#FreewriteMadness – Day 8 Update (An Entire Week Done and Dusted 😍)steemCreated with Sketch.

in #freewritemadness5 years ago (edited)

Wow ... this time last week, the great odyssey of #NaNoWriMo and #FreewriteMadness had only just begun. I feel that my fellow freewriters and I have come so far in that time! I've written 13,613 words to date, and been more productive in the past week than in the last couple of months put together. This challenge has given me so much faith in myself as a writer: it has shown me that when I really put my nose to the grindstone, I can be much more productive than I had previously believed myself to be.

This post is response to @freewritehouse's latest prompt, small talk. I feel like this post is not going to set the Steem world alight: it has been a bit of low-energy, low-motivation, distracted-by-other-stuff day. But that is okay. I'm maintaining my commitment to at least write something every day, no matter how little.

Today, I'm just doing my best to plug in some of the gaps in a chapter about Mark and Sarah's first date (though I haven't totally accomplished that here – I still can't quite decide how the date ends), playing around with text-speak, and wondering how on Earth I'm going to translate the visual aspects of online conversations (emojis, GIFs) into book format, if this story ever gets to that stage ... I will deal with all of those concerns of mine in December. November is simply churn-out-the-words-and-don't-ask-too-many-questions month!

I have italicised all blocks of text that were written prior to November, and excluded them from my total word count for the day.

___________________________


Samaa.tv

~ Sarah ~

Sarah frowns at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

'Does my hair look weird, André?’

‘Ah, no. Why would you say that?’

‘I just feel like it does.’

‘I’m telling you, Sar, you look great. More than great. When lover boy sees you, he’ll fall at your feet and beg you to scoop him right up!’

Sarah rolls her eyes. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? He’s not my lover boy.’

‘But he could be after tonight,’ André says with a salacious wink, before draping himself against the door frame and wriggling his hips. ‘Take me now, Sarah O’Mahony! Give me your sweet loving! That’s what he’ll say.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Sarah replies, deadpan, as she plucks a stray hair from underneath her eyebrow, wincing at the momentary pain. ‘Sure he will. Get me the curler, would you?’

‘But you’ve only just straightened your hair.’

‘I don’t like it. It looks too flat.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake –'

‘Just do it.’

‘Does lover boy have any idea what he’s getting himself into?’ André mutters, backing out of the room. ‘That’s what I want to know.’

Sarah throws a hand towel at him.

‘Knock ‘em dead, Sar!’

'I'll try,' she says sceptically.

✮ ✮ ✮

She arrives and sees him sitting by a corner. Waves nervously across the restaurant.

‘Sarah!’

‘Hey, Mark.’

‘My drum has been saving your seat, don’t worry.’

She casts her eye over the jumbled apparatus on the chair next to him. ‘I can see that.’

‘Sorry about this,’ he says ruefully. ‘I came straight from rehearsal with my band. We’re not allowed to leave our stuff lying around. I live near Pearse Street, but the rehearsal went on longer than I thought, and I knew I wouldn’t have time to catch the bus home and then come back here, so … my drum will be chaperoning us tonight, I’m afraid.’

‘I can cope with that.’

‘Anyway! I’m leaving you standing around. Sorry.’ Flustered, he begins to move the drum. He moves his chair back a little too quickly in his haste to get out of it. ‘This evening is going well already,’ he laughs, as he leans forward to hug Sarah. Somehow, the anxiety in his voice makes her feel more at ease. Knowing that he is just as anxious as she is removes some of the pressure from her.

‘Would you like something to drink?’

‘Sure. Vodka and coke. I’ll get it –’

‘No, no, I’ll get it for you.’

‘Are you sure? I don’t want you to go to any trouble –’

‘Ah no, Sarah, it’s not a bit of trouble. I’ll go get the drinks now –’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’

Sarah can’t help but feel a little embarrassed as she takes her seat and watches him approach the bar. Sorting out who pays for what on a date is always an awkward process: the unspoken rule of times past – that the man must be the one to pay – doesn’t always hold true anymore, and she would never dream of insisting on it. She would have preferred to pay for her own drink, but she didn’t want to argue the point too much, or come across as ridiculously ungracious … perhaps she’ll get the next round. Yes, that’s what she’ll do.

As Mark returns to the table, she smiles and gestures to his drum set. ‘So. Book balancer by day, rockstar by night?’

He chuckles. ‘Ah, it’s a hobby, more so than anything else. We only play at friends’ birthday parties, weddings, stuff like that. Nobody expects to … I don’t know, “make it big,” or anything.’

‘Would you have liked to?’

‘Hmm. I don’t like the idea of being famous, but when I was younger I used to fantasise about making a living as someone behind the scenes. A songwriter, maybe. But then the usual story happened.’ He shrugs. ‘You get a little older and reality kicks in: you have to look for a job that pays well.’

She looks sympathetically at him. Though his voice is nonchalant, she can see the sadness in him, and it makes her feel sad too: thinking about how the world beats passion out of people.

‘I don’t really know what I want to do when I grow up,’ she confides. ‘Price Watchers isn’t … you know, my big passion in life, or anything like that. But it keeps me going and the pay isn’t bad. When it comes to some larger goal for my life … well, I used to dream about being a filmmaker, I guess, but…’

‘Capitalism killed the dream?’

She laughs ruefully. ‘Pretty much.’

‘What did you do in college?’

