Post by Lindsey on May 31, 2007 21:17:51 GMT -5
This is my absolutely first fanfic ever, so please bear with me. This first chapter is very much an introduction, and I'm sure you can guess how the beginning is going to go. But it's necessary for the background... I can't promise a new chapter every day, but I have good ideas for it! I'll try to come up with a title soon, too....
But please COMMENT!
*edited: This is a tentative title... But it seems to fit with what I'm going with right now.
---------------------------------
Deadline in 15 minutes, Grace thought as she took a moment to look up at the newsroom clock. She’d come into work at 8 that morning, expecting a fairly slow news day, but some front page story—she didn’t know what—had suddenly come to the newspaper’s attention, pulling two reporters from their assignments. The two stories originally assigned to them had gotten dumped on her budget and Grace was expected to have both of them ready by 9:30 for the afternoon edition.
She tried to make out the handwriting of the reporter who’d hastily tossed his notebook at her as he’d dashed out of the newsroom. She was tired enough as it was—trying to decipher his scrawl was the last thing she wanted to do. But that was the life of a fledging newspaper writer. She was a young, inexperienced girl trying to make it in world where who you know and what you’ve done are what you fall back on. Grace had plenty of clippings from her newspaper back at home in Massachusetts where she’d done general assignment for the past two years, but none of that seemed to matter now at her new job in Seattle. The editors weren’t impressed with small town stuff, and so she was stuck at the back desk in the newsroom, left to write the Page 8 stories no one else wanted or didn’t have time to write.
Grace dialed the phone number of a person the reporter had interviewed to double-check a quote, and after getting confirmation, typed the last paragraph of her story and sent it electronically on its way to the copy editor. Fortunately the second story was almost half-way written and she only had to make a few more phone calls to get more details. The deadline bell rang as Grace moved the file to the copy editor’s box with a smile.
“That was a close one,” she remarked to the girl sitting across from her.
“You’re telling me,” the girl nodded, wiping her brow in mock exhaustion. “I was out way too long last night and just didn’t have it in me to get past writer’s block.”
“Oh, did you finally get together with that guy you met last week?” Grace asked.
“Yeah—Brad,” the girl blushed. “He took me to Tony’s—you know, that swanky little bistro downtown? It was so romantic. He bought me flowers.”
“I don’t know where you find these guys, Lisa,” Grace shook her head.
Lisa just laughed.
“So do you know what all the fuss was about this morning?” Grace asked.
“Oh yeah—that guy from Dancing with the Stars is back in town.”
“Oh, Apolo Ohno?”
Lisa smirked. “Someone’s been watching Dancing with the Stars! Don’t you have anything better to do on a Monday night?”
Not really, Grace thought. “I’ve caught it a couple times,” she admitted. “But my mom’s into watching the Olympics, so I recognized who he was on the show. I guess I forgot he was from around here. So they sent Harry and Paula to…cover him coming home?”
“Who knows, they’re probably going to have some kind of parade. They’ve done that before.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “And this is news.”
The afternoon edition was dropped by her desk a few hours later, and Grace picked it up to check out her placement. Page 7! That’s better than yesterday. Probably ‘cause I picked up Harry and Paula’s stuff. She sighed and folded it back up. It was then that she noticed the centerpiece on the front page—“Dancing champion, Olympic hero returns home,” she read.
A big photo of the 25-year-old Apolo and his father, Yuki, was accompanied by a long article. Grace skimmed it briefly, noting that the skater was “entertaining other opportunities.” Well, good for him, Grace thought, half-sarcastically. It was just another reminder that someone else was making it big while she wasn’t. She was 23 now. With two years of experience under her belt since she’d graduated from college—a year early—she thought she’d be doing better than this.
Having done her duty for the day, Grace packed up her stuff and left early in the afternoon. Sadly, she had nothing on tap for the next morning’s paper. A half hour later, she was walking up the stairs to her apartment building, key in hand.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Grace clutched her key tightly as she heard a voice call out to her from the street. She was still afraid of “city people,” as her mother called them. She turned around slowly, but her eyes widened in surprise as she saw a stretch limousine pulled up along the curb. She cautiously walked back down the stairs and approached the limo.
The limo driver, a young man who looked about Grace’s age, smiled courteously at her. “I’m sorry to bother you. We’re looking for Mocha Joe’s.”
