(no subject)
Here's some of what I've been writing. It's the intro to all the male characters, I have the main characters as well, but I don't like it at the moment so I want to tweek it first. I hope you like it?
Connor Collins had a cat with no name that he sometimes forgot to feed. He had an okay life; working till late in the evening and often standing up his girlfriend of three years at restaurants. He’d like to say if he loved her, he wouldn’t do that, but she likes to say they’re in love and he isn’t around enough to know who to believe. He had a nice apartment he never spent time in with furniture he never sat on. The bed was the most touched thing in his room, and even then three nights a week were passed out face down on his desk in the office.
It wasn’t that his job meant everything to him, it was just more interesting than listening to Mindy Schromer, the girlfriend, go on about her day and who did what to who and why and why it was just so horrible of them. He doesn’t get paid to know why someone is a bitch.
Money doesn’t mean everything to him either, but might as well have it if you can is the way he saw it. He did at some point want a house and a family, preferably not with Mindy, but who was he to pick and choose at this point?
He didn’t even know why she was still with him. Maybe having the idea of someone around was better than not having anything to hold onto. She usually spent the night once a week, calling the office before coming over to make sure there wasn’t just an empty bed waiting for her.
Mindy knew things weren’t perfect with Connor. But it had been pretty good when they started. They had met in a bar, after work drinks with friends from their respective offices. One of her coworkers knew one of his coworkers from camp in the second grade, and he was buying her drinks for the rest of the night.
He had been sweet and attentive then, a real gentleman who knew how to treat a lady. After all the men who’d screwed Mindy over, he seemed like a keeper. So now she’s determined to keep him now matter what antics he pulls. She even feeds his cat with no name when she knows he’s forgotten.
Robert Kramer had a small apartment his daughter stayed in with him every other week. The divorce was in its fifth year, and still hard for Molly to deal with. Her parents had separated when she was three, and the only memory of a happy family she had came from photo albums her mom had shoved to the back of bookshelves in the house they had with her new dad, and the single framed photo on her dad’s mantel.
Other than that, there were no pictures in the tiny apartment Robert owned. He liked his cluttered apartment, it fit him perfect with two rooms (one for him, one for his daughter) and he didn’t need much space in the kitchen anyway- the microwave is a tiny appliance and the only one he used. He had a TV in the living room that was constantly on, but on what channel was the game of the day for Molly when she woke up. Sometimes it was ESPN, with football and baseball narrations flooding the small space. Sometimes it was TCM with black and white movies playing suspenseful music while she did her homework on a bar stool at the counter. Sometimes it was Oxygen with a chick movie on.
Robert didn’t think you needed a lot of things in life than to be happy with what you do have. He loved his daughter and was happy for his ex-wife and her new life. He liked his job at the bar under the apartment, which he owned with his brother. He loved Molly more than anything and was always that much happier when it was his week to have her. He didn’t need a lot from life, and made the best of what he’d gotten.
Dennis Frank was trouble. He was currently in the hospital from a motorcycle accident, with a broken arm and cut up forehead. He claimed the stitches didn’t hurt, but when he smiled at the nurses to try and tease them into a second Jello cup they shot pain through his face. He had claimed his arm was fine, until his fingers wouldn’t move when he wanted them too, just laid there limp right after the accident. They move now, but he’s not ready to give up the cast and try again.
He had a house inherited from his parents when his mother passed way last May. They left him a nice sum of money as well, but he’s too stubborn to accept it from his lawyer, whom calls once a month to have him make an appointment, please.
His sister Jenny has two sons he was teaching to play baseball before the accident. She cried when she answered the phone, and that’s the only regret he has for his decisions. He hates to see his sister cry.
Dennis was a headstrong guy who didn’t date, but women seemed charmed by him none-the-less. Part of him felt his new house was too big, and needed to be shared. Needed a women’s smell in the rooms, someone to repaint the walls a nice color and buy new sheets. The other part of him was too independent for his own good.
When Mathew Lena was seventeen he wrote a song called “Five Days Later.” It started out a basement song, played at local shows for all the high school kids and community college junkies. His band had recorded an EP in a friend’s bedroom and put songs online. A record company stumbled upon the song looking for new talent and a month later it was number five on all the radio charts.
The resulting CD sold millions within months of its drop date, when Mathew was eighteen. Three records followed and six hit songs blew up radios and girls hearts across the nation. He had gone from no one in high school to the heartthrob in millions of girls dreams.
