Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Excerpt - Colton and Eden

I know some of you guys have placed a request for more fiction writing, and since I'm not planning to publish this, I figure it's a pretty safe way to go about giving you some. This is an excerpt from something I'm kinda working on. My character is a writer, so obviously I'm enjoying her. :) Also, this is kind of a sequel of sorts to an old book you guys haven't seen. I may have referenced it once here, at most. Since looking back at that book and writing this sequel, I have been pounding my head on my desk, wondering why on earth my fifteen-year-old self named a character Colton. Just...really?

Also, this is first draft material, so don't judge me too much. :P 


I pretended to be absorbed in the different brands of French bread when Colton passed me in the grocery isle. After I was sure his back was to me, I couldn’t help but drop the bread, turn around, and stare at his passing figure. He had jet black hair, I took in. It was spiked in the front, and the excessive jell he used made his hair look slick. He was wearing a blue t-shirt, and desperately needed a belt to hold up his saggy pants.
I ducked behind a cart of pumpernickel bread and pulled a pink and green striped notebook out of my jeans pocket. I let myself sink to the floor, my imagination running too fast to worry about the germs, dirt, and already-been-chewed bubblegum probably lurking on the public tile. My pink pen scribbled short hand.

Colton – Tall, lanky, somewhat skinny, but it might just be his height. Spiked hair, bony elbows, flip flops, needs to go belt shopping. Wears a chain lanyard, trudges—doesn’t really walk. Annoyed, worldly, surface, not a deep thinker.  

I put the pen between my teeth and peeked out from behind my bread fort to see if I could get a last look at Colton. He was still trudging.
He’s wearing socks. Quickly, I turned to my paper and scribbled a note about the socks—the one detail I hadn’t caught. When I looked back through the bread shelves, he’d already turned down the snack isle. Or trudged, I should say. He trudged down the snack isle.
I put the pen back in my mouth, and wondered whether or not I should follow him to see what kind of snacks Colton ate. No, I couldn't stoop that low. Even if the information was crucial to the crafting of my novel.
I heard footsteps, and before I had time to react, looked up to see an enormous African American man suited in a hefty blue jacket staring down at me. He wore a pinned name tag across his massive chest. It read, Samson. A very fitting title.
“I was just, uh,”
Introvert gets stuck explaining her motives to a monstrous African American official. The official finds her notebook and turns her into the police for unmerited stalking of innocent persons and un-American-like conduct.  
I stuffed the notebook in my jacket pocket and avoided the eye of my investigator. “I was just—” I thought of my characters. What would they say? I pulled myself up on the bread cart, but failed to notice it had wheels. I almost pulled the whole thing down on top of me. My face warmed. Samson glared sternly down his nose at me, as if tipping the bread cart was an offense worthy of drastically lengthening my jail time. He still didn't say anything. The strong, silent type, I suppose. 
I worked my face into a waxy smile. “I was just—about to find a store clerk, such as yourself—um—to complain about the filthy state of these floors.” That was something my old character, Rosaline, would have said. She was witty. However, despite my dramatic swipe of a hand across the floor, I didn’t pull off the wit nearly as stealthily as she did. His face wasn’t softening, so I guessed I should just hurry up and walk away. “Um, maybe I should talk to a different…department…about my complaint.” His face still didn’t change, and I realized in a moment of embarrassment and human depravity, that I was still chewing on my pen. I pulled it out of my mouth. “Uh, thanks for your help, sir.”
He grunted. 
I was halfway out of the store when I remembered the entire reason I was there. Lyra asked me to pick up some sourdough bread and two avocados, and I was empty handed. People were staring at me, so I kept walking towards the parking lot until I could turn around without looking like a total loser. The same front-counter clerk I’d greeted my first time around waved at me, and I knew it was a greeting of recognition. I gave her a cheesy half-grin, and turned my head, pretending to be someone I wasn’t.   

Are you a writer like me and my character, Eden? What are some weird things you've done in order to obtain information? 

Disclaimer: While I have done some pretty odd things for the sake of writing, I can honestly say I've never stalked people in the grocery store. You're safe - don't worry! However, I have googled some pretty interesting... um....yeah.



  1. One time I really liked this lady's outfit at a Revolve Tour event, so I was taking notes on it, except for then she noticed I was looking at her all the time so then she would look at me to see if I was still doing it and it was super awkward.

    Like, you have no idea.

    1. Heroine, this made me laugh aloud! :) I'm more of the kind to take mental notes, but I could totally see myself doing the exact same thing...and getting those stares!