Story A Day Cafe

The Revival Has Arrived!

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’ve been working on a revival for this blog. This past month and a half, I’ve been diligently working on the structural and functional redesign of this site as well as creating and revising new content to post.

And the time has finally come to start posting all that new content.

Starting next week, I will be posting content three times a week:

Mondays will be fiction and quick reads.
Wednesdays will be nonfiction.
Fridays will be reviews and recommendations.

Since I want to allow space for other voices to be shared here, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and the weekend will be reserved for any content created by someone other than me.

Which most likely means that MWF will be the only consistent new content for a while, but that’s okay.

Because…if you build it, they will come.

via GIPHY

In addition, this content will also be related to the theme of the upcoming month: love and relationships.

Yes, I know it’s cliche.

But it’s February, the month of cheesy demonstrations of love and unexpected snow storms that snap the power lines and force you to snuggle up to the nearest warm body to stay alive.

In other words, I’m choosing to lean into the spirit of the collective consciousness–if only to keep things simple.

With that being said, here’s a sneak peak of what’s to come:

Week 1

Monday, Feb. 6 - Music Monday: A Fictional Interpretation of Snow on the Beach by Taylor Swift
Wednesday, Feb. 8 - This is How You Love Yourself
Friday, Feb. 10 - Heart Eyes for Senpai: My Top 3 Romance Anime Picks

Week 2

Monday, Feb. 13 - Poetry: The Art of Love
Wednesday, Feb. 15 - When You Give Yourself Grief: The 5 Stages of Self-Care
Friday, Feb. 17 - The Science of Why You Love Who You Love: A Review of Why him? Why her? By Helen Fisher

Week 3

Monday, Feb. 20 - Short Story: The Space Between Us
Wednesday, Feb. 22 - Are You In a Toxic Relationship? 5 Subtle Signs Your Relationship Needs Help
Friday, Feb. 24 - Aristotle & Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe and You Can Too: A Book Review of a Novel by Benjamin Alire Saenz

Week 4

Monday, Feb. 27 - Flash Fiction: The Light
Wednesday, March 1 - 5 Alternatives to “Fixing” When a Loved One Needs Comfort
Friday, March 3 - The Art of Doing Less to Accomplish More: A Review of Do Less by Kate Northrup

If you have any stories of your own related to the theme of love and relationships, I would love to add them to the schedule! Submit your stories here and let your voice be heard.

click here to submit your content for publication. all submissions that fit the theme of love and relationships with be accepted

Also, don't forget to follow Story Cafe Media so you can let me know what you’re most looking forward to this upcoming month. Which title listed above are you most excited to read?

I look forward to hearing from you!

Sunday, January 29, 2023

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author: kayla mathys

A 10th Anniversary Revival

A preface to the renewed plan for this blog

I struggle with consistency. You need only to look at my history posting to this blog to know this about me. I have started only to stop abruptly too many times to count.

Lately, I've been extensively examining this pattern of mine and charting the evolution of this blog that looks something like this:

Early 2013: The Writer's Block & Cafe is created

My first attempt at this blog was called The Writer's Block & Cafe. While trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, I imagined creating a place where writers could meet up to share ideas, stories, and advice over a deliciously brewed cup of coffee. At first I imagined this being an actual physical place--a cafe serving coffee and French-style pastries that would be located in Austin, my hometown. However, because I had zero experience, qualifications, or anything else required to start such an dream, I elected to create a virtual space for this idea to blossom instead. Knowing myself, I probably did some Google research on what the best way to go about this would be, and eventually decided upon Blogger as a result. I never posted anything, though. The blog was literally just a blank template with a title for the first several months it existed.

August 2013 - Spring 2016: Story a Day Cafe becomes replacement

I scrapped the original blog and created Story a Day Cafe because I liked the way it sounded better. I wrote my first post about my experience over the summer working as a camp counselor. I still had the same idea of wanting to create a space for writers to connect and share their stories, but the more immediate goal was to start writing and posting consistently. I started out posting three times a week with a goal to eventually be able to post something new every day. My posts during this time were light and easy to write--mostly listicles and recipes.

In this Spring of 2014, I was feeling inspired by the creative writing class I was taking at TAMUCC with the lovely Dr. Carstensen (seriously one of the best writing instructors a young artist could hope to have), and I finally managed to reach my daily posting goal. My posts during this time branched out from the typical listicles and recipes and started to include more personal narratives, short stories, and poetry. My writing practice became a healing and empowering way for me to give voice to my thoughts and experiences.