Every girl wanted to be the one he wrote about, and everyone knew it was only one girl in all the songs. The typical break up songs, the typical I love you songs- his relationship with the nameless girl was told over a series of songs and raked in a huge income for the now faded star. He still wrote, only occasionally now about her, but no one heard it anymore. The band broke up just after the release of the third CD, the second highest grossing one they made after “Always You”, their debut. They boys in the band were tired of how the girl in the songs got more attention than the band itself, and no one even knew who she was.
Nick Graham had just been dumped by his girlfriend. He stood in front of the apartment door that had been his home for the last two months. He let out a deep breath and leaned his back up against it. He had an apartment of his own across town, but that place only had clothes he hardly wore and rotten food in the fridge. Behind the door was all of his favorite clothes, and his TV. He’d have to come back tomorrow and get it all. He tried to think if he had any boxes, and who would be available to help him move out.
Nick was a good guy, or so he liked to think. He wasn’t overly messy, and his (ex-)girlfriend cleaned up after him anyway, so you couldn’t even tell. He had two days worth of scruff, and his hair fell into his squinty green eyes slightly. He didn’t have much trouble finding girls, just a little trouble holding onto them.
Why they broke up was still a little unclear. She didn’t say much, just “get out.” So he got out. He knew enough not to mess with a woman who wouldn’t even look at him and seemed to have broken a still full coffee cup against the wall. Nick shook his head, and walked away from the apartment that was no longer his, hands in pockets and feet dragging.
Brady Herris hated his name. Who names a child Brady for the rest of their life, he always wondered. What had his parents been thinking? Y’s at the end of names was cute through the second grade. Calling himself Brad wasn’t the same, because people would think that was his name. He liked to have the full, birth certificate official name, but wished it had been another more official name.
His mother had loved the name, and it was just her when he was born. He’d found out in high school the man he grew to know as his birth father was really his step dad, married to his mom a year after Brady had been born. He knew his mom was lucky to find a guy as good as his stepdad, to love her with another guy’s kid, but secretly resented the fact that he wasn’t his real father and that he had been lied to.
When he used his official, birth certificate name, he was a private investigator. When people hear about his (real) dad being a runaway bum, and then that he works at a P.I., they all assume it’s to find his father. Brady isn’t sure. He could trip over his dad tomorrow and not really know, or know if he’d care. Although, maybe his real dad wouldn’t have named his Brady.
Connor Collins had a cat with no name that he sometimes forgot to feed. He had an okay life; working till late in the evening and often standing up his girlfriend of three years at restaurants. He’d like to say if he loved her, he wouldn’t do that, but she likes to say they’re in love and he isn’t around enough to know who to believe. He had a nice apartment he never spent time in with furniture he never sat on. The bed was the most touched thing in his room, and even then three nights a week were passed out face down on his desk in the office.
It wasn’t that his job meant everything to him, it was just more interesting than listening to Mindy Schromer, the girlfriend, go on about her day and who did what to who and why and why it was just so horrible of them. He doesn’t get paid to know why someone is a bitch.
Money doesn’t mean everything to him either, but might as well have it if you can is the way he saw it. He did at some point want a house and a family, preferably not with Mindy, but who was he to pick and choose at this point?
He didn’t even know why she was still with him. Maybe having the idea of someone around was better than not having anything to hold onto. She usually spent the night once a week, calling the office before coming over to make sure there wasn’t just an empty bed waiting for her.
Mindy knew things weren’t perfect with Connor. But it had been pretty good when they started. They had met in a bar, after work drinks with friends from their respective offices. One of her coworkers knew one of his coworkers from camp in the second grade, and he was buying her drinks for the rest of the night.
He had been sweet and attentive then, a real gentleman who knew how to treat a lady. After all the men who’d screwed Mindy over, he seemed like a keeper. So now she’s determined to keep him now matter what antics he pulls. She even feeds his cat with no name when she knows he’s forgotten.
Robert Kramer had a small apartment his daughter stayed in with him every other week. The divorce was in its fifth year, and still hard for Molly to deal with. Her parents had separated when she was three, and the only memory of a happy family she had came from photo albums her mom had shoved to the back of bookshelves in the house they had with her new dad, and the single framed photo on her dad’s mantel.
Other than that, there were no pictures in the tiny apartment Robert owned. He liked his cluttered apartment, it fit him perfect with two rooms (one for him, one for his daughter) and he didn’t need much space in the kitchen anyway- the microwave is a tiny appliance and the only one he used. He had a TV in the living room that was constantly on, but on what channel was the game of the day for Molly when she woke up. Sometimes it was ESPN, with football and baseball narrations flooding the small space. Sometimes it was TCM with black and white movies playing suspenseful music while she did her homework on a bar stool at the counter. Sometimes it was Oxygen with a chick movie on.
