Slowswift's Writing Stuff

[+Slowswift he/him]

Seeing as how I've been writing a little bit more lately--not a lot, but enough that I don't feel like a total failure--I thought I'd create this thread to share bits and pieces of what I write. I'm mostly sharing for fun, but if I'd like more feedback or constructive criticism on a particular piece I'll indicate so in the post.

Anyways, the first post will be coming...sometime. I'd share a meme but the Shard doesn't want to let me do that right now.

Edited May 16 by Slowswift
Memes away!

[Edema Rue she/her]

Oo, I’m excited!!

[+Slowswift he/him]

On 5/15/2024 at 7:56 AM, Edema Rue said:

Oo, I’m excited!!

I think you're entirely too optimistic.  

But anyways, here's most of a scene I've been working on. It's going to be part of a larger work that I'm not quite sure where to take yet, but has caught my fancy nonetheless. 

I've got the whole chapter mostly done, but I've been staring at it for far too long and it needs some fresh eyes on it before I try and implement any new ideas. Tell me what y'all think?

An Excerpt from an Untitled Chapter from an Untitled Work no. 1:

Spoiler

I kept walking until the first restaurant without a line—some bar type, the kind with live music and too many hipsters. Well, I’d fit right in, I suppose. I shouldered my way through the door and stood just inside while I got my bearings. The host stand was right in front of me; the entrance to the kitchen behind it and the bar behind that, running the length of the wall to the stage. The stage itself was a quarter circle in the corner. A number of tables were scattered on the floor, and the wall opposite the bar was lined with booths. Despite the late hour, there were a handful of diners still, watching the band on the stage and chatting amongst themselves.

The hostess led me back into the dining area. She slowed next to a table in the center, but instead I asked, “Sorry, is a booth available?”

She blinked and then consulted her tablet. “There is. Right this way.” She then took me to a booth in the corner. It was dimly lit and partially obscured by some fake plants. Perfect.

I told her as much; she smiled and indicated a server would be by shortly.

I took the time to check on my various bruises. Prodding gently, I made sure nothing was broken. Plenty of cuts and scrapes, but nothing too bad, and the ribs—blessedly—were just sore, not broken like I’d feared. Once done, I let out a deep breath and sank back into the seat.

“Long day, hun?” a voice asked.

I cracked an eye.

A waitress stood there, notebook at the ready and eyebrow raised.

“You could say that,” I said.

She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. “My name’s Megan; I’ll be your server tonight. I’m guessing some water to start?”

“Yes please.”

She was off. Not long after, she arrived carrying a tray with a glass of water and a jug, condensation dripping down the sides. She set the glass down, and I picked it up and drank it in one.

Megan didn’t even bat an eye as she refilled the glass. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?”

While drinking the second glass, I put my finger down on the menu without looking.

She smirked and said, “One clam chowder, coming right up.” She left, but not before filling the glass one last time.

I sat back, closed my eyes again, and drifted off. At some point the band stopped playing. They were replaced by generic pop piped through the PA system and the sounds of patrons gathering their things and leaving. The next distinct sound I heard was the puff of someone sitting down across from me.

“Long day?” A new voice asked.

“That obvious, huh?” I opened my eyes.

Across from me sat a young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She toyed idly with the end of her red braid as she gazed at me with an expression half concerned, half amused.

“A little bit,” she said.

“Damn.”

“Sorry.”

I waved off her apology. “Nah, I look like a wreck and I know it. I’m just glad to finally be sitting down somewhere.”

A rather guilty look passed over her face. “I’m not bothering you, am I? I can leave, if you’d like.”

I looked her in the eyes a little longer, searching. Her concern seemed genuine. What were the odds someone had followed me here? I probably shouldn’t be talking to anyone until I could check back in with the office. But I was so out of my way, and the last week had been so abjectly miserable that I wanted nothing more than something so normal and mundane as a chat with a random stranger at a bar.