I would maintain this daily writing practice for the next couple years.

Spring 2016 - 2018: A long hiatus and the birth of Akara Yoga Space

After my granfather passed away in October of 2015, I struggled to maintain consistency. In the thick of my grief, the writing practice that had healed and empowered me suddenly felt pointless. My posts became sporadic and infrequent before stopping altogether in the spring of 2016.

During this time, I quit writing. Technically, I didn't really quit as I kept several journals during this time and was constantly writing inside my head, but I had pretty much completely given up on my identity as a writer. I turned my focus instead to the healing practice of yoga.

I became a yoga teacher with a vision to create a space where people could come to find healing through the practice of yoga and meditation. Just like the idea I had with my blog, this place would start out as a virtual space called Akara Yoga Space that I hoped would eventually become a physical retreat-style place.

The content I created during this time consisted of instructional yoga videos, guided meditation audios, and informational articles on the practices of yoga.

February 2018 - July 2018: A sudden reconnection with writing

I was put on bedrest during my difficult pregnancy which severely limited my yoga practice. In the months leading up to the birth of my daughter, I started to reconnect with my writing practice. I finished a first and second draft of a novel that had been nagging at me since I first started it sometime in 2011. I also started and stopped several other novel ideas that had been sitting on my harddrive waiting to be written. Once my daughter was born, however, I quickly became consumed by motherhood and stopped writing again.

May 2019 - Present: A return and redesign of Story a Day Cafe

Desperate to reconnect with the sense of self I had lost in the throes of motherhood, I decided to restart my blog. I longed for the satisfaction of finishing a novel, so I redesigned Story a Day Cafe to facilitate this goal. It worked for a few months...before I got distracted by another creative project I was working on with my husband. However, even though I stopped posting the drafts to the chapters I was writing, I wound up finishing 2 out of the 7 novels I'd been working on by the end of 2019. One in particular I've written several more drafts for in the years since.

I've pretty much been stuck working on that one particular novel ever since. All the other novels I've started working on in the past few years have been connected in some way to In the Space Between, the title I'm currently going with. I have this idea of all my novels existing within the same world but within different time periods, and I've been experimenting a lot with alternative perspectives and fleshing out the stories of side characters from In the Space Between.

My writing has become more of a hobby I enjoy in my spare time.

However, in the Fall of 2021, I returned to TAMUCC to finish my degree in English and pursue a career as a librarian. And as I've immersed myself in a community of writers again, I feel this pull toward my initial idea to create a space where writers can connect and share their stories. Since I've also finally made peace with my inner writer, I also want to dedicate time to write consistently again.

Naturally, I'm inspired to turn to this blog again to make it all happen.

My current hope:

In addition to encouraging me to developing a consistent writing practice again, I also want this blog to eventually become a space where emerging and experienced writers alike can give voice to their experiences through the art of storytelling in all its varied forms of expression.

A quote box with the current hope for the blog written in it

I realize this intention is a common thread in all the dreams I've reach toward over the years. I also realize that I don't have the greatest track record when it comes to actually turning these dreams into a reality.

But maybe I can show up anyway. Maybe that's what's most important.

My inner perfectionist will adamantly disagree with this of course, and I have yet to win an argument against her. The bitch really knows how to twist the knife!

But here's to trying anyway, even though I'm likely to fail. Here's to showing up even when--perhaps especially when--it's most difficult. Here's to learning how to silence the toxic voice of my inner perfectionist one day and one story at a time. Here's to redefining success as the ability to keep showing up no matter where I'm at and just be.

I don't quite know what this will look like yet. In the past few months, I've been working on generating content and outlining my vision for another redesign for the blog. I probably won't post anything for a while, though, as I'll be working on the structural and functional design of the blog first. And once that's finished, I'll start slow: probably posting mostly revised and recycled content.

But my goal is to start posting regular new content here again before the end of 2023.

Welcome to the journey. I hope you'll join me.

Friday, December 02, 2022

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author: kayla mathys

Intermission

Tuesday, August 06, 2019

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author: kayla mathys

In the Middle: Ch. 10

Two months after Brad’s father left the family for his mistress, Brad and I had dinner plans.

