So how does it all work?
We've discovered hundreds of big insights and little truths in our quest to become great writers. Every day we're going to dole out a lesson we've learned.
We'll talk about how Hemingway strove to write in the style of the French impressionist Cezanne painted. Or how Malcolm Gladwell plays dumb in order to put himself in the reader's shoes. Or how mystery writers like Agatha Christie introduce puzzle elements to lead the reader on like Hansel and Gretel. (By the way, have you ever noticed that people who love mystery novels are obsessive about their crossword puzzles?) Or how Annie Dillard describes scenes in terse detail to make you feel like you're right there with her.
And if you have a secret tip, send us an email to share it with the Write Practice community. In the words of the Russian author Isaac Babel (who was martyred by Stalin), we “must know everything!”
PRACTICE
After the example, we'll have a prompt to practice what we learned. We'll set you loose for fifteen minutes and let you get your practice on!
Today we're going to start simply.
It's a modern Romeo and Juliet story: two star-crossed lovers from feuding Manhattanite families. For the next fifteen minutes, describe their first meeting.
But that's not the end. Here's where it gets really interesting. “Deliberate practice” requires feedback from others. In our blog community we have people who want to help you become great.
So lastly, post your practice as a comment so that other writers can give you feedback.
And make sure to give other writers feedback. We're on this quest together!
Here’s my practice:
It wasn’t her figure. She had a nice body, sure. Long and smooth in her platinum dress.
It wasn’t her hair either. Gold with streaks of auburn. She walked along the rail lightly touching it and I, the mask covering my face, watching her as she looked up her eyes alight with the city and then almost a giggle twirling so her dress flared out like a blooming flower. There were dozens of people on the balcony but she was alone and unnoticing. She was so young. But it wasn’t her youth either.
And then she, mid twirl, saw me. I couldn’t look away. Our eyes, hers golden brown like the color of wheat in the fall sun just before the men go out to bring it in–yes I saw them do it once when I was young and my parents sent us to the farm for a month while they fled city society for Paris, Italy, wherever they went on their own–and mine opened wide to take them in and store them in my soul for all time. Yes her eyes! The harvest of them, I could live on them for years, for a lifetime.
She stopped twirling, her dress bouncing around her knees shimmering in the rooftop lights, and stopped giggling, stopped altogether as if something had frozen her, frozen the two of us in the middle of some holy dance. I took a step toward her, unwilling, reflexively, it was nothing I could help. I wasn’t even aware I was moving except that she was growing closer, fuller, like moon grows as it nears the horizon. She didn’t blink she was so stunned.
[Okay, I probably exceeded the 15 minute limit; and by probably I mean “sure did.”]
“I’m over it,” Drew said after the 13th time. He was ready to shed his gloves, wet and cold from breaking his falls on the rink. The hot chocolate — like everything else at Wollman Rink — was overpriced but he didn’t care. He didn’t mind sinking an extra dollar to drown his bruised pride and warm his hands.
Besides, this was Chase’s idea and it was all going on his tab. His dad’s, anyway.
Drew psyched himself for one more lap around the rink. His last fall semester at Fieldston was almost done. His mom had called after school to tell him that he got mail from the Rhode Island School of Design — the envelope was fat, she said.
He circled at a quicker pace and didn’t trip. Confident, he took of his gloves as he approached for the exit when he caught sight of her.
What’s she doing here? he wondered. She’s supposed to be in France on that exchange program. He stole a second glance.
Nope, not her after all.
He missed the exit but he was too tired to do another lap. He gingerly made a u-turn, trying not to let his arms flail about too wildly. His eyes were fixed so much on his skates and his mind was too distracted by the memory of her he didn’t realize that he was skating against the grain.
Ana Sofia could hardly wait to take to the ice. She glided gracefully across the ice, flung her arms wide as she inhaled deeply of the December air. The acceptance letter from CalTech was tucked safely in her blazer pocket.
She couldn’t believe it; everything was going according to plan. “I’ll miss Sacred Heart,” she whispered to herself.
Then she felt a hand brush hers. Then this hand grasped her forearm and brought her out of her zen-like euphoria and onto the ice.
She gave Drew the stink eye as he stared out at the rink, which was emptying. His last shred of dignity left along with the crowd to make way for the Zamboni.
