Writer meets Wall (Wyatt Klinker Part 8)

Okay, the next installment is here as well and my last update before I end this whole thing. I'm not too terribly happy. There is a reason for this. I am in crunch time and I want to get this thing done. Basically I am allowing myself to cut corners in order to reach 50,000 words rather than writing a good story. Now, I figured i would run into this seeing as 50,000 words is a freaking massive undertaking, especially over the span of one month. I do think I'm going to make it, though I am sorry to say that the quality of my story is going to suffer.

I suppose that is the risk you take when you start penning a novel with absolutely no direction or forethought. I've currently trudged through more that 41,500 words with no clear direction. I had little train stations of thought that I knew I would stop at, but really now clear track laid out that would get me there. The result is an up and down, round and round trip that is occasionally all over the place yet rarely takes you anywhere. I'm cool with this, and I hope all of you will be. I have one goal here: put 50,000 words down on multiple pieces of paper in some orderly fashion so as to tell a story. Frankly, quality really doesn't matter. These last few chapters I've been are the best indication of this. I really think the last couple of pages are a pile of dung, but, they are words, and have taken me from 35,000 to 41,000. So, I'm happy with that. I did however want to warn you that this had occurred. My story has left the tracks and all I'm doing is shoveling coal in the furnace in hopes that the engine keeps chugging forward, with the thought that eventually I will see the station through the fog.

Okay. Another thing. Predictions I've made in past posts are WAAAAAYYYYY off. I told you there is a story arc I was looking forward to getting to around chapter 12? Nope, I'm halfway through chapter 15 and that arc is nowhere in sight. I actually had three or four other arcs I was planning to pursue, but I realize now that they will take me far beyond 50,000 words, even past 100,000 words if I tried to pen them.

I'm not in love with this story. Matter of fact, I'm far from it. I don't particularly care for it at all. However, it is the horse I've hitched my wagon to, and it is getting me there, so I continue. Once I hit that elusive 50,000 word mark I will wrap up this story rather quickly. You can count on that. I'm ready to be done.

Now, that doesn't mean I'm done writing. If anything, this quest has proven that I can, if I chose to, construct a novel. To give you perspective, the first Harry Potter book is made up of 70,000 words. I realize now that a work like that is very attainable. I plan on starting an outline and begin writing a novel I can be proud of, one I might actually pursue furthering (i.e. publishing). The Enviable Life of Wyatt Klinker has done one thing for me; it's proven to myself that if I set my mind to it, I can actually write a novel. And for that, I will always be proud of it.

Okay, that's it for now. Here's the next chapter for those of you who are still reading...

CHAPTER 9: REVOLUTION

The beginning of spring semester was a blessing and Wyatt allowed himself to take it all in. He had arrived back on campus at the earliest possible time, on the earliest possible date. In fact, he had gotten up and left early, spending a better part of the morning hanging out in a coffee shop just off campus. It was cold and breezy, a typical Chicago winter’s day when he strolled the four blocks to his dorm, a feeling of resurgence and rebirth.
Wyatt had never considered himself college material. A year ago he hadn’t been sure what he would be doing. The thought of joining the military had crossed his mind, but the fear of the current political situation and deterred him from carrying out that plan. Now, as he strode across sidewalk in the front of his dorm, he realized that this place, this college, was where he belonged, at least he did at this moment.
The first day back was simple and relaxing. Wyatt propped the door open and welcomed back his hall-mates as they returned from their homes, lugging bags and boxes. He lounged about, watching television, reading or even cat-napping; all the while immersing himself in the solitude that only came when one was finally home.
Dave showed up around six-thirty, his cherubic face lighting up when he saw Wyatt.
“How ya doing, Wy?” he exclaimed as he gave Wyatt a huge bear hug.
The two spent the next couple of hours eating junk food from a care package Dave’s mother had packed and talking about their respective breaks. Dave showed off some of the new toys and gadgets he had gotten for Christmas while Wyatt simply listened. For once he was happy Dave was so self-centered, that way he didn’t have to explain that the only gift he had had to open on Christmas day was an envelope with a gift card to a local department store. At this time, when Wyatt was so happy to be where he was, he didn’t need anyone telling him how tragic his situation at home was.
Wyatt wrestled with himself as to whether he should tell Dave about Lindsey, and what had happened over break. Instead he just told him that she had given him the cold shoulder and ignored him. Dave, in a moment of personal restraint didn’t push, and the subject was dropped.
It was with great satisfaction that Wyatt climbed into bed that night, soaking in the comfort of the bed he had slept in the last four months. He was back where he wanted to be and after three weeks of trepidation and intense stress, he allowed himself to feel as if the future was looking pretty bright.

