In love with this character. Still don’t know what to do with her, though.
I made a deal with my PSO that if she drew me a picture, I would write her a short fiction piece about it this weekend, no matter what the picture was. When we got together on Friday, she handed me this post-it note.
Realizing I’d been duped into writing a Homestuck fanfic, I sat down and wrote the following passage:
((story below the cut))
Slowly moving all my microfictions, writing projects, and dialog sketches over the The Land of Maps and Rags.
If you feel the desire to keep up with my writing, that’s the blog to follow! I might occasionally cross-post things, but actual content tends to get swallowed up by my flood of reblog spam, yeh? :-P
Another dialogue and setting sketch. I need the practice. I’m especially feeling it after my two micro-fanfic projects (Harry/Minerva and Dave/Smuppet) from earlier today.
I’ve come a long way, and I still have a long road ahead of me. Here’s a setting/dialogue sketch I did a year ago.
“Have a little faith,” Scott consoled, “there’s more to this world than meets the eye, after all.”
“Good,” snapped Rose, “because I’m not wearing my glasses, and this room is ugly.”
Chayla took one last drag on the nubby Parliament clenched between her lips, then dismembered it in the cheap ashtray (stolen from the Waffle House before it closed), looked at it gloomily for a moment, then flicked it out the open window. Her kid cousin was coming by later that afternoon, and Chayla wasn’t thrilling at the idea of a reunion.
… … …
The girl, though, had come from a slightly saner side of the family. She read books and didn’t talk much. Didn’t seem interested in cars or sports. She had probably been in girl scouts. She probably went to church on more than just Easter, and didn’t feel like a guilt-ridden whore afterward. She probably volunteered at the local retirement home on Saturday mornings, and did her homework on time, and got straight A’s (except maybe in gym class). She probably played clarinet or flute in marching band. She probably knew how to make a fucking diorama.
Actually, that’s why she was coming by. Not the diorama, but because she was touring Trinity, the little private college on the other side of town. Chayla had never looked into it, but she suspected they had a literature program. She sneered a little, and reached for the cigarette pack again. Damn, empty. She fidgeted with the carton, tearing it into little pieces.
cross-posted from my writing blog - part of an ongoing series of written character sketches.