‘Arts in UCD.’ She braces herself for the roll of the eyes or the condescending laughter that sometimes greets this news, but much to her relief, they don’t come. ‘I ended up taking French and Film Studies. I always enjoyed the film aspect of it, but I haven’t done anything with it in ages. I would like to, though.’

‘I hope you do.’ He smiles softly at her and she looks away, blushing a little. There is something about his simple sincerity that disarms her.

✮ ✮ ✮

‘Jesus H. Christ,’ André yells a couple of days later, as he stands by the window of their apartment, observing the view over the balcony. October 16th. Storm Ophelia is raging in full force.

Sarah looks up from her phone – she is absentmindedly scrolling through Facebook – and smiles at his wide-eyed amazement. 'Everyone has known for ages that a hurricane would be coming.'

‘Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be this bad. I mean, this is Ireland. We never get extreme weather like this. Just mist and rain and mass euphoria every time the temperature is higher than fifteen degrees in the summer...’

'Climate change,' Sarah replies flatly.

‘True, true ... ah shit,' he yells, ‘someone left their bins out across the street and the wind has just tipped them over. There’s rubbish all over the road … someone will have great fun cleaning all that up.’

'Ugh, no. Really?'

'Yep.' His eyes are a picture of fascination. 'I just ... I can't believe the state of this wind, I really can't.'

'I know. My mother keeps texting me wanting to know if I'm alright, if I'm warm enough, if I have enough food ... it's sweet of her, really.'

'Oh, that reminds me: I have to ring my own mother! She'll be so pissed I haven't called yet...' André darts out into the hall – Sarah hears him frenziedly searching for his phone and shakes her head with a smile. He seems to find it impossible to keep track of that thing...

A picture in which Mark has been tagged comes up on her newsfeed. Sarah abruptly stops scrolling. It's a picture of him sitting on a sofa with a guy who looks slightly older – they're both surrounded by copious multi packs of Tayto crisps and loaves upon loaves of Brennan's bread. Above the picture is the caption: Me and The Marko 😎 hangin out with our SURVIVAL SUPPLIEZZZ! 🤣😂 Ma is so pissed ... "what'll I do with all this fuckin bread," sez she. "Shur save it for a rainy day if I don't scoff the lot," sez I.

His brother? They have the same surname and they look similar – the other guy has red hair and freckles too – so he must be...

Her finger hovers over Mark's name. She feels torn. Should she message him? Would that come across as too needy? But if he's spending the day with his family, he won't want her messaging him. Maybe she'll just be intruding ... annoying him.

She opens up her Messenger app and types in his name. Oh shit ... there is a little green circle beside his name, indicating that he's online right now...

Sarah spends the next few minutes closing and reopening the app, agonising over what to do. She can hear André's voice in the hall, now chatting away to his mother in French. Finally, with a deep, calming breath, she takes the plunge and begins to type.

Hey Mark! How are you?

Though the app continues to indicate that he is online, Mark doesn't see her message for several minutes. Self-doubt immediately consumes her. Oh no. She shouldn't have messaged him. This was clearly a bad time, he's clearly ignoring her...

Suddenly:

Hey! I’m okay. Just hunkering down in this storm and hoping it doesn't kill us all! 🤪 Are you okay?
I know – it's unbelievable. I'm good. Spending the day at home, like we've all been ordered to do! 😂
Haha.

Sarah smiles at this, but it isn't long before the glow of having started a conversation with him fades away, and she begins to feel anxious again. What the hell does she say next? How can she move the conversation beyond this bland small talk? And why does André have to be out in the hall right now? He's great at giving advice on this kind of thing...

Before she can think of something else to say, a speech bubble appears on the screen, showing her that Mark is typing again. Thank God.

I really enjoyed the other night.

She beams at this.

So did I.
I promise my drum set won't take up your entire seat again next time!
Oh no, don't worry about it! It was kind of nice to get an insight into your secret life as a rock star 😉
Oh God .... I'm never going to live that one down, am I?
Afraid not.
😂😂😂
😛
Aaaw Mark, now I feel bad. I can't resist a sad Patrick GIF!
😂
Laughing at my pain, are you? 😉
Ooh. Cold.
No one is colder than Sassy Ken Doll. 😘
True. I guess I just can't handle the sass.... 😔

___________________________

I wrote 1,036 new words there. Again, this has been quite a low-energy and work-heavy day for me, so although my inner perfectionist is screaming that this is just not good enough, I will let it be. I need to be up very early in the morning tomorrow, so I'll resist that well-worn instinct to be really hard on myself and simply relax tonight.

I want to end this post by giving a shout out to everyone else who has signed up to the fit of absolute lunacy invigorating creative challenge that is #FreewriteMadness. 😇 Make sure you go and support their work too! I have limited voting power (damn my not-quite-plankton but not-quite-redfish status 😉), but will upvote as many posts as I can per day.

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For a chance to WIN SteemBasicIncome, just read and comment on my #freewritemadness posts. 😊 The lovely people over at @freewritehouse are doing a great job of supporting us complete and utter lunatics NaNoWriMo-ers. 😁

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Well done!! We got the first week in the bag and I am so glad that you have been productive!!

Hello @aislingcronin, thank you for sharing this creative work! We just stopped by to say that you've been upvoted by the @creativecrypto magazine. The Creative Crypto is all about art on the blockchain and learning from creatives like you. Looking forward to crossing paths again soon. Steem on!

Hey I beat the payout... I was right there with these young soon to be lovers. #NovMadFan Bruni getting a couple lines read tonight. You're really working this novel. 👍

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