“Mocha Joe’s?” Grace gave a little laugh. “I don’t know who you’ve got back there, but Mocha Joe’s isn’t exactly a high roller’s coffee shop.”
The limo driver shook his head. “We’re meeting someone there.”
“Well, it’s actually just around the corner,” Grace said. “Go to the end of this road, turn right, and it’s the second or third place on the block. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” the driver smiled and touched his cap and driving off.
Grace shook her head thoughtfully as she turned around and walked up the stairs to her building again. Wonder who that was, she mused. It was rare back home in Massachusetts to see stretch limos on the streets, but here in the city she saw them all the time now. Still, she always wondered who was privileged enough to ride around in the elegant black vehicles.
Grace slipped off her heels as soon as she walked in her apartment, partly because of her aching feet and partly because of her half-Japanese’s mother’s traditions. She grabbed her cell phone out of her purse before setting it down and beginning to listen to her voicemails.
She went to the window and looked down at the street from her third-story apartment as . A couple meeting on the street below greeted each other with a kiss. She drew in a deep breath, and turned away.
She’d been here for three months already and hadn’t had a date. She hadn’t even come close to one. Lisa always seemed to be meeting guys and going out.
I need to get out and do some things, Grace said, flopping down onto her couch and turning on the TV. I’m not going to meet anyone if I stay here at the time. But then she found something interesting flipping through the channels and time began to pass by. Sleep began to overcome her as she lay there, but thoughts kept milling through her mind. Finally, she stood up, shaking off the fogginess of sleep.
“I’m going out,” she said out loud, suddenly inspired. She changed into a pair of jeans and a comfortable shirt and ran a brush through her dark, brown hair, applying a tad more eyeliner to her eyes—eyes that had just enough of the almond shape to suggest her Japanese heritage.
Once outside her apartment building, she looked up and down the street. She didn’t have a car in the city—it was either walk to her destination or pay for public transportation. Her brow wrinkled. She wasn’t making enough at the paper to afford the taxis and her feet hurt too much to take her far. She remembered the limo driver.
Mocha Joe’s doesn’t sound that bad.
But please COMMENT!
*edited: This is a tentative title... But it seems to fit with what I'm going with right now.
---------------------------------
Deadline in 15 minutes, Grace thought as she took a moment to look up at the newsroom clock. She’d come into work at 8 that morning, expecting a fairly slow news day, but some front page story—she didn’t know what—had suddenly come to the newspaper’s attention, pulling two reporters from their assignments. The two stories originally assigned to them had gotten dumped on her budget and Grace was expected to have both of them ready by 9:30 for the afternoon edition.
She tried to make out the handwriting of the reporter who’d hastily tossed his notebook at her as he’d dashed out of the newsroom. She was tired enough as it was—trying to decipher his scrawl was the last thing she wanted to do. But that was the life of a fledging newspaper writer. She was a young, inexperienced girl trying to make it in world where who you know and what you’ve done are what you fall back on. Grace had plenty of clippings from her newspaper back at home in Massachusetts where she’d done general assignment for the past two years, but none of that seemed to matter now at her new job in Seattle. The editors weren’t impressed with small town stuff, and so she was stuck at the back desk in the newsroom, left to write the Page 8 stories no one else wanted or didn’t have time to write.
Grace dialed the phone number of a person the reporter had interviewed to double-check a quote, and after getting confirmation, typed the last paragraph of her story and sent it electronically on its way to the copy editor. Fortunately the second story was almost half-way written and she only had to make a few more phone calls to get more details. The deadline bell rang as Grace moved the file to the copy editor’s box with a smile.
“That was a close one,” she remarked to the girl sitting across from her.
“You’re telling me,” the girl nodded, wiping her brow in mock exhaustion. “I was out way too long last night and just didn’t have it in me to get past writer’s block.”
“Oh, did you finally get together with that guy you met last week?” Grace asked.
“Yeah—Brad,” the girl blushed. “He took me to Tony’s—you know, that swanky little bistro downtown? It was so romantic. He bought me flowers.”
“I don’t know where you find these guys, Lisa,” Grace shook her head.
Lisa just laughed.
“So do you know what all the fuss was about this morning?” Grace asked.
“Oh yeah—that guy from Dancing with the Stars is back in town.”
“Oh, Apolo Ohno?”
