“Thank you all for meeting me here,” Orville began, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. “I know tensions are a little high, but there’s no reason we can’t all be civil for a few minutes.” He swallowed, examining the faces of the other passengers gathered around him. Mrs. Garnett was on the overstuffed sofa, a handkerchief clutched in her lap. Next to her sat Ms. Maeve, cigarette in hand. Dr. Collier was in the armchair to Mrs. Garnett’s left. Arthur sat backwards in the chair by the drafting desk, chin resting on the top rung.
None of them seemed very happy, and they all looked varying levels of scared. He was pretty sure his own face reflected that. He looked over at Finn, who gave him a thumbs-up and a halfway reassuring smile. He sighed and rolled up his sleeves, unable to help a tiny glance at Jack, who was sprawled over a stiff-looking armchair. “After lots of researching, and examining the crime scene, we believe we may have figured out the cause of Mr. Garnett’s death.” Eyes widened, eyebrows arched, and there was a small gasp from Mrs. Garnett. It drew a shiver from him, but he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t from the drafty window behind him. It was Arthur who spoke up first. “And what exactly gives you the right to investigate here? This is a job for police, not passengers who don’t even belong here,” he sneered, propping himself up on his elbows. Another glance at Finn, who was staring daggers at Arthur. They’d decided on revealing themselves together. It was mutual, and it needed to be done if they were to continue investigating without raising suspicion. Didn’t mean Orville had to like it, though. “We’re detectives,” he finally said, raising an arm to include Finn in his statement. Finn waved to their audience, his other hand balancing the pad of paper on his knee. “We’re here by chance, but we’d like to solve this and give you all some peace of mind.” There was silence from the other passengers, and Orville guessed none of them knew how to react. He looked over at Jack, who had sat up in his chair. They locked eyes, but Orville couldn’t tell what was going through his mind. During their very long conversation the other night, he’d intentionally refrained from telling Jack about his career. It had been a move of caution, to keep both of them safe, but he felt bad about lying. He was the first to break their staring contest, looking towards the worn cream carpet. “I don’t understand,” Mrs. Garnett spoke up. “My husband had a heart attack. And as the doctor on board isn’t worth the mud on his boots, it was quite likely Stan wouldn’t make it.” “I’ve told you a thousand times, Lydia. I have a doctorate in mathematics. I couldn’t tell you anything about human anatomy.” Mrs. Garnett sniffed, and opened her mouth to retort. Before she could, Orville interrupted. “Yes, it could’ve been a heart attack, no one is denying it. But we have to look for the cause of it. It could’ve been his age, or the lifestyle he led. It really does seem like he passed from natural causes.” Orville took a breath, clasping his hands behind his back as he began to pace. “Finn and I found a couple things, though, that may point to something more sinister. More unbelievable, really.” The was again filled with silence, which was only broken by sniffles coming from Mrs. Garnett. Orville felt bad about bringing up her husband’s death, especially with the body still on the train. This needed to be done though, so he pressed on. “We’re only assuming it was a heart attack because there are no marks on the body. But Finn and I looked around the Garnett's cabin a little–just routine searching, I promise we didn’t snoop–and found a few things.” He was pacing back and forth in front of the bar, eyes on his feet rather than the people staring at him. He held up his index finger. “First, we found evidence of a struggle. Their luggage was scattered everywhere and there was an end table knocked over.” “And how do you know Stan didn’t do that during the heart attack? He was probably scared out of his mind.” Arthur’s tone was icy, like he didn’t believe a word out of Orville’s mouth. “That’s for sure a possibility, a strong one. In fact, I hope I’m wrong and it really was just a heart attack.” Across the room, Finn cleared his throat. “Sorry, I hope we’re wrong.” “What’s the next thing? Or is your only evidence that the room was trashed?” Of all the people to speak up, Orville really hadn’t guessed one would be Ms. Maeve. But when he looked at her, she seemed almost excited. It was a little frightening. “No, we’ve found a couple other things.” He resumed his pacing again, headed back towards the window where he’d started. “Well get on with it. What’s with the dramatics?” Jack spoke from where he was sitting in the armchair with his legs crossed. When Orville focused on him, he was grinning. They were still okay, then. That was good. Orville would’ve hated losing him. Especially now. “Just let me have this,” he quipped back. “The second thing was the soot marks along the floor of the cabin and its door frame. It isn’t really an odd thing, being on a train and all, but it gets weirder.” He paused for effect, and watched Jack roll his eyes. He pressed his lips together to stop a smile. “The soot marks looked exactly like a trail leading to and from the scene. Finn and I went up front to talk to the engineers. To see how that was possible, and what it could mean.” He stopped again, the next words getting caught in his throat. He had known it was going to be hard, but thought it would just come right out when he got to it. He’d been wrong. He looked around at all the passengers, the people he’d spent the last couple of days with. He cleared his throat and tried again. “The engineers–” “They were all dead. Every last member of the crew.” Finn interrupted, setting down his pen. “The only ones left are Micah, Sadie, and Javier. There’s no one left to drive the train, and we’re the only ones who know anything bad has happened." From Reedsy Contest #131
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“Avory,” the folded paper reads. As they unfold it, the note shakes with their hands. As they read, the words blur together until the page is just one large inkspot.
