosing any of the services listed above. Consider what you want to do with the final product and who the audience is. Remember to do what will please you as an author—after all, that is the main advantage of self-publishing. 

[writtenbyandria]

Hi. So I have a question. I'm going to write about a city I've never been to, New York, do you have any tips on how to do this?

Hello, dear. I get asked this often and 4/5 times it’s about New York City, so you’re getting a resource list so I can just direct people to your ask from now on!

Writing Real-Life Locations

How To Write About A Real Location If You Haven’t Been There

7 Tips for Writing About Places You’ve Never Been

How to Write Creative Nonfiction: Writing about Place

How To Write About Place In Creative Nonfiction 

Misplaced: why do novelists disguise real locations?

Basics of Describing Settings

How to Describe the Setting in a Story

Discover The Basic Elements of Setting In a Story

How to Write Descriptions and Create a Sense of Place 

How to practice location descriptions

Fictional vs. Real Settings: Which Are Best?

Writing About New York [City]

my list of NYC writing links & tips

Humans of New York (for local character/lifestyle examples)

Google, bro. everyone and their grandma has written about NYC.

Have fun researching! Consider taking a trip, if you can!…I’ll be jealous…

+ If you benefit from my updates and replies, please consider sending a little thank you and Buy Me A Coffee!

+ HEY, Writers! other social media: Wattpad - Pinterest - Goodreads

[writtenbyandria]

Resources For Describing Emotion

Emotions

Without Making Your Character Feel Too Self Aware

Showing Emotion Without Telling About It

Emotions Associated With Body Language

Telling Readers What The Character Doesn’t Want To Show

Hiding Emotions

Expressing Cardinal Emotions: Masculine vs. Feminine

Writing Extreme Emotion Without Melodrama

Specific Emotions

Conveying Shock

Conveying Embarrassment

Conveying Disappointment

Conveying Love/Attraction

Conveying Annoyance

Conveying Relief

Conveying Uncertainty

Conveying Impatience

Conveying Shame

Conveying Resentment

Conveying Panic

Conveying Guilt

Conveying Desperation

Conveying Sarcasm & Verbal Disrespect

Conveying Confusion

Conveying Stubbornness

Conveying Frustration

Conveying Indifference

Conveying Indignation

Conveying Confidence & Pride

Conveying Smugness

Conveying Enthusiasm

Conveying Curiosity

Conveying Hopefulness

Conveying Unease

Conveying Reluctance

Conveying Worry

Conveying Humility & Meekness

Conveying Happiness & Joy

Conveying Amusement

Conveying Disgust

Conveying Resignation

Conveying Jealousy

Conveying Anticipation

Conveying Contentment

Conveying Defeat

Conveying Excitement

Conveying Fear

Conveying Hatred

Conveying Hurt

Conveying Being Overwhelmed

Conveying Sadness & Grief

Conveying Satisfaction

Conveying Somberness

Conveying Sympathy & Empathy

Conveying Wariness

Conveying Defensiveness

Conveying Desire

Conveying Doubt

Conveying Energy

Conveying Exhaustion

Conveying Hunger

Conveying Loneliness

Conveying Physical Pain

Emotional Wounds

A Role Model Who Disappoints

A Sibling’s Betrayal

A Speech Impediment

Becoming a Caregiver at an Early Age

Being Bullied

Being Fired or Laid Off

Being Held Captive

Being Mugged

Being Publicly Humiliated

Being Raised by Neglectful Parents

Being Raised by Overprotective Parents

Being So Beautiful It’s All People See

Being the Victim of a Vicious Rumor

Being Stalked

Being Trapped in a Collapsed Building

Being Unfairly Blamed For The Death of Another

Childhood Sexual Abuse (by a family member or known person)

Discovering One’s Parent is a Monster

Discovering One’s Sibling was Abused

Experiencing a Miscarriage or Stillbirth

Failing At School

Failing To Do The Right Thing

Financial Ruin Due To A Spouse’s Irresponsibility

Finding Out One’s Child Was Abused

Finding Out One Was Adopted

Getting Lost In a Natural Environment

Growing Up In A Cult

Growing Up in a Dangerous Neighborhood

Growing Up In Foster Care

Growing Up In The Public Eye

Growing Up In The Shadow of a Successful Sibling

Growing Up with a Sibling Who Has a Chronic Disability or Illness

Having Parents Who Favored One Child Over Another

Having To Kill Another Person To Survive

Infertility

Infidelity (emotional or physical)

Losing a Limb

Losing a Loved One To A Random Act of Violence

Making a Very Public Mistake

Overly Critical or Strict Parents

Physical Disfigurement

Rejection By One’s Peers

Telling The Truth But Not Being Believed

The Death of a Child On One’s Watch

Victimization via Identity Theft

Watching A Loved One Die

Wrongful Imprisonment

Spending Time In Jail

Suffering From a Learning Disability

Motivation

Achieving Spiritual Enlightenment

Avoiding Certain Death

Avoiding Financial Ruin

Beating a Diagnosis or Condition

Being Acknowledged and Appreciated by Family

Being a Leader of Others

Being the Best At Something

Caring for an Aging Parent

Carrying on a Legacy

Catching The Bad Guy or Girl

Coming To Grips With Mental Illness

Discovering One’s True Self

Escaping a Dangerous Life one Doesn’t Want

Escaping a Killer

Escaping a Widespread Disaster

Escaping Confinement

Escaping Homelessness

Escaping Invaders

Finding Friendship or Companionship

Finding a Lifelong Partner

Having a Child

Helping a Loved One See They Are Hurting Themselves and Others

Obtaining Shelter From The Elements

Overcoming Abuse and Learning To Trust

Overcoming Addiction

Protecting One’s Home or Property

Pursuing Justice For Oneself or Others

Realizing a Dream

Reconciling with an Estranged Family Member

Rescuing a Loved One From a Captor

Restoring A Name or Reputation

Righting a Deep Wrong

Seeking Out One’s Biological Roots

Stopping an Event From Happening

Trying Again When One Has Previously Failed

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[writtenbyandria]

Body Language: What Eyes Can Tell You

We’ve talked a lot about body language and how it can be used in your writing, but not much has been said about analyzing the body language of the eyes. A lot can be inferred by utilizing eye body language in your writing, so hopefully this will help you learn more about it.

