Newsletter bonus: Preview my new short story!
So I wrote a short(ish) story ...
Hey, friends! I know this isn't our usual Friday rendezvous, but I wanted to drop in to tell you that I just posted an original short story (!) over on Patreon. Without revealing too much, it's about a woman who resolves to punch someone in the face by New Year's Eve. Ha! Happy holidays!
This is the first time I've shared fiction this way, and I hope it won't be the last. It runs about 5,500 words, and it contains some explicit language (as you might guess from that summary).
Read an excerpt below, and read the whole thing here. If you don't already support me on Patreon, you can do so for as little as $2/month and get instant access to the story.
If you *do* read PUNCH JOURNAL, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks so much for your encouragement this year, and I'll see ya in 2020!
Love and fireworks,
Whitney
Excerpt from 'PUNCH JOURNAL':
November 15 / 8:42 a.m.
So I think I wanna punch someone. Like, in the face? I don’t know, maybe it’s the lack of sleep talking. Or maybe it’s the Lego that bore a hole in my heel this morning, maybe it’s this barista who won’t shut up about her mime class, maybe it’s this, maybe it’s that.
But secretly? I’m pretty sure it’s … not? And the more I consider it, the more I can’t f*cking wait.
It dawned on me last night while I was in bed, scrolling Instagram, rapid-fire-liking all the cute kids and fancy dinners and exaggerated, sunny lives. I mean, even if it all weren’t such a lie—which it IS—how come I’m not doing big, crazy things like everybody else seems to be at every goddamn hour of the goddamn day? What’s on MY bucket list? (By the way, “bucket” is a vomitous word, and whoever came up with that concept needs to be, well, punched in the face.)
To be perfectly honest, I’m fine leaving this earth without ever climbing a mountain or eating animal testicles or reading “Infinite Jest.” But do I want to die without knowing what it’s like to hit somebody? No sir, no ma’am.
For too long I’ve been feeling like … like I’m glued to the floor or living in a loop or something. I don’t just want a quick rush, I think I might turn to dust if I don’t get it soon. And I wanna be a little bad, too, and maybe I even want it to hurt a little? Though I want all these things without hard drugs or a vaginal birth or whatever, because I’ve already done those and, frankly, they’re as boring as a brick wall.
So let this be my solemn contract:
God or whomever willing, I WILL punch a person—in the face—by New Year’s Eve. And I just know it’s gonna turn my whole life inside out and upside down, but in the best possible way. Then by January, I’ll be able to look in the mirror and say, at long last, “You, my friend, are a woman who LIVES.”
Whew, it feels so good to get this down. I mean, I feel like I’m a mushroom in one of those time-lapse videos where they just—POOF—explode out of the ground! But more later. Time for a manicure.