His father had left without a trace, not even so much as a phone call, and Brad had made it his mission to track him down. His drinking got predictably worse, and a thick cloud of anger had begun to take over his mood.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to break up with you and tell your mom what’s been going on,” I said one day after a particularly scary night.

Brad had gotten so drunk, he’d been hurling into the toilet all night, his skin pale, and soaked with a feverish sweat. The blood vessels in his eyes popped from the strain of his body forcibly eliminating the poison from his stomach, and his lips were dry and cracked, caked with vomit the next morning. I’d stayed by his side the whole night, crying silently at his agony and my inability to help him, scared that he would die if I left him alone.

“Okay,” Brad had said, his eyes filled with sympathy and that haunting pain. “I’ll stop. I promise.”

A week later he told me he had a special dinner planned.

“Wear that dress I like,” he said.

“The white one?” I asked. He nodded. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said with a wink.

I couldn’t stop smiling the whole day. My cheeks felt like they were going to fall off from the strain of my lips pulling them back into a grin. As soon as I got home, I began to get ready for the night. I took a long shower, and spent extra time doing my hair and makeup. I put on the white, frilly lace dress that Brad loved to see me in, and even painted my nails and toenails a seductive red.

He had kept his promise so far, and I had hope that maybe Brad was finally healing from his family’s separation. Maybe he was coming back to himself.

I didn’t even mind when he picked me up half an hour later than planned. This was Brad, and Brad was rarely on time. He didn’t show any signs of being intoxicated, and he had even cleaned his car. He held my hand as we drove into town, and our smiles mimicked what I thought appeared to be a mutual excitement.

“Where are we going?” I asked when we drove past town, watching our towns welcome sign fade in the side mirror.

“Just wait,” he said, lifting my hand and kissing my fingertips.

The farther away from town we got, the more I started to squirm. My palms began to sweat, so I wriggled my hand out from underneath Brad’s to wipe my palms on the frill of my dress skirt. Without thinking, I started to chew on the nail of my thumb, and a piece of nail polish chipped in my mouth.

The sun was starting to set as we pulled onto a dirt road that bumped and scraped us into a trailer park. Brad squinted his eyes, reading the numbers on the houses as we passed by. I watched as a little boy slithered down a basketball hoop, and ran into the road, screaming when Brad slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting the child.

“Brad, what the hell! Where are we?” I asked.

I’ll never forgot the look in Brad’s eyes when he said, “I found him, Sarah. I found my dad.”

I felt my throat drop into my stomach as I swallowed my urge to cry. Things would not be better. Not at all.

Eventually, he pulled into a gravelly space next to a red sports car that looked like something out of a James Bond movie. The trailer was white with brown siding, and more dirt than paint, and the wooden steps creaked as we stepped up toward the screen door, and knocked.

“Come in!” his dad’s voice called over the sound of a television playing some action movie.

Brad looked back at me for the briefest of moments, begging me with his eyes to follow him into this house in a way I couldn’t refuse. He held out his hand, and I limply placed mine in his palm.

His dad was sitting in a torn brown leather recliner in front of a big-screen television when we walked in. A cigar was dangling from his lips, and an open whisky bottle was half-empty on the coffee table next to him.

He smirked when he saw us walk in, and said, “Son? Is that you?”

“Yeah, dad,” Brad said, “It’s me.”

“Well, shit.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

His dad chuckled. I noticed Brad’s fists tighten in anger, and I felt my stomach curl in anxiety.

His dad picked up the whisky bottle, and held it out for Brad. “Have a drink. Take a seat,” his dad said, the liquid sloshing in the bottle a little as he used it to gesture toward the second worn recliner on the other side of the coffee table. “If you want to talk, you’ll have to loosen up a little.”

Brad sat down on the recliner, grabbing the bottle of whisky from his father. I watched with abject horror as Brad proceeded to tilt his head back and finish the remainder of the bottle in one long gulp.

His father laughed so hard he started coughing.

“Thatta boy!” his father cheered when he caught his breath again.

His grin faded as his eyes landed on me, and the horrified expression on my face. He stuck the cigar in his mouth, and looked away, taking a long drag.

“You been taking care of my boy here, young lady?” he asked me without looking at me.

“As best as I can,” I said, “considering the circumstances.”

His dad smirked, and nudged Brad with his elbow, winking at him. “I’m sure you are, little lady. I’m sure you are.”

“Leave her alone, dad.” Brad said, his words cut sharp.

