Amanda Kimberley's Romancing Characters

Hell Has Carpets by Amanda Kimberley in Biographies & Memoirs

2011-11-17T12:28:00.001-08:00

Hell Has Carpets by Amanda Kimberley in Biographies & Memoirs:

'via Blog this'

The Pursuit of Liberty by Amanda Kimberley in Poetry

2011-11-17T12:28:00.000-08:00

The Pursuit of Liberty by Amanda Kimberley in Poetry:

'via Blog this'

Fibromyalgia Bloggers’ Best Tips for the Disease | Lifescript.com

2010-12-05T17:23:00.000-08:00

Check out this article on Lifescript.com that features yours truly!

Fibromyalgia Bloggers’ Best Tips for the Disease | Lifescript.com

Stay fabulous!
Love and friendship,

Kimberley

Taken from Backtrax

2010-11-18T17:40:00.000-08:00

This is an excerpt from a novel I've been writing. The excerpt is from Helium.com. The novel is called Backtrax.

I always tried to figure out why people were a certain way. Why they don't like certain things or why they act a particular way. David was always an organized, conservative person and I never questioned it. I assumed my boyfriend just grew up that way and that was that. He always planned our dates a few days in advance- something an organized guy does. And I later found out that his father is the same way. So , that's where he got his traits from. He one day asked me why I didn't like him being affectionate in front of other people. I always assumed that I didn't like it because I was conservative. I thought showing affection should be done privately- not publicly. It just advertised that you're a couple and I didn't like drawing attention to myself in that way. That sounded like a real good argument, one that worked, one that fit my lifestyle. Then a thought hit me, maybe that's not the reason. The thought hit me after David told me about Dillion's girlfriend, Tara. Apparently she didn't like affection of any kind. I understood that because of her situation. She was abused by another man. So it made sense. She's not comfortable trusting herself or men. Either way, the fact remains, she doesn't like to be touched. So the thought hit me... Am I like her? I always worry about what others think of me. I'm always careful of the men I date and I always correct someone when they wrongfully think that I am seeing someone other than David. But could it really be that? Did he have such a great effect on my life that I am the way I am today? Did he abuse me so much that I can't trust my own feelings or any others? Especially men? Was I so naive at age eleven that I allowed someone to hurt me? No. It can't be. I'm not like that. I'm conservative and I don't make mistakes. I wouldn't let someone touch me like that. I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn't allow that kind of behavior.

The Backtrax bar room was at it's usual 9:30 pm sound level. Hearing yourself think was always hard, but could be achieved till the band went on. The corner seat always seems to look like there's an impression in the brownish vinyl cushion, warn out from the amount of time I spend on it, waiting for my fiance', David and my friends, Dillion and Tara. We picked this place as a random choice one night and we just kept coming back every weekend there after. I think we come here out of habit more so than anything else. The clientele and the bar scream of a flash back from the eighties with big hair, spandex, and the occasional song choice, "You Give Love A Bad Name" from Bon Jovi, the king of hair bands. My hair, even back then, never seemed to reach the death defying heights that the occasional thirty- somethings would show off as if Cosmo was coming out with this trend as the latest fad.

"What will ya have hun? The usual?" said a voice in front of me, disrupting my thoughts for the moment. It was the blond bartender on duty tonight. She always looked as perfect as the drinks she made. Never a hair out of place on her head or a slice of lime in a drink served by her. I don't think a pimple has ever dared to show up on her 22 year- old face.

"Yeah hun, a margarita." I said while reaching for my neck with my tired hands. It was a long day of phone

tag, deadlines and rushed writing to put the paper to bed tonight. The story about coffee houses worked, but the interview with the band, Jade Tree, would have to go into the morning addition.
"So are the margaritas good here or what?" said a male voice coming from my right.
"Oh yes, they're good." I managed to get out, startled by the interruption.
"Is there anything else that would entice one's thirst? Because I see something else that looks good." the voice said while the eyes behind those baby blues shifted down with each word uttered and then came to rest around the third button of my blouse.
Here we go again, I thought. The mating season has started and I wasn't even a third of the way finished with my drink. The alcohol always seemed to make the ritual of man vs. woman more bearable, but this time I had wished I had sharper claws to fend off this tacky line of attack. I had to come up with something good to make him leave- and fast. But what? The lines from the voices every night were growing worse and lacking creativity and luster with each passing moment, like the oldie but ever so memorable "What's your sign?" of the seventies. They were becoming as cleche' as the big hair. But the voices that lingered around like bad cologne were probably the worst. They never seemed to be able to take a subtle hint and my patience with that was growing thin.
"Any drink from here will quench one's thirst." I coyly said while thrusting out my chest as a trophy to win. I wasn't going to make him leave without a playful tug at the hook first. The sting from the tug should make him squirm away from the bait all night if I did this right.
"Enticement of one's thirst, however, is another story."
"And what might quench that thirst?" the voice said as if it were rehearsed for opening night.
"I would be satisfied with anything except you." the hook, line, and sinker was now visible to the voice along with a nod, smile, and a shift in position of my seat. The voice took the mac truck of all hints well and proceeded to look for his next prey of the night.