Wyatt awoke the next morning knowing that with this semester he was attempting to push himself to his academic capacity. The previous semester had been a good one. He had pulled good grades in all four of his classes and managed to make the Dean’s list. He hadn’t shared with anyone, but allowed it to a personal triumph he could recall when he questioned his current scholastic path. With his success the first semester Wyatt had convinced himself that he was capable and qualified to challenge the world of academia, to find his place and grasp the successes that it offered.
He had decided that he was going to take a brutal semester, and loaded up on classes. On top of the basic requirements, he figured that in order to accomplish his goal of passing all the classes he was going to have to pick ones that he really enjoyed; otherwise the schoolwork would be overwhelming.
Since he had first registered Wyatt had been reading up on the course catalogs and was captivated by one class in particular. While history wasn’t his strong point, Wyatt, due to his New England roots, had a profound interest in the Revolutionary War. He remembered walking the Freedom Trail, a simple painted red line on the sidewalks of Boston which would take those who chose to follow it past a variety of historical markers: Ben Franklin’s home, the sight of the Boston Massacre, even right to the pier where the U.S.S. Constitution was moored. Needless to say, when given the opportunity to sign up for HIS322, The History of Revolutionary America, Wyatt jumped right on it.
It was his first class, Monday at nine o’clock, and he was excited to get there. He left his dorm with plenty of time to spare, even skipping breakfast so as to not be late. He was the first one to arrive, a full twenty minutes before class. He found what he considered a choice seat amongst the horseshoe-like arrangement of chairs. He was dead center in the class, his back to the doorway, his view unobstructed to the podium and video screen centered in the room.
Wyatt leafed through his text book as students started arriving. Those who knew each other formed clusters, sitting beside each other, striking up conversations about their respective trips home. Those who were strangers to their classmates almost universally kept at least one empty seat between themselves and the people around them. Wyatt failed to notice one particular person walk in; head up along the row of chairs to the flanking edges of the horseshoe before reversing her course and returning to pull out the chair directly to Wyatt’s left.
He glanced up and immediately recognized Alex, the girl he had met at the library two months earlier. She was wrapped in a warm wool coat, a deep red scarf knotted around her neck. A matching beret like hat went well with her red locks. Immediately Wyatt’s heart started to pound.
“Well hey there,” she said as she pulled her cap off, leaving her hair a bit disheveled.
“Oh, hi, what are you doing here?” he asked before thinking.
She laughed, “Well I thought I would pass my free time listening to a professor talk about the Revolutionary War.”
“No, I mean why this class?” Wyatt recovered, realizing how stupid his first question sounded.
“Well, I’ve got everything I need to graduate but had to pick up an elective. I’ve had Dr. Swanson before and he was a great professor so I just decided to take this one. What about you?”
Wyatt thought for a second, “I’m from Boston and I’ve always liked the Revolutionary period, so here I am.”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind me sitting next to you, I’ll try not to bug you too much. Just make sure you study because if I cheat of you and your answers are wrong, I’m going to be pissed,” she stated seriously before letting a grin breakout across he face.
Wyatt smiled back. This semester was really starting out on the right foot.