“What are you doing here, son?”

The two locked eyes for a blistering moment of tension. Brad’s eyes drooped slightly when he said, “I want to know why you left.”

His father chuckled again, but when he saw the look Brad was giving him, he cleared his throat, and then looked back at me.

“Fetch me that bottle on top of the fridge, will ya girl?” he asked.

I thought about saying no. I looked at Brad and saw the pleading look in his eyes, that hopeful puppy dog look, and sighed as I stormed over to the fridge and retrieved the bottle. I handed it to his father, and ignored the once-over he gave me. I hugged my arms over my chest, and slunk onto the cooler by the door.

His father opened the bottle, and took a long gulp, handing the bottle to Brad with one hand, and wiping his mouth with the other.

I could only watch as Brad followed his lead until the bottle was empty.

Monday, August 05, 2019

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author: kayla mathys

Redemptive: Ch. 10

My parents were waiting for me when I returned home from school.

I noticed my mother first, sitting on the couch next to my father, sipping a mug of tea while my father pretended to be reading the paper. I knew he was pretending because he was wearing his reading glasses which he only wore when he wanted to present himself as more sophisticated and knowledgable. They were a staple on their television show, but he almost never wore them around the house.

“There you are,” my mother said, smiling.

I noticed her lipstick was smeared around her lips a bit as she smiled tightly at me. My father set down his paper on the coffee table in front of him, and nodded toward the leather chair left open across from them. I sighed, and took the seat, setting my bookbag on the table, and hoping this wouldn’t be as torturous as I was expecting. Would they ground me? Lecture me? Ban Ty from spending the night?

“How was school?” my father asked.

“Fine,” I said.

“Just fine?” my father asked, feigning a concerned expression.

I sighed again. “I know this conversation isn’t just about school, and I have a study group I need to prepare for.”

My parents exchanged a look, and I rolled my eyes.

“Well, would you like to tell us why you decided to break the rules last night?” my mother asked.

“It wasn’t really a decision,” I said. “We were both really tired, and accidentally fell asleep in the same bed. We didn’t mean to break the rules. It just happened.”

“You know, Camille, most pregnancies are explained the same way. ‘It just happened’ is pretty dangerous territory,” my father said, and I cringed.

“Can we not have the safe sex talk again? Please?” I asked.

My mother shifted in her seat and leaned forward a little. If there hadn’t been a coffee table between us, I’m sure she would have tried to make some sort of physical contact. It was a way to appeal to your conversation partner’s sympathies during a confrontation. I’d seen it on their show years ago. I wondered if my parents knew their tactics were pointless to use on me.

“We’re worried about you, Camille. We trusted you to follow the rules we set in place for your own health and safety, and then we came home this morning to find that you had broken that trust,” my mother said.

“We know you probably didn’t mean to, so we’re trying to understand your intentions so maybe we can come up with a solution for the future,” my father added.

I rolled my eyes. “Like what?”

They exchanged another look, and I grit my teeth.

“Perhaps you could give us some ideas?” my father said.

“It won’t happen again,” I said. “I promise.”

Another look. It always aggravated me when my parents had these silent conversations with each other right in front of me.

“Well, Camille, ordinarily we would believe you, but after this morning, we’re going to need more evidence that you can be trusted,” my mother said.

“Seriously? Then what do you want me to say? Or do?” I asked.

“We just want to know that you are safe. We’re not trying to make you defensive. We’re just telling you how we feel, and hoping we can come up with a solution to ease our worry about the future,” my father said.

“Like what? I don’t have any ideas. I don’t have time for this. I have a lot going on right now, and I really don’t want to have this conversation. So just tell me what the solution is you’re looking for, and let’s get over it already!”

Another look. I was about ready to start pounding my fists on the table. Ordinarily, I’d let my parents go through their process of punishment only mildly irritated. But I had much more important things to do and think about. Like coming up with my argument to convince Ty to let me go through with my plan. And a believable, bulletproof story should my parents decide not to let me see Ty. Which I’d have to come up with anyway if Ty agreed to my plan. Nobody would be able to know we were still together. Especially my parents.

“Camille, is there something you need to talk about? What’s going on?” my mother asked, wrinkling her forehead in concern.

I crossed my arms over my chest, and leaned back in my seat. I couldn’t tell them my plan. It would ruin everything. They wouldn’t agree with it, and would spend all their time trying to talk me out of it. They wouldn’t understand. But I also couldn’t lie to them. Not yet. Not before I had Ty’s approval.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, avoiding eye contact.