She rose, brushed off the shaved ice and reached down, offering her hand. His gazed moved to her face; he caught himself as her look softened.
“Thanks,” he mumbled while trying to compose himself. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. She couldn’t help but smile a little. “I broke your fall; are you okay?”
Sara,
I can’t believe how awesome this is. I think you have the beginnings of a novel here. One thing to be careful about, when you’re writing in 3rd person try not to head hop. Head-hopping is when you change perspectives mid scene. You want to stay with one character per scene. This is very fun though. I want to know more!
ooooh, thanks for the feedback — didn’t even know i was a) head-hopping b) that there was a name for that.
really, a full-fledged novel? interesting…
i’m so encouraged! thanks.
🙂 Happy to help.
And yes, I think you definitely could base a novel around that. It’s a pretty timeless theme, and I think you could pull it off.
The air was crisp and full of the smell of Ray’s Pizza Parlor down the street. Romeo, a rather tall boy sixteen years of age, was on his way to Ray’s to meet up with some friends. As he walked down 27th street he took note at the relative quietness of the area. Sure, there was noise, but for Manhattan this was nothing. He pondered this slight oddity when the silence was shattered by a sudden sound from the alley.
FWUMP! CRASH!
“- The hell?” Romeo thought when he heard the crash. He looked around the corner of the alley. Except for a few trashcans, a dumpster, and a bunch of boxes; there wasn’t anything around that would cause that kind of commotion.
He turned around to return to his destination when he heard something rustle in the dumpster. Rome ignored the rustling at first and began to continue on his walk, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he entered the alley to investigate the mysterious sound.
“It’s probably just a cat,” he thought as he looked into the dumpster. It wasn’t a cat, however, but rather a girl. She was of medium build with light brown hair that went just past her shoulders. Despite being covered in garbage, Romeo still thought she was rather attractive.
“Well, that could’ve gone a bit smoother,” the girl remarked to herself as she picked a banana peel off of her head.
“What could’ve gone smoother?” Romeo asked innocently, curious about why she was in a dumpster.
The girl, surprised, turned and quickly asked, “Who’re you? Where’d you come from?”
“I was just passing by,” Romeo explained, “when I heard something crash into the dumpster. I’m assuming that was you?”
“Yeah,” Romeo helped the girl out of the dumpster. “I needed a way to escape from my home. I couldn’t leave through the front without getting stopped, so I looked out my window and saw this dumpster and I thought, ‘I’m only on the second floor. How bad could this be?’ So I jumped, and well, here we are. Thanks for helping me out of there, but I’ve gotta run before my family comes to investigate the noise.”
The girl started running down the alley when Romeo yelled, “Wait, I didn’t get your name!”
“Juliet.”
Ha! I love it. What an interesting re-envisioning: Romeo falls for Juliet not at a swanky party but in the dump. I want to see where this is going.
I like the interjections here: FWUMP! CRASH!
This is my favorite line:
“Well, that could’ve gone a bit smoother,” the girl remarked to herself as she picked a banana peel off of her head.
Mostly the image of Romeo’s one true love, comparable to the sun, picking trash out of her hair. Very funny.
The air was crisp and full of the smell of Ray’s Pizza Parlor down the street. Romeo, a rather tall boy sixteen years of age, was on his way to Ray’s to meet up with some friends. As he walked down 27th street he took note at the relative quietness of the area. Sure, there was noise, but for Manhattan this was nothing. He pondered this slight oddity when the silence was shattered by a sudden sound from the alley.
FWUMP! CRASH!
“- The hell?” Romeo thought when he heard the crash. He looked around the corner of the alley. Except for a few trashcans, a dumpster, and a bunch of boxes; there wasn’t anything around that would cause that kind of commotion.
He turned around to return to his destination when he heard something rustle in the dumpster. Rome ignored the rustling at first and began to continue on his walk, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he entered the alley to investigate the mysterious sound.
“It’s probably just a cat,” he thought as he looked into the dumpster. It wasn’t a cat, however, but rather a girl. She was of medium build with light brown hair that went just past her shoulders. Despite being covered in garbage, Romeo still thought she was rather attractive.
