How to write fiction

Inner torn


black and white torn photo of a person
Photo by Elīna Arāja on Pexels.com


This is the result exercise from an exercise proposed in the 90 days to your novel by Sarah Domet. It is a description of the insides of my handbag. Hopefully it won’t make you despair [anyways I’m unable to write the many many words other writers do]. Ah, I’ll update the original [in Spanish obv].



Inner torn

Whenever I’m out, the handbag is a must. Regardless of my reticence to carry a wallet. Female wallets are too big to duck inside the jean’s back pocket. They’re awfully cute but unnecessarily bothersome and flamboyant for me to use.

Feminism can be what it is, but it will never achieve shit so long we need to carry stuff around somewhere else than in deep pants’ pockets. Nein. We must look good without the smartphone or the wallet filling the space in our pockets and deforming the curvy silhouette. Pockets? Men only need the wallet, keys and that’s it.

There’s a satin padded fabric coin purse in red, yellow, white and blue. Each padding section is rivetted with thread. It’s been long since I replaced the torn lining with felter. One of the stuffed fabric butterflies has disappeared already yet, it was a gift and it came from a very far away place.

Besides the coin purse I have a plastic zipped bag (recycled dental hygiene kit) where to stuff the oficial ID in an non updated address  (no, driving licenses are not the norm), a pair of aspirins, the «mobility» pass card — the one I had to buy to ride the subway, metrobus and trolebus while the old one was not recoverable— a needle with three threads and some drugstore point card.

No matter pandemics, I refill a sample shampoo jar, one of those from hotels  — pleasantries from family members— with anti bacterial gel… Up to half the container. Some hand cream, a yellow cover mirror from some Korean store uptown (Mexico city, municipality town has a single Chinese restaurant). They partner up with a Kleenex tissue pack, immortal till the sneezing season (usually any time I’m not carrying any), sunglasses and some lip balm I don’t get why I carry of I never use it.

All that in the messenger bag of Chinese leather — Chinese? Leather? Yes, I think. Super soft blackness, metal music chain and some torn fabric in the lining inner bag — which I’ve just sewn last week. In there, travel the eye drops and the mini swiss knife with cuticle pusher.
So… Who am I through my handbag’s contents?

Pasto kalo.

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