we'll be back later, lovies

the first 200.

see also: I can’t quiet my thoughts enough to be legitimately productive, so here are 200-odd words of unedited shit from the 3 different projects I am currently juggling. I have probably posted at least one of these before, but I am incapable of looking up my posts right now. SORRY.

Back when I was brave enough to query agents, the general advice was that the first 250 words of a story could make or break a project’s chances. 250 was the difference between a request and insta-trash—-it was the space in which an agent could decide whether to reject you or request a little more of the story for consideration.

I haven’t had a project worth querying in … 6? 7? years, but that advice sticks with me, and when I run aground all I can do is count to 250 over and over and over again. It’s as soothing as it is maddening.

These beginnings have a helluva long way to go before they can entice anyone into committing, but for now the only audience I have is me, and all I do is start and start over, again and again and again.

One day I’d like to learn how to write like an adult; this simplistic style I can’t seem to shake gets depressing after a while.

MONOCHROME

Jezebel warned her she wouldn’t like San Francisco’s magic, but this wasn’t the mess Luciana Black had braced for. The so-called Circle of a Thousand Circles boasted some of the strongest wards in the country—it had to, considering how many covens and solitary witches called it home—but its barriers felt as flimsy as spiderweb as they slid over Luciana’s skin.

She tucked her chin into the floppy collar of her turtleneck to hide her grimace. The temptation to hop off at the next station and catch a train back to the airport made her ache all over, but she had to believe this wasn’t the suicide mission it felt like. If Jezebel really wanted Luciana dead she’d have let her die eight years ago and saved them both all this trouble. The thought was not as comforting as Luciana hoped it would be, so she clung to her resolve with everything she had left these days and stared out the window at the dark tunnel walls.

The speakers overhead announced 24^th and Mission as the train slowed to a crawl, and Luciana dug a crumpled wad of paper out of her pocket. Jezebel’s handwriting was little better than chicken scratch, but she could make out enough to know this wasn’t her stop.

ELYSIUM

“Evey, the backyard is on fire.”

I look up from where I’m straddling the tub, nearly startled into slicing a line up my calf, and scowl at my uninvited guest. Casper is perched on the sink like she’s been there all day, legs crossed at the ankles and fingers laced in her lap. She doesn’t look at all apologetic for sneaking up on me but watches as I rinse my razor off in the standing water in my tub. I make another long line through the thick cream on my leg before answering.

“It does that sometimes.”

“Your wolves are upset,” Casper says. I roll my eyes at my leg, because I can’t remember a time my werewolf tenants weren’t mad at me. Casper gives me a moment to respond, then tries again. “They’ve been pacing by your door for an hour now.”

“Bull,” I say, not because I doubt my angry welcome party but because I haven’t been in here that long. Casper lost sense of time when she died, though, and each passing day pulls the concept of it further away from her. She still tries because she’s new enough to being dead that “forever” is terrifying to her, but the fight will go out of her eventually.

NANASHI ((NANO 2016))

Delia thought Guard Valou hadn’t taken a breath since he started this lecture ten minutes ago. She’d mostly tuned him out in favor of tracing patterns on the arm of her chair. The wood was cool beneath her touch, but if she dipped her hand a little too far toward the underside she could feel the jagged cracks spreading through it. Like everything in this temple it was slowly falling apart. Another month or two and maybe the seat would give out beneath her.

“Sha Delia,” Valou said, a little sharply. Delia dragged her attention back to him and watched his mouth twist in displeasure at the blatant apathy on her face. One day she would ask how he always drew the short straw to deal with her transgressions when it was obvious the very sight of her offended him. She wished they would just send Brennald, but Captain Manou could not trust Brennald to be unbiased when it came to her. “Your complete attention is expected. These are serious crimes.”

“Deserving serious repercussions,” Delia allowed. “I suppose you will have to exile me.”

That earned her another fierce twitch. “Are the terms of your current sentence suddenly unclear?”

“What is unclear is why we have had this conversation so many times,” Delia said. “More precisely, why you make us have this conversation so many times. Every time I visit town you are quick to show up on my doorstep to berate me, and every time I give you the same excuses for why I disobeyed the governor’s orders to stay out of town proper. And yet here we are again. Did you even sneeze on the merchant quarters on your way here?”