“Well, that could’ve gone a bit smoother,” the girl remarked to herself as she picked a banana peel off of her head.
“What could’ve gone smoother?” Romeo asked innocently, curious about why she was in a dumpster.
The girl, surprised, turned and quickly asked, “Who’re you? Where’d you come from?”
“I was just passing by,” Romeo explained, “when I heard something crash into the dumpster. I’m assuming that was you?”
“Yeah,” Romeo helped the girl out of the dumpster. “I needed a way to escape from my home. I couldn’t leave through the front without getting stopped, so I looked out my window and saw this dumpster and I thought, ‘I’m only on the second floor. How bad could this be?’ So I jumped, and well, here we are. Thanks for helping me out of there, but I’ve gotta run before my family comes to investigate the noise.”
The girl started running down the alley when Romeo yelled, “Wait, I didn’t get your name!”
“Juliet.”
Ha! I love it. What an interesting re-envisioning: Romeo falls for Juliet not at a swanky party but in the dump. I want to see where this is going.
I like the interjections here: FWUMP! CRASH!
This is my favorite line:
“Well, that could’ve gone a bit smoother,” the girl remarked to herself as she picked a banana peel off of her head.
Mostly the image of Romeo’s one true love, comparable to the sun, picking trash out of her hair. Very funny.
[just discovered this blog… hope you have the time to see and comment on such an old post…]
Carl’s head hurt. Last night’s party ended at around 3 a.m. and today he was seriously late for work. His “job” was actually bringing coffee and snacks for snobs and sycophants but it paid the bills.He sat in the cab, feverishly praying to the Gods to clear up the traffic as he nervously tapped his shoes on the cab floor. He looked straight ahead at the millions of cars in front of his own. The car behind him blew a loud bombastic horn.BOOM!!He squinted and jerked his neck to the left. In the car besides his own sat the most beautiful woman he’d ever set his eyes on. His eyes involuntarily widened and he kept staring at her. As if in accordance with some universal plan, she looked in Carl’s direction.She squinted her hazel eyes to look at his ogling face and a slight smile stretched across her visage.They held each others gaze until the blaring horns of the cars behind her couldn’t be bared any longer. She accelerated and started moving ahead, slowly getting lost in the sea of cars. Carl quickly shifted his gaze and noted the license plate number of her vehicle, vowing to track it down because a gap in his heart, that was up until now empty, was reserved for her now and had been filled by the image of her angelic face.
[just discovered this blog… hope you have the time to see and comment on such an old post…]
Carl’s head hurt. Last night’s party ended at around 3 a.m. and today he was seriously late for work. His “job” was actually bringing coffee and snacks for snobs and sycophants but it paid the bills.He sat in the cab, feverishly praying to the Gods to clear up the traffic as he nervously tapped his shoes on the cab floor. He looked straight ahead at the millions of cars in front of his own. The car behind him blew a loud bombastic horn.BOOM!!He squinted and jerked his neck to the left. In the car besides his own sat the most beautiful woman he’d ever set his eyes on. His eyes involuntarily widened and he kept staring at her. As if in accordance with some universal plan, she looked in Carl’s direction.She squinted her hazel eyes to look at his ogling face and a slight smile stretched across her visage.They held each others gaze until the blaring horns of the cars behind her couldn’t be bared any longer. She accelerated and started moving ahead, slowly getting lost in the sea of cars. Carl quickly shifted his gaze and noted the license plate number of her vehicle, vowing to track it down because a gap in his heart, that was up until now empty, was reserved for her now and had been filled by the image of her angelic face.
Let’s see how this goes, haven’t written anything in years 🙂
It only took a glimpse of a second for her to vanish and another three seconds for Romeo to jump of the tram. He looked lost; he gazed around the street, trying to catch another glimpse of the girl he had just seen from the bus. But the busy streets of Manhattan had swallowed her full.
He felt down as he walked towards his favorite fruit market and that’s when the car crashed in to him. Romeo had been stricken down by a black sports car. The driver emerged and cursed, “Boy you should watch where you’re walking.”
But Romeo didn’t hear the man nor did he acknowledge the pain. The only thing he acknowledged was the sight of that beautiful blond angel that was looking down at him. “Are you alright sir, she asked?”
