We the Good Spirits [incomplete/on hold until further notice/critique welcome]

Update and Sneak Peeks at my Chapter 9 "draft"

Sneak Peek One:

I think my heart must have stopped...

......because my chest...

...feels compressed...... and I'm about to... implode... or something?

"Oh," she says, "that's not good."

I twitch, my eyes are sore. All of the purple and black and blue and the smear of light from the stars streaming and smearing across the ceiling of our existance... I'm holding it too close. It's pink; it's warm; it's sweet. It's so close that I start coughing—it's sweet, it's rich, it's warm, it's suffocating, like I'm choking on a fresh warm vanilla cinnamon bun—that's exactly what I'm tasting!

"It's—i-i-it's O.K., love," gasps the woman—whom I crane my eyes to look at, "j-j-just..." I just catch her silhouette through a blurred vision—this hot, peachy pink haze that now clings to my eyes like sleep while some articifial candy wax scent plugs up my nose (where's my mucus?) "j-j-j-j-j-j-j-j-just," she says, freaking out, "calm DOWN!!!"

I cough... I hack forward, throw my chest over and my self over in the process... and I hack it out in one big pinky rainbow swash with a trail of sparks and fire propelling me forward as they fizz up in front of me from behind my body—from the folds under my shoulder blade—splat! Against the wall...

...Despite the fact I'm freaking about nothing....

......... O.K. .........
Whoever the woman is still yammering on for me to calm down... except she stiffly breaths all over me, trying to get me to turn toward her (get your hand off of me--I slap her off; I don't even care, because I don't know who she is) but I ultimately ignore her because she's not the bigger problem right now.

Actually that bigger problem doesn't exist. Because it almost feels like I shouldn't exist.

End

That's from the beginning of Chapter 9, but this story is now on hold because the story is a clusterf*ck and I don't know where else exactly to go from here. I'm not much of an outline writer, although I miiiiight use one to work this out? I don't know. It really depends--and this is meant to be an intiutive project. It's not my main one, and it's not a planned magnum opus for me on Wattpad. "...not my main one" might be ridiculous on the surface, because it's all I have published besides that journal that I go to every now and then, but I'm in a very experimental phase in writing, not just on Wattpad. Plus, I have some things in the drafts section that I'd like to get out, too. I just have trouble finding a mindset and mindspace set to write in.

I mean, I've been doing really well with this other story, which, for reasons, I will not be sharing on Wattpad, nor will I be giving access to on this account. Yeah, that story is for life, if not completely offline, then at least not associated with Blanche Rodney. They have their own territory here. And hopefully that territory will include new stuff. Like this other story I've been alternating between ink and paper and software and hardware.

As for Phyllis... I noticed that a lot of people dropped off after like Chapter 3 or so, and views stopped coming in at around Chapter 7.

And... I think I'm going to have to restructure this bad girl. Yeah, it's kind of abstract but it is story heavy and does rely on the whims of characters whose stories and characters are underdeveloped. Maybe I'll pull up some Shaelin Writes and just type or restructure along with her.

So, before we close off from Phyllis for now, until I can characterize her through maybe some vinettes that will make me fall in love with her being (from author to character... don't get any ideas, she's 13-14 a-and... yeah, please don't--) all over again, here's a second sneak peek at the draft that may or may not be published, and may or may not even be used:

Voices crow after me. They echo, they call, desperately. I smell Mom's rose and orange perfume; I've grown so apathetic that I'm sick of the smell. It's just of bottle of wash: it might as well be anything from bodywash to some overpriced wine meant to help middle aged women compensate for what their fake friends tell them they don't have to some loser's bodily fluids. All I know is that it's pink, see-through... and it "smells like roses and oranges".

I hear in the distance, "You have a lot of bad memories of your mother." Someone tries to wrap me in a warm, loving... protective hug, with all of her heart... but it doesn't belong to me--it's probably poison to me at this point, so I just let it fade off, like a shawl of ice.

Two fiery pink eyes appear in front of me; "Phyllis!" she suddenly hisses.
"Well," I say, my voice raspy and yet sounding perfectly normal at the same time, because my throat is burning up on fire in fading, disappearing ashes, "someone's gotten bold." Suddenly I point to her, led on by the energy of the giant, fiery pink stars behind her--might as well be behind us--and I tell her, "Don't you dare talk to me in that tone!"

...What? I don't say things like that--or at least I usually don't. What's gotten into me--who do I think I am, some sexually frustrated second grade teacher looking for the next sugar daddy? Yeah, this thing's been annoying, but she's not some misbehaving kid. I feel the strong, sharply turning urge to not apologize, however....

To apologize burns up, evaporate--the very word... it's definition, it flares up and disappears into soft flames that shoot out and up, like a shooting star.

The pink eyes grow brighter; "Listen... Phyllis..." she croaks, sad, talking down to me to my face... "this has to stop."
She means I have to stop living, that I have to stop existing.
"N-no..." she says, grabbing my face, hands fizzing with warmth, probably adorned with sparkles or something. It feels like really hot, excited sodapop is creeping up the sides of my face. It tickles too much-- "I know you don't like it..." she says in a sickeningly syrupy, echoey voice "...but you need to feel your mother's love again."

End

Thank you for your reading and understanding... anyone who's still here. I really need to learn how to

1) structure a story that's as strict as something like this at its base at least
and 2) make We the Good Spirits a passion project, like it was when I first made it a small little 5-page comic. : )

Again, thank you. Here's to more writing. I'll keep Phyllis in the background. Of course, if she appears again, you'll know.