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Nov. 29th, 2004 01:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ragdoll1348,079 words! 1,921 left to go.
I'll post an excerpt tonight, just because what I've been working on is so Bellingham it hurts. It's a little long, and maybe not as exciting as what some of you have read so far, but here goes.
And as a note, James and Rachel are not modeled after anyone in particular, but kind of an amalgam(sp?) of people I know, so if you see something that reminds you of yourself or someone else, don't get your panties in a bunch about it. It's fiction, for God's sake.
As an adult, he had been shocked to find that his diploma was not a free pass to a good job and an easy life. In a small town, with unemployment rates rising, he took what work he could, sometimes bussing tables, sometimes scanning groceries. He wrote essays and even now studied the things he hadn't gotten to in his college years, indulging a frivolous interest in culture, literature and folklore. James also drank coffee in the town's many coffee shops, and after finally settling on his favorite, spent his free time drinking coffee, talking to friends, and of course, reading.
It was here that he had met Rachel, a young woman of quick wit and fierce strength of personality. She was not scholarly, being more concerned with education of a different sort. James had decided that she was a student of the human condition, and he admired her hands-on approach. Rachel subjected herself to every sort of emotional torture prevalent in day to day life, dating terrible men, and then lamenting about them over cuban coffees. Every single time it happened she would talk about what she wanted in a man, and about how the boyfriend in question had them in spades; she would talk about how they were really good people deep down, and then would rage about how they had hurt her and didn't care.
Rachel would put herself in tenuous financial situations, too. As the daughter of a fairly well-off family, James suspected that she hungered for experiences that her upbringing had denied her, and would practice poverty in order to experience and therefore understand the plight of the nation's poor. Her quest for understanding was without end, it seemed, and her need to experience all of this first-hand both frustrated and fascinated James, who had dug deep into learning in order to avoid the experience.
He had known Rachel now for about two years. They met at their coffee house each morning, and sat and drank coffee, and talked about whatever came to mind. They smoked cigarettes and talked about people they knew, or people they had in common, or what projects they were each working on at the time. And so it had been since the beginning of their friendship, and so it would probably continue, on into old age.
He remembered the first time he had seen her there, all dark hair and smiles. She knew everyone in the entire shop, and it had been his first time there. At first sight, he had judged her as spoiled and flighty, her social extravagences irritated him, and her air of propriety made him all the more determined to take over as much territory in the shop as he could. She had the sofa by the heater? Well, he'd take the armchair by the front window. It had the disadvantage of being very cold in the winter, being right near the door, but sitting there, he would be the first to know who was entering and leaving the shop. So there.
After a few weeks of this coffee house cold war, she started to recognize him as a power in and of himself, and evidently decided he was here to stay. Seeing him as another regular, she gave him the nod and started talking to him. Early on, he was bored with her constant pursuit of melodrama, and her unabashedly frank discussion of it. Later, he had started to admire her mind, the way it examined people's movements and words, and how quickly she was able to divine their intentions, often knowing just what people were up to before they knew it themselves. Rachel was brilliant as well as beautiful, he decided, and he hastily edited his sorority girl image of her to include this.
Besides, as he was to find out after years of drinking coffee next to her, she always had the best gossip.
The most common topic of discussion lately had been Chance, her now ex-boyfriend, who had called her and left messages on her answering machine for weeks after they had broken up. Rachel was fiercely trying to convince herself that the break up was the right thing, and honestly James had to agree with her there. He could never see himself staying with someone who had cheated on him. The kicker was, from what she said, Rachel had actually felt really strongly for the young man. A shame, she was wasted on him, he had no job prospects, no education, and none of the social graces that Rachel prized so much. He guessed that this was probably the reason Rachel had taken a shine to the boy in the first place. He was from a completely different world than the one she inhabited, and with her hands-on approach to learning about people, well... she had just taken it to an all-too-literal level.
She seemed thoughtful and a little disturbed today, as she thoughtfully stirred her coffee and toyed with the cigarette in her right hand. He took a drag from his cigarette and waited.
"I saw two people die at the mall today," she said, and James was forced to admit that she had finally said something that he had not expected at all.
"I beg your pardon?"
"She just fell over. She was looking at some crystal candle holders in the department store, and then crash, she was on the floor, dead." Rachel didn't seem distraught about it, really... more thoughtful, as though she were trying to file this experience away in the vast catalogue in her mind.
"Wow. What was wrong with her?"
"I don't know... the paramedics couldn't find anything that would cause that kind of a reaction."
"I don't know that I would call death a reaction, Rache."
Rachel shrugged, a little frown nestled between her arching brows. "I dunno. I saw another person go crazy. He just started knocking things over and shouting. They didn't know what was wrong with him either. It was a little creepy."
"Yeah, I guess."
James wasn't sure what to make of it, but it was something he was going to have to remember, just in case it turned out to be something big. He took out a little notebook and wrote in it:
one dead, one crazy, no explanation
September 30th, the mall, north Bellingham.
He tucked his pen back into the spiral binding and flipped the notebook closed.
