I'm up late.

Sunday, July 10, 2011 § 1

I'm writing.  What, you may ask?  A...piece of fiction.  I hate calling it a novel, because that makes it sound like I'm accomplished when I'm not.  I hate calling it a story, because that makes it sound so juvenile.  I choose piece of fiction, and I'm sticking with it.

Anyhoo, for all you late owls out there, I'm going to share a little clip from my 'piece of fiction'.  It's a bit rough and cheesy at the moment, but that's all right.  I plan to revise the crap out of it when it's finished (it's already 34,000 words long!).  So here's a little clip!

     I’d never been to a train station before, but this one looked like anything I’d ever expected.  Long, wooden benches.  Paneled walls with popcorn ceilings and old wooden signs hanging all over the place.  A glass covered ticket booth where three tenders sat, waiting for sales that probably would be long coming.  I ambled past the woman in her mid-40s reading a romance novel, past the old man with the green poker visor on, and approached the last one, and old lady with curly blue hair.  
         “Excuse me,” I began tentatively, “Is there only one train to Memphis?”
         Curly Blue looked up at me with hard eyes.  “Didn’t you just get off the one from there?”
         I fidgeted, moving my light suitcase from one fist to the other.  “Well, yes.  But now I’m thinking that coming here was the wrong idea.  I’d like to go back.”
         “You’re going to throw away a train ticket like that?  A three-hour long trip?” Her glasses slid down her nose a bit since her head was tilted down at me so much. 
         “I’m not wasting it,” I protested, “I had a very nice ride.  Relaxing, even.  But now, I’d like to go home.”  I set my suitcase down on the dusty hardwood, as it was beginning to hurt my hands.  “Please tell me when the next train to Memphis is.”
         She clucked her tongue at me but looked down the train schedule anyway.  “Next train is tomorrow, 8 o’clock A.M.”  My hopeful face fell like an uncooked souffle. 
         “Tomorrow morning?” I buried my face in my hands.  “That won’t do!  I don’t have a place to stay,” I explained, my words muffled by my arms. 
         “I’m afraid that’s not my problem,” Old Blue sighed.  I remained there, moaning sadly into my folded arms and shaking my head with despair that was half real and half milked.   I looked up to see if Old Blue would take the bait, and she looked as I expected: not giving even half of a damn. 
         “Fine, then.  How much is the fare?”
         She looked up at me again and re-checked the schedule.  “$43.50.”
         My expression remained in its exasperated state.  “That’s a little more than I expected.”
         “How’d you expect to get home?”
         I scoffed.  “The dummies at the train station in Memphis gave me a regular ticket instead of round-trip.  Otherwise, I would’ve been comfortably seated by now.”  She didn’t buy my lie. 
         “Get along, honey, I’ve got customers to attend to.” She turned to her computer, and a new game of Spider Solitaire reflected on her glasses.  I rolled my eyes, picked up my suitcase, and headed out into the annoyingly bright sunlight.  My ticket tucked into my back pocket, I looked around the old, hidden town of Vision, Tennessee.  It was much more green than I’d expected, with trees popping out of every patch of green you set your eye on and wildflowers following their lead.  I began along the bumpy paved road, trying to set my sights on motels or boarding houses or even, if I was lucky, a room for rent.  After all, how expensive could one night be?

So its no Dostoyevsky, but it's fun and it's light and it's me.  I've got some work to do, and I'll elaborate on the 'piece of fiction' for anyone who's interested.   

Thanks for sticking around :)

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