I was at Tsarbucks today and this girl had the best bag! So, being me (awkward and not wanting to say “hey,c an I take a picture of your bag?”) I took out my handy phone and snapped a picture of it! Then I fiddled with it in this program I have on my phone called Little Photo (which is like Instagram but for us non-iPhone owners) and wha-la! A photo that looks like I took it with an instant camera. I heart technology. Between my phone and Iheart.com its like I’m living in the 70’s again.
I am taking advantage of technology to collect visuals of what I think would be my main character’s style. She goes through a transformation in the story and for young girls (and older ones, like me) you style can say a lot about you. I’m collecting images and photos and putting them on Pinterest so that I can have a visual record of what Libby’s style is.
Today’s writing prompt is from WellFed Muse.
“Seriously? That’s just sad,” Amber leaned against the tree and settled into the space Troy had vacated. “I don’t even know where to begin with you.”
Begin by walking way.
“How are you supposed to find a suitable partner if you keep hanging out with him?” Amber made air quotes as she said the words hanging out, as if the words meant something far less innocent then how Troy and I actually spent our time together.
Suitable mate? What century is this? What country do we live in? “I’m only 17. I don’t need a suitable mate yet. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Is that why you’re not with Josh anymore, because he’s not suitable?” I made the same air quotes when I said the word suitable, though I had not intention behind my actions.
“The most important thing I learned at camp this summer was that there is someone for each of us” she said, ignoring my question, “but if we waste our time with people who aren’t right” the air quotes made another appearance, “then we could miss out on who has been chosen for us.”
“Who is doing the choosing?”
She let out a sigh before pointing upwards. “You know good and well who is doing the choosing, Libby.”
The spot behind my eye that had seemed to crippling before gave me one good kick. I clenched my teeth a bit, forcing a smile.
“Honestly, Libby, “ she continued, her eyes on the bare batch of skin that showed from where collar slipped over my shoulder. It was shiny and raised, like a flame embroidered pattern sewn directly onto my skin. I moved my shoulder so that the collar straightened its self out and hid the patterned skin. “Some of us need to make sure we are as open as possible for those signs and messages from,” she raised her eyes to look towards the sky again. “We might only get one chance.”
We. Dear Amber, we are not a team.