Let’s Shake Things Up… Scene From a Pic!

My last Scene from a Pic-Snarky Reader Style tanked.  Holidays and all that.  Plus, I didn’t pick an inspiring picture.  Yeah, I know, my fault.  So, I’m shaking things up a bit. 

Check out this fantastic and delightfully wicked photograph from Deviant Art and write if you’re so inspired.  It can be a scene, a plot or even just one line.   Let your imagination go!  (If you’re new to my Scene from a Pic, you can read past entries to the right in that category.) 

I’ll post your writing along with a link to your blog when it’s time for the next one!  Not only do you get a creativity spark, but you get extra traffic!

I’ll be surprised if I don’t get some action from this one.  Maybe the darkness of the shot suggests an underhanded, murder mystery plot.  Or if you like dark sci-fi, hit me with your best shot.   I’m sure some minds are going straight to erotic, but do me a favor.  I don’t usually post any rules– I’m not one for rules ya know– but, try not to get too graphic on me, kay?  I don’t mind sexy… I like sexy… but I plan to keep this site R rated at the most. I’ll delete anything I wouldn’t let my daughter read. <g>  boots.jpg

The model is Lillith Leda and unfortunately, you can’t get her prints from Deviant Art, but if you don’t mind nudity, check out her site.  The photographer is David Hickey

Writing goal check in:

I’m adjusting my daily goal to 2000 words.  I can extend my 1st draft deadline by a couple of weeks and still make it.  Plus, maybe there will be less panic on the days I can’t make the daily goal.  I didn’t plan to write weekends, but since Thursday and Friday were a bust, I worked most of the weekend.  I’m up to 2000 words today, but plan to make 3000 before bedtime tonight! 

It helps to have my critique group working hard along with me on their books.  We’ve been chatting on our loop at night, exchanging word goals, talking plots.  The support is priceless.  Rachel is reporting her work on her blog right now, too.  (This woman sets high goals and consistently sails through them!) We’ve even got Dana going!

Oh and I want to send out a huge, fat, freaking thank you to Laura at Mad Below My Feet for telling me about Pandora’s Internet Radio!!!!  I love, love, love it!  You did not exaggerate, my friend.   I’ve tested it out with around ten bands so far and it hasn’t failed.   Right now, I’m trippin’ with Massive Attack Radio. <g> 

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About Rinda Elliott

Writer.I love unusual stories and credit growing up in a family of curious life-lovers who moved all over the country. Books and movies full of fantasy, science fiction and romance kept us amused, especially in some of the stranger places. For years, I tried to separate my darker side with my humorous and romantic one. I published short fiction, but things really started happening when I gave in and mixed it up. When not lost in fiction, I love making wine, collecting music, gaming and spending time with my husband and two children. I’m represented by Miriam Kriss of the Irene Goodman Agency.
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13 Responses to Let’s Shake Things Up… Scene From a Pic!

  1. Dana Pollard says:

    Ok here’s my go at it…

    After lacing up these damn pants I need a fricken cigarette. Whew… much better. Now I’m off to find a man to take these pants off…

  2. Betty S says:

    OMG. That looks like gena showalter’s Goth Girl. Very sexy.

  3. carol says:

    “Lillith had no problem vamping the vamps, seducing them into her little love pad. But, after she slaughtered them, the cleaning bills ate her alive. She’d have to find some wash and dry animal skins.”

  4. relliott4 says:

    Isn’t Goth Girl in highschool?

    Very cool Carol! Funny!

    Dana, you crack me up!

    Thanks for playing!

  5. Word Doctor says:

    Rinda,
    Alright. Here is my submission for the pic exercise. It’s a bit long (sorry), but I had a blast writing it. Sorry it is late…busy over here at editing central. I am going to try and paste this here from a Word doc, so we’ll see what happens. By the way, Michael Nye is my pen name. Just in case it totally sucks! Thanks for a fun exercise.

