J.R. Noury

I’m a writer

[jrnoury]

I prefer stories/novels told from _____ point of view.

(First person/Second person/Third person-limited/Third person-omniscient)

I prefer my main protagonist to be ___.

(Male/Female)

Let’s have a discussion about our personal preferences in reading and writing.

[jrnoury]

“A Rose for Emily”—from Homer’s point of view

​The only reason I had been in Jefferson was because of work. I was the director of the northern-based construction company, Barron’s Builds. The company had been contracted to pave sidewalks in the Mississippi town. It was in Jefferson that I had met Emily Grierson.

She was a lady with status, yet she was unmarried. She was the perfect cover for me. She had been perfect to hide my sexual deviancy. If I was seen with her, nobody would have had reason to suspect that I had been laying with my second-in-command, William. Or at least that had been the plan.

My team of men had been sleeping at the same residence. I had the master suite, of course. William had crept quietly out of my room and had stepped on a creaky floorboard on the way to his cot. Fuerte, who had been sleeping on a nearby cot had definitely heard. “Unfair! William gets to sleep on a bed because Barron’s taken a liking to Willy’s willy.” Thankfully he had said it quietly enough that only William had heard it. Later that morning, I had acted casually—I hadn’t avoided William or Fuerte—but I hadn’t exactly gone out of my way to converse with them one-on-one. I had sent my men off to do some more measuring. They were split into groups and I had opted to work independently.

“Hello,” I said, waving to the young, brown-haired woman in the window. I had seen a smile forming on her lips before she disappeared. I went back to measuring the area in front of her house. She appeared at her front door.

“Hello, Sir. May I ask what you are doing at my property?”

“I’m paving sidewalks in Jefferson—and I need to measure the area,” I told her. A confused look fell on her face, prompting me to elaborate. “Sidewalks are paths that serve as a means of travel.”

“I don’t get out very often,” she said.

“How about I take you out on a buggy ride tomorrow afternoon?” I asked her.

“But you don’t even know my name,” she said.

“According to my documentation, this is the Grierson residence,” I said, raising my paperwork up as a means of explanation. “Now I know you. Mrs. Grierson, I am Homer Barron.”

“It’s Miss Grierson, actually. But you can call me Emily.”

“You’re unmarried?” I confirmed. I already kknew this from the paperwork in my hand. “What do you say, Emily? May I take you out on a buggy ride?”

“Yes, you may, Mr. Barron.”

The following day I helped Emily into the buggy. She was wearing a pretty white dress. Her long locks of hair were neatly combed. We engaged in pleasant conversation.

“How is it that a beautiful lady such as yourself is without a husband?”

“Daddy had always scared off my suitors,” she explained.

“But surely he had wanted a man to care for you once he was unable to?”

“No, she said. “Daddy believed that he was the only man good enough for his special little flower. He had been the one who caused me to bleed.”

We had used these Sunday afternoon buggy trips to get to know each other. After that first trip, I realized that I had picked the wrong woman to use as a cover. However, I couldn’t just abandon an unstable woman. She had told me her secret, and eventually I had to tell her mine. A few buggy rides had passed before I mustered up the courage to tell her.

“Emily, I know I should have told you this sooner, but I’m not the marrying type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emily demanded.

“I am attracted to men—not women,” I explained.

“You can’t be!”

Two days had gone by before I went over to Emily’s house. She asked me to move in. I agreed—on the condition that she understood that we were only friends and would not be intimate. On a table I saw a small package with for Rats printed on it.

“You have rats?” I asked.

“No. I haven’t seen any—Tobe must have.”

The next day Emily talked with the minister and I travelled back north for the days that followed. My goal had been to evade the inevitable interrogation I would receive from Emily’s cousins who had come to visit from Alabama.

Eventually, I received word that they had left. When I entered, Emily seemed to be in high spirits.

“Homer, won’t you just take me? I want to be united with a man like that again.”

“I have told you countless times that I simply cannot do that. If you continue to ask, I will have to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily said. “Please stay for a drink.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “But we’re not going to sleep together—not over my dead body.”

“You have made that abundantly clear, Mr. Barron.”

That should have been a red flag—but it didn’t occur to me until it was too late. By that point, I had already swallowed and Emily Grierson had finally gotten her wish.

[yaliteraturebookshelf]

I need this!!

[jrnoury]

Lmao

[jrnoury]

This is the first chapter of my debut novel, “Crimson Lust.” The Novel is a paranormal romance. It deals with vampires, ghosts, witches, and even zombies. Some adult content. Recommended for older teens and up

[thewritewire]

[jrnoury]

My First Short Story

He couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of her mouth.  She had assured him that they were true.  He had only been worried because he hadn’t wanted them to see him differently.  

Mrs. Smith wasn’t actually as okay with her son being gay as he had hoped she would be.  James had come to realize that approximately two seconds later.  After knowing he’d been gay for years, he had finally found the courage to share that part of himself with his parents. 

Sure, he’d figured that they’d be shocked at first.  However, his worst fears had become a reality.  His parents hadn’t come around.  Nor could they be persuaded.  Unfortunately, James hadn’t even considered the idea of a backup plan.  He couldn’t fathom a world in which his parents rejected him simply because of who he loved.  

When his own mother had ordered him to get out of her house, reality hit him.  It hit him hard.  James realized that he had nothing.  When he left, he didn’t take his cell phone or his computer.  There was no point.  His parents would deactivate his phone anyway.  They wouldn’t “support a homo.”  His laptop wouldn’t get him far without a Wi-Fi connection.  Also, it was pretty big to lug around.  That’s why James had left without taking anything but the clothes on his back.

Once outside, James began walking down the street.  He hadn’t known where he was headed, although it seemed inevitable.  After walking for the better part of an hour, James had stopped.  He looked up at the homeless shelter—his new home.  

@writersontumbl-r