As a Multiple Sclerosis patient, it has become necessary for me to reinvent myself. I have ... and continue to ... refuse to lie down and die, or in this case, follow the normally prescribed drugs and treatments that do nothing to defeat my disease. I am not only surviving by pursuing alternatives, I am thriving. I do the things specialists told me I would never be able to do. I walk and hope to one day even run regularly. I retain my cognitive and creative abilities for the pleasure of my readers. Although you may never see me on my daily walk, you are welcome to read my novel(s) and in doing so, come to ask yourself, "How can the 'out of the box' protocol she has followed, help my loved one with an autoimmune disease like Multiple Sclerosis?"


Feisty Fridays

Introducing Feisty Fridays.
Trying something new as usual.
I'm not sure if I should focus on fist fights within a manuscript, feisty heroines, frisky romances, or energetic dialogue.
Maybe all three, but not necessarily all at the same time.
If you have a preferance, please feel free to leave a comment.

For now, I'm thinking a fist fight. Granted, I'm not real good at writing a fight scene so I'm willing to accept a few helpful comments.

(Dark Days of Promise excerpt is unpublished and unedited.)

“Do you want me to stick around?” Trevor asked before turning off the engine.

“Maybe a little while. I thought I’d fix us some spaghetti or something. It might not be very good. I haven’t cooked since I moved here. Ben’s a gentleman, I’m sure he’ll leave if I ask him to. You didn’t leave him much room to move his car,” she observed.

“Mind sliding over?” Trevor smirked. Kimmy moved across the bench seat recognizing his negative vibes for Ben. He helped her to her chair, with showy concern, while a stormy-eyed Ben watched from the top of the cabin’s ramp. Trevor pushed the chair around the truck only to find Ben blocking his path.

“I’ll take her in,” Ben stated flatly.

“I don’t think so. I’ve been invited to stay.”

“I don’t like your tone,” Ben retorted.

“I don’t care what you like, she asked you to leave earlier,” Trevor countered.

Ben sidestepped slightly as though to move out of the way, only to throw a roundhouse punch above Kimmy’s head at Trevor’s jaw. Trevor blocked most of Ben’s punch with his cane. The cane clattered to the gravel. Trevor stepped back to regain his balance. He recovered quickly sending a straight right to Ben’s chin. Ben hit the ground. He found his hand on Trevor’s cane. He picked it up and swept Trevor’s feet. Trevor went down landing on his backside. He took a moment to recover his wind. Ben didn’t wait. He struck Trevor with the cane. The balled end sliced across Trevor’s cheek. Ben swung again bloodying Trevor’s nose.

Kimmy found it hard to believe what she witnessed. Other than this morning, she’d never seen either man raise his hand in anger, yet here they fought at her feet.

“Stop it! Stop it! That’s enough!” She reached for the cane stopping Ben’s third blow with her arm, receiving a nasty bruise.

None of the three noticed the group that gathered. Randall stepped in, ripping the cane from Ben’s hand.

“Ben, I never expected you, of all people to strike a disabled man,” Randall intervened, offering Ben his hand. “I think you should leave.”

Ben looked at Kimmy, anger clearly written in his expression as he accepted Randall’s hand.

“If this broke down wanna be pimp’s what you want, get out. Leave.”

Kimmy dropped her jaw, retorting, “You can’t fire me Ben. I don’t work for you.”

“You may not think so,” Ben hissed.

Kimmy looked at Randall, her eyes begging him to refute Ben’s words.

“Kimmy, get him cleaned up.” Randall said, pointing at Trevor. “We’ll talk about this later.”

He handed Trevor’s cane to a boy who stood nearby, his other hand heavy on Ben’s shoulder.

“Give the man his cane after Ben leaves,” he said to the boy, steering Ben toward his car.

Trevor wiped at the blood on his face before taking Kimmy’s proffered hand.
 
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Humm...what do you think? Needs more action, but how?
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