Excerpt from my novel - FEEDBACK WELCOME
Hi everyone! I've been encouraged to post a snippet from my novel, which I was talking about in my last entry. Well, here it is!
A bit of necessary background to keep in mind as you read:
1. Stacy's mother is mentally ill and needs to be watched all the time.
2. The story takes place a few decades in the future. A lot of service jobs are done by machines. In my novel, human workers are called "lives."
Constructive feedback is welcome. Thanks so much for your time!
They were down and out in a big way. It seemed that there were no real jobs to be found. At first Stacy had been optimistic, telling herself that she’d be able to nab one in no time. Then she realized she’d have to dig a bit harder. But she was still positive she would get her reward in the end. That was her overall philosophy about life: Even though might stink at various points, there would always be rewards.
Months went by. Stacy had no choice but to leave Mom alone in the apartment. She spent her days riding the El around the city. They were long days, beginning at dawn when Mom was still asleep and ending just before dinner. She got off at nearly every train stop, walked around the block to see if any places were open, and went inside to ask for work.
She tried not to sound desperate. For the most part, people were nice to her. She was aware that adults thought she was “cute” and that she looked like a lost puppy. She usually didn’t like being treated that way, but now it might work to her advantage. The store clerk or supervisor would get a sympathetic look on his face when he spoke to her.
And yet the answer was always no. “No, we aren’t hiring. I’m sorry.” “We haven’t hired a live in years, honey.” “You might check with Fanto’s two blocks down. But I doubt he needs anybody.” Others were more blunt: “There ain’t no jobs here. You might as well apply for food stamps, if you can get any.” The government gave food stamps only to the starving, if that. To get them, you had to prove you were severely malnourished. The list of curt responses went on. “There’s only one live position in here, baby-and that’s mine.” “Do we look like we’re hiring people under 18?” And sometimes people were downright mean.
Stacy would never forget the manager in Tomlina’s, a clothes shop on Randolph. She was a tall, very skinny lady with legs that reminded Stacy of chicken bones. The woman seemed forty, maybe forty-five-but she was so heavily made up that it was hard to tell. Her foundation made her skin look almost unnaturally even, like a porcelain doll’s. She’d done her lips so that there was bright lipstick on the inside and a dark liner on the outside. There was very little flesh on her face. The skin on her neck was tight, showing stringy tendons underneath. It was as if somebody had scooped out the meat under her cheekbones. Her eyes were sunken. In fact, it took only a little imagination to picture her head as an empty skull...
A bit of necessary background to keep in mind as you read:
1. Stacy's mother is mentally ill and needs to be watched all the time.
2. The story takes place a few decades in the future. A lot of service jobs are done by machines. In my novel, human workers are called "lives."
Constructive feedback is welcome. Thanks so much for your time!
They were down and out in a big way. It seemed that there were no real jobs to be found. At first Stacy had been optimistic, telling herself that she’d be able to nab one in no time. Then she realized she’d have to dig a bit harder. But she was still positive she would get her reward in the end. That was her overall philosophy about life: Even though might stink at various points, there would always be rewards.
Months went by. Stacy had no choice but to leave Mom alone in the apartment. She spent her days riding the El around the city. They were long days, beginning at dawn when Mom was still asleep and ending just before dinner. She got off at nearly every train stop, walked around the block to see if any places were open, and went inside to ask for work.
She tried not to sound desperate. For the most part, people were nice to her. She was aware that adults thought she was “cute” and that she looked like a lost puppy. She usually didn’t like being treated that way, but now it might work to her advantage. The store clerk or supervisor would get a sympathetic look on his face when he spoke to her.
And yet the answer was always no. “No, we aren’t hiring. I’m sorry.” “We haven’t hired a live in years, honey.” “You might check with Fanto’s two blocks down. But I doubt he needs anybody.” Others were more blunt: “There ain’t no jobs here. You might as well apply for food stamps, if you can get any.” The government gave food stamps only to the starving, if that. To get them, you had to prove you were severely malnourished. The list of curt responses went on. “There’s only one live position in here, baby-and that’s mine.” “Do we look like we’re hiring people under 18?” And sometimes people were downright mean.
Stacy would never forget the manager in Tomlina’s, a clothes shop on Randolph. She was a tall, very skinny lady with legs that reminded Stacy of chicken bones. The woman seemed forty, maybe forty-five-but she was so heavily made up that it was hard to tell. Her foundation made her skin look almost unnaturally even, like a porcelain doll’s. She’d done her lips so that there was bright lipstick on the inside and a dark liner on the outside. There was very little flesh on her face. The skin on her neck was tight, showing stringy tendons underneath. It was as if somebody had scooped out the meat under her cheekbones. Her eyes were sunken. In fact, it took only a little imagination to picture her head as an empty skull...