I’m a-a-alright he stuttered as he got up on his two feet. The girl helped him to a nearby fruit stand and sat him down on a tiny wooden bench.
“Are you sure you are alright? I kind of need to get back to work.” I’m fine, Romeo answered as he kept his gaze on the girl’s eyes. As she left the boy, she couldn’t but wonder if he was really okay. It had seemed that he was in another world, a world far away from the one she was in. Away from the one she loved as she had just bought a fruit stand. Even if it was the tiniest one of the whole market it didn’t matter, as it was hers.
She was proud of her achievement, she was proud of the little stand that had Juliet’s Organic Harvest written on it in all different colors.
Let’s see how this goes, haven’t written anything in years 🙂
It only took a glimpse of a second for her to vanish and another three seconds for Romeo to jump of the tram. He looked lost; he gazed around the street, trying to catch another glimpse of the girl he had just seen from the bus. But the busy streets of Manhattan had swallowed her full.
He felt down as he walked towards his favorite fruit market and that’s when the car crashed in to him. Romeo had been stricken down by a black sports car. The driver emerged and cursed, “Boy you should watch where you’re walking.”
But Romeo didn’t hear the man nor did he acknowledge the pain. The only thing he acknowledged was the sight of that beautiful blond angel that was looking down at him. “Are you alright sir, she asked?”
I’m a-a-alright he stuttered as he got up on his two feet. The girl helped him to a nearby fruit stand and sat him down on a tiny wooden bench.
“Are you sure you are alright? I kind of need to get back to work.” I’m fine, Romeo answered as he kept his gaze on the girl’s eyes. As she left the boy, she couldn’t but wonder if he was really okay. It had seemed that he was in another world, a world far away from the one she was in. Away from the one she loved as she had just bought a fruit stand. Even if it was the tiniest one of the whole market it didn’t matter, as it was hers.
She was proud of her achievement, she was proud of the little stand that had Juliet’s Organic Harvest written on it in all different colors.
We all have to start somewhere, I suppose. Here goes nothing.
The grass is always greener on their side. That’s precisely what Romeo’s father tells him. Day after day, he rants and raves about the Fiocchi’s oh-so-perfect family.
So what if our family argues? What if the son in our family is a good-for-nothing bum?
He says that often enough. His ability to insult multiple people at once is remarkable.
Although, Romeo can’t really blame him for saying that. He is a bum, and he’s a carefree one at that.
Tonight, however, is a particularly loud night, you would think that by now, Romeo’s father would understand that his son is never going to amount to anything, but, of course, he does not.
To top it all of, his mother chose to add her high pitched moans into the one-sided conversation.
Deciding he had enough belittlement for one night, Romeo marched out of the front door, walked straight through their lawn, and kicked the trash-can outside for good measure.
“Ach! shit!” gasped the girl behind the can.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I was just..”
“Just prying?” finished Romeo for the Fiocchi girl.
She flustered, crossed her arms, and murmured “I was just curious”.
Curious of what? Of a loud household? Romeo supposed that to these people, his family was nothing but an animal that could be observed at a safe distance.
“It’s not like that with my family, you know” she said.
“Of course, yours is perfect! Isn’t it?” the sarcasm almost venomous.
“No… Mine isn’t real. Mine is just a series of smiles for the neighbors. My mother figures that if we pretend to be perfect for long enough, we will actually become perfect. I suppose it’s not hard to believe such a thing when you spend all your nights chugging gin.”
He knows he should feel amused by what she said, not to mention skeptical. Instead, he felt sympathetic.
Just another poor soul, tormented by their parent’s polluted world views.
“Juliette, by the way” she said, “Romeo. Where to?” he replied.
(So sorry to be posting so late, I just found this blog yesterday. I hope nobody minds the twist I put into this.)
There he sat; oblivious to all which surrounded him, his gaze fixed in a heavy book, his eyes uncaring of any other passing pairs.
Al looked at him, and felt the most astonishing jolt of feeling. The arousal from looking at the boy’s long, thin legs. The awe-inspiring beauty of the boy’s golden hair, his marble face, as if carved from stone, and of his pose, which reminded Al of pictures posted over the walls of the Met and the MoMA. The dizzying horror, and insecurity, of looking at the beautiful sitting boy clad in his flawless shirt and tie stitched with the emblem of the city’s most expensive private school.
