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Mar. 17th, 2006 01:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreWe all screw up. :P I was given a prompt for my creative writing class that I didn't much like, and to make it more interesting for myself, I decided to paste Lush into the story plan. So far so good! Then I saw that the news story she wanted us to write about said that the event happened in London! I had the neat idea of using the Covent Garden Lush store in my story, which I know exists, so I figured it would give me an edge in writing about a place I've never seen.
I WAS WRONG. Four paragraphs in, I couldn't go any farther. I'd need to extensively interview someone from the area to be able to write this story, and I knew that might happen, so. Ever heard the rule "Write what you know"? Well, sometimes you can ignore it. And sometimes - like this time - you can't. I tried, but it simply wasn't meant to be.
I'm posting it because we all screw up, like I said. And what is this, if not a journal full of screw-ups? Or at least very little effort. :P
. . .
London greeted Monday morning with rain. Covent Garden was quiet, and the small cosmetics boutique Suzy worked for was empty for the first two hours of her shift, until the girl from a store down the street came in to buy a stick of eyeliner at noon. The name on her badge looked like 'Marissa' though the print was blurred and hard to read; Marissa hardly spoke at all except to say, "This please," and "Thanks" when she made her purchases, and then she would be off, quiet as you please. She had great hair, full and wavy in a pale strawberry blond that she always kept twisted in an improvised bun at the back of her head, stuck through with a pencil or a chopstick. It never looked messy. Suzy thought it would be nice to have hair that did what she wanted it to, instead of the haystack she had to style every morning.
Cosmetics were low on the public's general agenda Mondays, as a long string of weeks before this had proven. Her boss knew it too, or there would have been another person to direct to straighten the displays and sweep out the back room, someone to relieve the monotony. She did these things herself to pass the time, and then sat behind the glass counter to watch people pass by the windows and the rain slow down to an intermittant sprinkle, occasionally glancing at the clock. Taylor wouldn't be home when she got there, but if the bird was quiet she could watch a movie, or sit down and look at one of those Crestomanci books her sister kept bothering her to read. Corporate had a thing about employees reading on the job, or she would've started it in the store.
The manager came in for the second shift at three, and Suzy left at six with her weekly paycheck and an address she printed that morning for a store called 'Lush.' The place was at the end of the block near King's Street, and she could smell it several stores away.
Music drifted out the doors as she approached, and Suzy entered cautiously. It was split bi-level, and the main floor was crowded by tables piled high with gift boxes and big, colored chunks of something - soap, she guessed, catching sight of a price-marker. Fresh Farmacy Soap, price: three pounds per one hundred grams. Wide, shallow stairs led down from the door, which she followed after another moment hovering by the door.
. . .
For the record, I still think the story she used for our prompt is stupid. Funny, but stupid. I'll try to find a link.
I WAS WRONG. Four paragraphs in, I couldn't go any farther. I'd need to extensively interview someone from the area to be able to write this story, and I knew that might happen, so. Ever heard the rule "Write what you know"? Well, sometimes you can ignore it. And sometimes - like this time - you can't. I tried, but it simply wasn't meant to be.
I'm posting it because we all screw up, like I said. And what is this, if not a journal full of screw-ups? Or at least very little effort. :P
. . .
London greeted Monday morning with rain. Covent Garden was quiet, and the small cosmetics boutique Suzy worked for was empty for the first two hours of her shift, until the girl from a store down the street came in to buy a stick of eyeliner at noon. The name on her badge looked like 'Marissa' though the print was blurred and hard to read; Marissa hardly spoke at all except to say, "This please," and "Thanks" when she made her purchases, and then she would be off, quiet as you please. She had great hair, full and wavy in a pale strawberry blond that she always kept twisted in an improvised bun at the back of her head, stuck through with a pencil or a chopstick. It never looked messy. Suzy thought it would be nice to have hair that did what she wanted it to, instead of the haystack she had to style every morning.
Cosmetics were low on the public's general agenda Mondays, as a long string of weeks before this had proven. Her boss knew it too, or there would have been another person to direct to straighten the displays and sweep out the back room, someone to relieve the monotony. She did these things herself to pass the time, and then sat behind the glass counter to watch people pass by the windows and the rain slow down to an intermittant sprinkle, occasionally glancing at the clock. Taylor wouldn't be home when she got there, but if the bird was quiet she could watch a movie, or sit down and look at one of those Crestomanci books her sister kept bothering her to read. Corporate had a thing about employees reading on the job, or she would've started it in the store.
The manager came in for the second shift at three, and Suzy left at six with her weekly paycheck and an address she printed that morning for a store called 'Lush.' The place was at the end of the block near King's Street, and she could smell it several stores away.
Music drifted out the doors as she approached, and Suzy entered cautiously. It was split bi-level, and the main floor was crowded by tables piled high with gift boxes and big, colored chunks of something - soap, she guessed, catching sight of a price-marker. Fresh Farmacy Soap, price: three pounds per one hundred grams. Wide, shallow stairs led down from the door, which she followed after another moment hovering by the door.
. . .
For the record, I still think the story she used for our prompt is stupid. Funny, but stupid. I'll try to find a link.
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no subject
Date: 2006-03-17 02:06 pm (UTC)You gave yourself away in one place only - I don't think I've ever seen Covent Garden quiet ;). Think busy tourist area with at least a few people braving the weather and wandering in and out of the shops even on off days.
Otherwise, nicely done!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-18 11:45 am (UTC)Maybe I'll attempt again in a little bit, for the end-of-semester editing process.