This is a Work In Progress and I am sharing it solely to receive feedback.

NO SOLICITATIONS OR PEDDLERS, PLEASE!

What works? What doesn't? Where do you see it leading? Where would you like to see it leading? Does it hook you and make you want to read more? If not, what killed it for you? These are all questions for you to consider answering, or tell me whatever else is on your mind in regards. Please, let me know in the Comments below.

The writing will also be evolving, as the story and characters are being developed as I go, so certain parts may change after they have been read by you as I consider the feedback I receive. Your input does matter to me.

Imogen can scarcely wait to get inside her apartment. Outside was bad, but the apartment building's stairwell to the third floor and the hallways are not warmed either. The landlord has fielded complaints from multiple tenants regarding it, but it is one of his ways of saving money. Another is having only one of the four shared washing machines downstairs functioning at any given time. The elevator is still out of order too, which makes one wonder if that is another cost-saving method of his.

She rattles her key around the key slot, trying to straighten and slide it in, before having success in unlocking her door and pushing it open. Her hands are trembling, most likely from still being cold, she tells herself, and not from the blunt force trauma she gave herself earlier. It is not the first time. She has survived it before.

Her cat, Osiris, a British shorthair with smoky fur and golden eyes, swaggers over and brushes against her legs to show how happy he is that she has returned. She has had him since her previous cat, Isis, passed away two years ago, but he is going on five years old, having been a rescue from a shelter miles from here.

The warmth feels so nice. A warm day at the beach would be better, but her fair skin burns easily if she forgets to slather herself in sunblock. Still, after switching on a few lamps, she imagines that she is there. This is one beach that needs some serious trash cleanup though. Soiled plates, food wrappers, and bottles litter the surfaces and floor of her living room and kitchen. Dishes and pots sit stacked on the counter by the sink and ready to be cleaned. Her bedroom is not much better, with candy wrappers and clothes strewn about.

There is no time for cleaning right now. There is always the later that rarely arrives, usually twenty minutes before she is expecting a guest to drop by. Right now, she needs to focus on the project for work.

Osiris rises against her pant leg and gently claws at it, his combination of stretching, showing affection, and trying to garner her attention to feed him. Looking at her phone to see if she missed any messages and check the time, Imogen tells him, "You don't get fed for another two hours, buddy. You can wait." Osiris meows at her, as though knowing that he is being denied. "Okay, but just a few treats. Do you think you can leave me alone for a bit while I get some work done?" He meows in a higher tone that sounds like he is agreeing to her request, but probably not.

After Osiris is happily munching away on his vittles, Imogen wades through her bedroom floor over to her worksurface table and unpacks the laptop from her bag to set it up. The apartment is fraught with distractions vying for her attention, like the TV or anime figures or the refrigerator, but Imogen is committed this time to staying focused. She has to show Monique that she is capable of accomplishing great things and meeting deadlines.

"I need to get my notebook back and truly revisit my characters' world. Their time is finite. They're like dust in the... algorithm? Allegory? Is that right? I have to look those words up to check if I have the correct meaning." She clicks on the already open tab in her browser for the online dictionary and types in each word. "A fable? That kind of makes sense. There are morals unfolding, but it's an ongoing story They're living their individual lives. so I guess not. They're living their lives and I guide them to a degree, whenever I make time to." Imogen spends about fifteen minutes trying to come up with the proper phrasing for the random thought she had. This happens very frequently. She loses more time this way.

"Augh! What am I doing?! I just wasted how much time on this... this trivial pursuit?! Ooh, I haven't played that game with anyone in quite a while. I should get that out for the next time the girls are over or I'm over there. They'd appreciate it, I'll bet. Now where did I put it?" She visually locates the game on the top of a bookcase at the backside of her bedroom, filled with anime figures and with boxes stacked in front of it, and convinces herself that she needs to retrieve the game box now or she will forget about it later, and she is not wrong.

Standing up from the computer, she wades through the rumpled clothing and small stacks of paper on the floor to reach her bookcase. The boxes in front are stacked three high. She really should go through and organize the contents of each box. She has been intending to for months. But when is she going to find time for that? Instead, she is going to forget about them until the next time she sees them and be in the midst of accomplishing something else then and thus continue to be stuck in the loop of forgetfulness and procrastination. Yes, when she finally sees them and has time, she will probably decide to put it off again. It's a vicious cycle.

These anime figures sure are dusty. I should clean them, but when will I have the time to? Will I need cotton swab to reach the deep corners? But the cotton is going to snag on the sharp edges and become a mess to themselves? Is it even worth it? The dust will continue to cake on there the longer I wait. It's gotta be done sometime, she thinks. Maybe after this project for work is done.

She reaches up on her tippy-toes and successfully pulls the Trivial Pursuit box out from between some others and carefully lowers herself back down with it. Turning around with her bounty and wading back out of the mess, she wonders where she can set it down and not forget about it, so she chooses to place it on the kitchen table.

I wish I had Monique's number to consult with her on this stupid project, she thinks. Why didn't she think of giving me her her number for this precious project if it means so much to her? Grr. I want to make sure she doesn't look through my notebook too! Of course, if I tell her that, she definitely will. I probably would.

Imogen settles back in at her desk and brushes a tray ginger lock back, preparing to concentrate on what needs to be done. "At least there's email, Osiris," she tells his as he gets up and strolls in the direction of the hand she is holding toward the floor. "I kinda despise email, but it can't be helped. Who knows how long until she'll reply back to any question I ask. It's like setting up for failure versus making a phone call. When did the world become so efficiently lackadaisical about communication, right? It's a way faster form of telegraph or letter carrier though." Trying to sound smart. Really not.

She pets and scratches the pretty kitty's head for a bit before actually finally trying to focus on the task. "Children's enrichment toys for a new product line. That's my job. Fits well with my Product Design and Marketing classes I took. And I'm still hopelessly a kid at heart. So why aren't the ideas flowing? Maybe I could find a way to model them after my characters? No, because then the company would own the rights to those likenesses. I sure as hell wouldn't want that happening." Yeah, that's not gonna happen. "Maybe something that rolls on wheels and has numbers and letters falling around inside of clear rims? Or a dog that barks words?" She takes note of these ideas. "Maybe a magic erase board with oversized digital pen attached to a short string? Has that been done?"

Imogen keeps at it and writes down a dozen other ideas. It is a great achievement, but she pauses to consider the ramifications of having this kind of success. She would hate to admit that maybe not having the notebook to distract her is a good thing. That would embolden Monique to do this kind of thing more often in the name of being helpful while really just doing it to pick on her. "The sooner I get this done, Lil' Fuzzers (her pet name for Osiris), the sooner I can get back to keeping my world running. I need to mend the problems I've caused."

After narrowing her ideas down to only six, she begins sketching and fine-tuning drawings of what the products could look like. It looks like she could succeed with this after all. Once colors have been added, she looks at the clock. Not as good on the time as she had thought. Drawing always absorbs her and then time just flows without a care about a girl trying to meet deadlines.

"I'll email this all to Monique and she can be silently impressed. She'll never admit to liking anything I do. And then she can get her part of the copywriting and marketing done and stop hounding me and generally being a bitch. Wouldn't that be nice, Osiris?" The British blue meows upon hearing his name and headbutts her hand for attention. Imogen left clicks the mouse and the email is sent.

Her stomach gurgles and she looks at the clock again. "Almost six o'clock. Time to find something to munch on."