A Burning Desire

2010-10-22T18:34:00.000-07:00

This is a character that I'm working on for my next NaNo creation. I need to iron out some kinks but she seems like a cool character because she's a little crazy. This is a short I did for a contest a little while ago.

I should have known that Winona of 227 Alabaster Street would become a problem, but hind-sight is always 20/20 when it comes to these sorts of things. The husband and I wanted to start investing in Real Estate and the gorgeous Victorian, priced to sell appeared to be a good start. The problems were minor at first, dishes and silverware missing from the cupboards. I didn’t want to make a spectacle about it, after all, I had just bought the place and it was possible that I had just misplaced them.

Moving can be so taxing on one’s nerves. I spent several sleepless nights thinking about the morning to-do list. The sleeplessness was becoming alarmingly annoying. I started to hallucinate. I actually thought I saw a woman peering over my bed at 3 in the morning! Can you believe it!

When I awoke the next morning, I figured I must have been sleep walking again. I had done that often in my past when I became stressed in the city. I had hoped a move to a country setting would calm my nerves.

I came across my silverware and dishes on the front lawn while looking for more boxes in the Uhaul. They were just lying there plain as day on the lawn. It was just strange, but then again, my nightly walks were always strange.

My problems with Winona got interesting when I started to hear moaning in her room. I tried to be nice about it, giving her some privacy by knocking before I entered her room. I’d even put a pillow over my ears when I heard her late at night, but that was starting ware on my patience.

I was raised to be a good Christian woman and live by Christ’s teachings. I try not to think badly of others and their way of life. I knew she was a little different but it was becoming obvious to me that she didn’t seem to practice what she preached. She told me she was not evil. She said she was just a lost soul trying to find her way home. In the Corinthians 2 11:14 the Bible says, And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light. I was starting to take my Bible readings a little more seriously at this point as far as she was concerned. I truly wondered if the Devil incarnate decided to dwell in my newly purchased home.

Lights staying on in the house became the next problem. I’d turn them all off and then they’d mysteriously be on in her room. I paid for the expensive electricity and I didn’t think it was nice of her to rack up my bills. I believe it was at that point that I became completely frustrated and wanted her gone. I remember screaming the words, Get out! at the top of my lungs. The house became cold. It was almost as if I knew Winona did not like that statement at all.

She protested by stomping on the floor till dust appeared from the ceiling. The banging was viciously loud and it was becoming obvious to me that she would not stop tormenting me until I apologized. I was mad, though, and I didn’t think I owed her anything. It was my house after all and I had the deed to prove it. I went to bed still angry from the whole ordeal.

In the morning I awoke with scratch marks all over my body. It looked as if I had been in a fight with a cat. I, of course, was quick to blame Winona for these marks, but this was unlike her. Guilt rushed over me for thinking such a terrible thing, and yet, I knew I upset her greatly last night and anything was possible with her anger.

Shaking my head of such unchristian thoughts, I headed for the kitchen to make some pancakes. Upon entering the kitchen I saw broken dishes on the floor. Draws pulled and its contents dumped and the fridge left opened. I couldn’t believe my eyes. How could she do such a thing! I knew that was it.

Winona had to go, but how? I had pleaded with her and that was to no avail. I tried to banish her but she always seemed to find a way back in. I even got the parish priest involved, hoping she’d listen to a man of the cloth. Nothing seemed to work.

Calmness then washed over me. It really was simple, so simple that I started to smile. Brady, my husband was puzzled when he saw my strange look. He knew that Winona was getting to me but even he knew this look was not character- like for me. The grin started to gleam from ear to ear as I said, “That damn Sioux Indian Winona can’t haunt a house that isn’t here. I’m setting it on fire.”