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Litfic - Blog Posts
I forgot about this short wip, I hope I didn’t lose the actual document now
I wrote this short story a while ago, intending to submit it to some magazines, leaving it to decay chill until I had time off from uni to edit it. Currently busy af w *shiny* new novel, but I wanted to share some of it on here to motivate me to work on it. Alors,,,,,,
genre: spooky lit-fic logline: Trudging through the barren Arizona desert after a night out partying, a group of friends come across a cupcake shop owned by a creepy old lady and her cannibal husband. TW: drug use, dead rats, disturbing cupcake ingredients, murdery elderly people.
Everything had been going well up until I lost my pink sneaker. It jumped into an Uber and drove off waving, never texted or called, leaving me to live my life without protection from sharp objects or raccoon shit lying around my frilly socked feet. Then we missed the last bus.
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I wrote this short story a while ago, intending to submit it to some magazines, leaving it to decay chill until I had time off from uni to edit it. Currently busy af w *shiny* new novel, but I wanted to share some of it on here to motivate me to work on it. Alors,,,,,,
genre: spooky lit-fic logline: Trudging through the barren Arizona desert after a night out partying, a group of friends come across a cupcake shop owned by a creepy old lady and her cannibal husband. TW: drug use, dead rats, disturbing cupcake ingredients, murdery elderly people.
The slope was 90 degrees and we were rock climbing, harnessed to a frayed string that tugged our shoulders. Desert on all sides, not a single car. One cactus, ten yards away, frilled with spines. When a café tiled with orange bricks sprouted above us, we first mistook it as a mirage. The sign read Cupcake Shoppe and assured us they were sustainably sourced and organic—probably made using soy milk or that green powder Julie mixed into milk with a golden spoon. I tried it once; it tasted like marbles.
Wip Intro: Yellow Houses
I should start by saying that this project is shelved. I’m currently too busy to devote it the time it deserves while juggling uni and another novel. Hopefully, I’ll pick it up one day in the future, but for now, let’s just let it age like a fine wine on a USB stick, shall we?
Genre: Lit-fic/mystery? Logline: Ellen, an aspiring university journalist, finds an envelope in her mailbox filled with photographs of upper-class houses. When she visits these addresses she finds they’ve all been vandalized -- painted a neon, school-bus yellow. When the two vandals engage with her via a virtual chatroom to propose that she cover their ‘art project’ for the local newspaper, she must do her best to write a non-biased recollection of the conflicts that ensue. Literal Logline: A bunch of young hipsters create pretentious art and go on tangents about eating the rich. Also, there is a creepy/psychopathic mayor candidate always wearing a signature yellow jacket and tie having an affair with Ellen’s mom! Fun!
Setting: Takes place in a small, fictional town in British Columbia. But a lot of scenes also take place in a chatroom, with virtual urban cities like Tokyo, New York and more.
Excerpt from the chatroom scene! TW/NSFW warning: mild sexuality. Also I haven’t line edited much yet, oops!
My baby pink VR headset landed me 2050, Chinatown; a street puddled with neon lights swimming in oily water, reflecting a Tetris stack of knockoff Balenciaga retailers. A couple Hello Kitty shaped arcade machines silhouetted a bar window, casting a pink and blue grid over my friends, who caught sight of me and waved. In only 330 hours, 20 minutes, 12 seconds, I’d come to know them better than their own families. If I hovered over their bodies, too creamy and poreless to be truly photorealistic, a timer would reveal when we’d clicked accept, invited eachother into our second lives.
Cassie’s heart shaped face grinned, her bejeweled teeth blue in the ink of store lights. She tossed her metal bat up high, and caught it on her index finger, balancing it there. Jada’s newly installed robo arms were translucent plastic. There were wires tangled inside.
Across the plaza, next to some motorcycles collapsed like dominos, a tall woman with a black veil over her face dragged a leash with a crawling half naked man in a bunny mask on the end of it, shuffling clumsily to keep up with her long strides. When she greeted us with nod, Jada let out a squeak before muting her microphone to safely burst into giggles.
“So many weirdos tonight,” Cassie said lowly, staring at the slave’s bony butt disappear around the boba shack. “Alors.” Her hands came together in a prayer. “Matching tattoos. Glowing ones, from the new update. And don’t even think about saying no, I have enough coins for all of us. You’ve got no excuse whatsoever.” She linked her arm through mine and Jada slung her robo arm over my shoulder and they steered me across the street. A group of white-haired teenagers, teardrop wings trailing along their bare feet drifted past us at the traffic lights, which only existed to flash ads for fast food chains or reduced phone plans at the pedestrians. One of them poked out her tongue at me. Pastel blue and pierced with a tiny metal seahorse.