Wednesday, February 5, 2020
The second month of the year has already begun. I feel like I completely missed Christmas and New Years… and the whole month of January for that matter. I guess a long collie shangle with the “everything flu” will do that to you. It tore me down physically and emotionally.
Despite the speed with which February arrived, somehow (for once) I managed to remember Valentine’s Day soon enough that I should be able to write a story for it. Several years I wrote a short-short story for the occasion. Other years I didn’t think about the day in time to do even that. Admittedly, I’m not a romantic person… Ha! I suppose my so-called Valentine’s stories have attested to that fact.
Anyhow, last week I got ambitious and started what I hoped would be a short novella for my Fiona Finch steampunk character. She has been waiting for her own book for a couple of years now. But you know me and my false starts — I’ll be lucky to make a short story of it, forget about a novella. I’m only around 2500 words into it. So, I made a book cover to encourage myself.
I didn’t think I would be up to doing a post today, and I can’t truthfully say that everything is ducky. However, I suddenly decided to share a snippet from this work in progress (and hope that I finish it). Here’s the beginning…
In the Pink
Frothy pink bubbles boiled merrily as the cherries cooked. The kitchen was usually the domain of my adopted brother, Steele. Contrary to what was expected of my gender, I had no interest in being domestically proficient. However, I was feeling inspired.
I tied-on my pink gingham apron and pinned back the pink ruffled sleeves of my gown. Then I settled myself, bustle and all, onto a brass swivel stool. My mouth twisted as I noted the uncomfortable height of the counter.
Of course, Steele was the last to use the stool and he was quite tall. I pressed the foot-pedal to raise the seat to a height that fit my much shorter person. Steele had a knack for tinkering-up unusual things and was the creator of the stools and many other little marvels in our home.
The liquid was ready to be strained off the cherries, but the pot was heavy for me to lift and I feared dropping it. Inspiration struck when I noticed the octopod Steele had just repaired. It was a metal sphere with eight legs, some of which ended in movable pincers. He created it to pick up things from the bottom of the koi pond in the garden.
I giggled as the octopod bubbled around the bottom of the pot, collecting cherry pits. Steele might not like my use of his clockwork octopus, and he would complain that I had ruined the fruit. All I wanted was the beautiful blushing liquid.
Yes, I have a penchant for pink. I simply can’t get enough of it.
“All anyone can think about is mauve and mauvine,” I complained to myself. “It’s getting hard to find a perfectly pretty pink.”
A loud quack answered me. I jumped half out of my skin. It was Steele’s dratted duck. Damfino what possessed his mentor, Professor Quirinius Quelch, to give the duck to my brother. She was a nuisance as far as I was concerned. She was always following one of us, and all too often that “one” was me.
My brother had taught her a few tricks. She’d do anything for a treat. However, teaching her to open drawers was just asking for trouble. She was always getting into things and places where a duck had no business being.
Although I admit that a duck fetching the mail was cute, but it was unnecessary. Steele had invented and installed a system of pneumatic tubes throughout the house. The tubes propelled cylindrical containers (and whatever they held) by compressed air.
“Land sakes, Steele! Your duck is loose in the house again. Get this nasty bird out of here!” I yelled, but got no reply.
“Shoo, Quellie! Shoo. Get out from under foot,” I told the duck, and shook my skirt at her.
I had mischievously named the quacker “Quellie” after the professor. However, the moniker stuck.
“Fiona, what have you done to those wonderful cherries?” my brother demanded in a resigned tone. “And where is Quellie? I thought she had caused your caterwauling.”
The chapter continues, but that’s the end of the snippet
Now, if you know me at all, then you already expect some kind of hijinx from that duck. No, I don’t intend this to be another serial. I’m not sure what I plan, but I shared part of it anyway…
Thanks for visiting. Hugs on the wing!
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2020 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
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