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Why Crazies Shouldn’t Drink with @ElizabethBarone | #FourthWallFriday

Elizabeth-Barone---Fourth-Wall-Friday

I can think of plenty of reasons not to drink with crazy people, ask Geoff. Drinking with me is a bad idea, I tend to do crazy fun things, hence why I have no time to drink anymore! If I do, watch the news up here in Alaska, something spectacular will happen and they won’t have a clue who did it and it will be amazing and it will be weird… but you all will know it is the Caped Cabin Goddess, with her goggles and magic wand ready to save the day.. wait, I don’t need a bottle for that! ANYWAY, it is Friday again, guess what? We have a new author to my blog, well new to me! And her name is Elizabeth, I am so digging on her! She VLOGS! And she is funny as heck, she also says I am fabulous and she wants to know the secret of me looking so awesome and having a 24 (turning 25 years old next week) son. Well, cuz I am FABULOUS! *grin* Well I think she is pretty fabulous and her Fourth-Wall Friday is super awesome too! Don’t forget if you are interested in being part of this (as an author) sign up HERE! Now, grab a bottle, they have the coffee cups! It is BYOB and if you don;t bring your own cork screw, make sure it is twist top, she doesn’t have a cork screw!

bottel-of-vine

Since Quinn’s not twenty-one yet and is too paranoid to sneak into a dive bar, we have to make other plans.

DCF might take Tara away if I go out,” she says, almost whining.

I want to tell her I know this, but keep my mouth shut. She doesn’t know. I’m just a friend. “No problem,” I say instead. “Any suggestions?”

Well,” she says, dragging it out. There’s still a little teenager left over in her. “As long as you don’t bring anyone, you can come to my place.”

Again, I keep my opinion to myself. I guess that, if I were in her shoes, I’d be worried about crazy drunk strangers, too. It’s been a few years since I went to a house party, though. Once upon a time, I tolerated them. These days, I avoid them completely.

“Are you there?” Quinn asks. I totally spaced out. I tell her I’ll be over in a little while, and that I’ll bring some wine. “Wine?” she asks, as if I suggested baby brains.

Yes,” I tell her, glad she can’t see me rolling my eyes. “If your social worker has a problem with you having a glass of wine, he should count himself lucky.” I can sense her getting ready to argue, to tell me that she doesn’t know me well enough to drink with me, that I could be trying to get her into trouble. I could be one of Nancy’s friends. I sigh. “If you don’t want any, you don’t have to drink it. I’ve been looking forward to this, though, so I’m bringing it.” We hang up, and I hope that she didn’t give me a decoy address.

It’s my fault, though, I muse as I drive over to her apartment building. I made her this way. I almost feel guilty. Life isn’t about having things easy, though. It’s about building, ahem, character—no pun intended. She doesn’t know this, though, and won’t know it for several years to come. She thinks life is hard now, but she’s on the verge of her twenties—the hardest years of her life. I smirk as I count all of the things that are probably—okay, more than likely—going to happen to her. It’s not because I have some vendetta against people younger than me (though I am grateful that I’m out of those woods). I’m just looking forward to meeting the woman she’s going to be when she makes it through all of this. Right now, she’s kind of selfish, a little arrogant, and slightly naive. When I’m done with her, she will still be all of those things, but she will also be—

I don’t get to finish that thought, because I’m pulling into the parking lot behind her building. There are hardly any lights back here, and I worry that I might get robbed. Laughing, I shut my car off. It would be like mugging myself.

I go inside and take the stairs. Maybe someday I’ll fix that damn elevator for her, but right now, it’s still amusing. I have friends who live in an apartment building with an elevator that was broken for a long time. I think it gives the place character. The property owners finally fixed it a few months ago. The place doesn’t feel the same.

I pass by Morgan’s door and wonder if he will be joining us. Screw it—he will be joining us. He pokes his head out of the door and a grin spreads across his face when he sees me.

Lizzie Borden—“ he starts.

Don’t,” I tell him. I get it all the time.

Liza Minnelli?” he tries again. He’s practically singing, still wearing that grin.

I wince. “Morgan, my name is Elizabeth. Liz is fine, but that’s it.”

He feigns a pout and steps into the hall. He scoops the bottle of wine from my arms and examines the label. “Barefoot Bubbly?” Creases connect his eyebrows, and he wiggles them at me. “I would’ve thought you’d have more expensive taste.”

I yank it back. “Trust me,” I say. “Or don’t. Makes no difference to me. Actually, don’t have any. More for me.”

