Summer!

Our local school district lets out this week.  My kindergartner is "graduating" on Wednesday, and my second grader's last day is Thursday.  I can't wait, and I say that without the smallest bit of sarcasm.  I love the lazy days of summer! 

Even if I am getting up early to go running with my friends, it's still later than when we have to get our kids up and ready for school.  I love letting the kids sleep in each morning.  They're rested and happier during the day.  I love taking them swimming and riding bikes and doing all the fun things you get to do in the summer.  I even have a few moments when I feel sorry for my husband, that he's not a stay-at-home dad, because it can be so much fun to be a stay-at-home mom!

Our prompt for this week is simply: Summer!

I hope you're having a happy start to your summer.

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My response:

It was dark and shady in the woods behind Jessica's house.  Light filtered through the leaves of the trees in that whimsical, otherworldly way, and the brook babbled as it hurried by.  Leaves littered the forest floor, but they were too damp to crunch underfoot - they just disintegrated into the mud.  It smelled of mold and water.  As adults, we start to think water doesn't have a smell, but animals and children know different.

It was dangerous back there, or at least, the way I remember it, it was dangerous.  The water was swift, tearing little sticks out of our hands.  A piece of rope hung off a branch of an oak, just on our side of the water.  If you got a running start, and if you didn't let go for the pain of the rope splintering into your palms, you could reach the other side.  This had to be done one by one, of course, and that meant that no babies, by age or by nerves, could join us on our grand adventures.  We could almost imagine, as we took that leap of faith and tested our bodies, that we stepped into a new world.

After that first step, it didn't matter much which side of the water we were one.  We crossed on fallen logs, on old two by fours left over from the construction of our neighborhood, even across tall rocks in one of the more narrow spots.  We discovered berries and bear tracks, defended ourselves from wolves one day and fought off mountain lions the next.

We couldn't see the road from the forest, so it was hard to tell when the street lights turned on and we were expected home.  Still, we seemed to know when we reached the large hay bale that it was time to turn around.  Maybe the bale was proof of civilization, and it broke through our imaginings and snapped us back to the world.  Maybe there was still a little bit of fear in each of us that we were trespassing where we weren't wanted.  Either way, we always turned around at the hay bale.

I've been back to some of the places I lived growing up.  Each time, I've wondered at how small everything actually is, compared to the way I remember it.  I haven't been back to the old neighborhood with the forest.  Now I wonder if there is actually a forest, or is it just a stand of trees?  How wide was that creek, actually?  If we'd fallen in, would we have been swept downriver to our deaths, as we imagined, or would we have simply been wet through, sitting on the mud while water swirled around us?

I may never go back.  I don't know if I want to.  The way I remember it is so grand ...too magical ... to ruin with reality.

Diner

Here's another picture prompt for this week.  I'm going with something whimsical and fun.

Enjoy!