Three weeks into classes and Wyatt was in love with his history class. While the others on his schedule seemed like a bore, his first class of the week was like cold splash of water on his face. It invigorated and made him excited to start the week. He was wholly committed to doing as well in that class as any he had ever taken, including high school. He wasn’t sure if it was the subject matter, the excitement and vigor of the professor, or if it was Alex.
She wasn’t as excited about the subject matter and with graduation looming in short order, she really didn’t put as much emphasis on studying as Wyatt did. She would whisper to him in class (completely destroying Wyatt’s concentration) or scribble out a note on a blank notebook to pass to him. Sometimes they were questions about what Dr. Swanson had just said, other times it was just stupid stuff, like questions about what he did over the weekend, or just dumb little comments. As much as he loved his class, he cherished everything she wrote.
One Wednesday, as they were discussing Henry Knox and the guns of Ticonderoga, Alex grabbed his notebook and scribbled out a note, “I’m starving. I crashed early last night and didn’t eat dinner.”
Wyatt glanced at the note, jotted in pink jell pen, and wrote back, “Why didn’t you eat?”
“I was reading for my international policy class and got tired,” she replied.
He jotted down a reply, noticing that his script was sloppy yet legible, while hers flowed smoothly, “yeah, I get tired sometimes and fall asleep studying. I hate when I do that.”
“I can’t believe you can’t hear my stomach rumbling,” she noted.
“No I can’t hear it, of course Dr. Swanson talks pretty loud,” he wrote, trying to appear to be concentrating on what was being said.
She grabbed the notebook away from him and set to writing furiously. Wyatt didn’t know what she was scribbling, but figured it must be important when she emphatically underlined everything three times.
She passed the notebook back to him, “HEY DUMMY, ARE YOU GOING TO ASK ME TO GO GET SOMETHING TO EAT WITH YOU AFTER CLASS OR AM I GOING TO HAVE TO HIT YOU OVER THE HEAD WITH THIS NOTEBOOK FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND???”
Alex did this to him. He had always considered himself someone who listened, who sat and watched people, learning what they were about, figuring them out then reacting to them so as to maintain control of himself. Alex messed all that up. It seemed that he lost his ability to reason, to form a complete thought. Yet, while in the past he was very uncomfortable with losing control, he found himself enjoying this more than anything. He just wished he didn’t look so stupid doing it.
He took the notebook and started writing, “Sorry, I guess you make me stupid. Would you like to get something to eat after class?”
Reading his note, she looked at him, “You can’t blame me for your stupidity,” she whispered.
Her smile melted him as she pushed his notebook back to him and turned her attention to the professor.

Typically his history class went by in a flurry, but today it drug on like a trip to the dentist’s office. It was nearly unbearable and once Wyatt even considering scribbling out, “Do you want to leave now?” just to get away earlier than ten o’clock.
Instead, he gritted it out and eventually the minute hand reached the apex of the clock. Alex had been strangely silent during class, and Wyatt wondered what she had been thinking. He was all smiles as they got up to leave.
“Where do you want to go? You want to stay on campus or do you want something from the city?” he asked as they pushed through the crowd in the hallway.
“Let’s just stay on campus, I’ve got a class in an hour and I don’t feel like rushing back,” she replied matter of factly, making her way to the exit.
As they walked she asked him questions about the lecture Dr. Swanson had given in their class. While Wyatt was quick to answer, he wanted to discuss something else. He wanted to discuss her.
What he knew about Alex was somewhat limited. He knew that her full name was Alexandra Phillips, and that she was from Rockville, a town up by the Wisconsin border. She was a senior majoring in International Relations. From the scribbles on his notebook (gathered in previous classes) he knew that she was the youngest of three children and the only girl. He also knew that she was currently single after being in a three year relationship. Wyatt hadn’t prodded her as to why they had split up, but relished the fact that they had.
“What are you hungry for?” Wyatt changed the subject.
“I don’t know, I just figured we would get in before they stopped serving breakfast. Pancakes sound good to me. What about you,” she asked.
In truth Wyatt wasn’t hungry at all. As was normal, he had gotten up and eaten breakfast prior to class, but he wasn’t willing to pass up an opportunity to hang out with Alex, “I don’t know. Pancakes do sound kinda good.”
There was no line at the cafeteria and they zipped right through, each gathering up a tray full of food and finding a seat by a large brick fireplace along the southern wall. The fire danced across the fake logs, and the heat felt wonderful after the walk from the history building. Alex took off he leather gloves and set them on the table then shed her coat. Wyatt did the same, ramming his cheap jersey gloves into the pockets of his jacket before taking it off and hanging it on the back of his chair.
“I am famished,” she said as she went to work on her tray of food.
Wyatt sat and watched, sipping on a glass of orange juice as she wolfed down a pancake.
After a few minutes she glanced up at hit and stopped in shock, “Oh my god, I must look like a complete pig.”
“No, you look fine. I’m just going to make sure I don’t get my hands anywhere near your mouth,” he joked, laughing at the subsequent face she made at him.
“You’ll have to forgive me, I’m just so hungry,” she made a visible attempt to slow down, one that Wyatt picked up on immediately.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ve seen worse.”
She forced herself to put her fork down and take a long drink from her coffee. Wyatt wanted to ask her a hundred questions, but wasn’t sure what to say first. He wanted to know everything he could about her but he didn’t want to seem too forward. He was surprised when she broke the ice.
“So, why did you choose UIC?” she asked using the acronym for the University of Illinois Chicago.
“Well,” he started, trying to figure out the best way to say it, “my choices were a little bit limited.”
He went on to explain how he had intended on going to a community college out in Boston, but had been forced to find something in Chicago after the death of his parents.
Before he could continue to explain she interrupted him, “Your parents both passed away, oh I’m so sorry Wyatt.”
He could see real grief in her eyes when she said it and while the thoughts of his parents were still a tad painful, he felt good knowing that she really meant what she was saying.
“Yeah, they were on vacation in Europe and died in a bus accident. After that I came here to Chicago to live with my Uncle and his wife.”
“That’s terrible,” she replied, then quickly added, “oh I don’t mean living with your aunt and uncle. I mean you losing your parents.”
“I know what you meant,” he replied, “and yeah, living with them is actually fairly terrible.”
She looked at him quizzically, “What do you mean it’s terrible?”
Wyatt knew he had opened a can of worms and immediately thought of Lindsey. Instead of delving into the truth he just told her that he didn’t get along with my family very well and didn’t care for living with them.
Alex allowed the subject to drop. It was as if her line of questioning had ended and she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Instead she picked up her fork and started eating again.
“Tell me about your family,” he picked up the conversation, attempting to get her talking again.
She gave him a tentative look.
“Don’t worry Alex; I’m cool with talking about your family. You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. I want to hear about them,” he assured her.
Allowing herself to relax they spent the next hour sitting around drinking coffee, chatting about their lives, school and anything else. When it was time, Wyatt walked with her to her next class, continuing their conversation from breakfast. Before walking in, he asked her if she was interested in grabbing dinner later that night and after a brief pause, she agreed.
As Wyatt turned and walked away he couldn’t help but think about how happy he felt at that exact moment. In truth he couldn’t remember a time that he had been happier.