    Word Doctor

    Once Upon a Daddy’s Girl
    By
    Michael Nye

    “That stupid son of a bitch! I really don’t need this right now!”
    Mary Jane leaned against the old car, finishing a cigarette she had bummed from one of the lighting techs. Even though it had been ten years since her dad the “rock star” left, she still felt like a little girl every time she lit up.
    Damn it! I’m twenty-two years old! This is bullshit!
    “Hey, baby…you alright?” one of the grips asked. “You look to good to be so sad.”
    “Fuck you, asshole!” Mary Jane really didn’t care how good she looked–it was all make believe anyway. But the moment she could escape from these goddamn boots…
    A week ago, Mary Jane wouldn’t have been caught dead in leather pants and a matching halter top. If only her younger brother hadn’t shown her the myspace.com announcement, she’d be home in Vermont, snowboarding with her friends.
    “Taylor, I don’t care if Dad’s band is hot right now. He hasn’t even called in god knows how long. Forget it. I’m not going!”
    “Yeah, Mary Jane, but who paid your deposit so you could live downtown with all of your stuck-up friends?”
    “Like he doesn’t owe us that.”
    “And who sent the truck from Pottery Barn with all the stuff for your apartment?”
    “Like I said–big fucking deal!”
    “You’re such a brat! You know it feels good when Mom comes over here and complains about how nice all your stuff is. What was she yelling about the other day? Oh, yeah. ‘That asshole never bought me a leather couch!’”
    “Well…it was pretty cool of Dad to send me the furniture. But if he thinks he can just buy my forgiveness, he’s dead wrong!”
    “Whatever, Mary Jane. I still say it would totally rock to do it. Didn’t you read the ad? ‘Looking for Fresh Faces.’ Dad knows everybody in L.A. You know you’d get a spot.”
    The leather recliner squealed as Mary Jane sank in to watch Taylor play the guitar her father had sent as a birthday gift.
    God, just like him. Always about the music.
    “Sweetie, you gonna be in this video, or what?”
    Mary Jane startled awake to the Troll poking her in the ass.
    “Hey, what the–”
    “Listen, I haven’t told your dad that you’re here, but if I have to keep chasing you around the studio–don’t think I won’t, Mary Jane.”
    “I’m sorry, Troll. Really. I just needed a second, that’s all.”
    “You planning on telling him you’re here? Maybe he’ll stop yelling at you!”
    “No! Please, Troll–I’m begging you–just let him think I’m another dancer. I don’t care if he yells at me all day long. I’m just not ready to let him know.”
    “Whatever you say, Mary Jane. Man, I still remember your dad bringing you and your brother around here when you were little. The whole fucking crew fell in love with you kids. You should tell him, sweetie. You and Taylor were like family before he–”
    “I know, I know.” A tear slipped down her cheek.
    “Ah, c’mon, sweetie. I don’t have time for this shit.” Troll patted Mary Jane on the arm. “Need a smoke?”
    “I’m good, Troll. Thanks. Thanks for everything.”
    Mary Jane tightened the laces on her pants and made her way to the set. What was she doing here? Looking like a Sunset Strip prostitute, that’s what. It wasn’t so bad being yelled at by her father. She had seen him do it a thousand times. He had always been a perfectionist when it came to his music, and she had always known that production costs for a video shoot didn’t allow mistakes by anyone. It was just the way he looked at her when he yelled. It was personal. She had seen that look on his face before, during the last fight her parents ever had. “So long, bitch!” were the last words he spoke to her mother.
    “Alright, people! Let’s try this shit one last time! Roll it!” Troll was like the captain of a pirate ship when he was behind a camera. For such a little man, his voice was like a god’s.
    Four beeps, and her father’s guitar filled the studio like a cannon shot. Two steps left, down on the knees, remember to rub my thighs slowly, and–
    “Cut! Jimmy, what the hell’s wrong this time?”
    “Troll, it’s this one again,” he said and pointed right at her. “I don’t know what it is, but something about her is throwing me off.”
    Shit. Shit! Troll, don’t you dare!
    “Jimmy, just focus on the cameras, man! You remember how this stuff works. Don’t worry about the dancers…that shit gets tightened up in editing anyway! Sweetie, try to come up a little slower, and don’t bring your hands up to your boobs until the first drum roll, alright? Let’s try one more, everybody!”
    Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Two steps left, and–
    “Cut!”
    “Troll, she’s gotta go. She looks totally hot, but something’s not happening.”
    “Everybody take five. And if I find anyone else screwing in the bathrooms, you’re gone! Five minutes, people!”
    Mary Jane fought back the tears. What is his problem? The glance Troll gave her as he walked by said it all: “I’m gonna tell him, sweetie.” She’d be long gone before he would find out.
    She was nearly through the dressing-room door when she heard Troll yelling at her father.
    “Jimmy, you fucking asshole! Do you know who that is?”
    No time to change. She grabbed her duffle bag and ran through the studio lobby. “Taxi!” L.A. cab drivers were the best–always there when you needed them. Ten minutes later she was on an elevator taking her to the penthouse suite. One of Troll’s “late Christmas presents.”
    The terrycloth bathrobe had just engulfed her when she heard the knocking.
    “Yes, who is it?”
    “Guest relations, miss Devoss. I have a delivery for you.”
    Mary Jane’s mouth fell open when she saw the fish-eyed bouquet of roses.
    Troll, you little sweetheart!
    She cranked the deadbolt and opened the door. “Thank you. I don’t have my wallet handy or I’d–”
    “No problem, miss. It’s already been taken care of.”
    The scent of flowers filled the room. After smelling sweat and pot smoke all day long, the aroma was intoxicating. The thirty-six flowers and their vase overtook the bar, and the brilliant red was a strong contrast against the black and stainless-steel bar fixtures. Mary Jane fell on the bed and opened the card. Inside was a short note written in the most beautiful handwriting she had ever seen:

    Mary Jane,
    I am so sorry. I truly had no idea you were here. Troll kept your secret until the very end, you know. He loves you almost as much as I do. I owe you so much, and I know I just added to my debt. You were great today…everyone on the set said you looked beautiful. I will be in the bar of your hotel tonight at 9. I would love nothing more than to make it up to you. I miss you. Please give me one more chance.