“No, that’s all right. Honestly…it’s probably for the best I not be alone right now.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. She held out her hand. “I’m Tia. Nice to meet you.”

I reached across the table and shook it. Warm and firm, slightly callused. It felt nice. “Likewise. I’m Forrest.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” She smiled. It was a nice smile.

Damn. Was this flirting? Was she flirting with me?

“Uh. Well, thanks. Are you here often?”

Really? That’s what you say next? The single most cliché pickup line on the planet?

The smile turned into a full-sized grin. She reached beside the table and hefted an object I hadn’t noticed. An instrument case?

“Yes, actually,” she said. “I play with a band here every Thursday night.”

“Guitar?” I asked, noting the shape of the case. That would explain the calluses.

“Close. I play bass.”

“Was that you earlier, when I first walked in?” I asked, gesturing to the stage.

“Hmm? Oh, no, we go on in a few minutes.”

I glanced over. The crew bustling around, bringing out instrument stands and adjusting microphones. A group of people in assorted clothing stood around an upright piano, laughing uproariously. A tattooed man with curly hair in a bandanna and a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves sat at the bench, while a stocky fellow in denim and a woman in a tracksuit leaned against it. The other bandmates, I assumed.

“That’s pretty late,” I said, turning back.

She shrugged. “Not for us.”

“Shouldn’t you be over there? Looks like they’re almost ready.”

Another shrug. “Probably.”

“So…”

“So maybe I like talking to you more than I like just waiting around.” That small, smug smile was back.

Okay, that was blatant. “Well, then by all means.”

Just then, the waitress stopped at our table and handed over a steaming bowl. I didn’t miss the stink-eye she gave Tia.

“Thank you,” I said. The soup looked and smelled delicious, though too hot to start on right away.

A voice called from the other side of the room. “Hey, Tia! We’re ready for you!”

Over on the stage, the musicians had taken their places and were tuning their instruments. The pianist, evidently the one who had spoken, was waving at her.

She sighed. “Duty calls. Stick around?”

The offer made me smile despite myself. “I’d love to.”

“Great! See you later, alligator.” She slid out of the booth, picked up her instrument, and walked off.

 

Edited May 30 by Slowswift

[Edema Rue she/her]

5 hours ago, Slowswift said:

I think you're entirely too optimistic.  

But anyways, here's most of a scene I've been working on. It's going to be part of a larger work that I'm not quite sure where to take yet, but has caught my fancy nonetheless. 

I've got the whole chapter mostly done, but I've been staring at it for far too long and it needs some fresh eyes on it before I try and implement any new ideas. Tell me what y'all think?

An Excerpt from an Untitled Chapter from an Untitled Work no. 1:

  Reveal hidden contents

I kept walking until the first restaurant without a line—some bar type, the kind with live music and too many hipsters. Well, I’d fit right in, I suppose. I shouldered my way through the door and stood just inside while I got my bearings. The host stand was right in front of me; the entrance to the kitchen behind it and the bar behind that, running the length of the wall to the stage. The stage itself was a quarter circle in the corner. A number of tables were scattered on the floor, and the wall opposite the bar was lined with booths. Despite the late hour, there were a handful of diners still, watching the band on the stage and chatting amongst themselves.

The hostess led me back into the dining area. She slowed next to a table in the center, but instead I asked, “Sorry, is a booth available?”

She blinked and then consulted her tablet. “There is. Right this way.” She then took me to a booth in the corner. It was dimly lit and partially obscured by some fake plants. Perfect.

I told her as much; she smiled and indicated a server would be by shortly.

I took the time to check on my various bruises. Prodding gently, I made sure nothing was broken. Plenty of cuts and scrapes, but nothing too bad, and the ribs—blessedly—were just sore, not broken like I’d feared. Once done, I let out a deep breath and sank back into the seat.

“Long day, hun?” a voice asked.

I cracked an eye.

A waitress stood there, notebook at the ready and eyebrow raised.

“You could say that,” I said.

She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. “My name’s Megan; I’ll be your server tonight. I’m guessing some water to start?”

