Monday, June 16, 2014

Live-Writing Exercise 6

I've not a new quandary, one I'll have to talk to Big Anklevich about today.  In the meantime, I've got a couple more pages typed up, and ready to post here.  From this point on, though, I'm not sure if I don't prefer the title "Just Your Voice" over "A Lovely Singing Voice."  I think I had three or four possible titles in my original draft, and chose the latter because it reminded me of a line Jack Nicholson had in the 1989 BATMAN.

We'll leave it for now, but I really ought to talk to people who have published things on their blogs or websites, only to put them up for sale later, and figure out if all of this will have to disappear at that time, or if it doesn't really matter in the long run.  I also spent some time yesterday revising the first four pages, but none of that work shows here.


            “Do you wanna go on a tour of the building with me?” Brekkyn asked her during a commercial break. 

            “I guess.  I mostly thought I’d read today.”

            “That’s funny,” Brekkyn said, and actually laughed.  “Not everything in this apartment complex sucks.  We can play in the elevator, or there’s a place where you can look in the dumpster at the next building.  Sometimes there’s rats there.”

            “Yeah?” she responded, still not committing.

            “I can show you around, if you want.”  And Tanissa could see something in her eyes, a loneliness or an expectation of a refusal, or maybe a close familiarity with rejection.  She reminded Tanissa of a mangy dog that’s been kicked once too many times and now can’t trust people, even those who would pet and feed it.

            Sure, Brekkyn was overbearing and bossy, but she seemed excited at the prospect of spending time with Tanissa, and it was nice to be liked.

            “Alright,” she decided out loud, “I can use a friend.”

            It turned out to be a mistake, probably the biggest of her young life.

            Brekklyn lived downstairs, in Number 4.  She was eleven years old, an only child, and had lived in the building for almost two years.  She was from L.A., and had come with her mother, and was easily bored.  The building was boring, her life was boring.  The only other kids in the building either spoke no English or were five or younger.  “There was a boy here in August or September, but they moved.  He was kind of obnoxious anyway,” Brekkyn added, seemingly proud of her big word.

            “Maybe I’m obnoxious too,” Tanissa warned her.

            “Maybe.  We’ll see.”

            Brekkyn showed Tanissa around the apartment complex, the laundry room (including the broken machine that gave you detergent for free), the maintenance elevator, and the door to the roof, where you had to lift on the handle when turning it, or you would think you were locked in (or out).

            After an hour or so, Tanissa said she had to get back, and the girl shook her head.  “No, you don’t.”

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