“I can’t do this anymore.” They crumple the paper in their fists, squeezing it until it is just a small ball, then huck it at the wall. It passes the window, where sunlight is just beginning to pour in, and lands in the darkest corner of the bedroom. The bedroom that used to be shared. “There’s just no fixing it.” They sniff. Wipe the tears from their cheeks. Move to the closet to begin their day. The accordion door nearly topples as it is shoved open, and they pause. Half the contents are missing. Not even a hanger or loose sock is left. They pull free their outfit of the day, then close the accordion door. “This may seem sudden to you, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” Even the bathroom is half empty. One toothbrush in the holder, one stick of deodorant, two empty drawers. The medicine cabinet holds only vitamins for one now. Even the mirror looks bare, completely devoid of all the notes that had been left over the years. They get dressed, comb their hair, brush their teeth, and keep their eyes on the freshly-cleaned sink. “We should’ve known this never would have worked.” The hall to the kitchen is the same, the photos all neat in the frames, staring at them, mocking them, as they go by. The notes on the coffee pot are gone. Perfectly clean squares in the dust are the only hint of them ever being there. Grounds are poured into the top, a button is pressed, the pot begins to whir. “Remember what my mother said?” The orange tabby winds around their legs, looking up and mewing. His dry food pellets are poured into a dish and set on the floor by the back door. A frying pan is retrieved from under the counter, and the fridge is opened. Their hand reaches for the soy milk that is no longer there. It falters, then shifts over to the carton of eggs. “I’ve known you my entire life, so believe me when I say this wasn’t an easy decision.” The coffee pot bubbles twice more, then falls silent. They pull two mugs from the cupboard, stare at them for several moments, then return one to the shelf. Sugar and cream are dumped into the single mug, then hastily covered by the freshly brewed coffee. They take several sips of the scalding liquid, reveling in the sweet taste. “I feel like we could do so much better apart.” Eggs are cracked into the frying pan, and bread is inserted into the toaster. The tabby jumps onto the counter, whiskers twitching as he nears the hot stove. He is not removed. A cooked piece of egg is flicked off the spatula in his direction. He chases it across the counter. Three plates are taken down from the cabinet. One is put back. The china plate with blue roses around the edge receives two fried eggs and two slices of toast. The square plate made of green plastic gets one egg and a slice of toast with peanut butter and no crust. “Please tell Molly I love her.” The coffee in the mug is half gone, and a cup of orange juice is placed with the plate on the dining table. A kiss is pressed to the forehead of the sleepy five-year old, who got dressed all by herself this morning. She pets the cat, who sits at her feet begging for more eggs. She talks about the dreams she had and what tricks she’d like to teach the cat. She has preschool in the afternoon, but the morning is theirs. Breakfast is their routine, just for the two of them. She’s used to her other parent being there by bedtime, and doesn’t ask about the absence. She sneaks bites of toast to the tabby, but she isn’t very secretive. Her giggles give her away. “Please don’t try to contact me directly.” Once the plates are empty, they do the dishes together. It’s more like war of the bubbles, but everything gets cleaned. Later they’ll work together to pack her snack and prepare her backpack. They move to the living room, the cat’s back legs dangling from the girl’s arms. This is part of the routine, too. It wouldn’t be a normal day without cartoons teaching the two of them how to read. During a commercial break, where a pair of siblings are shown playing on a swing set, the girl mentions wanting a little brother. She gets a smile and a ruffle of her curls in return, before she is reminded how much the tabby loves his catnip toy being thrown. “Please don’t do anything reckless.” Driving to the preschool is second-nature. 