Robert didn’t think you needed a lot of things in life than to be happy with what you do have. He loved his daughter and was happy for his ex-wife and her new life. He liked his job at the bar under the apartment, which he owned with his brother. He loved Molly more than anything and was always that much happier when it was his week to have her. He didn’t need a lot from life, and made the best of what he’d gotten.
Dennis Frank was trouble. He was currently in the hospital from a motorcycle accident, with a broken arm and cut up forehead. He claimed the stitches didn’t hurt, but when he smiled at the nurses to try and tease them into a second Jello cup they shot pain through his face. He had claimed his arm was fine, until his fingers wouldn’t move when he wanted them too, just laid there limp right after the accident. They move now, but he’s not ready to give up the cast and try again.
He had a house inherited from his parents when his mother passed way last May. They left him a nice sum of money as well, but he’s too stubborn to accept it from his lawyer, whom calls once a month to have him make an appointment, please.
His sister Jenny has two sons he was teaching to play baseball before the accident. She cried when she answered the phone, and that’s the only regret he has for his decisions. He hates to see his sister cry.
Dennis was a headstrong guy who didn’t date, but women seemed charmed by him none-the-less. Part of him felt his new house was too big, and needed to be shared. Needed a women’s smell in the rooms, someone to repaint the walls a nice color and buy new sheets. The other part of him was too independent for his own good.
When Mathew Lena was seventeen he wrote a song called “Five Days Later.” It started out a basement song, played at local shows for all the high school kids and community college junkies. His band had recorded an EP in a friend’s bedroom and put songs online. A record company stumbled upon the song looking for new talent and a month later it was number five on all the radio charts.
The resulting CD sold millions within months of its drop date, when Mathew was eighteen. Three records followed and six hit songs blew up radios and girls hearts across the nation. He had gone from no one in high school to the heartthrob in millions of girls dreams.
Every girl wanted to be the one he wrote about, and everyone knew it was only one girl in all the songs. The typical break up songs, the typical I love you songs- his relationship with the nameless girl was told over a series of songs and raked in a huge income for the now faded star. He still wrote, only occasionally now about her, but no one heard it anymore. The band broke up just after the release of the third CD, the second highest grossing one they made after “Always You”, their debut. They boys in the band were tired of how the girl in the songs got more attention than the band itself, and no one even knew who she was.
Nick Graham had just been dumped by his girlfriend. He stood in front of the apartment door that had been his home for the last two months. He let out a deep breath and leaned his back up against it. He had an apartment of his own across town, but that place only had clothes he hardly wore and rotten food in the fridge. Behind the door was all of his favorite clothes, and his TV. He’d have to come back tomorrow and get it all. He tried to think if he had any boxes, and who would be available to help him move out.
Nick was a good guy, or so he liked to think. He wasn’t overly messy, and his (ex-)girlfriend cleaned up after him anyway, so you couldn’t even tell. He had two days worth of scruff, and his hair fell into his squinty green eyes slightly. He didn’t have much trouble finding girls, just a little trouble holding onto them.
Why they broke up was still a little unclear. She didn’t say much, just “get out.” So he got out. He knew enough not to mess with a woman who wouldn’t even look at him and seemed to have broken a still full coffee cup against the wall. Nick shook his head, and walked away from the apartment that was no longer his, hands in pockets and feet dragging.
Brady Herris hated his name. Who names a child Brady for the rest of their life, he always wondered. What had his parents been thinking? Y’s at the end of names was cute through the second grade. Calling himself Brad wasn’t the same, because people would think that was his name. He liked to have the full, birth certificate official name, but wished it had been another more official name.
His mother had loved the name, and it was just her when he was born. He’d found out in high school the man he grew to know as his birth father was really his step dad, married to his mom a year after Brady had been born. He knew his mom was lucky to find a guy as good as his stepdad, to love her with another guy’s kid, but secretly resented the fact that he wasn’t his real father and that he had been lied to.
When he used his official, birth certificate name, he was a private investigator. When people hear about his (real) dad being a runaway bum, and then that he works at a P.I., they all assume it’s to find his father. Brady isn’t sure. He could trip over his dad tomorrow and not really know, or know if he’d care. Although, maybe his real dad wouldn’t have named his Brady.