    All my love,
    Dad

    Both halves of the note floated in the air, seeming to somehow suspend their fall to the thick-carpeted floor. “Fucking asshole! Mom was right about him…what a loser!”
    Jimmy Devoss sat at the bar not noticing the group of middle-aged women pointing at him from their booth. He took another look at his watch. Nine thirty.
    “One more, sir?”
    “Yeah, and make it a double, please.”
    “Excuse me,” a striking woman of about forty said as she appeared next to his barstool. “Aren’t you Jimmy Devoss? From Leather and Lust?”
    Ah, shit.
    “That’s me. How are you this evening?”
    “Oh, my god! My friends and I used to listen to your records all the time! I saw you with Van Halen at the Whiskey when I was a senior in high school!”
    “Yeah, that’s great. Hey, listen, I–”
    “Jimmy, would you mind taking a picture with me and my girlfriends? My husband is a big fan too, and he’s not going to believe that I met you!”
    “Well, really I’m–”
    “Please? It’ll just take a minute.”
    “Alright. Gotta take care of the fans, right?”
    “Thank you, Jimmy. What are you doing these days? I see Leather and Lust on television sometimes, when they play music from the eighties. I bet you’re in movies now, aren’t you?”
    “Well, almost. You know Leather and Lust has a new album out…that’s right. We’re shooting a video for the first single here in L.A…yeah, I’m not kidding…it should be on VH-1 next…”
    Mary Jane was all too familiar with this scene: Her father, with that fake smile he was so good at, surrounded by a group of women pulling at his clothes, asking him to autograph this, that, or the other, and shoving their chests in his face. “It’s all part of the show,” he used to tell her. She knew better.
    She stood in the lobby and watched him sit down at the bar. He was drinking his usual–Jack on the rocks. God, he looked old without all the makeup and lighting. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. He probably won’t even remember sending me the note tomorrow. Mary Jane turned and started for the elevators.
    Jimmy was watching the way his reflection danced along the top of the ice cubes in his glass. He was tired. It had been a long time since he was on his feet all day, and Troll had ripped him a new one after what happened with Mary Jane. He looked up to find the bartender leaning against the counter looking intently at something with a little smirk on his face, wiping a wine glass that looked perfectly clean. “One more, if you don’t mind. Hey. Excuse me!”
    “What? Oh–sorry, sir. Another double? Same ice?”
    “Yeah, thanks.”
    The hand on his shoulder felt like a dream. He reached across his chest and covered it with his own. It felt warm and soft, like holding a newborn baby. His eyes were already wet when he turned around to see what the bartender had been staring at.
    “Hey, Daddy.”

  6. relliott4 says:

    It’s not late– I don’t post the results for two weeks and I’ll be reminding readers off and on over that time.

    And btw, YES!!! I love it. Seriously cool.

    I had a feeling that picture would spark some creativity.

    I’m stoked!

  7. blogless_troll says:

    After their fifth go ’round in as many hours, Lillith decided a flying egg on wheels wasn’t worst place to get her boots knocked. But who was Mindy? And what the hell did “nanu nanu” mean?

  8. relliott4 says:

    Ha ha!! Loved that show when I was a kid. So blogless troll, do you have a website to go with that fantastic handle? No blog, I get it… but where would you like your name to link when this is posted?

  9. Well, I wasn’t gonna take time from other things to make an effort on this, but this came to me while driving to work. I wrote it down, and figured since I wrote it down…

    —Night Teething—

    Madam Lynn’s teeth hurt and her feet hurt and her breast felt grappled with and her leather pants bunched up in her crotch and nipped and bit at her sensitive folds of skin down there.

    “This night life thing, really bites,” she thought, as she climbed from the dark enclave that they had given her for sleeping through the daylight hours. “I am sleeping in a bullshit trailer in a mechanic’s shop! I’m up at all hours. I look like a tramp. The guy I am in love with looks like he is four hundred years old and my parent’s are afraid of me. They keep bringing me a bloody Mary and I tell them ‘no thank you‘, but they don‘t listen. “You will“, they say, and I know I never will.”

    Madam Lynn wiped another dab of Orajel tooth numbing agent on her canines. They grew as they sharpened, and she thought “how weird”.

  10. Sscott from Oregon says:

    test?

  11. relliott4 says:

    LOL! Wonderful! I’m glad you played. I don’t recommend anyone take up precious writing time for this– but if something sparks, great!

  12. Betty S says:

    All that time at Weight Watchers and the gym had created the perfect disguise. Well that plus the wig and the new look. No one from her former life would recognise her now. Sometimes looking in the mirrow she doesn’t even recognise herself. But Ellen knew she was in there. Somewhere, hidden beneath the attitude and leather. Now for a new name.

    Revenge is sweet, and Ellen knew that her target would never see it coming.

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