Al was always taught, by his father, that such boys, such families, were not to be trusted; they were the shit of the town, Dad had said, they sat on high in their penthouses and tree-enclosed hotel suites and spat on us. “Have you any idea of the school fees they pay up at St. John’s, how that kind of money’d pay us rent for the rest of our lives?” Dad had then curled his upper lip, and talked about the sons those families would send to school, carrying hundreds of dollars in their wallets and in their perfectly ironed shirts. “Faggots, the whole bunch of them.”
He never knew what made Dad hate those people like that. He thought it had something to do with how his whole family now lived in their home; a dirty little building near the edge of Manhattan. Dad always spoke of rich, pale, blond boys with spittle in his lips and scorn etched on his face. But it was Dad, and Al always took what Dad said for granted.
Except for now. Because the sitting boy had risen from his bench, and his eyes met Al’s, and he raised an eyebrow, and walked away. And all that time Dad’s word just kept replaying over and over again in Al’s head: “Faggots, faggots, faggots.”
Warning: this’ll take a few minutes…
Tonight was the night. THE night. The eighth grade dance was here and now. While the girls were squealing about dancing and snacks and boys and magic and BOYS, I was trying not to pee my pants.
I was a normal kid. For the most part, I mean. Dysfunctional family in Manhattan, didn’t travel, had one good friend. Just your average Joe- unless you decided to look into my love life. Not only didn’t I have one, but all I’m saying is, hey, not all 14 year old guys have 10 serious crushes a month. Girls… well, stupid as it was, made me nervous, impatient, and I felt so, so stupid around them. Like, I-Can’t-Add stupid. And, most people my age had a nice, healthy swearing habit. Not me. Nope. I couldn’t even say “hell” without feeling guilty. My life was a sweaty, euphemism filled, awkward one.
On top of it all, like I said, tonight was the eighth grade dance.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
Hey, it could be worse. I could’ve been one of the REAL weirdos. I sipped my lemonade, trying to look casually at the guy across the gym. I could’ve been a loudmouth, like Rey. The kid talked to people even when they weren’t listening! And if no one was there, then he’d talk to himself. Or, you know, I could be the school pervert, Touchy Trev, I think his name was. Yeah. I was good compared to them.
Great. You’re an idiot, you have extreme anxiety, and now you’re a douche. Nice going, Mace. I huffed, closing my eyes and clenching my jaw. I shook my head, not believing how much of a disgrace I was. Stupid, stupid, stup-
“Hey, bud,” Jensen said, walking over with his girlfriend, Lisa Schlaf, on his arm. “Y’alright?”
“Y-yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” I said, forcing a smile.
He turned to Lisa and asked in his lovey, star struck way, “Babe, could you excuse us for a second?”
“Sure, hon,” she answered, kissing him on the cheek before walking over to her girlfriends. I shoved down jealousy and took another drink of this lemonade. It was great. Excellent, actually.
“So,” he prompted, rubbing his Hans together. “How’s it going?” He raised his eyebrows excitedly.
In the process, his bulky glasses slid down his nose. “Glasses, Jensen,” I reminded him. He pushed the plastic up his nose as I answered, “The lemonade is divine.”
“Yeah, I know. Hey,” he prompted casually. “There’s Selena.”
Oh, no.
“Mace,” he continued, sounding almost genuinely curious. “You know what’s funny? I actually got a couple things. First off, you just happen to be facing the exact opposite of Selena. You know, first love, beautiful, sweet, friend of yours, any of this ringing a bell?”
My face flushed. “We’re not friends,” I said, trying to hide the bitterness in my tone. We were just acquaintances. And he was just saying all that about her for my benefit. I knew he hated her for an unknown reason that he swore never to talk about.
“So you DO know who I’m talking about,” he grinned. Then his grin hardened, it seemed. “And my second funny thing, and this, this is REALLY great. She’s moving. Back to Mexico. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, dude!” he said, and the smile fell off of his face.
“So, your point is?” I asked, mad now.
