Jot 2

Hey! Finally Jot 2! And, in a way, 1. This is the first post of the new Jot. This snippet is in the middle of what I have done so far, but is still in the beginning of the story. So you're not completely lost: Civil war; Miller and Clare are married; Berta and Eudora are their slaves; Confederate side; Miller has left to fight; Clare is by herself.
Well, here it is. Tell me what you think and where you think this should go, though I already have a bit of an idea.

JOT 2

The messenger was waiting in the parlor when she walked in. He was studying a portrait of Miller and herself they had had taken the day of their wedding. They’d only been married a year when Miller left. Both of them were still so young.

“Can I help you, sir,” Claire asked when the man did not notice her enter the room.

He jumped then straightened himself, his hat tucked under his arm. “Mornin’ ma’am.  I have a message for you fr—“

Claire cut him off. “From Miller?”

He frowned. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. From General Lee.”

“General Lee? Why would he have a message for me?” Again Claire’s fears rose to the surface after the brief moment of hope.

The messenger did not answer but simply reached into his coat pocket and handed her a small piece of parchment with a red seal, dirt caught in the dried wax.  Claire took it and, sitting on the couch, began reading.

“Mrs. Quinn,”

“Ma’am.”

Claire looked up, frustrated the man had stopped her.

“If you don’t mind ma’am, I have other business to attend to.”

“Oh, yes, yes. You may go. Eudora will show you out. Eudora!”

Claire quickly looked back at the message, not bothering to offer a proper farewell.

“Mrs. Quinn,

The battle rages on. We all believed this to be a quick endeavor and I apologize that it has dragged on longer than expected. Morale is high and we are determined to see this through.”

“Small talk,” Claire thought. “What is it you mean to tell me, Lee?”

“Your husband, Mr. Miller Quinn, has been an important asset to our purpose here. He has fought bravely and has saved many young lives. We will forever be in his debt. The reasoning for this letter, however, is unfortunate.”

Claire sucked in her breath and held it as she read on.

“It is my displeasure to have to inform you that your husband—“

Claire quickly crushed the letter into her lap, covering it with her shaking hands. She could not bear to read further. Miller could not be—Claire covered her mouth with her hand as she began weeping quietly. 


Okay, that's all you get. For now. 
MUAH HA HA HA HA!

Jot REMASTERED: Episode II

Hmmm...I've been thinking. In my own personal opinion, this Jot is getting...well it's getting quite good. I'm happy with it so far. And sadly for you all, someone made a good point in telling me publishers won't look at something that's online for the world to see. So I think I might change what this blog is. Again. Or maybe I'll go back to the way it was, though that didn't work out like I'd wanted.

I think for now I'm going to try this: the blog is called Jot, right? So maybe if I put little snippets of things I have or am writing. Like a page or so, to give people a view of a small "Jot" of my writing. Give some feedback on that, some ideas of where I could take it based on what they see. This way I can share my work without sharing the entirety of them, and in so doing, jeopardizing my chances of my dreams coming true.

...I think this is what I'm going to do. Jot REMASTERED (again).

Jot 1.7

Laurel laid in her stiff hospital bed and stared down at her legs. They were plated, screwed, and casted, but she still had them and was willing to go through any surgery or physical therapy as long as she could walk again. The doctors were as yet unsure if she would walk again, but her odds were fairly good. It could have been a lot worse, as she was repeatedly told. She knew it. She could be dead. Laurel had not seen the mad who'd saved her since the emergency crews arrived and sped them both away. She hoped she would have a chance to see him again, to thank him again. She didn't even know his name. If he didn't find her, she would probably never get the chance to make sure he knew how grateful she was.
The doctor came in then, interrupting her thoughts. "Ah, you're awake. How are you feeling?"
Laurel cleared her throat and tried to answer clearly, but the smoke had irritated her throat and made her raspy and hoarse. "Alright. I hurt all over."
"We can give you some more morphine for that. Do you remember everything that happened?"
Laurel rubbed her forehead with the heal of her hand. Her head was throbbing. "Yes," she answered sadly. She wished she didn't remember anything. "Do the police know what happened?"
The doctor was writing on his clipboard and didn't look up as he answered, "I don't know. I'm not the one to ask about that. You'll have to talk to an officer yourself."
Laurel frowned. "Okay." She paused. "The man...the man that pulled me from the building...is he okay?"
"Mr. Searly? Yes, he's fine. In fact we discharged him this morning."
"He left the hospital?"
"Yes, he went home."
"And he didn't---"
"Yes?" the doctor asked when Laurel didn't finish her sentence.
"Never mind." She had been hoping he would come see her. Did he not care to see how she was doing? Saved her life and disappeared. It was like the movies, the mysterious hero riding off into the sunset without as much as a nod goodbye. Oh well. He knew she was grateful. If he didn't want to see her again, she could live with that.

