The exercise:
Slightly more awake tonight, so let's write about: the celebration.
Spent most of the day working on our deck with Kat's dad. Progress was finally noticeable late in the afternoon, giving me hope for the rest of the project.
Getting that thing level is a major, major pain.
Mine:
Emily moved through the crowded house, sharing wide smiles with every person she bumped into. The music was too loud for actual conversation, but that was fine by her. She'd never been any good at small talk.
The kitchen was stuffed full of people snacking on the spread on the counters and table, but she still managed to make her way to the fridge without resorting to yelling Fire! at the top of her lungs (though she was sorely tempted at least twice). Once there she secured two ice cold bottles of beer and made her escape to the back deck.
Things were much quieter out there, just a few smokers braving the chill to feed their addictions. Emily kept moving, using the shadows and grey cigarette haze for cover. Without a backward glance she was out the gate and striding down the alley, opening a bottle as she went.
5 comments:
I know it feels like a pain now, but it's much less of a pain than if you've got a deck that's sloping in one (or more!) directions :) It's worth it, really.
For the salesman prompt, I actually had in mind a car with too-many doors (say, twelve) but couldn't squeeze it in in the four lines.
I like your character today (and the appearance of a deck!) and her chutzpah. She feels like she a story to share as well – you're writing a lot more pieces like this that feel like they're leading up to something! Any plans in the pipeline...?
The Celebration
Celebration celleb – ra – shun
n. A portmanteau of celebrity and ration meaning 'that portion which is given to someone with more fame than sense'. Not to be confused with cerebration which is rarely seen around celebrities, or their Z-list counterparts, sublebrities.
In years gone by the celebration was the amount of fame that a person could expect from an act, performance, or execution of a work, and in modern times the government system seems as keen to extend celebration as much as copyright duration, leading to near permanent celebrities who seem to be famous only for being famous.
Dictionaries don't get jealous, don't be silly.
@Marc - Intriguing. Makes me wonder why she needs the free beer. :}
@Greg - ahhh the definition post! Amusing as awlways. I think you might be on to a conspiricy! *giggles*
And mine:
The Celebration
There is a celebration in Vervell, held every year upon the Autumnal Equinox. Each city, town and village holds its own festival of the harvest, but in Verdas, the capitol city, no expense is spared. The festivities begin nearly a week in advance as people from all over the country begin to flock to its walls. Those with contacts inside are lucky for a place to stay, while others flood the nearby fields with undulating canvas.
This is their celebration for the fruits of their labors, the gift of plenty bestowed upon them by the Gods.
This is their celebration of the foundation of their kingdom.
It is the celebration of the fact that even the lowest of men can be raised up by the Gods to become the greatest of them all.
It is the Harvest Festival and from all parts of Vervell people have flocked to Verdas to participate in the Pauper Turned King Reenactment, where everyone has a role to play, and but a chosen few to lead the way...
Speaking of that celebration, I have some interest in the piece I wrote about it. Marc, expect an e-mail from me inquiring about your editing services sometime soon. :}
Chris joined Emily at the corner, swinging along with her as she turned onto Oak Street. She passed him the second bottle without a glance. She knew who he was, knew his hand would be there to receive it as sure as hers would be there to give it.
They clinked bottles as they strode along. "To another successful raid," Chris said.
They swung up the steps to their building, and dove to opposite sides of the steps as they each realized something was terribly wrong. Chris rolled right, Emily rolled left, and they crept through the side yards to the back alley, where they rose to their feet and ran like hell. They wouldn't be getting home tonight, after all.
Tired from a weeks worth of celebrations Krys crawled into bed and lay her head upon the pillow secretly hoping that the dawn would bring with it a return to normalcy.
The strain of trying to be everything and everywhere her family needed her to be was taking it's toll.
The list of her engagements read like a court docket. Wednesday 4:00 Graduation. Wednesday 7:00 Host After Party. Saturday 1:00 First Holy Communion. Saturday 3:00 After Party. Sunday 2:00 Host Family Barbeque. Monday 6:00Grandmothers 85th birthday party.
Any deviation would bring with it a number of punative measures.
The stress of it all made her stomache turn and although she tried by Monday morning she was out of steam. Exhaustion took over and there was no help for it. The party came and went and the seat remained vacant. Now all that is left to do is wait for the inevitable .... to hit the fan.
Greg - I agree completely. Still a pain though :P
Nothing in the pipeline. I think it's just the part of me wanting to write something longer trying to escape its farming prison before it's scheduled winter release...
Ah, I do love your definition responses. Great final line in this one :D
Cathryn - I'd love to help out with that if I'm able to! I look forward to hearing from you :)
Morganna - really enjoyed where you went with that. That ending strongly suggests that there's more to these two than I might have expected!
Krystin - I can relate to that one; sometimes the engine just runs out of steam and you've got to stop and take care of yourself.
Post a Comment