As you may know, I’ve just moved into my long-term apartment here in Melbourne, Australia. I’m weirdly enjoying having my name on a lease and the commitment that involves –I guess a year of temporary accommodations will do that to a person.
Unfortunately, there was a mix-up with my Internet carrier, and I’ll only have a connection at my new place on March 16th. While I could write on this blog during my lunch time at work (like I’m doing now) or use free WiFi at coffee shops, it’s not a comfortable arrangement so instead, I’ll put this blog on hold until I have Internet at home again.
I’m still writing, just not posting, so I’ll have plenty to share once I’m back online.
In the meantime, I wish you all the best!
New week, new prompt!
Here is how the #DrabbleDay challenge works:
- Write a drabble (100 word story, give or take five words) about the prompt.
- Post a direct link to your drabble in the comments (or, if you don’t have a blog, just go ahead and post your drabble in the comments).
- Please link back to this post and take the time to read and comment of what others wrote!
Today’s theme is: Efficiency!
I’ll post my own drabble for this prompt tomorrow.
Have fun and feel free to suggest prompts for next week!
I’m participating in the Weekend Writing Warrior, a weekly blog event during which writers share 8 sentences of one of their projects. You should check out the others right here: http://www.wewriwa.com/. I share this post with the Snippet Sunday Facebook group, which you can find here.
We’re back with another excerpt of my steampunk novel, Oil and Boiling Water (previous excerpts are compiled here). We’ve skipped ahead a bit to Tatiana’s arrival at the Loose Cogs Tavern.
When thunder roared, I cowered into the tavern, hands clutched in my skirts and heart beating against my corset. Whistling punctuated my entrance, and pride straightened my spine. The damp warmth of the tavern pressed against me, along with the bodies of men. My nose wrinkled against the reek of sweat, alcohol and layers of dirt.
A man with a mouth full of rotten teeth made kissing noises at me. I yelped and pushed away from him, only to bump in another man.
Breathe. I had to breathe and spot my brother.
Comments and critiques are welcomed!
In other news, I’m moving into my long term apartment this week (no more temporary accommodations!), so I may still be oddly delayed in returning comments. Life should stabilize after that. ;)
“Remembering the regulars is hard,” That Guy continued. “And if they’re so regular, why can’t they remember I started two days ago and cut me some slack for not knowing their order?”
I would have to answer him, especially since the espresso machine was next to the till and I had to make his cappuccino. Deep breaths. I could do this. Only two and a half more minutes.
“It was a challenge at first,” I said as I turned and packed some grounds in the portafilter. “But I love my job.”
“Really? How so?” That Guy leaned against the charcoal Formica counter. Resting his elbow on the top, he angled himself toward me, a vintage point to take in my soon-to-return blush —I could feel it building, the traitor.
I shrugged. I didn’t trust my elocution at the moment.
“I mean, I guess a lot of people ‘like’ their jobs, but you said ‘love.’ Why love?”
Because I don’t know the meaning of the word?
“I don’t know. I like my colleagues, the people coming in.” I shrugged and cleared my throat too, packing on the awkwardness like make-up on a drag queen. “Some people we just feed, but some… you know… we smile and take the time to be nice… It makes them happy. And this place always smells great.”
I finished pouring the milk in the espresso and drew a spiked spiral in the crema before adding an extra dollop of foam in the center.
That Guy’s smile widened when I put his cup next to the soup on his tray. “I can see that happening. This makes me happy.” He tapped the side of his cup.
My face warmed up, so I spun and turned his panini to get the crisscross grill marks all over it. While it finished cooking, I dressed a plate with a bit of lettuce and vegetables, a small scoop of carrot salad and ribbon of balsamic vinaigrette. After I cut the hot panini at an angle that matched the grill marks, I laid it in the plate. All nice and harmonious.
“There you go, sir,” I said, all professional-like, as I put the sandwich on the tray. “It’ll be twelve ninety-four, please.”
He shoved his laptop bag behind him to pluck his wallet from his back pocket —ah, to be a wallet…— and handed me fifteen. “Keep the change.”
His tray firm in hand, That Guy headed to the tables lined up against the far wall. This premium place featured access to both electricity and windows onto the streets. You had to get in during the down times to snatch one of those tables, and the only one left for That Guy was in my direct line of sight from the till.
He organized his place so he could have the food on one side and his laptop on the other, which he plugged while I gave Mrs Leewood her usual moccachino, heavy on the chocolate.
That Guy sat down and looked around his tray.
Oh crap! I forgot the utensils.
Next (coming next Wednesday) >>
Lana’s shoulders slumped as she crossed the threshold, the apartment sucking the life out of her.
She shuffled to the window, wrapped her hands around the blinds and pulled. The plastic crackled, the cords strained, and the whole thing clattered to the ground. More of the graying light of a dying day drifted in.
Lana pressed her forehead against the frosted window. “Today wasn’t so bad. No one yelled at me.”
Her broken giggle floated across the room. The fridge buzzed on.
Cold stabbed the front of her brain and froze an idea in place: she needed a new life.
This story was written based on this prompt. Don’t hesitate to post your own!