Lilah Suzanne's Blog, page 74
September 12, 2014
Ficlet Friday: Still Fighting
Felix backstory, Felix pov
He’s not faster than them; his dirty worn sneakers with a hole in the left sole slap slap slap on the pavement, his breath burning like stabbing sharp knives and legs like weak wobbly noodles, but running. Still running. He’s not faster, but Felix runs and runs and never stops running.
Sometimes he makes it home in time, words shouted from five stories down that hurt more than fists even though his teacher says they shouldn’t. Words can’t hurt you. But if that were true then why does it ache like a thumb pressed to a tender bruise, but inside where no one can see?
Some of the words aren’t true and some are and some- Maybe. And what if? And if so? But his Mama says to always be proud of who he is, and hold his head high and no one can ever really hurt him. But if that were true then why does Felix hear her praying at night for him?
They catch up to him sometimes, pull at his clothes and push at his back but they’re out of breath and wheezing and weakened so Felix runs and runs and keeps running. They shout names at him and they call him nothing, you’re nothing. But if that were true then why would they keep coming after him? Why bother? Surely nothing wouldn’t be worth chasing and shouting at and teasing.
Every once in a while they catch him and keep him, surround and tease him. Felix’s heart slams in his chest like an angry wild thing and he looks for an escape within the circle of three large sneering boys, wonders if he can climb the high chain-link fence faster than they can or will they grab him by his ankles and yank him down? They push and shove and he stumbles and falls and curls his body. He can’t run now, so he waits until they lose interest.
Don’t bother them and they won’t bother you, the principal says. But how can his simple desire to exist in the world that they occupy be such a burden? Is he not allowed to take up space? No, it can’t be true.
Felix sits up and spits out dirt and shame and anger.
“Why don’t you fight them?”
They had caught him in the lot behind the bodega around the corner that’s next to the video store that’s next to the laundromat that has a bubble gum machine with gumballs in all the colors of the rainbow. Felix swears he only ever gets yellow. His favorite is red.
He stands and brushes dust and dirt and something sticky from his jeans that are too big and have to be folded over at the waist and bunch uncomfortably at his feet and knees. Mama says he’ll grow into them and he’s sure she’s right, but some days he wonders if that’s wrong too.
“I run,” Felix tells the man in a white apron hauling a bulging black trash bag to the dumpster.
“Hmph,” the man says, and heaves the bag up and over the top. “And where has running gotten you?”
Away, Felix thinks but doesn’t say as he guesses that it’s the wrong answer. Because he doesn’t know what else to do probably isn’t right either. So he says nothing and the man stares at him with a scowl and his hands on his hips, and Felix kicks at the dirt and scratches a mosquito bite on his elbow. He thinks he might be in trouble again, though he doesn’t know why. He usually doesn’t.
The man brushes his hands off and says, “Come here on Saturday, in the morning. I’ll show you how to fight.”
So Felix runs away on Thursday and runs away on Friday and on Saturday eats two bowls of cereal and skips Saturday morning cartoons and tells his Mama he’s going to the bodega, which is true. She gives him a quarter for a gumball. He gets a blue one. Mr. Salazar from the bodega takes him deep into the laundromat, past the shaking rattling spinning washers and the hot humming dryers, past the change machine and the folding tables in the back, past the office where the lady who looks mean but likes to give them spicy hot cinnamon candy sits and watches.
Up a creaky flight of stairs and Felix is introduced to the ropes stretched in a square, ducks under to get acquainted with the hollow give of plywood set on wooden planks and padded with worn and battered gray carpet. A red punching bag hangs from thick chains in the corner across, in the other a set of weights, and in the last corner an equipment locker.
There are huge strong men and boys not much bigger than him with muscles on their arms and fire in their eyes and they look at Felix then at Mr. Salazar and nod their acceptance.
It smells like the sharp tang of sweat and dryer sheets and this is the place where he first learns to box and everything changes.
He isn’t the biggest or strongest or fastest, but Felix fights and fights and never stops fighting.
September 11, 2014
amygoalen:
Lower down with control.
Austin Yoga instructor Dean...
Lower down with control.
Austin Yoga instructor Dean Pohlman. Check out "Inside the Warrior - the Masculine Side of Yoga"!
©AmyGoalenPhotography
September 8, 2014
Download a Free Excerpt of Pivot and Slip
The left hook felt wrong from the moment he twisted forward: too wide and too high, leaving him open to the quick jab that landed on his temple. His head snapped back, teeth clacking closed, pain blooming as though an earthquake had cracked through his skull. The ring and surrounding area started to shift and spin, so Felix allowed his opponent to crowd him up against the ropes and curled his head in chin to chest, seeking refuge behind his gloved hands just to get his bearings until the ref stepped in and broke them up.