45 miles per hour, two stop signs, one traffic light. They say goodbye at the classroom door, and she’s gone for the next four hours. They’re supposed to run errands next. It’s routine. The highway is empty this time of day, everyone at work or school. Nobody minds when they pull over to the side of the road. The car idles, exhaust fumes still spewing from the tailpipe. A cardboard box with the word ‘sorry’ scrawled on its side is in the ditch. Normally they wouldn’t have stopped. Normally they would have stayed in their car. The box holds two scrawny kittens and a bag of cat food. Their fur is sticking up every which way. The kittens seem grateful in the heated car, and one of them finds its way to the dashboard. It watches the highway zooming past them. “You should try to carry on as normal as possible.” She names them after her favorite book characters. They each officially have about four names total. Grass and Pebble are what she calls them when she forgets. The tabby is reproachful at first, but the kittens teach him their games. All three nap together on the sofa. The girl draws a mural on the wall while waiting for dinner. It gets taped off like a masterpiece in a museum. “Remember that I will always love you,” The girl asks questions over a dinner of macaroni and cheese, eaten with dinosaur spoons. She doesn’t wonder why it’s just the two of them. Often it is the case. She wonders why she can’t have red juice in a grown-up glass, why she can’t bring her brand-new toys to the dinner table. In answer, she gets her own glass of grape juice, her Barbie doll and He-Man figure can have their own plate, and she gets two scoops of ice cream. They smile at the girl, one full of fondness and love, and anything else they can think of. No matter how lonely they feel now, they will always have her to keep them company. ~ Prompt: 'Start your story with someone finding an object labeled with their name.' From Reedsy NaNo starts November first, and I think I'm as prepared as I can get? I have pretty much an entire "outline" done, except for my ending. I thought it might be better to just,,write everything chronologically and then maybe I'll have something by the time I get to the ending.(or what I'm calling the ending right now). I know that'll end up fucking me over at some point but I'm just so pissed off about it that I can't be bothered.
I've decided to ignore the character arcs for my first draft. I read somewhere that in a first draft, it's okay to not have the arcs figured out if you still need to get a grasp on your characters, so I'm taking that to heart. I also have a new fear that what I've got planned out so far won't hit anywhere near 50,000 words, so it'll be like November 15th and I'll be ""done "" with my first draft. It's not a reasonable worry, but entirely possible. I think for the next few days I'll work on my setting and superficial character traits to kind of take a break from plot so I don't burn out, and then when there's like five days before NaNo, I'm just not gonna touch the story at all unless it's like Emergency Plot Development. That'll give me a good break before I write 2,000ish words per day for 30 days. Side note: my birthday is November 30th so I better give myself a damn good birthday present of completed first draft. If I don't have anything else to say before this all starts, then my next post will be the blurb for my story! Please applaud the title because that's as creative as I'll ever be.
Anyway, I lied in the last post, and this is gonna be another rant post. Legally you have to stay because it's called Writer Ramblings and u clicked the link. (and also no one reads this and im starting to think I shoulda just made this a tumblr blog) So I decided to do NaNoWriMo this year, for the first time ever, for my first ever novel(no pressure). If you don't know, NaNo is a big competition thing during the month of November, for writers. The goal is to write 50,000 words for your WIP in 30 days. Now, October is technically the month of planning. And I have fallen into a pit of writer's block so deep I think I'll just sit here till next year. My planning was going so well. I had most of it planned out, and only needed to work on my characters and the ending. Then I joined a writing group on the NaNo website, and discovered that not only is my WIP pretty boring, but I'm very far behind everyone else. People are out here having titles and already planning through a goddamn trilogy and I can't even figure out the ending to my novel. uughhhhhh I'm going to keep trying, obviously. I'm hoping that listening to inspiration playlists and making a frickton of Pinterest boards will get Something going, and maybe I'll even change up the genre to make it more interesting, I dunno. I'm also contemplating doing NaNo like privately??? Like staying off the forums and just doing 50,000 words on my own terms in November. I dunno, still contemplating and being sad at the moment. -Prince Before I get to my new idea that inspired me to post again less than a week later(:o), a quick update on monsieur Latest Book I'm Trying to Write. Plotting is going well, fixed one or two plot things, but I'm still trying to fix other plot things, having to do with the ending and stuff. Honestly I'm really proud of how much I've managed to change and fix since I started. It's incredible and infuriating how easy it seems to fix something just by one little idea. I hope I'll be able to outline and start writing soon.
