The Pickled Mushroom

2 Story Excerpts – Enter the Fun! (26k!) | November 7, 2009

As you will have noticed, I changed the design of the blog, simply so I can now proudly display my word count widget to the left. Isn’t it pretty? Makes me all fuzzy to look at it.

Anyway, as promised, here’s two excerpts from what I’ve written so far. Please note that NaNo is for writing, not editing, so it’s pretty raw still, there’s typos and awkward sentence structures in there, unripe concepts of sentences, and lots of word repetitions. If you can bear that, read on!

First excerpt ist Abraxas’ POV (short, Bas), the second is Barbara’s. (Just to remind you again, Barbara is Abraxas’ older sister, Jazz is Abraxas’ best friend. Enjoy!

I didn’t linger long in the bathroom; it was essential but not terribly interesting. Instead I felt myself drawn towards the next door down the hallway and let my feet follow the silent call of my greatest project.

The door gave a low creak as I opened it, like the sigh of a welcome. The room inside lay silent as if it had been waiting for me.

The walls were painted in a blue so light and delicate that it was hardly recognizable as such; its pallor made it appear almost white. This room was the biggest of all.

It smelled of dust and stale air, but nothing that could not be fixed by opening the windows for a bit. There was a row of big windows in the opposite wall, so much as to almost give the illusion that there was actually no boundary between inside and outside, that any breeze stirring outside was going to chill me in here. In the middle, there was a double-winged door, glass panels framed with wood lacquered white, that led outside onto a tiny balcony.

I went over silently, my feet hardly making any sound on the floor, and stood before the door. It took me a moment’s thinking to wrap my head around the old-fashioned closure, but not long enough as to frustrate me. I had to pull back a latch, then slide up a lever to unlock the middle. There was more to fuss about at floor level, but a minute later I carefully pulled the left of the doors open, bracing myself mentally for the cold wind.

There was indeed a stiff breeze that whipped into my face, ruffling my hair and howling in the opening between the two doors. A single rain drop was carried through the air and landed right on my cheek, cold and wet. I wiped it off with my sleeve, then carefully closed the door again. Pressing my forehead against the door, I decided to rather look outside this way; less cold. A small patch of the window pane clouded where my breath came on it, and the glove of my left hand made a small squeaking sound on the glass.

When I turned around, what I saw was not an empty room. I saw pictures in vivid colours on the walls; tables with mugs of full of pens and brushes on them; shelves stacked to the last centimetre with photo albums, magazines, folders full of references for landscapes, people, colour schemes; and in the middle of the room, my easel, next to a low table with the paints on it… I saw the beautiful future I was going to share with this room.

A voice brought me back to reality quickly enough and l looked up to see Jazz coming over to me from where he must have been somewhere near the stage located at the other end of the hall.

“Hi,” I greeted with a smile. “You busy?”

He gave a dramatical groan that seemed only half fake as he turned away from me, putting a hand to his forehead. “Am I busy, she says,” he muttered loudly in woeful distress, and I laughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The smile on my face had turned into a right out grin. I couldn’t help myself. Tonight was going to be fun.

He turned back to me and his face relaxed into his trademark smile, just self-ironic enough to make it look good without slipping into being comical. “Well, we’re all pretty busy worrying our asses off,” he explained with a shrug. “I mean, this is _it_.”

“Bas told me already you’ve turned into a bit of a worry wart since you know that you’re playing tonight.”

“Has he?” Jazz shrugged. “Well, I dare _him_ to go up there and play for a crowd at the _Shroom_. He’s got an hour to come here and get ready.” He gave a sudden sigh and reached up to run a hand through his disarrayed, vaguely reddish curls. “Gosh, I really do. If they sent him up there people would at least expect to get a horrible show.”

“Stop worrying so much,” I said simply. “The _Shroom_ will have had a reason to hire you.” He looked a little better when I said that and I decided to change the topic to something less distressing. “Aren’t you cold?” I asked casually.

He looked down his body. He was wearing just normal black jeans, but around the upper half merely a sleeveless shirt with a print on it that was hardly identifiable, but seemed to contain some year numbers of sorts. It did look decidedly good, but it was November after all.

“Not really,” he admitted. “Must be the running around so much. Besides, once there are people here it’ll get warm and it’s always warmer under the lights anyway.” I nodded, seeing what he meant as I had stood in spotlights often enough during the last year. “Question reversed, aren’t you warm yourself?”

I noticed that I was still wearing my thick coat and it was actually getting a bit warm indeed, even without anyone around yet. “Actually, yes,” I laughed and shrugged my bag off my shoulder. Unsure for a moment where to put it, I stood there still until Jazz heaved a sigh of something undefinable that sounded suspiciously like “women” and took the bag from my hands. I merely laughed and began unbuttoning my coat and peeling myself out of its depths. I slung it over my arm and reached over to take my bag back, but Jazz snatched it away and held it up high enough that even tall me had no chance getting at it. I rolled my eyes.

“You’re not so much different from when you were fifteen, you know,” I said with a mocking, sad shake of my head and he pulled a painful grimace.

“Ouch.” He lowered my bag again and handed it back to me amiably. He let his eyes travel down my clothes for a moment. “You look nice,” he added sheepishly.

That took me aback a bit, but I smiled in reply. “Thanks,” I said. Sometimes I wondered if the reason I tended to smile a lot was because I was at a loss of words to say.



  1. Gratulation, du bist ja schon ganz schön weit gekommen!
    Hast du eigentlich vor, den Roman an einen Verlag zu schicken oder so? Zugegebenermaßen bin ich nämlich ziemlich neugierig geworden.

    Und wenn du mir die Frage gestattest: Woher kommt der neue Blogname?

    Liebe Grüße,

    Comment by hedgefairy — November 8, 2009 @ 8:19 pm

    • Hihi, danke 🙂 Bin jetzt sogar schon bei 36.040 Worten, nach einem 10.000er-Marathon dieses Wochenende – ich hab eine Challenge angenommen und in die Tastatur gehauen, dass die Fetzen flogen. Uff!

      Ich würde schon ganz gern nach dem Fertigstellen den Roman überarbeiten (und nochmal und nochmal und nochmal…) und dann vielleicht versuchen, mir einen Verleger zu angeln, je nachdem, wie zufrieden ich letzten Endes bin.

      Den Blognamen erkläre ich im nächsten Post, aber weil du’s bist… ;D Man betrachte dieses Zitat aus dem zweiten Auszug: “The _Shroom_ will have had a reason to hire you.” Nun, “shroom” ist kurz für “mushroom” und “the pickled mushroom” ist der Club, wo Jazz mit seiner Gruppe auftritt. Und wo Barb und Jazz mental Sex haben, aber darauf geh ich jetzt nicht näher ein XP Nicht lustig, wirklich.

      Comment by Kjesta — November 8, 2009 @ 11:08 pm

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