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     "What are you doing?" I asked as Tiffany turned into the parking lot of the diner.  We were supposed to be on our way to the movies, not to the run-down throwback to the fifties that wasn't even cool enough to be retro.
     "They have the best milkshakes!" Tiffany replied,  tugging at the scarf in her hair and peering into the rear view mirror.
     "What's wrong, Claire?"  Kayla piped up from the back seat.  "We all know you've got a thing for Ryan."
     Tittering laughter filled the car, and I sank down in my seat as my cheeks flushed.  Sure, everyone knew I had a "thing" for Ryan.  By now he knew it, too, and yet, he never so much as looked my way.  It was beyond humiliating.  I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen.  Tiffany parked and turned her old civic off.
     Three of the four doors popped open.  Tiffany climbed out, then bent over and stuck her head back in the car.  "Coming?"
     "I think I'll just sit this one out."  I flipped through a couple pictures on Instagram, not really looking at any of them.
     "You do realize I parked right in front of the window, don't you."
     Of course she did.  And I would rather die than think about Ryan wondering why I was in the car.  He'd think I was a freak.  I slipped my phone into my pocket and followed the rest of the girls in.
     It took me ten nanoseconds to make sure Ryan wasn't in front just now.  His mom owned the diner, and he pretty much got to choose where he wanted to work.  Still, there was a window to the back, and I knew from experience it was easier to see out than to see in.  For all I knew he was watching me walk in and sit down next to Tiffany.  I felt the pins of hyper-awareness prickling the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet.  Was I smiling too wide?  Was I walking funny?  Did I laugh too loud?  I probably did all of those things as we ordered and drank our milkshakes - Did he think I was stereotypical for ordering chocolate?  Or did he suspect I ordered it because I happen to know it's his favorite, and I'm stalking him, and it's creepy?  Or does he somehow know it's my favorite, too, like he's been paying as much attention to me as I do to him?
    Ryan still hadn't made an appearance, but Kayla was shaking her head at me.  All I wanted to do was to pay for our milkshakes and get out of there as fast as humanly possible.  Being in the same building as Ryan made me neurotic. 
   Finally, Tiffany finished off her own shake with a long, loud slurp, and stood up.  She dropped a five dollar bill on the table, and each of the rest of us followed suit.  My heart started to slow down.  I was almost home free.  I hadn't heard a word anyone had said for the last fifteen minutes, and I'm sure I'd looked like an idiot, sitting at the table and grinning, but now it was over.  Tiffany was lingering, so I pushed ahead of her and led the way to the door.
     I grabbed the handle, but before I could pull, the door swung in.
     "Sorry I'm late, Mom, I had to ..."
     Every muscle in my body froze, as if every individual cell had been skewered by an acupuncture needle simultaneously.  My lungs ached for air, but my diaphragm refused to cooperate.  Little dark spots swam in front of my eyes as my head started to swim.
     Ryan stopped only inches away from me, his voice trailing off as his eyes met mine.
     It's amazing how much of him I could take in in such a short amount of time.  He wore a pair of stonewashed, belted skinny jeans over a pair of red converse.  His grey and blue plaid, button-up shirt hung loose around the waist, but puckered slightly over his biceps and shoulders.  He wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that I knew he actually needed to see, not just for looks.  And ... he smelled like the chemistry lab and Altoids.
     I shivered.
     "Claire."  My name fell from his lips as his eyes widened. 
     Is he surprised to see me?  Do I make him uncomfortable?  Heaven knows that could be it, with everyone talking about how I'm crushing on him ... 
     He ducked his head, breaking eye contact, then lifted his eyes, glancing around the diner, as if to see if anyone was watching.  He pressed his lips together. 
     I forced myself to remember to breathe, shifting my weight to keep my knees from giving out on me.
     Then he looked back at me ... and smiled.
     Tiffany swooped between us, grabbing me by my forearm.  "Hi Ryan!  We're just on our way out!  See you later!"
     Ryan reached up, holding the door open for us, and Tiff ducked under his arm, pulling me with her.  Kayla and the other girls followed.  Tiffany practically ran to her car, giggling under her breath and wiggling her eyebrows at me.
     Had Ryan just smiled ... at me?   I couldn't help myself.  I had to look back.
     Ryan stood in the doorway, still holding the door although we were all back in the car.  We were far enough away now that I couldn't be sure, but I felt the thrill of eye contact again.  Just before he turned away, he lifted his chin in that way guys do.
     And I wondered if we might stop by again after the movie for another shake.

Shatter Me

***Updated: Apparently the picture is of a violin pool, NOT a guitar pool.  Really ruins my response at the end, but I have to admit it's true.  :-)***

Before I get down to business this week, I want to mention one of the books I've read lately : SHATTER ME, by Tahereh Mafi.  I've read books written in first person, present tense before, but this was less a first person narrative and more a first person stream of consciousness - and in a good way.  I'm pretty sure she broke all of the grammar rules, using fragments, repetition, and even lines that have been crossed out ... all to AMAZING effect.  What the reader gets is a raw, emotional journey, living right in her mind.  You know those thoughts you ought not to have ... but you think them anyway, because you're human?  They're there.  You know that panicky feeling when your mind shuts down except for one thing?  It's in there.  I'll definitely be picking up the rest of her books.

Ok, and because I need something to get my mind off that (or I'll end up with another copy-cat post, like last week, when I was drunk on Jennifer Nielsen's THE SHADOW THRONE), let's do another picture prompt this week.  Here it is:

That's right.  It's a guitar pool.  Have fun!

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My response:

I hitched up my cargo pants and straightened the tag hanging from the lanyard around my neck.  It was a far cry from the dark outfits I usually wear, but on an estate like this one, black wouldn't protect me.  Pretending I was supposed to be there would.