Onto my latest idea. My oldest OCs are a gay couple who started out as roommates. Maybe it's cliche but shut up they're my first born children. I've never put them in their own book because I've been developing them for like five years now and everything changes so much I didn't really have one cohesive story idea. I've been thinking about giving them their own book at some point, maybe if I ever get this one done, but for now I just wanna focus on the stuff I do have written. It's mostly little slice of life snippets, or 'one-shots' if you will. I've scrapped a lot of the really old ones that were just impossible to read, but the rest I've compiled into a google doc for my own reference and enjoyment(takes a big man to admit they like reading their own work). Some of the newer ones written in the last two or three years are split between how things are going for them now, how it was for them before they started dating, and one or two about life before each other. These are my favorite boys, and I love them very much, so I was thinking about rewriting some of the out of date snippets(the old ones that were good enough to be salvaged anyway), and putting them with the more recent ones in a doc, and sharing the link here. I've always wanted to share them with more people, but my attempts in the past have failed. I've been wanting to rewrite them anyway, so might as well share them and try to get some sweet sweet validation with it. If all goes well my next post will probably be an introduction to the Boys, followed by the first snippet I pick to post. This'll be really hard, as nothing is written chronologically for their timeline, but I might just post in the order the things were written, and then rewritten. -Prince I'm here, I'm still queer, and I am fed up with things. You're telling me I have to physically write things and publish them in order to make a career? I can't just justify my fifty Pinterest boards and writing once a month with "no i'm a writer its ok" ? That's bullshit actually and I'm over it.
Tantrum aside, I made some progress since my last post. So three cheers for me <3. I submitted my short story Two Left Feet to a short story contest on Wattpad. I know Wattpad isn't seen as the most professional site for wannabe authors, thanks to the buckets of Harry Styles erotica, but honestly that's probably one of the best and easiest places to start. It's free to publish your works there, and publishing companies are usually always scouting for new stuff. I can name several books I love on Wattpad, and followed through every weekly posting, only to find out suddenly that the author got Found and their stuff's on Amazon now. Like that's incredible. Of course, if you win one of their contests, that pretty much guarantees some viewers. Anyway, results will be in December 4th for the contest, and I really hope I'm going to get something out of this. On to WIP news, I'm working on the private investigator story for the time being. I figured out some things that fixed a few plot holes, so I made a ton of headway on it, and even got a nice little scene by scene summary going in my notes app. I have a couple more plot things to work out for the third act/ending stuff, but I think once I get the summary finished and plot it out properly, I might actually be able to write this shit and get Something finished. Knock on wood. Because I have a habit of completely abandoning projects after I talk about them. Which is why I've tried hard to be super vague when talking about this one. But I should be fine here, I think only like one person reads this blog and its pretty anonymous. I don't know when I'll get another post out. Maybe if I make some serious progress on my detective boys I'll post an update, and maybe even get a title going. -Prince Lemme just start this post off by saying that this migh be kind of a long one, and like 50% rant and 25% triggering sad stuff.
