#8ss

8 Sentence Sunday!

I don’t have the time to make quality blog posts. It’s sad, but true. And I’d rather make no blog posts than make shitty blog posts. So while I’m up to my buns in school-work-family, I’m going to mostly keep this blog limited to the “8 Sentence Sunday” posts I used to do. Those were neat, right?! Along with recognizing how little time I have for writing, I decided to stick to a single story until…

8 Sentence Sunday #6

Mattie is about to miss the Sentinel’s first port in Rome, so Genya takes her up to the Promenade deck so she can see it. The problem? Mattie’s horribly afraid of being on the airship and has been remedying her crippling phobia by avoiding views out the windows.

She shut her eyes before the view of Rome appeared. A few steps later, Genya stopped and said, “What do you think?”

Mattie inhaled…

8 Sentence Sunday #5

Mattie and Genya have a conversation about Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus, and Genya attempts a joke. A little bit is lost in translation.

To her surprise, Genya reached out and grasped her hand in his. He jumped and clenched her fingers. “Matilda, you must be dead! You did not electrocute me!”

For a second and a half, she thought he was making fun of her. Ridiculing her. Like Frederick…

8 Sentence Sunday #4

Mrs. Cavendish cocked her head. “Oh, liebchen, I’m not going anywhere. Not until I’ve had another drink.”

Mattie tapped the side of the empty wine glass. “There’s no more alcohol, Mrs. Cavendish.”

The older woman leaned forward and winked. “There is always more alcohol.” She leaned away and lifted a flask up, pulling it from nowhere, like a magician with a dove. She cackled as she unscrewed the…

8 Sentence Sunday #3

Her eyes darted to the vacant driver’s seat. She could crawl over the divider and be gone before anyone realized what was happening. She’d never driven a car before, but how hard could it be?

Before she could move toward the steering wheel and freedom, the door on her side opened. Frederick stooped and smiled at her, handsome even without a tuxedo on. He wore a single-breasted jacket with a blue…

8 Sentence Sunday #2

The endless parade of tuxedoed and uniformed men ran together into one smear of unremarkable humanity. Mattie’s brain began to identify the men with the strangest features and assemble them into one Quasimodo-esque visage, with protruding ears, a smashed nose, eyes too close together, reddened jowls, and a surprisingly wonderful personality. She’d have married Quasimodo and lived in the tower…