“Yes please.”

She was off. Not long after, she arrived carrying a tray with a glass of water and a jug, condensation dripping down the sides. She set the glass down, and I picked it up and drank it in one.

Megan didn’t even bat an eye as she refilled the glass. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?”

While drinking the second glass, I put my finger down on the menu without looking.

She smirked and said, “One clam chowder, coming right up.” She left, but not before filling the glass one last time.

I sat back, closed my eyes again, and drifted off. At some point the band stopped playing. They were replaced by generic pop piped through the PA system and the sounds of patrons gathering their things and leaving. The next distinct sound I heard was the puff of someone sitting down across from me.

“Long day?” A new voice asked.

“That obvious, huh?” I opened my eyes.

Across from me sat a young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She toyed idly with the end of her red braid as she gazed at me with an expression half concerned, half amused.

“A little bit,” she said.

“Damn.”

“Sorry.”

I waved off her apology. “Nah, I look like a wreck and I know it. I’m just glad to finally be sitting down somewhere.”

A rather guilty look passed over her face. “I’m not bothering you, am I? I can leave, if you’d like.”

I looked her in the eyes a little longer, searching. Her concern seemed genuine. What were the odds someone had followed me here? I probably shouldn’t be talking to anyone until I could check back in with the office. But I was so out of my way, and the last week had been so abjectly miserable that I wanted nothing more than something so normal and mundane as a chat with a random stranger at a bar.

“No, that’s all right. Honestly…it’s probably for the best I not be alone right now.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. She held out her hand. “I’m Tia. Nice to meet you.”

I reached across the table and shook it. Warm and firm, slightly callused. It felt nice. “Likewise. I’m Forrest.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” She smiled. It was a nice smile.

Damn. Was this flirting? Was she flirting with me?

“Uh. Well, thanks. Are you here often?”

Really? That’s what you say next? The single most cliché pickup line on the planet?

The smile turned into a full-sized grin. She reached beside the table and hefted an object I hadn’t noticed. An instrument case?

“Yes, actually,” she said. “I play with a band here every Thursday night.”

“Guitar?” I asked, noting the shape of the case. That would explain the calluses.

“Close. I play bass.”

“Was that you earlier, when I first walked in?” I asked, gesturing to the stage.

“Hmm? Oh, no, we go on in a few minutes.”

I glanced over. The crew bustling around, bringing out instrument stands and adjusting microphones. A group of people in assorted clothing stood around an upright piano, laughing uproariously. A tattooed man with curly hair in a bandanna and a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves sat at the bench, while a stocky fellow in denim and a woman in a tracksuit leaned against it. The other bandmates, I assumed.

“That’s pretty late,” I said, turning back.

She shrugged. “Not for us.”

“Shouldn’t you be over there? Looks like they’re almost ready.”

Another shrug. “Probably.”

“So…”

“So maybe I like talking to you more than I like just waiting around.” That small, smug smile was back.

Okay, that was blatant. “Well, then by all means.”

Just then, the waitress stopped at our table and handed over a steaming bowl. I didn’t miss the stink-eye she gave Tia.

“Thank you,” I said. The soup looked and smelled delicious, though too hot to start on right away.

A voice called from the other side of the room. “Hey, Tia! We’re ready for you!”

Over on the stage, the musicians had taken their places and were tuning their instruments. The pianist, evidently the one who had spoken, was waving at her.

She sighed. “Duty calls. Stick around?”

The offer made me smile despite myself. “I’d love to.”

“Great! See you later, alligator.” She slid out of the booth, picked up her instrument, and walked off.

 

If I want to be an optimist then I’ll be an optimist and you can’t stop me.

Besides, that was really good!! You drop lots of nice hints, and I’m curious to see where it goes. If you’re looking for feedback, I’d mostly just say read over it, little line edits. I love semicolons, but make sure you don’t overuse them or it starts to feel forced, at least to me. Just my thoughts. I like it though, keep writing!