101
" Excuse me, sir.” One the young officers put his hand up to stop them. “Are you Furious Barkley?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Is there a problem, officers?” Doug stepped in front of Furi.
“Damn straight there’s a problem.” Syn stepped inside the door, yanking his dark aviator glasses off his face. The scowl he wore told Furi this was not a pleasant coincidence. “Thanks guys, you can go.”
Furi stood with his mouth hanging open while Syn dismissed the officers.
“Seriously, Starsky. You gonna track my boy down every time he leaves the house?” Doug said angrily, still blocking Furi.
“He’s not your boy. And what I do regarding Furi is none of your goddamn business.” Syn’s clenched jaw made his words sound like an evil hiss. He shouldered past Doug and got directly in Furi’s face. “When I’ve been calling him for over six hours and he hasn’t picked up or returned any of my calls, I’ll send a fuckin’ SWAT team to find him if I want to.”
Syn spun and pointed his finger in Doug’s face, “That’s my say, not yours.” Syn’s voice was rising with his growing temper, and all eyes were on them.
“Okay, let’s get out of here.” Furi pushed at both men, urging them out the door.
As soon as they were out in the brisk fall air, Syn rounded on Furi, pushing their chest together. “Where have you been, Furious? I’ve been going crazy trying to check on you, and you’re sitting here casually eating pancakes,” Syn growled.
“Hey, back up, man.” Doug tried to wedge in between Furi and Syn.
Syn looked up in annoyance. “Doug, I swear, if you touch me, I’m gonna ensure that you never regain the use of that hand.”
“Okay, okay.” Furi put both hands flat on Syn’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat underneath all that muscle. Fuck. He really was scared. What was I thinking turning off my phone with everything that’s going on? “Syn. I’m so sorry. I turned my phone off because–”
“You don’t owe him an explanation. You’re a grown man, Furious. You were having a business meeting; he has no right to demand you be available to him at all times, just like Patrick.”
Furi and Syn both snapped at Doug. But Furi took control. “Hey! Don’t you ever say that again. This man is nothing like that asshole.” Furi shook his head at the absurdity of Doug’s accusation. “Don’t even say his name in the same sentence as Patrick’s.”
Doug looked at Furi as if he were a stranger.
“Doug, you don’t know everything that’s been going on. But I promise I’ll catch you up, okay? Then you’re going to feel pretty shitty about what you just said about Syn.” Furi nodded his head. “Go home. I’ll call you when I’m back at Syn’s place.”
“You’re staying with him?” Doug yelled.
“Doug. You know it’s not safe at my place,” Furi said softly, his eyes pleading with his friend for him to understand.
“Then you should come to stay with me. I don’t trust this guy!”
“This is fuckin’ crazy,” Syn snarled. “I know you’re his friend, but you’re sounding more pissed than a friend should be.”
“Don’t try to read me, Detective. Furi is my best friend, and I’ve had his back since the first day he got here.” Doug wasn’t backing down from Syn’s intimidating posture. Syn’s dark glasses were back on, creating a perfectly badass look with his black leather coat and boots. All the hardware Syn had tucked under his arms and the shiny badge hanging around his neck was a sight right out of a sexy cop porno. "
― A.E. Via
102
" Can we get back to work now?" Haley asked, sounding innocent, but Zoe didn't miss the woman's lips twitchingor the humor sparkling in her eyes. Something told her that this woman truly enjoyed torturing her husband." For god sake's, my little grasshopper, you love the Yankees more than I do! What the hell is going on?" He turned accusing eyes on Zoe. " How dare you brainwash my wife?" he hissed." A re you going to leave so that we can get some work done?" Haley demanded, turning her attention to the computer." No," he said stubbornly, folding his arms over his chest, glaring at them." Buttercream frosting," Haley said softly, never taking her eyes away from her computer screen.Jason licked his lips as he looked his pregnant wife over hungrily. " Tonight?" he croaked out." If you're good," Haley said, with a small shrug. " But you have to leave-" " Bye," Jason said quickly, cutting her off and rushing out of the trailer just as fast as he came. "
103
" Any other questions?" " Just one," I say. " What color are your eyes?" I want to know what he thinks, how he sees himself - the real Ky - when he dares to look." Blue," he says sounding surprised, " they've always been blue." " Not to me." " What do they look like to you?" he says puzzled, amused. Not looking at my mouth anymore, looking into my eyes." Lots of colors," I say. " At first I thought they were brown. Once I thought they were green..." " What are they now?" he asks. He widens his eyes a little, leans closer, lets me look as long and deep as I want." Well?" " Everything," I tell him, " They're everything. "
106
" Too often we sit back and speak platitudes of the nitty-gritty bits of writing; the editing, the story structure, the verbal sparring vs. banter, the character development, the world-building become more important to us than the tune rhythm of the tale. And when you lose the music of the story, all the footwork in the world is not going to make up for the loss of continuity and heart.
We need to take a step back in our souls and conjure the image of what this story is: the notes and beats and things woven into it's fullness. See, that's what is so easy to lose sight of as we write. We forget that, in a way, this story is a full story in itself. We tend to try to build the story piece by piece, line upon line, precept upon precept, but that--as any true writer knows--is not entirely practical. A story does have its own identity. To some extent, the story exists in your mind as a whole. Its own being. To chance sounding sappy: Your story is a full piece of music waiting for you to dance it into existence. Don't make the mistake of leaving out all the music.
It is tempting to want to have everything arranged to perfection so that little editing will be done. But if you are keeping in mind the way your story needs to run--feeling it and dwelling in the beauty of its passion and color and vibe--the footwork will take care of itself. Certainly it will require practice and your technicalities will need a little work--everyone's does. But you will have captured the essence and blood of the tale, and really that's the prettiest part of a dance. "
― Rachel Heffington
117
" Bells Ring, Drums Resound
When a bell is struck it rings, when a drum is beaten it resounds. This is because they are solid outside and empty within. It is because they have nothing inside that they are able to ring and resound.
What I realize as I observe this is the Tao of true emptiness and ineffable existence.
True emptiness is like the inner openness of a bell or a drum; ineffable existence is like the sounding of a bell or a drum when struck. If people can keep this true emptiness as their essence, and utilize this ineffable existence as their function, ever serene yet ever responsive, ever responsive yet ever serene, tranquil and unstirring yet sensitive and effective, sensitive and effective yet tranquil and unstirring, empty yet not empty, not empty yet empty, aware and efficient, lively and active, refining everything in the great furnace of Creation, then when the dirt is gone the mirror is clear, when the clouds disperse the moon appears; revealing the indestructible body of reality, they transcend yin and yang and Creation, and merge with the eternity of space. "
― Liu Yiming , Awakening to the Tao