The months passed slowly as Laurel attempted to get around with, first a wheelchair, then crutches. Her roommate was forced to take her everywhere, help her with everything. But Cassidy was a good friend and didn't complain, especially when she thought about what could have happened to her best friend. "I can't believe you almost DIED! I don't know how I could have lived without you! And your beautiful legs! Crushed! Thank goodness that man pulled you out! I wonder who he is. Was he hot? Did you thank him? I hope you thanked him! He did save your life, Laurel."
Jay called her the second he found out and kept calling, no matter how she discouraged him. "I'm so glad you didn't die, Laurel! What a scary thing to have happen. I do feel bad for all those other people, but I'm so glad you weren't as unlucky. When are you coming home? I love you, baby! Why won't you let me help you get through this?"
"Because we're over Jay! I need you to stop calling me. I'm not going to come home and I don't want you to come here. Ever."
"Come on, Laurel. You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do. I'm fine now. So leave me alone."
The police found the fire had been started by an arsonist. They still didn't know who, or how the building collapsed, but they assumed since someone started the fire, someone must have demolished the building.

Laurel looked down at her legs, rubbing the dry skin that had been under the casts for so long. She rolled her ankles, bent her knees.  Laurel frowned at the scars that now lined her shins and calves. They were so ugly, revolting reminders of her near death experience. She hoped they would fade quickly, but knew they'd never fully disappear. Laurel swung her legs to the side of the couch and placed her feet on the carpet. Slowly, she stood. Her casts had been removed weeks ago, but she still had trouble moving. She felt like a ninety-year-old woman when she walked around and still made Cassidy do everything for her, embarrassed to leave the house when she could only shuffle.
Cassidy was at the grocery store, getting more painkillers and toilet paper when someone knocked on their apartment door. Laurel groaned and tried to walk towards the front door, clinging to furniture as she moved. She made it to the door exhausted and out of breath, but quickly composing herself and smoothing her unwashed hair, she opened the door. Her smile suddenly fell from her face and her jaw dropped.
The man smiled at her and extended his hand. "Hey. I'm Reed Searly. It's nice to officially meet you. Laurel, is it?"

Jot 1.6

Laurel dug her forehead into the soft cool grass as she continued to cough, desperately trying to clear her lungs. She was alive! She could hardly believe it was true. She should not still be here, should not be crying, breathing, almost laughing in hysterics with a strange man next to her. He was watching her intently as she continued to cough.
"Are you alright?" he asked, concern distorting his features along with the black soot that had caked his skin.
Laurel chuckled and rested her cheek on the ground, looking at him. "Am I alright? I'm alive, aren't I? If not for you, I'd...I'd be much worse than I am now."
"Yes, but are you hurt, hurt badly?" The stranger seemed completely unconcerned with his own heroics, passing off her declaration that he had saved her life as if she had told him the time.
"My lungs burn and my legs...I don't know how bad they are. But other than that, there's not much seriously wrong with me. Are...are you hurt?"
The man smiled. "Just a few bumps and bruises."
"Good."
Sirens could be heard in the distance, speeding toward them. Laurel struggled to push herself up and looked back at the Bed and Breakfast. Flames licked every inch of the lot, burning what was left of the rubble. The fire roared bright and hot and reached high into the night sky, illuminating the entire block.
"We...we weren't the only people in there, were we?" Laurel asked, her lower lip quivering.
The man lowered his head. "I took the last vacant room this afternoon."
Laurel looked around frantically, in search of other lucky survivors. There was no one. No one but the wide-eyed people that emerged from surrounding buildings.
"They...they all...they all," Laurel suddenly began sobbing, sobbing with the realization of how many had not been as lucky as she had. Who had been in there? Newlyweds? Families? Children? All gone. Whoever they were, they were all gone. Dead.
The man scooted closer to her and wrapped his arm around her shaking shoulders. The emergency vehicles soon pulled up and doused the raging flames, but it was too late. The fire had consumed everything, everyone.