He collapsed into the metal folding chair in his corner, and a squirt of warm water hit his cheek and ear and dribbled down his neck. Head tipped back, aware of the clock counting down, Felix squinted at the crowd, a blurred and shimmering mirage screaming for their gladiators, screaming for glory.
Screaming for blood.
—Pivot and Slip, by Lilah Suzanne
Download a free excerpt here.
Order your copy from the Interlude Press store, Amazon, Barnes & Noble and book retailers around the world.
September 6, 2014
"The creative process just isn’t neat, no matter how you approach it. Writers tend to write amidst..."
- Grant Faulkner (via anxioussquirrel)
September 5, 2014
interludepress:
US READERS: WANT TO WIN A FREE PRINT EDITION OF...
US READERS: WANT TO WIN A FREE PRINT EDITION OF ONE THESE BOOKS?
Head on over to Goodreads, where we’re giving away five free copies of each of our launch titles: Bleeding Heart, Platonic, Forever Man, Pivot and Slip and Designs on You.
The giveaways are open to entries until October 4th, so if you don’t have a Goodreads account, you have plenty of time to sign up, follow the authors and enter for a free copy of our launch titles.*
Can’t wait? Our launch titles are available in print and multi-format eBook at our online store, and can also be purchased at both online and brick and mortar retailers around the world.
*Goodreads giveaways available in the US only.
September 4, 2014
Where did you draw your inspiration for your characters Felix and Jack?
Creating characters sometimes feels like this sort of phenomenon beyond me. Which sounds weird, but just go with it.
But I started by looking at profiles and pictures of the type of athletes I was writing and from there I had an idea of what their names would be, a vague sense of what they looked like, and the beginning of their backstories.
When all of that clicks into place for a character I can usually hear their voice in my head, and they really tend to take on a life of their own after that!
So what inspired me to create Jack and Felix in particular? Honestly I feel like they just showed up and insisted I put them in my story.
That’s totally not weird at all. Right?
Thanks so much for the question!
August 29, 2014
Read pivot and slip in like less then 2 hours. I also keep re-reading those chapters from spice...I cant wait to read it
Awesome! Spice is quite a bit longer than Pivot and Slip, so it will hopefully keep you entertained for more than a couple of hours ;) And I can’t wait for it to be out be either (cover art is coming soon!)
Thanks for the support, I really appreciate it.
August 24, 2014
Interview Questions Nobody Actually Asked Me...
but I’m answering anyway.
The characters in Pivot and Slip are athletes. Are you athletic?
I’ll start my answer to this with a story: When I was a kid in Florida we had a house with a nice flat yard all around it. Probably infested with fire ants and mosquitos too because Florida, but this is not about that. My older sister liked to race me through this yard, around this house. My sister is decidedly not athletic. I could run faster than her; she knew it and I knew it, yet every single time she’d somehow pull through at the very last lap and win. One final burst of adrenaline? Strength and speed she never even knew she had until she saw fame and glory slipping through her tiny grasp?
Nah. I let her win.
Why did I always let her win? It meant more to her. She’d get upset when she lost, but it never really bothered me. Or whatever the five-year-old version of that is. Probably something like, meh.
So am I athletic? I could be. If I cared. Which I don’t. But I played softball and soccer and neighborhood basketball and I was even on a swim team. I just always seemed to apply the same sort of anti-competitiveness to every athletic endeavor. Too mellow for my own good.
Then why would I write about athletes?
I guess I was intrigued by the sort of person who does have that drive. What is that like, to put so much of yourself into a sport that demands everything of you, physically and mentally?
I was asked in a live Q&A if I’m a sports fan, and the answer to that is also no. But in the South college sports are a huge deal, and I often find myself watching these games and thinking about the tremendous amount of pressure these kids are under. So for Felix and Jack in particular, I started with these young men who are at the top of their game one minute, under all this pressure to achieve and to win, and then the next minute boom everything they worked so hard for is gone. Their entire identity is gone.
What happens after that? Who are they now? Where do they go from there?
Then I weaved a romance story around those questions, and a theme about finding new dreams and what that might look like. A story that is, I think, ultimately about hope.
When I threw those races around the house with my sister, maybe it was because I honestly didn’t care, but I like to think it had a little do with being happy that she was happy. It doesn’t take an athlete to understand what triumph and winning are really about. (Not having to listen to your sister whine for half an hour about losing a dumb race, that’s what.)
And hope. That too.
