Write something for me. Just for me. Post it in your journal so everyone else can see it, too. A sentence, a paragraph. Nanofiction. Short story. A scene, dialogue, a picture described, a moment, anything. Long or short. But it’s got to be just for me. Tell the world you wrote it for me, even. Mine.
Then feel free to put this up in your own journal, and I'll reciprocate.
And the one that sparked me putting this up, for jennifer, because there is no coffee or tea at Landel's:
The morning the first article ran, Lana put down the paper and walked to the twelfth-floor lounge. She dumped last night's grounds from the coffeemaker, and started a fresh pot; when it had perked, she poured a second styrofoam cup, and balanced them both, along with a handful of creamer and sugar packets on top of a thick manila envelope.
She entered the office without knocking. Miles Edgeworth was standing by the window, an equally steaming cup of tea in his hand. The Times was neatly folded on the corner of his sofa, taking the place of yesterday's edition.
"Well, I suppose this is redundant, but cream? Sugar?" She set the cups on the desk and tipped the folder, letting the packets thump one by one down in a neat pile.
"Milk. Or cream, if that's all you have." He sounded unconcerned, either over the fact that his new superior had come down to speak with him in person, or over the casual invasion of his desk. Very good. She added the cream and swept the rest of the debris into the wastebasket before he could protest.
"You're going to need both. Triple homicide, tied together and weighted. We dredged them out of Silver Lake a month ago, but the lab couldn't ID any of them until a couple of days ago." It was the biggest case on the roster, though until they'd confirmed all three IDs it had been kept strictly need-to-know. They couldn't keep it under any longer; when dental records had turned up a pawnshop owner and small-time fence it was still classed as minor internecine gang warfare, but when the other was Minerva Cooper, daughter of the Cooper real estate empire, and never reported missing? Well. This was going to be a three-ring press circus, no matter who turned up as a suspect.
"It's all here." The folder made a much more satisfying thump as it landed in the center of the desk. "Better get to work, Edgeworth. I'm not sure homicide has even figured out who to question, but it's coming to trial by Friday."
He'd need all the time he could get. So she wouldn't keep him any longer; she turned and left, taking a sip of her coffee as she went.