The front doors were wide open, the caterer and his crew moving in and out as they brought in the food for the party tonight.  The early morning sunlight left me as exposed as if I were naked, considering how I usually operated, but the payout should be worth it, this time.  One of the guys in the catering crew leered at me, looking me up and down.  I shot him my best drop-dead look and tucked my bucket of cleaning supplies under my arm.

Ray-Ban's wife stood in the wide, marble-columned entry.  I recognized her platinum blond hair and surgeon sculpted face from TMZ.  She glanced at my tag and frowned.  "You girls forgot to scrub the soaking tub in the master.  If you screw up again, I'll find a new service!" she snapped with a flourish of her bikini coverup.

I nodded humbly and moved quickly upstairs.  Finding out which cleaning company they employed had been easy - they always park their vans in full view of the road.  A kindergartener could download their logo and copy/paste it to a card.  Child's play.

It should have been harder for me to figure out when I could come and go at will, but with Twitter these days, it was as easy as being a fan.  The only hard part of my job was sifting through hours of audio/video footage, looking for something useful.  Like how Ray-Ban took 24 million out of the bank yesterday so he could present his wife with divorce papers today and keep his money away from her.  Apparently he hadn't been smart enough to get a pre-nup, and California's a community property state.

I peered around the door to the master bedroom.  Ray-Ban stood in front of the dresser, piling chain upon enormous chain around his neck.  How this wannabe ever made a dime with his faux rap and poser style, I never would understand, but it worked in my favor.  He looked up.  I let my badge hang down through the gap in the door.

"Oh, you prob-ly wan in 'ere."  He snapped up a pristine Cardinal's ball cap from the bed post and pulled it on as he walked past me.

It was almost too easy.  I closed the door behind me, locking it quietly.  I crossed the room to the custom made cabinet - the one that looked like a dresser, but only had three working drawers.  The middle three hid a safe.  I pulled the false top off my bucket of cleaning supplies, pulled out my tools, and got to work.

I was almost done when I heard shouting outside.  I couldn't resist peeking out the window.  The first thing I saw was the pool.  Ray-Ban actually had a guitar-shaped pool.  I rolled my eyes.  Just putting a guitar in your back yard didn't mean you could play one.  The screaming continued.  I dropped my gaze down.  Ray-Ban stood next to a man in a lawyer suit, and his wife was turning red.  Apparently he felt the need to clear out his wife before the party tonight, so he'd be free to find a new one.

I closed the safe and secured the dummy top back over my supplies.  Well, Ray Ban's wife wasn't the only one who'd end up with less than they expected.  I even swiped a cupcake from the caterers on my way out.

I don't want to miss a thing

I will always remember ARMAGEDDON as the stupidest movie ... that had me sobbing like a baby for the whole second half.  And seriously, who can get over this song:

Every once in a while I hear a phrase, a song lyric, a line in a book or a show, and I wonder, how did we make it this long before someone thought of that?  Like the sentiment of that song - I am so in love with you that I don't even want to sleep, because I can't bear to be away from you.

Also, the line in Katy Perry's song WIDE AWAKE, when she says, "Fallin' from cloud 9 ..."  Seriously?  So perfect!  There is SO much imagery, so much of a story, just in that simple phrase.  I love it.

Maybe that's why I'm a writer; little bits of language give me such a thrill.

Prompt: For this week, we'll stick with Armageddon.  Write a "good-bye" scene.

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My response:
(This is actually a piece of FanFiction.  It's loosely based on the ending of a book by Jennifer A. Nielson, THE SHADOW THRONE.  If you're planning on reading her Ascendance Trilogy, do not read this response - it's a spoiler.  Go read her books first, then come back.  :-)

I had tried so hard to die that, when it was time to fight, I struggled to find the will.

We'd been lured into a trap, which was unusual for Aarek.  Usually he saw tricks like that coming, as if he'd read about them in the paper over breakfast.  But not this time.  We'd made the trip to Redder and back before, and this time seemed no different ... no different until the mountainside next to the road exploded in a spray of dirt and stone.

When I next came to, I could hear Aarek's voice, haughty and arrogant, as always, insulting the traitors.  I felt a weight lift off me, and then a voice.  "I found her.  She's dead."

Aarek's voice cracked and caught in his throat.

