Good morning, writers! At the moment, my Camp word-count is at 2,299. I’m so proud that I’ve written this much already, even if most of it isn’t quite what I had in mind. It doesn’t seem like much, having written just over 2K in a week – but for me, that’s fantastic.
Like I said in this post, I’ll be posting my own fictitious, unedited writing throughout the month. (That’s a big deal for me, a writer who doesn’t like to show her work to others.) So today I will be posting my favorite excerpt from my April story, Stranger to Sunshine!
But I won’t keep all the glory to myself – I want to hear what you’ve written, too! Even if you aren’t a NaNo participant this month, it would make my day to read your excerpt in the comments! 🙂
All I ask is that the excerpt is no longer than 800 words, to prevent lag for those of us with slower computers (like me). Obviously, keep it clean as well: no colorful language or inappropriate scenes here!
So without further ado, here is a rough-as-heck, totally unedited excerpt from Stranger to Sunshine. Please note that while this story has no publishing in its future, the concept and writing still belong to me!
Brief synopsis: Imagine a world without sky, without livestock. Where the color green is unknown to most, there is no water, no night and no day. A world in which time is illegal, ages are forbidden.
A world owned by technology.
And she loves it.
“What do you sell, m’lady?”
I looked up, a bit startled. We scarcely received any customers, let alone graying men with armor along their shoulders.
“Tea,” I said, flatly. Isn’t it obvious by the hand-painted teapots in the window? Ro painted them. He’s a lovely artist. A lot of people assume I’m the one behind the brush, but no: I’m just the woman who builds illegal machines.
The man’s face wrinkled with pleasure, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Marvelous. I do love tea.” After a moment of browsing, he said, “What’re you called?”
I blinked. It took me a moment to realize he was, indeed, speaking to me.
“Lula Bythesea-Letterford is my name. And . . . yours?”
He raised a teacup from a shelf in a mock toast. “Call me Stoker. It’s my third name.”
I nodded a little.
Stoker continued to scan the shelves. He chose up a teacup, tapped it once with his gloved fingers. I told him, “Once you choose a teacup, I can get you some tea up here.”
“Ah, I understand now.” Stoker put the cup back in its place. “Could I trouble you, m’lady, for some help? I wish to buy the most beautiful teacup you sell.”
I walked around my counter and moved toward him and the shelves, but not too close – I’d been in this business long enough to know not to get cozy with the customers. I was only here to sell to them, not to be their friends.
Stoker was saying something, but I wasn’t paying attention. I retrieved a delicate teacup from the bottom shelf: it had a slight pink tint, and it was streaked with blue and red watercolors. Its rim was painted shiny gold. Ro painted it while I road on the Missile train for the first time.
“Is this one all right, sir?”
Stoker stared at it blankly. “What color is it?”
“The colors, m’lady?”
“Em – blue, red, and gold.” I turned the teacup over in my hand. I heard the Missile roar a few miles away: Ro was on that train. That meant worktime was almost over. “Do you like it?”
“Do you like it?” said Stoker, eyeing me. Suddenly I realized he was looking a few inches to the left of my face.
“Of course,” I said, beginning to understand. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Perfect.” Stoker held out his hand, and I placed the cup in his palm. He turned it over, running his finger along the rim, the handle, the base. A smile spread over his face.
“Thank you, m’lady. ‘Tis a gift for my daughter – she will be wed soon.” He sighed a little at the teacup, though I was sure he couldn’t actually see it. “Her mother, my wife, she isn’t fond of the spouse . . . I will be the only parent attending the wedding.”
“I’m sorry about that, sir.”
He bobbed his head a little, thoughtfully. “You may come if you wish. My daughter wouldn’t mind. Bring whomever you’d like.”
I’m ashamed to admit, my heart leapt a little. I was never invited to anything. The only wedding I had ever attended was my own. I felt myself swell at his offer.
“I will be there,” I promised.
Now it’s your turn! Share your story below, following our two guidelines: a) keep it shorter than 800 words, and b) keep it totally clean.
I can’t wait to see (or read, rather?) what you’ve come up with! 🙂
[The excerpt posted above is copyrighted WLAB. Any passage in the below comments belongs to that commenter. Any theft of those stories will be noticed and reported! Thanks for your cooperation!]