Still Writing

I started a different story—actually two—and then came back to this one. I feel more committed now. After reaching nearly 10,000 words, I decided to switch the voice to third person.

It felt claustrophobic to stay within a first-person perspective, no matter how sharp the voice was.

Being truthful to Dorothy, I could not write about things that she would not observe, like the weather, but that affect her and that she is subject to.

New voice in third:

“The second act of Dorothy’s defiance, which felt more like liberation, was cleaning the popcorn ceiling in the living room with bleach. Mother’s cigarette smoke had layered on the ceiling above her couch as she slowly decayed over three years. She never slept on a bed or ate at a table; life unfolded—as did her bedding—on the couch, where she could smoke and see it swirl in the glow of the setting sun as she watched her stories and game shows. She never said why she never watched the news, but Dorothy knew there could be no competition to her misery.

The three blouses Dorothy ruined cleaning the ceiling felt like her team’s jersey. She wore them for the first two months as she purged the house of Mother. Her nose bled from the prolonged exposure to chemicals and the excessive amounts she used, but she didn’t care. Mother was no longer around to twist everyday activities into a plot for her demise.

When she finished, and the ceiling looked really white, she cried. She felt happy. For so long she had wished herself free, yet she never wished Mother dead. Not even Dorothy fully understood why she was crying.”

This is a Novel

But what is it about?

It started with an idea—a plot twist, one that has since vanished or evolved. This story is about grief, ghosts of the past, control, manipulation, surrender, and passivity.

I began writing Sweetie on December 9, 2025, at 9:34 a.m., though I think I had thought about it the day before.

Funny coincidence: It’s been a month today since I started writing it.

The town—fictional—is based primarily on Columbus, GA. Unlike my other attempts at writing, the setting is not one of the characters. In this case, the setting serves as a way to provide structure, primarily social structure. Dorothy, the main character, is directly a result of a life lived in Fairweather, GA—the town I created.

Though I am discovering this story, I already know so much of what will happen. It is only slight changes in the route that I’m taking as I experience what Dorothy has already experienced.

Excerpt:

”The stains from her cigarette smoke had layered over the three years she slowly decayed on my couch watching stories and game shows. She never watched the news, she couldn’t stand them. There couldn’t possibly be competition to her misery. I ruined so many clothes cleaning the popcorn ceiling with bleach. I could have painted over it, but I wanted to use chemicals—Mother would have never allowed it.

The thing is, I didn’t wish her dead, but I wished myself free. It is hard to explain because I couldn’t get my wish unless she—well—died.”

That’s it.