Writing Sprints!

Hey internets!

Midterms happened and then before I knew it, I neglected the blog a bit. So I got a lot to catch up on! I’m back with a story, though. As you all know, I’m a part of an online critique community called Scribophile. It’s great. A bit of what makes the website so awesome are the many groups you can join within the community. They reflect different writing genres and interest etc. I joined a lot of the YA themed groups as I primarily write YA fiction. One of these groups in particular has these weekly sprints. Basically, you get a quote of some kind and you have three hundred words or less to create a YA themed piece of micro fiction.

About a week or so ago I had a little free time and I decided to join in on one of the sprints, since I hadn’t done one in a while. Let me tell you, I’m so glad I did. I am tickled by my piece. Absolutely tickled. So I’m going to share it right now!

Here was my prompt/quote:

“Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.”

—Rainbow Rowell, Eleanor & Park

Here’s what I came up with:

How’d I get here? Missing lunch to read to this dumbass so he won’t fail. So he can finish up his math homework real quick and won’t be embarrassed when Mr. Hunter assigns him a number to do on the board, and he can’t.

“If you quit looking around at everything, you’d finish and I wouldn’t need to read to you like a toddler,” I tell him.

“I know, but that book is so boring!”

“It’s only boring because you refuse to read it.”

“Babe, come on. Don’t argue with me,” he sighs. “Alright. Just do this one last time for me. Please.” He’s got all the eyelashes in the world, and they all bat at me.

“Fine.” I give in. I turn back to the book and continue on. “Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

He throws down his pencil like I read his father’s last will and testament and he didn’t get a single thing. “What in the actual fuck does that even mean?”

“Seriously, language.” I hate that about him. Cursing to be cursing. At least I curse in context.

“Babe. But what does it mean?”

“You need to figure that out, not me,” I tell him. “That’s what Humphries is gonna ask you. I can’t tell you. What do you think?”

I actually see a lightbulb go off over his head.

“I think it means she’s ugly.” He laughs. He teeters back in his chair. “Oh shit, he called her ugly!”

He laughs and laughs. I just sit here. Why am I like this?

“Yo, Amanda!” he calls across the library.

“What?” she asks.

“You look like art!”

 

Tell me, what do you think? I know I’m just surprised it’s contemporary and not a southern historical voice. Actually, I think all my sprints end up contemporary. Hmm.The sprints are great, though! They really help to get your juices flowing, they offer a little break from your larger projects, and they’re just really fun! You guys should try it sometime.

Oh, and we haven’t had a booktrack post in a while. I better get to it!

Peace,

Cherish

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