Well it’s not published quite yet, but I’m sure it will. Shall I read some to you, and you can listen? And maybe you might make some comments?
See, I’ve printed all of this out, and it’s in my binder here. I will open it at the start.
I’m quite pleased about the very beginning. It flows rather nicely since the main protagonist, well, she’s pretty feisty and she has some large and heavy keys, and that’s the crux of the whole story, even at the first paragraph.
Oh, you’re going out? Not ready to listen to what I’ve written?
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Book Excerpt Word Count: 100
The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had been busy tidying up around her little apartment, not something she did very often, but needs must, although after more than two hours she was beginning to flag.
Still, it was definitely worth it, especially her lovely table where she writes; it was mostly for working on her laptop, but she often printed things out for prudence sake, one wouldn’t want to lose in that way after all, as she shuddered for a moment.
Now everything was in order, she had pruned all those unnecessary pieces of A4 paper, and the useful ones she had used her paper hole puncher to put them into several binders, as she smiled to herself being pleased with what she had done.
Her vintage Velos lightning-perforator two hole puncher which she’d used it in the office when she worked there (and then nicked it on that last day), now she tried to pinch it open carefully, but it seemed to be stuck, but then, of course, it sprung open and all those tiny round paper bits, almost like confetti, dropped all around the table and floor.
More than irritating as she glared at the once clean and sparkling area, as she trudged to the kitchen cupboard.
But then she had a thought as she looked outside, it was such a lovely spring day; she should go out and have a quick walk over to the Six-Sentence-Café-and-Bistro,since that would be the perfect coffee to drink just now.
But is it art? What do you mean? Well, it’s not really real. Sorry? It has been generated with software.
It’s not surreal, no. It’s very realistic. Now that I understand. I could munch some fruit in there. That bit of banana is beautiful, isn’t it? And that mug of coffee looks hot.
That old photo looks interesting too. I like the way that artist is working outside. It’s called en plein air Ooh, impressive.
You know there is a market for buying crypto-art? You don’t say? Yep, it’s called Non Fungible Tokens. Well, all I can say is… blimey!
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Fiction Word Count: 100
‘Odd,’ said Joan, ‘we haven’t seen our lovely friend, the red-headed woman, for several days, have we?’ – ‘no indeed,’ as Scatty looked up for a moment, as she laid down all her cards, and shouted, ‘Rummy!’ as she grinned happily, ‘all out, again,’ as she gathered the cards together, then began to shuffle them again.
Meanwhile, on the next table, Francis and The Old One were concentrating playing poker, while outside, Mr Cushing was busy cleaning his gorgeous limousine, he had just finished polishing the car, when he looked up to see the red-headed woman standing near him.
‘Fancy a drive, my dear?’ said Mr Cushing, ‘I think I know where you want to go,’ as he stared at her, while she gripped her bag more tightly, then nodded.
‘Can I come too?’ as The Old One appeared outside, ‘I lost again, poker is not my strong suit you see, my pride has been injured yet again, but never mind, it seems we have a job to do.’
So off they went, the three of them, it was such a lovely day, and soon they arrived at that particular farm, and even from there, they could all see the poor farmer was clearly still brooding over life’s injustices, well wouldn’t he?
The red-headed woman jumped out, trotting to the farmer, the two of them began to walk in step together; then they popped inside the farm house, then a moment later, the red-headed woman appeared again, and said, ‘all done.’
Another small boat around here? I keep seeing them. It’s rather grey today, although that’s pretty normal. Not hot, not too chilly. It’s called ‘in the middle’.
I have been trying to get the right light, since it is important to me. That little boat seems to be tacking back and forward. That’s clever.
It’s a granite grey sea, and a slate grey sky, plus a charcoal grey on the beach. But just a pop of colour from that sailing boat would be good. Ah, some ultramarine blue, a little crimson red, and a tiny bit of cadmium yellow. Perfect!
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
The two gargoyles, who were still on that belfry, while on they smartphones, they relayed a message from Reena, to the red-headed woman and Monsieur Bourbon; it was all about the diamonds – so many useful facts continued to flow – as the red-headed woman and Monsieur looked rather amazed, as they read what Reena said.
The two gargoyles shut their phones then put them in their satchels, they had already ditched their hats and coats, and as the red-headed woman looked up, the two gargoyles were about to fly off, as both of them gave a little wave to her.
She wondered where they were going, since it seemed that they were no longer interested about those gems; all that effort, and nothing now, as the red-headed woman grimaced.
‘Well,’ said Monsieur Bourbon, ‘the brutal truth is those synthetic diamonds are not very valuable, or at least what I thought that very clever lady, called Reena, had explained, is that right?’
‘Indeed, it seems so,’ as the red-headed woman had managed to grasp much of what Reena said, as she read again while scrolling down and back again, then she looked to Monsieur Bourbon, as she said, ‘the blunt truth is there’s no point to keep those gems,’ as she put her phone down then pushed her knuckles on her jaw.
‘So what should I do,’ she muttered to herself; then she said, ‘okay, this is the best idea, I’ll give back those stupid diamonds to the farmer, I guess.’
‘Oh, this is a blow,’ muttered the red-headed woman, as she wondered to herself, while she tried to put her shattered thoughts into some semblance of order.
She looked to Monsieur Bourbon, and then to the gargoyles, as she said this: ‘no, quiet… we need to put our thinking caps on, don’t we; but meantime, we will need some sustenance, at least for me and Monsieur – some hot chocolate and some croissants for dunking would be best.’
So those synthetic diamonds were put in that strong safe, just in case, as they all adjourned to a little café, a good place where no one would be nosy, and certainly not near a certain Inspector Clouseau, or at least she thought so.
‘Okay, tell me more,’ she said, as the two gargoyles leapt up to the nearest very tall building, in fact, a church with a belfry, as they both grinned, ‘so what, Monsieur Bourbon, shall we do now?’
‘Well, my dear, it’s quite true, those gems are not completely worthless, although not great, and of course, the real problem is these have been nicked, obviously, come on, we know each other pretty well,’ as the red-headed woman, raised an eyebrow, ‘but we are not quitting, are we?’ as Monsieur Bourbon finished he second croissant.
Meanwhile, the two gargoyles had been both busy on their smartphones and right by that gorgeous belfry; after a few minutes there were a few beeps, including Reena, as the two of them grinned a lot.
The two boys braked, then wheeled around and stopped. They peered at the sign. ‘This looks interesting.’ ‘Do you think there is a castle down there?’ as he read what it said. ‘Could be.’ ‘Well, it doesn’t say that we are not allowed to go along that drive, does it?’
So they started to bike while looking around the long winding road. It was pretty overgrown, and there seemed no-one around. But then, what a vista! The two of them stopped… dead.
‘What is it?’ ‘Certainly not an old castle.’
They dropped their bikes, then walked around the imposing round building. Just then, a large door opened from the inside, and a man appeared, and smiled. ‘Do come in, you’ll like this, I’m sure.’ He pointed up. The two of them looked up. For a moment they said nothing, but then they both said: ‘Wow, a wonderful observatory – how cool!’
That tatty lace was once so pretty. It covered those tall windows, and the light would shine brightly in the early evening. The sun still smiles, but there’s no-one to see it here in this house.
Then the house was a home.
The walls and the doors were painted in rich and bold colours. The garden was glorious with many exotic flowers, bushes and vegetables. And beyond, those magnificent trees would often seem to sing.
But that was a long time ago.
Would you see a ghost sometimes? Would you hear a strange knock in the night? Maybe? Maybe not.
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
luna's on line 