It's been a busy week-and-a-bit. Actually, I have no idea how many days it's been. But I've been busy!
Anyways, today I realized for the first time that "iPad" is a real thing. I always just sort of thought it was people spelling iPod wrong. Every time I saw it mentioned in conversation or writing, I would inwardly smirk. Yes, I was secretly judging all of the "iPad" users out there, and I'm not afraid to admit it. Well, maybe a little.
Rough draft of a scene from whatever-it-is I started writing last night:
I’ll never get used to this; Izzie grimaced and tightened her grip on the pole. Riding a broom was one thing, but taking the subway was completely different.
A man sitting down beside her smiled sympathetically. “I’ve been riding this train every morning for the past sixteen years,” he smiled, “and I still get a little nauseous.”
At least you get to sit down, Izzie thought irritably as the train gave a sudden violent jerk. Of course she had to sleep in and catch a train right in the middle of the morning rush hour.
All she did, however, was smile. The man was wearing a worn tweed coat with patches sewn over the elbows; not the sort of thing you saw much these days. He seemed pretty nice—for a human. And he was certainly ready to talk about his life. Izzie felt bad that she wasn’t quite for forthcoming herself. There was something about being crammed into a constricting compartment, squeezed in like sardines, with hardly enough room to breathe, let alone think or move—
Izzie stopped herself before she continued on her rant. If she had it her way, she wouldn’t have taken the subway at all, but some people insisted that she try her best to fit in with the mortal world. Izzie scowled at the very thought of it—why should she? You see, there was something about Izzie that not many people knew—certainly not the man on the subway. If he knew, he wouldn’t be chatting away to her about his grandchildren. Instead, he’d probably start brandishing crosses and sprinkling ‘holy’ water on her from the reusable water bottle at his side. Well, at least he was environmentally friendly, and that was more than she could say for some of the people who tried to prosecute her kind.
Izzie nodded politely and shot the man a strained smile as he reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet—he was going to show her pictures of his grandchildren. She almost couldn’t bear the irony of it.
Thing is, Izzie was a witch.
That's all I've got! I should be working on a Socials project for the Woj (my Social Studies 9 teacher) but I feel creatively desolate. I am an empty shell.