I'll post an excerpt tonight, just because what I've been working on is so Bellingham it hurts. It's a little long, and maybe not as exciting as what some of you have read so far, but here goes.
And as a note, James and Rachel are not modeled after anyone in particular, but kind of an amalgam(sp?) of people I know, so if you see something that reminds you of yourself or someone else, don't get your panties in a bunch about it. It's fiction, for God's sake.
As an adult, he had been shocked to find that his diploma was not a free pass to a good job and an easy life. In a small town, with unemployment rates rising, he took what work he could, sometimes bussing tables, sometimes scanning groceries. He wrote essays and even now studied the things he hadn't gotten to in his college years, indulging a frivolous interest in culture, literature and folklore. James also drank coffee in the town's many coffee shops, and after finally settling on his favorite, spent his free time drinking coffee, talking to friends, and of course, reading.
It was here that he had met Rachel, a young woman of quick wit and fierce strength of personality. She was not scholarly, being more concerned with education of a different sort. James had decided that she was a student of the human condition, and he admired her hands-on approach. Rachel subjected herself to every sort of emotional torture prevalent in day to day life, dating terrible men, and then lamenting about them over cuban coffees. Every single time it happened she would talk about what she wanted in a man, and about how the boyfriend in question had them in spades; she would talk about how they were really good people deep down, and then would rage about how they had hurt her and didn't care.
Rachel would put herself in tenuous financial situations, too. As the daughter of a fairly well-off family, James suspected that she hungered for experiences that her upbringing had denied her, and would practice poverty in order to experience and therefore understand the plight of the nation's poor. Her quest for understanding was without end, it seemed, and her need to experience all of this first-hand both frustrated and fascinated James, who had dug deep into learning in order to avoid the experience.
He had known Rachel now for about two years. They met at their coffee house each morning, and sat and drank coffee, and talked about whatever came to mind. They smoked cigarettes and talked about people they knew, or people they had in common, or what projects they were each working on at the time. And so it had been since the beginning of their friendship, and so it would probably continue, on into old age.
He remembered the first time he had seen her there, all dark hair and smiles. She knew everyone in the entire shop, and it had been his first time there. At first sight, he had judged her as spoiled and flighty, her social extravagences irritated him, and her air of propriety made him all the more determined to take over as much territory in the shop as he could. She had the sofa by the heater? Well, he'd take the armchair by the front window. It had the disadvantage of being very cold in the winter, being right near the door, but sitting there, he would be the first to know who was entering and leaving the shop. So there.
After a few weeks of this coffee house cold war, she started to recognize him as a power in and of himself, and evidently decided he was here to stay. Seeing him as another regular, she gave him the nod and started talking to him. Early on, he was bored with her constant pursuit of melodrama, and her unabashedly frank discussion of it. Later, he had started to admire her mind, the way it examined people's movements and words, and how quickly she was able to divine their intentions, often knowing just what people were up to before they knew it themselves. Rachel was brilliant as well as beautiful, he decided, and he hastily edited his sorority girl image of her to include this.
Besides, as he was to find out after years of drinking coffee next to her, she always had the best gossip.
The most common topic of discussion lately had been Chance, her now ex-boyfriend, who had called her and left messages on her answering machine for weeks after they had broken up. Rachel was fiercely trying to convince herself that the break up was the right thing, and honestly James had to agree with her there. He could never see himself staying with someone who had cheated on him. The kicker was, from what she said, Rachel had actually felt really strongly for the young man. A shame, she was wasted on him, he had no job prospects, no education, and none of the social graces that Rachel prized so much. He guessed that this was probably the reason Rachel had taken a shine to the boy in the first place. He was from a completely different world than the one she inhabited, and with her hands-on approach to learning about people, well... she had just taken it to an all-too-literal level.
She seemed thoughtful and a little disturbed today, as she thoughtfully stirred her coffee and toyed with the cigarette in her right hand. He took a drag from his cigarette and waited.
"I saw two people die at the mall today," she said, and James was forced to admit that she had finally said something that he had not expected at all.
"I beg your pardon?"
"She just fell over. She was looking at some crystal candle holders in the department store, and then crash, she was on the floor, dead." Rachel didn't seem distraught about it, really... more thoughtful, as though she were trying to file this experience away in the vast catalogue in her mind.
"Wow. What was wrong with her?"
"I don't know... the paramedics couldn't find anything that would cause that kind of a reaction."
"I don't know that I would call death a reaction, Rache."
Rachel shrugged, a little frown nestled between her arching brows. "I dunno. I saw another person go crazy. He just started knocking things over and shouting. They didn't know what was wrong with him either. It was a little creepy."
"Yeah, I guess."
James wasn't sure what to make of it, but it was something he was going to have to remember, just in case it turned out to be something big. He took out a little notebook and wrote in it:
one dead, one crazy, no explanation
September 30th, the mall, north Bellingham.
He tucked his pen back into the spiral binding and flipped the notebook closed.
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Date: 2004-11-29 05:15 am (UTC)