#blogitjuly Tell Us A Story

I'm going to cheat for this episode of Blog It July...I'm just going to tell you the start of a story.

Mr. Smyth had the job of driving me to my new school and residence. My foster parents said I should feel lucky, not about Mr. Smyth, with his rickety oldhorse cart, but about the opportunity to attend this school. I felt anything but lucky at this moment, as I clutched the invitation – sweat and fear ruining it for any keepsake – and wondered, for the hundredth time, why they would want me.

We left behind a bustling thoroughfare and turned onto a desolate lane. Mr. Smyth slowed the horse to a stop at the only drive I saw, an enormous wrought iron gate barring the way.

I considered this closed gate and looked back at the equally closed Mr. Smyth, he nearly smiled, but instead reached behind the bench, grabbed my bag and heaved it. I watched its graceful arc and hard landing at the gates. A good aim, that Mr. Smyth, I thought as I continued to sit and fidget with my skirts and invitation.

            “Well…” he said. “What are you waiting for, a hand down? Get off girl.”

            “It does not look as if anyone’s expecting me,” I craned my head and looked down the long drive and then back at Mr. Smyth.

            He raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Has anyone ever expected the likes of you?”

            Oh. I thought not. An examination of my own life never led to good. “Thank you for,” the right word eluded me, “escorting me, Mr. Smyth—” he interrupted with a guffaw. “I’ll be going now.” I hazarded a smile, he did not reciprocate.

            Lifting my skirts, I hopped down from the cart. Mr. Smyth did not wait to see if I could get in the gates, he barely looked to see if I landed.

            Beyond the gate and down the drive was an imposing stone structure – some might call it a mansion if they didn’t know its purpose. Or name. Not that either was advertised:

            Miss Carmella’s School for Exceptional Girls and Above Average Boys

            That much I did know. I searched the gate for a bell, or lever, or even small hidden doorway, finding none of those things, I resigned myself to simply waiting, something that could be considered almost a luxury at the Theatre. Then the rain began.

This is (possibly) the opening to a YA steampunkish/paranormaly romance (yay!):

Goddess In The Mechanica

I'm at a little over 26,000 words, rough, rough, rough draft. There's a cool school, mythological DNA alchemy, a mechanical spider, Airpirates of the Mississippi (!), and a mad scientist.