You've Come a Long Way Blogfest

Today Christine Hardy is hosting a blogfest -- You've Come a Long Way Baby.  It's a day where we get to go back and take a peek at some of our first writing attempts, see for ourselves just how far we have come as writers.  Unfortunately you, my readers, have to suffer through a very poorly written scene.  But fear not, I will reward you with a re-write, one that shows I too have come a long way.

So here it is, a scene for the very first manuscript I ever wrote -- Seven Shades of Crazy.

Scene one -- start of chapter 5 

  

     I don’t know how long we sat out there on the back lawn talking and I didn’t remember falling asleep.  I did remember the warmth of his arms around my shoulder, the way my head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck; the scent of his soft smooth skin as I curved my body closer to his.

     I also did not remember how I had gotten into my bed; my quilt tucked around me so tight it as hard to move.   He must have carried me I concluded.  I woke up oddly content and startled at the same time.  I quickly peeked underneath the covers. 

     Oh thank God; fully clothed in the same attire I had on yesterday.  I didn’t really expect otherwise but the visual confirmation was still a relief.

Same scene -- middle of chapter 11 (that will give you some idea of the major overhaul this ms went through lol!)

           

     The twisting knot in my stomach was the same one from last night, and I had to swallow hard, past the point of nausea to breathe.  Crawford still hadn’t kissed me, or not the way I expected or wanted anyway.  His lips had found the top my head and the soft, ticklish skin at the base of my neck more than a dozen times in the past three days, but they’d never met my lips.  I tried, turned my head so my cheek rested on the plane of his chest, stared up into his eyes. 

     I’d thought I won when he traced my lips with the pad of his thumb.  I concentrated on the sound of his heart beating against my cheek and waited for the painfully tantalizing moments of anticipation to pass.   I matched my breathing to his and relaxed.  Too much apparently.   I don’t recall him closing the distance, or his lips mingling with mine   I remember his fingers teasing in the hair at the back of my neck calling to me, lulling me into sweet, blissful unconsciousness. 

     “Idiot,” I mumbled, stretching to free myself from the cocoon of the quilt he tucked around me.

      I was up, my feet on the hard wooden floor in search of a cold shower and some insightful way to apologize to Crawford for falling asleep when I saw the note