“My POINT is that you’ve been in love with her since the minute you looked at her three years ago. My point is that you’ve had crushes on other girls simultaneously ever since, trying to get her out of your head, but it never works. My point is that tonight is your last chance to make a move. Ask her-”
“No, no NO, alright? I can’t. What difference does it make if I ask her to dance or not? She’ll only move tomorrow. That’s it. It’s too late. I- I’m out of here,” I hissed, trying to walk out.
“Oh, no, you’re not,” Jensen said, clamping his hand onto my shoulder.
“Jensen, seriously. Leave me alone,” I warned.
“Or what? You’ll fight me?” He laughed harshly. “Do you even know what a roundhouse kick is?”
“Listen. I just. Want. More. Lemonade. Can I get more lemonade, MOM?” I growled at him. Truth was: no. No I didn’t.
“I’m sorry, bro. I’m not letting you go anywhere until you ask her to dance. Neither is anyone else,” he said with finality, nodding at some other guys on his basketball team. They stood by the doors with their arms folded.
“You’re not seriously putting guards up,” I asked. Could this night get any worse?!
Jensen only nodded. “I really am sorry, Mace. This is for your own good. I’m doing this because I’m worried about you, alright?”
I laughed coldly. “You? Worried? About me?” I asked. He was the cool, casual, laid back type of person.
I regretted saying that when I saw actual concern in his eyes.”Yeah, me, worried, about you,” he said. “Now. Go ask her to dance. Now.”
“But I thought you hated her,” I said, helpless. My heart started to flop around.
“Yup. But who gives half a crap? Go. Or I’m gonna punch you,” he said. And he shoved me, going over to Lisa again.
My stomach made its way up to my throat as somehow, I started walking to her. A slow song came on. Dang. I coughed. Was it possible for a boy my age to be this nervous? I looked over to her, and I had to smile. She was beautiful. I fell in love with her all over again every time I looked at her. A group of people she was talking to laughed. And funny. She could light up an entire room. And her name. Selena. It sounded perfect on her, the way she cocked her head when someone called her name…
How would she ever talk to me? I was a nervous guy with a stammer who obsessed over Attack on Titan and Minecraft. I was made fun of a lot, to my dismay, my mom still packed me “healthy lunches,” and I, well, wasn’t the prettiest, to put it gently.
I turned back to Jensen, glaring at him from where he was watching me. I pretended I was drinking something, and mouthed, “LEMONADE.”
He nodded and smiled.
I held up two fingers. This wasn’t worth just one.
He smiled wider, enjoying my torture, and left to get them.
I took a deep breath. She was right there. A few feet away. I had to do this. I had to. I opened my mouth.
“Um,” I said loudly. Dummy. All of her friends and Selena looked at me.
“I, uh, hey, I was just, um.” This was not going well. “Ah, stupid,” I mumbled before continuing. “Heh, I just wanted to know, if, you’d, um, just dance. With me.” Well, at least that was out of my system.
Selena looked at me, smiled, and said, “Oh, Mason, I’m… I’m sorry, but, no. I’m really sorry, my friend, but I don’t like you that way.”
My entire body started to hurt as I prepared to say, No, that’s fine, and walk away with my heart broken. I opened my mouth again, hoping not to say something embarrassing- AGAIN- when a small girl stepped out of the crowd.
“Sorry, Sel, he was asking me. Weren’t you, Mace?” she asked. I recognized her- but I couldn’t put a name to her face. She raised her eyebrows, as if she were silently saying, “Idiot, let me save your skin!”
“Uh, no, yeah!” I nodded, and smiled. “Sorry, Selena. Good luck tomorrow.”
She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. I heard it was custom where she was from, but my heart still fluttered. “Adiós, Mason,” she said, and the girl lead me away.
We made our way to the middle of the gym, and she oh her arms around my neck.
I felt pretty numb, meanwhile, and had absolutely no idea what was going on. Selena said no. Selena kissed me. I was dancing with a girl. I was dancing with a girl who wasn’t Selena. “Mace? Mason?” she asked.
Dang it. “Oh, uh, hi,” I said.
She giggled. “Hi,” she said. “Aren’t we going to dance?”
“Aren’t we dancing now?” I said, still very confused.
“Silly, you’re forgetting something,” she laughed, a sound like bells, and then I realized I forgot to put my arms around her middle.
