logans_girl2001 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
logans_girl2001) wrote2019-02-05 05:21 pm
logans_girl2001) wrote2019-02-05 05:21 pm
Entry tags:
Need help, please!
So, while at work today something that has never happened before, happened.
I got an idea for the PERFECT title.
If you know me, you know that I usually struggle to find just the right title. In fact, right now, I have at least three stories in my WIP folder without titles.
So, what is this awesome title, you ask? We All Fall Down.
The problem? I have no idea what sort of story goes with it. If you saw that title what kind of story would you expect it to be?
My daughter suggested something to do with some kind of plague. Which then gave me the cover art: a ring of children shown in silhouette.
Below the cut is what I got on the drive home. Please let me know what you think.
GO! by Santigold featuring Karen O blares through the tiny speakers of my headphones as I turn the corner into the final stretch leading me back home, not that anywhere feels like home these days. But it is where I've lived the longest, almost four years, now. I keep waiting for the familiar restless feeling to hit; the one that tells me it's time to move on. But it hasn't, yet.
The streets are eerily quiet in the predawn hours and that's why I go running at this time of day. I don't have to worry about other people or even a car and I can actually run in the street which is where I prefer to run.
Just as the song ends, I run up the stairs to the wrap around porch. Using the walk around to the back to cool down, I remove my earbuds and wrap the cord around my mp3 player.
The kitchen smells like bacon and eggs and I feel a pang of longing for the real thing. No matter what the scientists say, the bacon and eggs that we eat these days does not taste anything like the bacon and eggs from my childhood.
"Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes. You can eat while it's hot if you don't linger in the shower," the figure at the stove says, just like every other morning for the past four years.
I don't even acknowledge them, just continue on through to the stairs. Taking them two at a time, I make my way to the third floor where my room is.
It's just early enough that none of the other residents have left their rooms, yet. In fact, most aren't even awake. Of the ten of us that live in this converted Victorian style manor, only two of us have to be up and out the door before sunrise. Three others don't have to leave until 8. The remaining five work overnights and at least three of them are still at work when I return from my run.
I got an idea for the PERFECT title.
If you know me, you know that I usually struggle to find just the right title. In fact, right now, I have at least three stories in my WIP folder without titles.
So, what is this awesome title, you ask? We All Fall Down.
The problem? I have no idea what sort of story goes with it. If you saw that title what kind of story would you expect it to be?
My daughter suggested something to do with some kind of plague. Which then gave me the cover art: a ring of children shown in silhouette.
Below the cut is what I got on the drive home. Please let me know what you think.
GO! by Santigold featuring Karen O blares through the tiny speakers of my headphones as I turn the corner into the final stretch leading me back home, not that anywhere feels like home these days. But it is where I've lived the longest, almost four years, now. I keep waiting for the familiar restless feeling to hit; the one that tells me it's time to move on. But it hasn't, yet.
The streets are eerily quiet in the predawn hours and that's why I go running at this time of day. I don't have to worry about other people or even a car and I can actually run in the street which is where I prefer to run.
Just as the song ends, I run up the stairs to the wrap around porch. Using the walk around to the back to cool down, I remove my earbuds and wrap the cord around my mp3 player.
The kitchen smells like bacon and eggs and I feel a pang of longing for the real thing. No matter what the scientists say, the bacon and eggs that we eat these days does not taste anything like the bacon and eggs from my childhood.
"Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes. You can eat while it's hot if you don't linger in the shower," the figure at the stove says, just like every other morning for the past four years.
I don't even acknowledge them, just continue on through to the stairs. Taking them two at a time, I make my way to the third floor where my room is.
It's just early enough that none of the other residents have left their rooms, yet. In fact, most aren't even awake. Of the ten of us that live in this converted Victorian style manor, only two of us have to be up and out the door before sunrise. Three others don't have to leave until 8. The remaining five work overnights and at least three of them are still at work when I return from my run.