Lisa smirked. “Someone’s been watching Dancing with the Stars! Don’t you have anything better to do on a Monday night?”
Not really, Grace thought. “I’ve caught it a couple times,” she admitted. “But my mom’s into watching the Olympics, so I recognized who he was on the show. I guess I forgot he was from around here. So they sent Harry and Paula to…cover him coming home?”
“Who knows, they’re probably going to have some kind of parade. They’ve done that before.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “And this is news.”
The afternoon edition was dropped by her desk a few hours later, and Grace picked it up to check out her placement. Page 7! That’s better than yesterday. Probably ‘cause I picked up Harry and Paula’s stuff. She sighed and folded it back up. It was then that she noticed the centerpiece on the front page—“Dancing champion, Olympic hero returns home,” she read.
A big photo of the 25-year-old Apolo and his father, Yuki, was accompanied by a long article. Grace skimmed it briefly, noting that the skater was “entertaining other opportunities.” Well, good for him, Grace thought, half-sarcastically. It was just another reminder that someone else was making it big while she wasn’t. She was 23 now. With two years of experience under her belt since she’d graduated from college—a year early—she thought she’d be doing better than this.
Having done her duty for the day, Grace packed up her stuff and left early in the afternoon. Sadly, she had nothing on tap for the next morning’s paper. A half hour later, she was walking up the stairs to her apartment building, key in hand.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Grace clutched her key tightly as she heard a voice call out to her from the street. She was still afraid of “city people,” as her mother called them. She turned around slowly, but her eyes widened in surprise as she saw a stretch limousine pulled up along the curb. She cautiously walked back down the stairs and approached the limo.
The limo driver, a young man who looked about Grace’s age, smiled courteously at her. “I’m sorry to bother you. We’re looking for Mocha Joe’s.”
“Mocha Joe’s?” Grace gave a little laugh. “I don’t know who you’ve got back there, but Mocha Joe’s isn’t exactly a high roller’s coffee shop.”
The limo driver shook his head. “We’re meeting someone there.”
“Well, it’s actually just around the corner,” Grace said. “Go to the end of this road, turn right, and it’s the second or third place on the block. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” the driver smiled and touched his cap and driving off.
Grace shook her head thoughtfully as she turned around and walked up the stairs to her building again. Wonder who that was, she mused. It was rare back home in Massachusetts to see stretch limos on the streets, but here in the city she saw them all the time now. Still, she always wondered who was privileged enough to ride around in the elegant black vehicles.
Grace slipped off her heels as soon as she walked in her apartment, partly because of her aching feet and partly because of her half-Japanese’s mother’s traditions. She grabbed her cell phone out of her purse before setting it down and beginning to listen to her voicemails.
She went to the window and looked down at the street from her third-story apartment as . A couple meeting on the street below greeted each other with a kiss. She drew in a deep breath, and turned away.
She’d been here for three months already and hadn’t had a date. She hadn’t even come close to one. Lisa always seemed to be meeting guys and going out.
I need to get out and do some things, Grace said, flopping down onto her couch and turning on the TV. I’m not going to meet anyone if I stay here at the time. But then she found something interesting flipping through the channels and time began to pass by. Sleep began to overcome her as she lay there, but thoughts kept milling through her mind. Finally, she stood up, shaking off the fogginess of sleep.
“I’m going out,” she said out loud, suddenly inspired. She changed into a pair of jeans and a comfortable shirt and ran a brush through her dark, brown hair, applying a tad more eyeliner to her eyes—eyes that had just enough of the almond shape to suggest her Japanese heritage.
Once outside her apartment building, she looked up and down the street. She didn’t have a car in the city—it was either walk to her destination or pay for public transportation. Her brow wrinkled. She wasn’t making enough at the paper to afford the taxis and her feet hurt too much to take her far. She remembered the limo driver.
Mocha Joe’s doesn’t sound that bad.
I will wait patiently for a new chapter. 
I've always been told to *write what you know.* This isn't my own personal fantasy, of course...but yes... I'm incorporating parts of my background into this story. I just feel like I know the whole journalism route and some of the issues a reporter would have to face... I also jumped on this idea after the whole discussion of Apolo's privacy being invaded with paparazzi... Oops... am I giving away the subject of future chapters? Hmm... better stop. *grins mischeviously*
