Deidra Alexander's Blog

You never know what you might find if you clean out your old files. For instance, I found a novel I wrote when I was 16. Yes, it was with much fear and trepidation that I dare read this horror from the past, a romance novel. It was only two short years later that I was told I should give up writing by a college professor and took her at her word. I stopped writing for more than 20 years. Here is an excerpt —

Standing at the top of the stairs, the darkened corridor seemed strangely threatening. In Mariah’s haste to escape her Father’s lecture, she had forgotten to take a lamp. She heard a low voice from the shadows.

“From the sound of things, I win. Get use to it. I always win.”

Mariah felt the warmth of Damon’s body behind her. She trembled in spite of herself.

“We’ll make a splendid couple.” Damon’s breath was hot against her ear.

“I’ll not submit to this without a fight.” She threatened, turning to face him.

Damon’s dark curls fell across his forehead. His chiseled features settled into a thin smile, but the hard glint in his steel-gray eyes betrayed him.

“I can be very persuasive.” Damon griped her arm.

Mariah stiffened. The knot in her stomach tightened. She wanted to run, but Damon held her fast.

His hold tightened. “And you know what they say.” His voice barely audible.

Mariah shook her head.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

She detected a threat behind his words. She tried to pull away, but the more she struggled, the harder he held her.

“You’re hurting me.” She gasped.

“Was I? I didn’t realize.” Damon smiled, releasing her.

Mariah stumbled before regaining her balance.

“Good night, Love.” Damon quickly disappeared down the stairs.

Mariah retreated to her room. She lit the lamp on the table. The light danced across the wall and the shadows retreated to the corner. Blank canvases leaned against the bulging bookcases. Paints and brushes were strewn liberally about. Books were stacked in precarious piles. Everything was familiar, but different. What was important this morning, didn’t matter now. Mariah sank down on her bed. Her shoulders slumped. Her slender figure cast a small shadow on the wall in front of her. She stared at the wallpaper without seeing it. Pastel pink and blue flowers wove up the walls on pale green vines.

How could everything have gone so wrong? Staring at the flowers, she couldn’t help but replay the day’s events in her mind. …

I don’t think it’s that bad really. I don’t have the last 1/3 or so, but I remember it ended with Mariah knocking Damon in a raging river, presumably to his death. Damon of course, was not the hero. I was told I was too dark. That may have been right for 1978/79. Makes me wish I hadn’t stopped writing for so long.