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Genre: Science Fiction
About detailsofthewarLocation: Chesapeake, VA Home Region: Age:23 Website: http://foughtthewar.livejournal.com Favorite novels: She's Come Undone, Self-Help, No One Belongs Here More Than You, How to Breathe Underwater, Birds of America, etc. Favorite writers: Chuck Palahniuk, Wally Lamb, Miranda July, Lorrie Moore, etc. Favorite music: Calexico, Stereophonics, A Fine Frenzy, Neko Case, etc. Non-noveling interests: cuddling, music, collecting miniature eiffel towers, etc. |
Joined: October 2, 2006 This Year: Official Participant NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 31 NaNoWriMo buddies: 10
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Brief Author Bio: I live in a second story apartment with a boy and two fat kittens. We cook dinner from scratch every night and dress up our kitties up in bumble bee costumes just for fun. I live and love and cry and smile. I breath and I exist. Apparently, I'm pretty boring overall. |
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Synopsis: Oh God, The Aftermath
The economy is trashed, tent cities are springing up all over the country, in every city. There are bread lines stretching a whole city block. The government is quiet on the situation, there isn't anything to say anyway. This is how Tosh Brandt lives, this is her future. Until she meets Ren Taylor, the Robin Hood of the 21st century. He steals from the rich and gives to the poor, that makes it okay to use pipe bombs, right?
Excerpt: Oh God, The Aftermath
The first thing I think you should know is that this is not what I planned. And the second thing I think you should know is that I still love him.
In the beginning, things were different. They were better. They weren’t anything like they were in the end. In the end after everything crashed down around us like dominoes, like a house of cards. A house of cards, built on one of those spinning tea cup rides at the local carnival.
A house of cards that was never really going to stand up, it couldn’t.
Before the fires, the dirty bombs, the pipe bombs he built in my bathroom while I was cooking us dinner. Before all that—or maybe, between all that would be a better word- between that, he took me to the coast to watch the sunrise, he used the last of his flour to make me pancakes in bed. Between the raids and smuggling in guns from Mexico, he loved me. I know he did.
Because, he if he hadn’t loved me, I think he would have let me escape when I tried.
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