“Camille, honey, if something’s wrong, you need to tell us. Perhaps we can come up with a solution to whatever is bothering you so much,” my mother said.

“Can we do this another time? Please? I really need to get ready for my study group. I don’t want to fail my project. I need to focus. I don't have time for this.”

They exchanged another look, and I hoped it would be their final silent exchange for the evening.

“Your mother and I would like to come up with at least one solution before we allow you to leave, but since you seem so distressed right now, if you don’t think you can help us come up with a solution we will agree to pick this conversation back up tomorrow morning before school. We’ll wake you up before we leave for our morning show. Does that sound fair?” my father asked.

I clenched my fists and then released them. “Fine. Wake me up before school. I need to go now.”

My father stood up. “Okay. You’re free to go. But please think of a solution so we don’t have to rush tomorrow, okay?”

I stood up. “Okay.”

My father hugged me, and then my mother stood up and hugged me too. “We love you, Camille. Remember that. We only want what’s best for you.”

“I know. I love you too. Now I really need to go.”

I left as soon as I was released.

Sunday, August 04, 2019

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author: kayla mathys

Echo of Chaos: Ch. 10

The day seemed longer than others. It was muscle memory that carried me through the morning Drills. My mind was elsewhere, my eyes constantly searching for the arrival of the Information Delivery or perhaps the Captain himself. After a certain point, I started wishing they would show up, just to take away the gnawing unknowing eating away at my insides.

But then the Captain did show up.

Drills were almost finished when he walked in. I saw him from across the room as if he were moving in slow motion, his small army of guards trailing behind him. It wouldn’t be long before we’d receive our Execution assignments for the day, and as I watched him walk toward Felix, I knew with a sickening dread that he was here to change my assignment. I froze, and my combat partner I was drilling with that day kicked me in the side of the head, knocking me over.

“Oh no! Echo! Are you okay? I totally thought you’d dodge that,” my partner asked, standing over me.

I jumped to my feet, hoping the Captain didn’t notice my fall. I didn’t want him to know he had that kind of power over me. Thankfully, when I stole a glance in his direction, it appeared he was too busy with his conversation with Felix to notice what was going on around him. Felix looked to be arguing with him, his posture rigid in a way usually reserved for the most insubordinate of soldiers.

“Echo?” my partner asked.

I noticed him only because he was standing too close, close enough for me to feel him breathing on me. I took a step back away from him, and turned my attention back to the combat drills, responding with a powerful kick of my own. He fell backwards, but caught himself before he could hit the ground, leaping forward for a counter attack that I managed to evade. As the drill continued, I tried to push everything else from my mind. Perhaps the Captain wasn’t here for me after all. Perhaps he was here for a completely unrelated reason, and I was just getting ahead of myself, allowing my worry for my mother to turn into paranoia.

When the Drills were finished, the Captain was gone. I glanced around the room for him, but didn’t see him or his guards anywhere. Felix called for the Line Up and we all lined up in the same order we did every day to receive our Execution assignments. If Felix didn’t look so obviously tense, I would have thought I had imagined the Captain being here at all.

Without breaking formation, I glanced toward Forrest. He stood a few rows ahead of me, at an angle that put him right in my line of vision. Normally, I was grateful for this little bit of contact with him, but today I wished he was closer. I longed to feel the brush of his knuckles against the back of my hand, a gentle assurance that everything would be okay and this hole in the pit of my stomach was nothing more than simple worry.

Instead, I waited in agony for my name to be called, for the sequence of room numbers I would be expected to appear in, ready to perform the Execution of whoever was waiting behind the door.

“Echo. Room 331. Room 432. Room 124…” Felix listed off the remainder of my assignments, and I memorized the numbers numbly, more out of reflex than actual attention. My attention snapped into focus only when he added, “I’ll be shadowing you today.”

This was unusual. He shadowed me yesterday. We weren’t supposed to be shadowed two days in a row. There was a specific rotation to follow. Why would he be shadowing me again? The twist in my gut intensified. This couldn’t be good.

After we were dismissed to report to our first assignments, I waited for everyone else to filter out first. Felix made his way toward me, and I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Why are you shadowing me again? You shadowed me yesterday,” I asked.