Anyway,,, I was totally going to abandon this blog. I daydreamed myself into high expectations, thinking that I was gonna keep up with this, I was gonna finish my WIPs, I was gonna get people reading my stuff and I was gonna Finally start one of my dream careers. And then, nothing happened. I'll be honest, I knew this was literally gonna be the outcome, it always happens. Was I expecting to be mega famous overnight from three rant posts and a year old short story of mine? No of course not.(would've been dope though ngl.) But I just kind of hit a rut in writing, and I was having a shitty time in school. I missed one update because I didn't want to bore my (seemingly non-existant readers with me yelling about writer's block again. And then the days just kind of started running together, and I forgot what Sunday even was. So I'm trying again. A fabulous Mx. Anne left me a comment on one of my posts, and when I tell y'all I actually cried a lil bit,,, and I decided that maybe this Was worth doing, even for one reader who even kind of liked my stuff. As for my book progress? I've got no clue. My murder mystery/thriller plot turned into a train murder/ghost town thriller, and I've gone back to a super old one about two gay private investigators at an amusement park. I'm thinking I'll start updating a little more frequently, maybe doing some character studies or WIP summaries to spice things up. I want to publish something. That was my new year's resolution. It's almost October now, and I haven't made much progress, and I don't really know if I CAN finish anything this year(except for this one novella type thing), but I absolutely Will keep trying. Even if it means dropping out of college. (JK kids pls stay in school ~ unless your college is literally a scam). And if I don't finish anything this year, I have a whole brand new year after December where I can start where I leave off. -Prince So things have gone awry and I'm in constant agony. In the midst of my first week back at school,(all online classes bc overcompensating safety is better than under compensating), I decided to take a break from my current WIP and churn out a first draft of this one short story WIP I have.
I got everything all planned out for that one and then my stupid brain decided it didn't know how to write anymore, AND THEN I had and idea for a new WIP and I'm legit so mad. I still have to plan it and stuff but like,, how unfair is that. I'm probably not going to touch that other WIP for months, if ever again so like what was even the point. And tomorrow(monday) I have to start another whole week of school and assignments and not get to work on any personal writing smh. I have a feeling this semester is gonna be really tough for me, so if my posts are sporadic and super low quality, it's because I decided to value education over starting my career for some reason. -Prince In hindsight, making it my new year's resolution to have a book finished(and maybe published oOoo) by the end of this year might have been kinda stupid. I mean, what with the global pandemic and everything. I'm not gonna blame my lack of progress on that though; most of it's my fault.
I have so many WIPs, so many potential stories, and all of them are missing their guts. I've got characters, I've got half-assed worlds, and almost-there plots. I even spent $12 on a writing book.(Save the Cat, if you're interested. It actually helped a lot ngl) . But my problem is putting stories Together. For instance, one WIP I've had for quite some time is a fantasy magic one, with a group of people who need to go on an adventure to save the magic world from this bad guy. Cliche? Yeah definitely, but I had things in place to make sure it wasn't too bad. Ex, the narrator wouldn't be the Chosen One, it was going to be one of the side characters who may or may not have a giant crush on his mute best friend ¯\_(ツ)_/. I know exactly how I wanted it to go, who they would meet, hell, I even knew who was going to die in the big final battle. But I couldn't get the guts. The details. What happens between this big plot point and this one? Who knows. My characters were flat. My mute character went through a lot of trauma. I know everything about him down to his favorite fruit. The Wise Older character was pretty built too. They also had trauma. But they didn't have the right character things. Everytime I decide OK, I'm gonna work on this story until it's Done, I find some critical gunshot wound in it, and I end up getting upset at it and bailing. (I save all my notes though, I'm not stupid lmao.) I'm pretty okay at short stories, but the thing is, I don't wanna write a short story. I wanna get at least something resembling a novel. I really hope I'm not being egotistical and other people can relate. I have a story idea I'm working on right now. I want so badly to see it through to the end, to get it Actually Finished. Right now it's still pretty flimsy, and the characters are still cardboard, but I'm trying super hard to get work done on it. But if I disappear suddenly without warning, it's cos I got fed the Fuck up with it and destroyed my computer. -Prince PS: I know I only have like 3 readers but I legit almost forgot to post for this week, so to get me something to think about, id appreciate it if anyone who reads tell me what they'd like the next post to be pls. http://www.strawpoll.me/20818221 Word Count: 2,701
Being a shoemaker’s son had its perks. You could learn a lot about someone just by the condition their shoes were in. The fancy, expensive materials used to make a shoe usually indicated a rich wearer, while a worn out sole meant the shoes were well loved and used every day. Another thing you could learn by being a shoemaker’s son was what the specialty shoes looked like. And by the looks of the pair in Mile’s hands, the wearer had two right feet. It wasn’t hard to tell; the concave side of the sole was the same on both shoes, rather than the mirror image a normal pair might be. |