I hate Wednesdays.

Wednesdays are the bane of my existance.

They are my least productive days.

Weekly obligations, wanting to better myself, make sure I’m mentally healthy…

These things sometimes get in the way of writing. 


I did write. A little. Roughly 1000 words, none of it for Surrender the Night, all of it for a piece I intend to submit for a magazine. Enjoy getting to know Savin a little better…

“The key is to be as relaxed as possible,” a male voice said loudly. Mari looked over her shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing together as she watched her fellow first year med students gather around another table. The voice sounded familiar, though she couldn’t exactly place where she had heard it before. “Your hand is only as steady as your mind — if your mind’s not steady, well…”

“Bates, you’re so full of it — you seriously believe that mind-over-matter bullshit?”

A quiet chuckle could be heard, even from Mari’s seat halfway across the room. Sighing, Mari closed her textbook and walked over to the rest of the forming crowd, her arms crossed over her chest. “Look, I firmly believe that we can perform surgery the old fashioned way — you just gotta have steady enough hands to do it.”

“So you want to be just like your father, then?” another voice asked, sounding skeptical.

“My father doesn’t even do all of his surgeries by hand — says that the robotics are just as important as the steady fingers.” Mari heard a derisive snort as she neared the edge of the crowd. “No, if I wanted to be just like him, I wouldn’t even be bothering with these dexterity exercises. I’d just let the robotics do the work when my hands got tired.”

Why was that voice so familiar? Mari’s frown deepened as she pushed her way through to see a fellow classmate sitting at a desk. He had a coin on the back of his hand, rolling it along his knuckles with a speed she hadn’t seen anyone do before. But that — that was only a momentary distraction for when those green eyes peeked over the edge of thick, black-framed glasses.

“How do you know you’re even gonna be a surgeon, anyway, Bates? There’re so many different fucking fields of medicine to choose from.”

Bates — the way too young boy Mari had met once, months ago — turned to the voice, catching the coin with his pinky as it slid over the side of his hand. A sly grin made its way across his face. “Because I like knives,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.