Here are a few ways you can use the eyes to express emotions:

Gazing

If someone is gazing at something that usually means they have expressed an interest in whatever it is. Gazing usually means that the person looks unfocused on the person or object as a whole. For example, gazing at someone’s lips might be a sign that you want to kiss them. It’s usually a sign of wanting. You can also gaze at someone to size them up in some way.

Glancing

If you glance at someone it can be because you want to get a quick look at them without staring. Someone might glance if they don’t want the other person to know they’re focusing their attention on them. You can also glance at someone with your eyebrow raised in order to show suspicion or doubt.

Staring

Staring at someone or something can be used to show surprise, shock, interest, or disbelief. In novels, staring is sometimes used to show attraction. For example, one character realizing they were staring at another character because there was something intriguing about them.

Closing

If someone closes their eyes that could indicate that they’re trying to get their thoughts together by shutting out the rest of the world. It could mean that your character does not want to see something or wants to distance their mind from what’s happening.

Wet

Obviously big tears means that a character is crying, but wet eyes can show that a character is holding back tears or had been crying previously. This helps reveal how a character is feeling and if they are trying to hold back their emotions.

Rubbing

People can rub their eyes when they’re tired or sometimes when they feel uncomfortable. It gives a character an excuse to look away.  It can be used in the same way that yawning is used.

Looking Down

If someone looks down when another character is talking to them, it could indicate that your character feels uncomfortable or is intimidated. It is also used a sign of submission. This is also sometimes used as a sign of respect—in some cultures eye contact is considered rude or used to express dominance. It can also indicate guilt in some cases.

Looking Up

When someone is thinking, they’ll often look up to the side. It helps you visualize what you’re thinking about and analyze the situation. Also, if someone is trying to recall something they might look up.

Looking Away

If someone looks away from you after you ask a question it might mean they could be avoiding the question or that they’re planning on lying. It’s easier to lie if eye contact is avoided for most people.  Looking away can also indicate boredom or guilt.

-Kris Noel

[writtenbyandria]

Chapter Depth 101

Character development has a lot to do with character depth, so it’s important you understand how to make a character “deep”. Characters are usually described in terms like “One-dimensional” “two-dimensional” or “three dimensional”, so depending on what type of character you’re writing, it’s important that they fit into the right category. A main character should never be anything other than “three-dimensional”.

Not all of your characters need to be well thought-out or have an extensive back story. Sometimes minor characters only serve a specific purpose and we don’t need to know everything about them. Having a character that is only one-dimensional or two-dimensional isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because there will be more focus put on important characters—ones we really care about and what to know more about. With main characters, it’s important we know A LOT about them. Even though ALL your characters should be important to your story, your main characters should have the most depth.

When it comes to writing, there’s a lot more opportunity to create a three-dimensional character in a novel than it is through film (or screenwriting). You have more freedom to shape your characters and build them up the way you want. This could be a big reason why people say “the book is better than the movie” because a lot of character depth has to be cut out due to time. However, writing a novel is similar to writing screenplay because you need to pick and choose what you should share with the audience. You also need to decide when and how to tell them without exposing everything all at once (info-dumping).

The hardest part about all this is figuring out what you can do to create more character depth.  Filling out those character development sheets usually help because they force you to think about your characters on another level. Obviously you should know what they want and where they want to go, but you should take the time to develop other aspects. Think about character flaws, what shaped your character, who they’re friends with, what their hobbies are, what they’re interested in, etc. All these things will lead to a deeper understanding of your character and additional ways to connect with your readers.

Here are a few additional ways to add depth to your characters:

Stay away from perfection

No one cares about a perfect character. We can’t relate to a perfect character because none of us are perfect. Adding flaws and quirks is a great start, but you can develop them further. Focus on what makes them problematic, if you can. What types of flaws can bring your main character down or make them less “likeable”.  I’m not saying you should try to make your readers hate your main character, but you should present them with reasons why your protagonist might not have everything figured out. If your main character is still learning, we will stick with them until the end. We will want to see them succeed and we will care about their journey.

Don’t rely solely on tropes and archetypes

Focusing on archetypes is a great place to start, but you can’t rely on only that. Archetypes can help you build a character with more depth, but you need to add more details to it. Figure out what basic archetype you think your character is and then work on making your character unique. How can you put a twist on a common archetype or trope? How can you put your own style into the characters your building. Once you add more depth, your characters will become much more interesting.

Write with feeling

Most of us share common emotions like happiness, fear, sadness, loss, hope, regret, frustration, etc., so use these in you writing. Give your characters all sorts of emotions so they don’t come off one-dimensional and boring. You can draw from your own experiences with these emotions in order to create something better. If you want to be a good writer, you need to learn how to write with feeling. You also need to learn how to develop your characters with feeling. Find ways to put yourself into your writing.

-Kris Noel