From Fiction to Reality Pt. 1

I have found myself suffering from a bit of Writer's Block lately, and I finally figured out why. I'm not writing just for fun anymore. This realization came about during an email conversation with a friend. She invited me to go onto the Silver Publishing Blog site and join in on a 1000k word weekly Blog story chain. I'm not sure I can do the whole following a theme deal, but I know that I want to start writing a weekly 1000k entry to work on writing for fun again.

The following story is one I thought up on the fly. Sam Evans is a best selling author living in Chicago and he realizes that something is missing from his life. I will leave it at that in order to keep from giving away too much. :-p

_____________________________________________________________________________________

From Fiction to Reality


Sighing, Sam Evans rubbed the back of his neck tiredly and sat back from the screen. The cursor blinked furiously at him, taunting him. His next deadline loomed perilously close and he didn’t even have half the book written. Writer’s block plagued him for months now. His agent and editor constantly hounded him for an update on his progress, but he couldn’t give them anything more than a simple, “It’s coming along.”

Except it was nothing other than a lie.

Restlessness had settled on his shoulders right around the same time as his writer’s block. Sam couldn’t quite place his finger on what caused it. Thirty-two years old, he had a beautiful penthouse, great friends, and six New York Bestsellers, but it all seemed as though something that should be there wasn’t. Ever since his brother Sean’s wedding, he’d felt like something was missing from his life. He’d watched his brother laughing and dancing with his bride, Lisa, and an ache built inside his chest.

His last relationship ended over a year ago. He’d been too busy trying to juggle his writing and his real life to bother looking for another. Sean tried to introduce him to a couple of guys he knew at the wedding yet none of them captured his attention. Had the constant writing about lies, betrayal and death made him as cold as his ex, Mike had thrown at him all those months ago? Why else would he have remained single for so long?

Pushing away from the desk, Sam stood and walked into his bathroom, twisting the shower knob to turn on the hot water and set it to fill his huge Jacuzzi tub. An interior decorator had chosen the designs in all of the rooms. The bathroom, done up in a mixture of light creams and beiges, soothed Sam whenever the restlessness became a physical discomfort. He’d spent many nights in the Jacuzzi over the course of the last six to eight months.

Looking at the mirror, he studied himself intently. He didn’t feel he was model material, but he at least had confidence he was semi-attractive. Dark blue eyes set evenly apart were framed by long, blond tipped eyelashes. A slender nose with a slightly curved tip rested above plump, full lips and straight, white teeth. He took pride in his smile and never missed a dentist appointment or forgot to brush. His chin had a small dimple in it that gave him an almost arrogant appearance, or at least that’s what a couple of his boyfriend’s had told him. Dirty blond hair kept short on the sides and spiky on top, Sam usually didn’t bother much with a brush. He could run his fingers through his hair and be done with it most days if he wasn’t going out.

A track star in high school, Sam spent most of his time running on the streets of Chicago late at night unless the weather didn’t permit and then he ended up using the weight room in his apartment. His body had the lean muscles of a runner and the strong legs to match. Unlike his father, he didn’t have a whole lot of body hair, just a light sprinkling of blond feathering over his chest and a thatch of darker hair around his cock and balls. The only ‘wild’ thing he’d ever done in his youth had been in college when his roommate and eventually long-term boyfriend convinced him to get his tongue pierced. He’d kept the piercing open by wearing a simple post but no adornment.

He stripped off the sweatpants and t-shirt he wore, dropping them carelessly to the floor, and picked up the remote to flip on the television mounted in the wall across from the tub. He stepped into the tub and groaned as the hot water lapped at his skin. Once he’d settled in completely, he flipped the switch to turn the massaging jets on. A loud moan tore through him as the forceful pulses kneaded his tired muscles.

Glancing at the T.V., Sam saw a story about a murder last night and nudged the volume up a little higher to hear above the water. ‘Twenty-one year old, Theresa Martins, was found strangled to death in Millenium Park near the Crown Fountain early this morning. She worked for Northwestern Memorial Hospital as a nurse and had just come off a twelve hour shift. Her family expected her home around three a.m., but she never arrived. If anyone has any information or possible leads about this woman,’ a picture of a pretty blonde woman, petite with a beautiful smile, flashed up on the screen, ‘please contact the local tip hotline at 312-555-6109. Now for the local weather forecast. Jaime?’

Sam muted the sound. A sense of foreboding trickled down his spine. It seemed so similar. No, his mind scoffed. It’s just a coincidence. Flipping to another channel, he chose to watch a sitcom instead of the news, but his mind continued to travel back to the report until he snapped off the television in frustration, stood up and grabbed a towel. He needed to run off some steam.

He yanked on a fresh pair of dark blue sweats and a dark grey t-shirt, strapped on a pair of running sneakers and grabbed his keys and wallet before exiting his front door. The upper penthouse floor only contained three apartments; his, an old man in his late eighties named Bart Powell, and an empty unit. The corridor seemed eerily quiet as he waited for the elevator to reach his floor. A sound brought his head around and he saw the empty unit’s door cracked open and light shining through. Frowning, he moved closer, stiffening when he heard someone swear and the loud crash of glass hitting the floor.

Sam put his hand on the door and lightly pushed it open, peering inside the unit only to stop short in surprise. Furniture and boxes sat haphazardly around the no longer empty apartment. “Oh, hey,” an easy, deep voice called out.