I take it our girl said she isn’t drinking.” He sighs and knocks on Quinn’s door.

I’m a little surprised that he doesn’t just go in. They hang out, all of the time. They just don’t—well, I’m getting ahead of myself. Besides, the door opens a crack and Quinn peers through.

You?” she asks in dismay. She isn’t looking at me, though.

Morgan jabs a thumb toward the wine. “I love Bubbly Pink Moscato,” he says through a stiff grin.

Quinn narrows her eyes at me. “I told you not to invite anyone.”

To be fair, she did, but I thought she meant strangers. Morgan was practically her boyfriend—in my dreams, anyway. They just couldn’t seem to get it together, mostly because of her. “Just give him a chance, Quinn,” I say patiently.

She scowls, then makes that sound that teenagers make: “Ugh.” It sounds less like a word and more like she’s hawking some phlegm. “Fine.” She moves aside and lets us in, crossing her arms

The apartment looks pretty much how I imagined it. Hardly any furniture occupies the living room. Her laptop sits open on the floor, a Google page full of links about bipolar disorder open. She hurries over to close it, as if I haven’t seen it. Even if I hadn’t seen it, I still know all about her, Nancy, and her little sister Tara. I want to tell her this, but then remember. The last time I told a character about my involvement with his life and the death of his sort of girlfriend, he killed my car. I’m still not sure how he did it, but rest in peace, little Sunfire.

Quinn clears her throat and offers us her beat up sofa. It looks like she dug it out of a dump. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she did. I sit on the edge and Morgan joins me, reclining fully into the couch.

He pats the seat next to him, between us. “Take a load off, O’Hara.”

I smile at the nickname. Real or not, Morgan came up with that all on his own.

Do you want, um, glasses?” Quinn offers, gesturing to the bottle I’m still cradling.

Yes!” I jump up. Any excuse to get off that couch. I follow her into the kitchen, shame washing over me. There isn’t anything actually wrong with the couch. At least, I hope not. I usually try not to think too much about it.

Quinn pulls two coffee mugs from her cabinet over the stove. “This is all I’ve got,” she apologizes.

I know,” I say, working on opening the bottle. Thank goodness the cap just twists off. I know she doesn’t own a bottle opener.

Quinn slams down the mugs hard enough that I worry she might break them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sighing, I begin pouring, watching for leaks. Softening my tone, I say, “Maybe you should get a third mug.” A glass of wine might do her some good.

She looks like she might give in, but then Tara comes out of the bedroom. She’s wearing Quinn’s Southern Connecticut State University tee shirt and a pair of Pink sweats that are way too big for her. The waist is rolled up, and it’s not a fashion statement. I try to remember how old she is. Right, eleven. I always forget and think she’s twelve. Sometimes, I wonder what writing will be like for me when I’m eighty. She notices me and smoothes the sweats, partially because they’re wrinkled but also because she wants me—a fellow girl—to notice. Thinking of my first pair of Victoria’s Secret sweats, I give her a wink. “Cute,” I say.

Thanks. I’m Tara.” She grins.

Liz,” I say, holding out my hand. We shake. Her hand is small and warm, thin—outgrowing its childhood stubbiness.

Quinn eyes me as though I might try to sell the kid a bag of coke.

Are we having a party?” Tara asks. “Can I pick a movie?” She gestures to a stack of DVDs on the floor. “We watched The Dark Crystal last night.”

I glance at the laptop. It groans and wheezes. It will be a miracle if they get one more movie out of it.

Tara notices Morgan, and her eyes light up. “Hey, Morgan!” She tiptoes over to him, the cuffs of the sweats brushing the soles of her bare feet.  She moves weightlessly, like a ballerina. She wraps her small arms around his neck, and he ruffles her hair.

Hey, Tee.”

Quinn shakes her head. “No, Monkey. Bedtime.” She gives the girl a smile but watches Morgan and me out of the corner of her eye.

Goodnight,” Tara tells us, and dances back into the bedroom.

She’s awesome,” I tell Quinn.

Yeah,” she agrees.

Morgan gets up and lifts a mug from the counter. He holds it up in a salute to me.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn says. “I can’t have alcohol in here. You never know.” She says this lightly, but she’s looking at me again.

I nod and pluck the mug from Morgan’s hands. Then, trying not to cry, I pour the contents down the sink.

We could have had those at my place,” Morgan pretends to whine.

I have to get going, anyway,” I say, collecting my things. I just brought the bottle and my bag. I wish I could tell you it’s Michael Kors, but it’s Target. It’s crimson, though, and looks like leather from far away. Maybe we’re all a step away from secondhand couches and too-big pajamas. “Thanks for having me,” I tell Quinn.

