Teaser Tuesday

Butterflies? Check. Shaking hands? Check. Questioning my sanity? Check.

I have officially decided to share some of my novel with all of you. WHAT?! Did I just say that? Yeah, I did, so I can't take it back now. I have been sending sections as I write them to a certain cousin of mine who works at a certain company that just gave me a certain job and she has given me the confidence I need to share with more people. (Hopefully she's not reading this right now and thinking, "Oh crap, Alicia, I was just being nice!") Anyway, Tuesdays here at my Corner will now be known as Teaser Tuesday. I will give you just some small snippets of my novel and that way I will not only be prevented from abandoning this idea again, but I will also be motivated to keep writing even when the motivation has left me temporarily. Let it be known that feedback of any kind is appreciated. (Just please don't make me cry.)

So, without further ado, here is a taste of "Untitled." (Catchy name, eh?)


My world is a dark and lonely place. Each day, like the one before it, I drift through, unfeeling, unthinking. Some time ago I discovered that life was semi-livable if I refrained from feeling. I was only ever one thing—numb.

All around me, people go about their lives, talking, laughing…living. It used to make me ache—the envy I had for all the happy people. But even that, over time, faded to nothing. Now I don’t notice the laughter. I’m oblivious to the smiles, the cheerful banter that surrounds me. It’s amazing how alone you can feel in a city of 582,000 people.

Seattle, Washington. A sprawling, industrious city set in a blanket of pine. I had never known a day that wasn’t spent inside this concrete jungle. It was my home, and for that I loved it. But it was also the setting for the tragedy called my life, and so I loathed it.

I live alone in a cold, empty studio apartment. The tiny square room closely resembles a cell. That’s my life: solitary confinement.

Here, in this desolate place that perfectly reflects my soul, my story begins.

© A. Leppert 2009