“Captain’s orders,” he said, sounding about as amused as I was. “Now get moving.”

“I see,” I said. “Is that why he was here earlier? To tell you to shadow me again? Why would he want you to shadow me again? Did I do something wrong?”

“I didn’t ask questions. You shouldn’t either.”

“This is ridiculous! Why am I being punished?”

“Stop asking questions, and move!” Felix said, giving me a not-so-gentle nudge with the tips of his fingers.

I rolled my eyes, but did as I was told, heading toward the door. I was to report to room 331 first. That meant I was to report to the first room on the third floor in the third wing. I chose to run up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. If he was going to follow me around all day, I was going to make him suffer for it. It wasn’t fair. Today was not the day to be watched, every moment judged. I wasn’t in the right mindset for this kind of scrutiny, especially when I’d already gone through it the day before.

We reached the third floor, and I noted with slight satisfaction that Felix appeared to be more out of breath than I was. He may have been stronger physically, but I definitely had more stamina. This thought reminded me of what the Captain had said at dinner last night. I was recommended for a promotion. Felix and I would be the same rank soon. Perhaps this is why I was being shadowed again. Perhaps it wasn’t a bad omen. Perhaps it was a good thing.

But I was wrong.

Saturday, August 03, 2019

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author: kayla mathys

The Forgotten: Ch. 10 - Katelyn

Katelyn --

Katelyn didn’t know where to begin. It had been so long since she had told her story, or even allowed herself to really think about it. Taylor was the last person she’d told everything to, back in the early days of their relationship. She’d felt so safe with him. He was the first person in a long time she felt she could talk to about anything.

She could distinctly remember the day they first met. She was guest starring for a season in his latest popular show, and they hit it off immediately. He came to introduce himself before their first scene together, knowing it was her first time on the screen and wanting to make her feel comfortable. He was so funny and smart and charming and not at all like she’d been expecting him to be. Most actors she met fell into one of two categories: either they were overly confident and arrogant or so carefree and laid-back it was just as impossible to have a conversation with them. But Taylor was somehow the perfect balance of both.

Once, during her first scene, she’d gotten so nervous she couldn’t remember her lines, but then her eyes met Taylor and he mouthed the words for her, and she’d been able to finish the scene flawlessly.

“Thank you,” she’d told him after the shoot. “I totally would have tanked this without you.”

He smiled, and said, “You would have been fine. It happens to everyone. My first scene, we had to retake over a hundred times because every time I’d see the light from the camera and all these people staring at me, waiting for me to get it right, my mind would go—“ he wiped a hand over his head and made a whooshing sound —“totally blank.”

“Really? I thought you’d be a natural.”

“Nah. If this came naturally, it wouldn’t be a passion. We take for granted what comes easily. Do you ever notice that?”

Later, whenever anyone would ask her, she’d say that was the moment she fell in love with him. The way he’d been looking at her in that moment, the way he put her at ease, made her feel like she could talk to him forever about anything.

They told each other everything. Their relationship contained no secrets, which was a first for her. To anyone on the outside, it would have appeared to be a perfect union, and most of the time it was, though it certainly hadn’t been easy to maintain. Katelyn remembered the first year of their marriage when he’d “fallen in love” with his co-star. The image of their kiss on the beach in Hawaii where the movie was being filmed—his hands on the flesh left exposed by her white bikini bottoms, her fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, lips pressed against his—burned in her mind, even now. The picture had made the cover of all the gossip magazines, and she’d had one in her hand, cheeks burning with tears when he came home a few weeks later. He’d taken the magazine from her hand, knelt down in front of her, and begged for her forgiveness.

“It didn’t meant anything,” he’d said. “You know I love you. I would never do anything to hurt you. It’s just the job. I wasn’t myself. Please forgive me.”

The year after that, he’d come home sloppy drunk every night—if he came home at all. She’d been called out of the studio so many times to pick him up at the hospital where he was being treated for alcohol poisoning she feared she wouldn’t finish her album in time.

“I highly recommend a treatment center,” the doctor had told her once. “There are plenty nearby that would offer discretion. I can give you some pamphlets.”

“I’ll consider them,” she had said.

She’d thought about leaving him multiple times, but then she realized she only thought like this when he was working. And if she truly loved him, she would have to learn how to love his career too. So she forgave him.

She always forgave him.