Sure,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Did I have a choice?”

Morgan nudges her in the ribs with an elbow. “O’Hara,” he says. “Be nice to our guest.

Our?” She crosses over to the apartment door and pulls it open, holding an arm out. “Goodnight.”

Morgan and I look at each other. He shrugs his shoulders. “‘Night,” he says, slipping past me and ducking through the door.

I pause for a moment, wondering what parting wisdom I should give her. Despite our relationship—or maybe lack thereof—I am older. I could give her some advice. It might be creepy, though. After all, she doesn’t know that I know. So, I just give her a smile and hand her my card, the one without my website, the one with my cell. “If you need anything,” I say, thinking of the Jim Henson’s creatures in The Labyrinth. Then, before she can say anything, I leave.

About Elizabeth Barone

Elizabeth Barone writes drama with grit. Her debut novel, Sade on the Wall, was a quarter-finalist in the 2012 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award and won the 2013 Blogger Book Fair Reader's Choice Award in the literary category. She is also the author of the literary soap opera Sandpaper Fidelity. Her novel Crazy Comes in Threes, the first in the Comes in Threes series, is her love letter to people with mental illnesses.

Elizabeth lives in Connecticut with her husband and cat.

Why Crazies Shouldn’t Drink with @ElizabethBarone | #FourthWallFridayCrazy Comes in Threes
Series: Comes in Threes
by Elizabeth Barone
Pages: 247
Published by Maietta Ink
on December 17, 2013
Amazon • Barnes & Noble • Smashwords • • Goodreads •

Crazy runs in Quinn's family. Is she next?

Bad things always happen to Quinn in threes. First her bipolar mother is involuntarily committed to the behavioral disoder unit of the hospital. Then Quinn moves in with her new college roommates, only to find that they are each as different as night and dsy. But the worst is yet to come: if Quinn can't support her eleven-year-old sister, Tara will go into the foster care system, and Quinn will never see her again.

Quinn devises a plan. She brings Tara to the dorms, telling her resident assistant and the desk attendant that her little sister is only spending the night. At first no one notices that Tara never actually goes home, but after a few days, Quinn’s roommates get suspicious. Tara’s social worker could stop by their house at any time and take Tara away forever. Quinn has to choose between her dream of living the college life, or Tara’s safety.

Crazy Comes in Threes is a New Adult drama for twenty-somethings, and is the first novel in the Comes in Threes series.

Well, what would you do? Mental illness is an important issue to talk about and subject matter for books. This book asks addresses another important subject, “WHAT IF?” What if this happened to you? How would you go forward knowing now more then ever how important it is to finish college, what a conundrum. Also, do you remember your first pair of Pink sweats? I do, but I wa smuch older! *grin* I love that line “She notices me and smoothes the sweats, partially because they’re wrinkled but also because she wants me—a fellow girl—to notice.” Thanks for another great Elizabeth! Oh, wait *holding my coffee cup out* nice bag! I think I need some, fill me up, it’s Friday, there is no such thing as “before noon”!

coffee-cup

Fourth-Wall Friday – January – June 2014 Signups now open
Ever wonder what happens if you were to break into your world build and sit down and have a beer with your main characters? I think I would love to have tea with Jane Eyre, or discuss the best way to take care of vampires with Jane Yellowstone…maybe having Susie Shotgun take me out for some Angels Tears…

Interested in being part of Cabin Goddesses Fourth-Wall Friday? Sign up for a limited amount of spots open today. (Sign ups for January-June 2014). The 3rd Friday of each month is open for special eventssuch as book releases and tours. Contact me at kriss@cabingoddess.com for more info. I hope everyone (authors and readers alike) takes time peruse the archives and find out just what other authors have done and enjoy a lot of amazing world builds! Or check out the PINTEREST board with every Fourth-Wall Friday pinned!

FWF-300-BUTTAllow yourself as an author to open up a new avenue of sharing your AUTHOR PERSONA & WORLD BUILD in a unique and creative fashion.. Just take a chance, write fluidly and from within that “place” you hangout at with your muse. Or perhaps walk in the door, tuck into a corner & watch your characters get into trouble before you take a chance and talk to them…

One Comment

  1. Wow, this looks amazing! The banner came out so pretty. 🙂 Thank you so much for having me! I really enjoyed writing this post. Thank you, also, for all of the nice things you said. You made my day!
    Show me some love!

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