Ye Olde Show vs. Tell
Avery and D.C. discuss the classic writing advice “Show, Don’t Tell” while revising an old snippet of Avery’s writing and enjoying some old-fashioned cocktails. Plus, everything is better with pizza.
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Episode 2 Cocktail:
Writer’s Tears Old-Fashioned:
- 2.5oz Writer’s Tears Copper Pot Whiskey
- 1.5 tsp brown sugar syrup
- Dash angostura bitters
- Orange peel
- Luxardo cherry (for garnish)
- Add syrup and bitters in a rocks glass and stir well.
- Add a large ice cube, then pour in whiskey and stir well to dilute.
- Spritz orange peel over the top and drop peel into glass.
- Garnish with luxardo cherry.
Excerpts for Episode 2:
Reinan tucked a lock of her long black hair behind one pointed ear, glancing around furtively. Her current task made her feel sick, but sadly it was part of her job. Somehow, she knew what had happened to Odiri, and she didn’t want to be the one to see it.
A rustling of wings overhead startled her. Looking up, she saw that it was only a nighthawk and felt embarrassed. Back to the task at hand, she told herself, kneeling down. In the moonlight she could pick up Odiri’s trail again. It was difficult, since he had been one of her better students. She fought back hot tears when she realized she was already thinking in past tense.Walking silently through the soft moss and grass, she followed the trail deeper into the forest. She found it sad that she used to walk these woodlands without fear. Now her heart pounded in her ears with every step. Each rustle in the bushes brought that fear to the foreground of her thoughts.
Reinan tucked a lock of her hair behind one pointed ear, glancing around, lifting her nose hopefully, searching for the savory scent of pizza in the air. Her stomach turned thinking of the possibilities of what might have happened to Odiri. She wished another teacher had been sent out to investigate.
Something rustled overhead, and she started in terror.
Only a nighthawk. “Get a hold of yourself, Reinan. GEEZ.”
Back to the task at hand, she told herself, kneeling down. In the moonlight she could pick up Odiri’s trail again. The faint aroma of mozzarella was hot in the air, and a loose magenta thread was tangled in a nearby raspberry branch. The ground was undisturbed—typical, since he had been one of her better students.
She continued on, fighting back tears, realizing she was already thinking in past tense. Her heart pounded with every step, and each rustle in the bushes made her arm hairs prickle.
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