Part of the reason I created this second blog was to participate in creative writing memes around the web. One I particularly like is from The Red Dress Club where they come up with a different prompt every week. This is my first attempt.
The following piece is from the novel I'm currently working on. This piece is not intended to be part of the finished novel, but was an exercise I did as I was getting to know my main characters, Jay and Holly.
I knew I was in trouble before I even opened the door. The cinnamon candle again. I hated that cinnamon candle. Almost as much as I hated sharing a dorm with the wannabe sorority girl from Kansas. She and her cluster of highlighted, manicured dunces seemed oblivious to the fact that it was, in fact, a double room.
Confirming my suspicions, I pushed the door open wide enough to retrieve my laptop before retreating back into the hallway. A game was on in the common room down the hall and I'd seen too much of the inside of the library that day already. I sank to the floor and leaned against the wall, silently pleading that They would suddenly find themselves invited to a frat party.
I vaguely heard the elevator door open, but it wasn't until I became aware of a presence standing over me that I realized someone had stepped out of it.
My eyelids cracked open and I saw him. The boy I'd glimpsed all over campus but would never have had the nerve to talk to. He wasn't in any of my classes and we had no mutual friends and I was hardly the girl that would strike up a conversation with a boy who looked like that. With his dark hair and his confidence. I swallowed and waited one moment too many before answering.
"What? Locked out? No."
"Ah." He invited himself to sit beside me. "Avoiding your roommate." It wasn't a question, but I answered with a nod anyway. "Who's your roommate?"
I flipped my hair in my best sorority pledge impression. "Ashley Browning."
He grimaced. "From Kansas, right?" I nodded again. "She's in my English class. Tough break."
Had I not been sitting, I might have kicked myself for my apparent inability to say something interesting. He spared me by sticking out his hand. I shook it.
"I'm Jason," he said. "Or, Jay. Most people call me Jay."
He spent a few minutes attempting to pry my life story from me before abruptly standing up and extending his hand again. "My butt's falling asleep. Let's go get some coffee."
When it came to Jay Merriman, my heart never stood a chance.