February 27th - Dear Starlog

Alex had been a little bit cold with me all week. It was really worrying me because I didn’t really understand why. Finally she told me that she was worried that she had given me a false impression. She told me that she isn’t interested in me as anything more than a friend and that she got the impression that I wanted more. I told her she was wrong and that seemed to make her happy. If only she knew.
I am so incredibly infatuated with her. I can’t tell you why. I guess it is just everything. She really isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen (dare I say that Lindsey is prettier than her) but there is something about her. She is an incredible person. I know she is super smart and makes me feel like an idiot sometimes but in truth I’m completely comfortable with that. I guess that I’ve never really felt that comfortable around anyone in my life. Sure, Steve and I are good friends, but with him it was difficult to carry on a sustained conversation. What’s more, he was difficult to be around in public even though I eventually stopped worrying about it. Still, when he and I hung out people still stared at him, at us. With Alex we are just a normal couple.
That’s probably the hardest thing to come to grips with. I like being with Alex because I like people thinking that we are a couple. Sure, it turns out that I was just dreaming about it, but I liked to think of us as two people that were joined, that were recognized as being a pair. Now we are just two people who happen to spend time with one another. Maybe I’m just being stupid, but our relationship now feels a lot more minimalistic.
Now my time with her seems strained, as if I am not good enough for her. I know that is wrong, and I’m placing an undo character flaw upon her. She has her reasons for not wanting a relationship and I need to respect that. But damnit, it is so hard. She is everything I ever wanted in a girl. I wish she felt about me the same way I feel about her. It sucks to think I trapped where I am. I wish I could erase all the feelings that I have, that I could just think of her as a friend, but I can’t. I need her to be more to me. I need her to feel about me the same way I feel about her.
I don’t know what to do. Actually, I do know what to do, but don’t want to do it. I need to let things cool down. I need to give her space. I need to adjust to life without her because up to this point I’ve allowed myself to think only the best of futures for me and with this discussion with Alex, I know that it just isn’t going to happen.
I feel completely sick to my stomach.