Drop mail for Marissa here.

What this meme is all about is expanding on that, to better create a personal history that you can then use to better build personal development. To paraphrase Lindsay, "it's not intended to be a way of avoiding/handwaving actual threads but rather a way of kickstarting them and getting a better idea of where our characters stand with each other. ( Read more... )

There were a lot of reasons why waking up that morning should have been strange for Marissa. As if being back in Newport wasn't weird enough, there was the fact that she'd apparently gone back in time -- The bed she woke up in wasn't at Caleb's or tucked into the lovingly-decorated room at her dad's, it was in her old room, the one in the house ( Read more... )

How do you apologize for something you couldn't help? For days Marissa had been pondering that exact question, and while she was no closer to an answer, the prevailing fact remained: She needed to apologize. She hadn't meant to screw up, but she had, big timeIn crisis, she'd been faced with running into the arms of her boyfriend or her ex, and ( Read more... )

Some years back, Marissa had made the decision that she was a good cook. Not would be, but rather instinctively was. She just hadn't had much experience or knowledge to go along with that. At sixteen, her crowning culinary achievement was macaroni and cheese, but that wasn't anything to sniff at: She would have dared anyone to find a better mac ( Read more... )

The day following the Tabula Rasa Day festivities had been spent primarily in bed occupied with a hangover. The day after that, the guilt and mortification began to set in. As drunk as she'd been, Marissa remembered enough of the night to be thoroughly horrified by her behavior. Ray had done the right thing, she supposed (At least the Ryan ( Read more... )

For close to a week, Marissa had been agonizing over this: Was she being a silly teenager? Was she overreacting? Should she just suck it up and deal? Her mother's voice had been pounding in her head, chastising her for being an emotional wimp, for not being good enough in general so that she was in this situation in the first place ( Read more... )

It was pathetic. The knowledge of such had been particularly acute from the first time the impulse had struck Marissa, nearly two months back. It was pathetic and made her feel like the cliche she was certain she was becoming more and more everyday. Poor little rich girl, drinking away her sorrows, seducing the gardener and all the while knowing ( Read more... )