Writing Excuses 10.14 – Beginnings, part 2

Part 2 of 3

Today’s post is my second 500-word attempt to begin the story outlined in my previous post.

Elise was enjoying a celebratory light caramel macchiato when her implant pinged with Marco’s tone. She swallowed, clicked her tongue to open the line, said, “Yes?”

“Did you find out yet?”

“Yes. How about you?”

“Skank! You first.”

“Okay.” Her joy threatened to bubble out every orifice in her body. She couldn’t have held out long anyway. “I’m in.”

“At FMI? Shut up.”

“Yes, at FMI. I already have all the docs, but I haven’t downloaded them yet.”

“What about your upgrade?”

“They’re messengering that to the apartment. Should be there in the next couple of hours.”

“Shit. You better get there before someone lifts it. You don’t want to miss your big chance to join our Uno overlords.”

Elise laughed. She’d learned about ten years earlier—courtesy of the business etiquette class her mother arranged for her when she was still in middle school—that none of the one-percenters ever referred to themselves as Unos. It was déclassé, and if she’d done it, she would either have betrayed her common origins or been seen as too irreverent to be taken seriously. But Marco could get away with it.

“Just finishing a coffee, then I’m on my way. You want to come?”

“Does [insert futuristic Pope Catholic thing here]? I want to see that implant.”

“Let’s meet up and take the bus back. Where are you?”

“Just picked up my own shiny new upgrade.”

Elise knew someone would hire Marco. From the sound of his voice he was happy about his offer, but he’d never said who he wanted to work for. He’d mentioned some private corps, the university, even a couple of non-profits, but he’d never given her any indication of his top pick. He was like that. He worked his ass off all four years—just like she had—but where Elise had only ever wanted to work at FMI after graduation, Marco had good things to say about several different paths.

“Spill. Who took you?”

“The Uni.”

“Oh.”

“Elise. It’s a good thing. We don’t all want to rule our inferiors.”

“That’s not what FMI is about.”

“I’m sure you’ll explain it all to me once you get through brainwashing—uh, orientation.”

“Let’s not fight about it, Marco. Can’t you be happy for me?”

“If you can be happy for me.”

“Of course I can.”

And suddenly he was across the metal table from her, his backpack making a hard thunk as it landed, causing her cup to shudder and jump. Thank god she’d left the lid on.

“Glad to hear it, ’Lise.” He grinned and picked up her cup, taking a large swig from it. “Are we going now, or what?”

She shook her head, stood, and settled her shoulder bag crossways on her body. She wrested the cup away from him. “We’d better. I don’t want any of the little delinquents or their more professional parents getting ideas about my package.”

An aubergine sedan with a silver FMI logo on the driver’s door was just pulling around the corner as they approached Elise’s building.

Back to the Writing Excuses – 10.14 – Beginnings

Part 1 of 3

I’m back to sharing some of the work I’m doing as part of the Writing Excuses Master Class in Fiction Writing. The episode that prompted this post (and the two following) can be heard here.

Here’s a basic outline of the story I’m working on:

In the near future, people use specialized implants to help them succeed at their jobs. Implants are given when children start preschool, and based on how the children respond and what they seem most suited to learning, their implants are updated/refined as they approach maturity.

Elise, 22,  lives with her mother in a bleak apartment, paid for from her mother’s salary as a nurse. Elise has always longed and worked for a better future. Finally her dreams seem to be coming true. She is about to graduate from the university, and has been selected for a training program at the prestigious [Financial Management Institute]. The company has delivered her new improved [implant]; once she replaces her student implant with the new one and accepted the Terms of Service, she will be contractually obligated to begin her new life. She has some problems with the tutorial and asks a friend to help. The friend disapproves of Elise’s plans; they fight and the friend leaves. Elise’s mother finally gets home from work, Elise can tell it was a rough day, but her mother won’t talk about it. Finally Mom asks Elise what’s up. Though Elise is surprised Mom doesn’t remember that today was the day the training program was choosing recruits, but she tells her Mom about her triumph. Far from being genuinely enthusiastic, Mom simply goes through the motions. Elise realizes this is because Mom still has work turned all the way up on her implant. She requests that Mom turn work down, which is how people are normally able to maintain genuine relationships. Mom either can’t or breaks down when she tries to.

A frightened Elise is left to decide whether she’s willing to forgo her personality in order to succeed in a demanding career.

• Main story element from the MICE Quotient: Character
• Number of characters: 3
• Exciting parts/promises: 1- a fabulous new life of wealth after years of poverty and sacrifice, 2- the tech implants, 3- the fight with her friend, 4- the revelatory scene with her mom
• Probable story length ~4000 words

And here’s my first 500-word attempt at letting the reader know what to expect from the story:

Elise looked both ways down the hall before setting her messenger bag on the floor. It was safer there than over her shoulder; she didn’t want to jostle her precious FMI package while she fiddled with the three locks they used to ensure their apartment’s safety. Once she started the new job, it wouldn’t be long before they could afford something better than this dump. Luckily the corridor was empty. Too late for the parents to be scooting their kids out the door to school and too early for the dealers to be trolling the halls for customers.

She and her mother had reported the broken vidcams in their own hall too many times for security to take them seriously. Never mind that they were telling the truth: the cams were actually broken. Security had only so much budget for these buildings. Keeping the halls safe wouldn’t become a priority unless and until some One-percenter got a bug up her ass about the less-privileged segments of society and came along to do good. That hadn’t happened in their neighborhood yet. If Elise had her way, she and her mother be long gone before anyone got around to it. It would probably take a few years for her to gain One-percent status. Maybe once she did, she’d become a do-gooder. If she remembered and still cared about anyone in this shithole. She was taking Mom with her, so she might not.

Her fingerprint applied to the last lock, she elbowed the door open and lifted her bag over the threshold, this time setting it carefully on the laminate table by the door. She locked everything again from the inside, kicked off her knock-off Feruccis, and hung her blazer on the peg next to the table.

The living room smelled of synthetic lemon, and she smiled. In spite of how exhausted Mom always was, she’d still cleaned the apartment before leaving for her hospital shift this morning. She had to be almost as excited as Elise, though she’d been asleep  when Elise left for school.

Neither of them could know if FMI would choose Elise for an internship, not for sure. Despite her stellar academics and extracurriculars, despite the years she and her mother had sacrificed a better home for the extra classes and social opps Elise would need in order to blend in with One-percenters.

Anyone could get into some kind of financial management slot if they had the grades and no criminal record. To get into a firm like FMI, one that raised their employees from nowhere to the heights—that took more. You needed to show you could be one of them. Elise had spent over eighteen years—ever since she got her first implant—doing what it took to fit in.

She couldn’t have anyone over to their drab apartment, of course, so she had to be better than the usual one-percenter at almost everything, including making people care about her. She’d done it, though. Finally.

The packet beckoned. She opened the clasps on her bag and pulled out a brushed-nickel box.

Based just on this beginning, what do you expect this story to be about? What would you read further to find out?

Happy Birthday, BK

He’s so old! Still, you can’t help but love him.

Happy Birthday to the love of my life!