Celebration Goes Decopunk!

In truth, one year of consistently posting blogs is an achievement for me. Each and every time I hit the button I'm reminded of why I signed up to contribute to the writing community (if in little bits at a time!)...there's a rush I get whenever I post something that can be seen by the world.

So in celebration of Romancing the Genres anniversary, I'm going to step my game up. I'm going to actually post an excerpt from my newest project, Fireblower, my new genre I call, "Deco-Romance." Decopunk is a subset of the Steampunk genre, fusing the Art Deco era (I concentrate on the 1930's-1940's) with futuristic elements. I've always said I like sparkly things, and writing Decopunk allows my love for chrome to shine through!

The following is an excerpt from, Fireblower, my current project that was started after I became a genre-ista. I like to think it's a product of consistent blogging:) Hope you enjoy!

           I took in the sight of Desmond Strokoff’s office, even through the hazy air.

The receptionist’s desk faced the entrance, a chrome box with an overlapping rectangular design etched smoothly into the front panel. It was abandoned. I glanced up to see what gave the impression there was movement in the room.

An overhead fan with a square pyramid-shaped, white-glass fixture, both cast a dim light and rhythmically created shadows upon the high mahogany ceiling. Looking down, I stood on small ivory tiles that looked genuine, the real deal. Expensive.

Directly to my left, four solid wooden chairs with intricate diamond designs inlaid on the flat planks of the arms and frames beckoned to visitors. A burgundy-glass covered lamp rested on the end table set evenly between the extravagant seats. There was a doorway in the left-most corner farthest away from me, just past the last chair along the wall.

“This one has cinnamon hair, big green eyes, Lou. Gorgeous,” he said.

Lou Polis was the director, and strangely enough, was absent throughout all of my screen testing. I was the only actress in the warehouse with cinnamon hair and green eyes…though I’d never heard myself described as gorgeous.

I sat down in the waiting area, the chair closest to the hallway. Desmond’s work area must have been on the other side of the wall. Seeing as whatever conversation he had was one sided, he must have been on the phone.

The drawn shades covering the two windows farther to my right, with the front door between them, made me think I sat in a photographer’s dark room minus the red bulb. In this part of the room, small black and ivory tiles that must have taken ages to grout and arrange, lined the floor. The design was decadent, simple. Stunning. An industrial-inspired work of art.

            I would have preferred a classic, shiny metallic wallpaper to go along with the tiles. Whoever put the office together thought mahogany fitting. It was too dark, made the space look smaller. I loathed enclosed spaces. Perhaps the fire in me feared being snuffed out by darkness.