Hello to all. Queen here. I’d like to share a little bit about the establishment of the Divergent Ink series, including a little bit about the first book “Crackles of the Heart” and the upcoming second book, “Pleasure Prints”.
Divergent Ink—not to be confused with the movie “Divergent”—is based on different writers from different genres inking out their interpretations behind one question. Six writers decided to come together to faithfully add content to this concept. I am one of those six.
The first book of the series, “Crackles of the Heart” was based on the answer to this scenario: Can the hot, handsome guy fall for the average, awkward woman?
The stories generated were interesting—a mixture of no, maybe, and yes. My contribution “Tale in the Keys of Drastic” is a prose filled cat-and-mouse where an unexpected victor reigns supreme. One is left wondering if one party was reformed, or if it was all at act to try and get over on the other. The interpretation is the fun of the work.
Excerpt from “Tale in the Keys of Drastic” (Excuse Me Miss)
This isn’t my first time steppin’ to a girl. No, scratch that! There’s nothing girl like about all of those curves. They remind me of a long highway that only the most adventurous would travel.
I’ve always been an adventurous man.
The doctors would say it’s due to ADHD but I chalk it up to DNA. Even in my younger years, restlessness was my play date more so than contentment. For me, being content means being complacent. Being complacent means satisfaction with being bored.
No, definitely not me.
Yet, I’m getting sidetracked. Where was I? Oh yeah, that curvaceous vixen—one that switched my eye from a state of wandering to a state of transfixion. Funny enough, that day I was going in for the kill: getting the telephone number from another young lady that I’d been chasing for quite some time.
She probably paid me no mind—bobbing her head to some tunes blasting through her Beats headphones. It wasn’t just her head that was moving. Her bountiful buxom bounced while it swayed in rhythm with each step. Briefly, I thought I spotted the ochre pigmentation of her nipples underneath her worn white beater.
I heard a noise, then redirected my attention. It was from my conquest—who didn’t know at that moment she had been downgraded to road kill. The newly made road kill gave a small smile while she placed the paper containing those seven digits in my hand.
I smiled back before doing something unheard of—at least, I’d never done it before in all my years of chasing tail. The fragments spilled over the tops of my Converse shoes and the sidewalk.
The second book, scheduled to come out later this year, “Pleasure Prints” centers around paradise—the interpretation, the representation.
I got down a little over five hundred words—tying together imagery that I could not shake. This will not be my typical protocol but I am willing to ride this boat to see what island it takes me on.