And then there was the night of his death when he’d found something she hadn’t meant for him to see. He’d knelt down in front of her, pressing his face into her stomach, and planting a kiss just below her belly button.

“I’m so sorry,” he’d said. “I love you so much. It won’t happen again. I’ll take a break. I won’t accept any new roles. We can still work this out.”

He’d surprised her by coming home that night. Filming wasn’t supposed to wrap up for another week. She didn’t think she’d see him before the start of her World Tour, and she remembered thinking that was probably for the best. She’d wanted time to figure things out.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she’d said. “I can’t do this right now. I have to get ready.”

"Where are you going?” he’d asked. “I thought your flight wasn’t until six?”

“I’m meeting Delia to go over the plan.”

It was the first time she’d lied to him—and the last. She’d give anything to take that back now.

She hadn’t known there wouldn’t be a later. If she had, she would have stayed. She would have called her tour manager, Delia, and told her the tour would have to wait. The shows could be rescheduled. Nothing would have been more important than being with her husband.

Because as much as he put her through, it wasn’t nearly as terrible as the first time she’d fallen in love.

She was barely sixteen when her high school choir teacher decided to enter the students in the Highland Mall Winter Talent Show. If Katelyn had known William Friday was amongst the panel of “judges”, she might have been more nervous during her rendition of “Popular” from Wicked, the song she’d been assigned to perform. And if she’d been just a little more nervous, William might never have approached her after the show, handing her the winning trophy himself.

“Congratulations,” he had said, handing her the trophy. The skin around his dark brown eyes crinkled when he smiled, his full lips parting to reveal a row of shiny, white teeth. “I must say, you far exceeded the expectations of this competition. You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh,” Katelyn had said, smiling bashfully, her cheeks flushing red, “thank you.”

He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “My name is William Friday. I’m the executive producer at TGIF Records in Los Angeles.” His hand was warm as it enveloped hers, and she thought she could have stood there for hours just holding his hand. “Would you be interested in making a demo?”

“I…” Katelyn had been at a loss for words. “I’m only sixteen.”

He had winked at her. “I’m sure we can work something out.” He let go of her hand, and pulled out a business card. “Give me a call, if you’re interested. I’ll be in town for the next two weeks.”

Her mother had been reasonably skeptical when Katelyn had told her about the opportunity she’d been given. But whatever doubt she had was eliminated when William invited Katelyn and her family out to dinner to discuss Katelyn’s future in the music industry.

“Your daughter has such a rare gift. Her raw talent is unlike anything I’ve heard before. She’s truly remarkable,” William had said, his eyes gleaming as he looked at Katelyn and then back at her mother. “It would be a shame not to pursue.”

Her mother had put down her glass of the expensive wine William had ordered, and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “The thing is,” she had said, “our home is here. When my husband passed away five years ago, he didn’t leave us with much. His pension barely covers the mortgage on the house we have now. We couldn’t just pack up and move to California on a whim. I mean, say we did. Say we relocate our family just so Katelyn can work with you. Realistically, what are the chances she’ll even succeed with her music? I mean, she’s only sixteen. I’m sorry, but it’s just not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I understand your concern, Ms. Harper. I truly do,” William had said, placing a hand over her mother’s. “But I also truly believe in your daughter’s talent, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I return to California without her. So perhaps we can come to an agreement…”

William’s charm was a superpower, impossible to resist. So an agreement was made. A check was written that night with the promise of more to follow once a month, and in the weeks following the dinner, a lease on an apartment in a building William owned a few blocks away from the TGIF studio was signed by Katelyn and her mother, paid in full for the year. Visits were scheduled as often as her mother’s busy work schedule and Carrie’s school schedule would allow, but those visits would be cancelled after the one that changed everything.

And perhaps if she hadn’t said what she did, everything would have turned out okay.

Friday, August 02, 2019

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The Revival Has Arrived!

A 10th Anniversary Revival

A preface to the renewed plan for this blog

Early 2013: The Writer's Block & Cafe is created

August 2013 - Spring 2016: Story a Day Cafe becomes replacement

Spring 2016 - 2018: A long hiatus and the birth of Akara Yoga Space

February 2018 - July 2018: A sudden reconnection with writing

May 2019 - Present: A return and redesign of Story a Day Cafe

My current hope:

Intermission

In the Middle: Ch. 10

Redemptive: Ch. 10

Echo of Chaos: Ch. 10

The Forgotten: Ch. 10 - Katelyn

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