“Oh, yeah, right, sorry,” I stammered. She giggled again. She was short, but she was pretty. Her hair was chin length and a dirty blond. She had blue eyes with flecks of gold, and her skin was tan. Her dress was coral with white lace in the middle.
“Mason? Move your feet!” she said. I didn’t know I was standing still! My face flushed again, but she laughed, and it was, I don’t know, kind of cute.
“No, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to… You’re funny, you know that?” she said, and hugged me, her head on my chest.
I looked over to Jensen.
He gave me a thumbs up.
The slow song ended, and she pulled away, keeping her hands on the back of my neck. “That was fun,” she said, a faster song starting. “But upbeat songs are my style. Wanna dance again?”
And I don’t know what it was- her confidence, her kindness, I don’t know- but I smiled and said, “Yeah, sure! But uh, hey… What’s your name?”
“My name? Alexis Mower. Nice to meet you,” she grinned, and I swallowed hard. “Let’s dance!”
She was swift in her feet. She made my clumsiness seem charming. We found out we were going to the same high school. Lisa smiled, Jensen laughed, and me and Alexis, we danced the whole night through.
I tried working for just fifteen minutes but it turned out four mediocre lines….I’m out of practice, but hope to use this blog to get back into the habit of writing regularly. Here’s the longer, more polished piece:
“There he is, Lorette. Mitchell Burk.” Aria sneered and motioned across the reception hall with her glass. The red wine inside dipped and sloshed against the side of the glass without spilling. Lorette flinched, convinced for a second that her older sister’s drink was going to stain her book. But it didn’t. With the crisis averted, Lorette looked disinterestedly at the young adult Aria was staring death at.
Mitchell Burk certainly didn’t look distinctive or interesting to Lorette. She supposed he was attractive enough, with short brown hair and the honey-light eyes all the Burks had. Aria was probably giving a full hateful dossier of Mitchell, but Lorette tuned her out and ran her finger along the spine of her book.
Lorette didn’t share her father and sister’s tandem hatred of and fascination with the Burks. As part of the nouveau riche, she supposed she could understand their insecurity, but the pressure from her family to outdo their rivals’ daughter, Willa Burk, was getting to her. They even enrolled Lorette into the same academy as Willa Burk, hoping for….what exactly? One minute Father was badmouthing the Burks, the next he was scolding Lorette for not taking the same classes as Willa. The more confused Lorette became, the more she retreated into her books. Tonight was looking to be more of the same.
As the night lengthened, Lorette finally broke away from Aria and found a small empty table in a corner to continue her reading in peace. A voice broke her concentration, however, when it said, “Excuse me, Miss, would it bother you if I sat at this table alongside you? I’ve been standing for the whole evening and it would be nice to sit a moment.” Lorette looked up to find Mitchell Burk smiling at her, and for a second she felt alarmed. She didn’t want to be rude and say no, but how would Aria react if she saw her being the least bit welcoming to a Burk?
The next thought to go through Lorette’s head was I’m not going to let Father and Aria’s stupid feud be mine as well. “No, go ahead and sit.”
Mitchell sat down, took off his dress shoes, and stretched out his legs before taking a closer look at Lorette. “Anna Karenina. Nice choice, I’ve never read Tolstoy myself, but Virginia Woolf has nothing but praise for him.”
“Is that so? I’ve never read Virginia Woolf.”
“You’re missing out. I’d start with Orlando. It’s her lightest work.” He held out his hand. “I’m Mitchell Burk.”
Lorette set her book down carefully before shaking his hand. “Lorette Douglass.”
“Let’s make a deal, Lorette. I’ll read Anna Karenina in the next two weeks and you read Orlando. Then maybe we can meet up for lunch on a weekend and compare notes?”
“That….actually sounds fun.”
“Great!” Mitchell took a pen from his jacket and wrote his number on a napkin. “I look forward to hearing from you.” He bent over to put his shoes back on. “Well, I should get back to the party. Have a great evening.”
Lorette, looking over Mitchell’s shoulder, caught Aria’s wide eyes from halfway across the room. Her older sister had a demure hand over her mouth and was ignoring the conversation another socialite was trying to have with her. Lorette gently clutched the napkin in her hand, unsure of why she was blushing.