I have been extremely busy this week finishing up some freelance work that is alot more work than I anticipated. Any one else out there ever bitten off more than they can chew? And it is a holiday weekend of course. Hot, sunny and begging me to come outside.
However, I couldn't pass up the chance to continue working on my wanna-be novel. The WOE prompt this week was short and sweet, so I decided to take some time and add this small excerpt from my larger work. If you have been following Carly's story, this piece may have you thinking, "What the ----! Where did this come from?" I promise it has a place in the story.
The prompt this week was: Location, location, location
This week we asked you to focus on setting to deepen the reader’s connection to your story. You had the choice of using the setting to help develop your characters, your plot, or simply the mood of your story. Memoir writers could describe any setting in their past that holds meaning in their lives.
Cam’s protag experiences the elements a little too closely in The Storm.
We want to see the world your characters inhabit. In 250 words. Please only link up if you did the prompt and try to visit as many linkups as possible.
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Image courtesy of Free Public Domain Pictures
Momma opened the door. The over-whelming stench of leftover garbage slithered into my nostrils, assuring me this house would be like all of our other dwellings. Stagnant and revolting.
I should be use to this smell, I scolded myself. A nomadic existence did not afford the best living conditions. In all honestly, nomadic is a romantic word not worthy of our domestic journeys. Being jobless and entertaining numerous shortcomings did not leave much room for habitable living conditions. The Spencer family could afford squalor; nothing more.
Barely large enough to be considered a shed, the house creaked, sagging loudly as Momma and I stepped over the threshold. The eye didn't have to travel far to inventory the contents of the home. Three rooms: a common space, a kitchen with a wood-burning stove to cook meals and a bedroom. The bedroom was too small to accommodate a toddler, but we would be expected to sleep seven.
Noticing a large, galvanized metal tub sitting near the back door in the kitchen, I quickly understood this would be another home without indoor plumbing. I spied a decrepit out-building through the kitchen window. The pissing hole, I presumed.
"Lena!" My mother's voice trembled in my chest. I was at attention immediately. "See that?"
She pointed at black specks scattered across the kitchen floor. "Damn bastard rats. Two just scurried that way. Get the broom from the truck and knock their asses out of here. Then clean up their mess."
Walking to the truck, I sighed and blinked back useless tears. Welcome home, I thought.
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