Hello. Nicole. That's me. Nineteen. American. I'm a writer, it's my calling in life. I'm a theatre major, focusing in playwriting and dramaturgy. I'm obsessed with movies, music, TV shows. I'm a major fangirl. I have a twisted sense of humor, and I like to think I'm overly friendly. Oh, and apparently, I laugh at anything. So...welcome to my blog? Mkay! Nice to meet you over the interwebs.
Version one: The Hightowers are a very well-to-do family in Victorian England. There is George Hightower, the father, and Elizabeth Hightower, the mother. They have three children, Mary, the oldest, Helene, the middle child, and little George Jr.—affectionately called “Georgie”. Isabella Hightower, George’s mother, is the aging, yet, ever-wise matriarch of the family. Trouble starts when Mary marries the debaucherous Nathaniel Morris, who is keen on the family’s wealth. Helene is in love with the stable boy from down the road, Peter, and their love is tragic because of their difference in social standing. Will the Hightowers carry on in this era of change and modernism, or will they fall like so many powerful clans before them?
Version two: MY VAGINA HATES ME. I FEEL LIKE MY UTERUS IS KICKING ME IN THE GUT WITH SPIKED BOOTS. DEAR LORD, WHY DID I HAVE TO BE A WOMAN?! JUST LEAVE ME TO DIE. IT’S LIKE A WAR ZONE DOWN THERE.
My one-act is due at noon tomorrow, hard-copy, on my professor’s desk. I have at least fifteen more pages and I still have to introduce a character. And I have to think of an ending and a less-shitty title (because the one I have now sucks balls. Big time.)
A story about Mindy finding out Danny's favorite sushi roll.
She was hungry. And it was bad.
She looked at the clock. 11.45. Close enough.
She pushed herself away from her desk and walked to his office, turning the knob without knocking. He was looking at paperwork through those weird, red glasses. He knew she was there, but he didn’t bother to look up. She waited a moment.
“I’m hungry,” she whined. He hated when she did that.
“So, eat,” he said, still engrossed in the files.
“Danny,” she whined again, elongating the “y”.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Mindy,” he said calmly.
“Can you take those things off? I can’t talk to you seriously if you look like that old lady that lives on my floor.” He sighed again, but did as she asked. She slid into the chair across from his desk. “Okay, so there’s this new sushi place a couple streets over and it’s supposed to be the bomb.”
“Mm-hmm,” she nodded enthusiastically. “Come on, Danny. Please, don’t make me go by myself. I’ll be like Reese in that movie with Chris Pine and Tom Hardy but like, a thousand times more pathetic.”
“I didn’t understand any of that.”
“Please, Danny,” she said as she put on her best puppy dog eyes and batted an eyelash or two for good measure.
“Aw, c’mon, Min,” he said. “You know that’s not fair.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know perfectly well—” he motioned to her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go with you.”
Mindy smiled as he grabbed his coat and lead her out the door.
I am now open for prompts. Because why the hell not? It’s not like I have a final to study for, anyway.
Inbox me if you have any requests.
Edit: I can’t write smut. I’m not saying I won’t—yes, I am—but, it’s because I can’t. It would be horrible. Trust me on this one. Honestly. Please, don’t make awkward, barely-functioning-as-a-human-being me write smut.