Then I heard Harder.  I'd only met him once, but his voice was unmistakeable, filled with hatred.  I wasn't worried about Aarek.  He would find a way to escape.  He always did.  But I knew, trying to draw breath with a thousand nails in my chest, that he wouldn't leave me behind, and that would be the end of him.  So I prayed for death.

Harder must have been amused by the idea of letting Aarek believe I was gone.  I willed my lungs to stop moving air, begged my heart to stop beating, even though, with the pain I was in, it was inevitable.  But I didn't die.  I was in a tent made up for the wounded when I heard the commotion, followed by Harder's angry cursing.  Aarek still thought I was dead.  He'd escaped and left me behind.

And that meant I had to survive.  Aarek would live, as he always did, and so I would to.  Two weeks later they took me to Wingsbrook - Aarek's summer palace.  If Harder had taken Wingsbrook, things couldn't be going well for Aarek, but at least we weren't in Bardell.  That meant Aarek was still fighting.

When they brought Will in, my heart stopped.  Harder would have had to defeat Aarek's whole army to get to his little brother.  Will looked awful, the right half of his face dark and swollen and blood staining his uniform.  He stared at me with wide eyes.

"Annalise?  But you're dead ..."  Then he smiled and passed out.

Only two days later, they brought another prisoner.  Aarek was chained, and two of Harder's largest men had his elbows as he came walking past my cell.  He saw me.  Our eyes locked.  In spite of myself, I smiled.  He was here.  I was whole.

They threw him in the cell next to mine.  Will frowned, then asked what Aarek's plan was to get us all out.  Aarek didn't answer him.  He just held my gaze, a wistful curve gracing his lips.

Will demanded Aarek's attention, and Aarek turned to him.  "Our army has been beaten.  Harder's entire army is here at Wingsbrook.  Even if we got out of here, they'd have us back an hour after we leave."

He stepped to the bars between our cells, and I mirrored him, lifting my hand to meet his.  My fingers touched something cold and hard.  I slipped it into my palm, glancing at the guard, who leered at us.  Aarek leaned in close.

"When we are gone, they will not need you anymore.  You will be able to get away.  Tomorrow, when they come for me."

Will couldn't have heard Aarek's whisper, but he read his brother well enough he didn't need to.  "You really don't have a plan ..."

Aarek looked down into my eyes.  "You have a big day tomorrow, and you're still weak from the wreck.  You need your rest."

"I don't need anything as much as I need you ..."  I pressed my forehead against the bars.  They were too thick and too close together for what I wanted.  I could feel a few strands of Aarek's hair tickle my forehead. 

We sank to the floor, fingers entwined.  Aarek was thin and battered from the long war; he fell asleep first.  I sat in the dim light of the jail listening to the sound of his breath, studying his face, stroking his hand.  His shirt and pants were speckled with small tears and blood.  He had two new wounds on his face, one stitched, the other fresh.  His left arm and his ribs were bandaged.  Distracted by the business of war, he'd neglected his hair.  It hung almost into his eyes.  His beard had grown in.

I'd never kissed him with a beard.  Now I never would.

Situations

I've been reading ON WRITING by Steven King.  He talks a lot about his own creative method and how writing works for him.  Most of his stories come from "what if" scenarios.  For example:  Stopped at a gas station, he goes around the building to use the restroom at the back.  After using the restroom he notices a creek behind the station and moves to check it out.  He slips in the mud and only barely manages to stop himself from falling into the small, raging river, and as he staggers back to his car, he wonders what if ...

What if he hadn't stopped himself?  What if he wasn't actually a person, but an alien?  What if the car he'd parked out front wasn't actually a car?

Steven King starts off with a simple question and elaborates on it, weaving in characters and allowing them to react in the situation he created.

In NaNo terms, we call that pantsing: taking one short idea and letting the story take you from there.  I have done that before, and while I tend to be more of a plotter, pantsing something is simply exhilarating.  I get all swept up in the characters and their world, and since I haven't already planned for them what they're intended to do, I get to be surprised by it myself.

(Non-writers will probably read the above with apprehension, but you know what I'm talking about, don't you?  That mysterious creative space where the characters come alive and don't always follow the instructions the author gives them - that's where true brilliance comes out.)

This prompt is a little unusual.  Instead of writing a piece, come up with a scenario, something that would stir interest and create a story, regardless of what characters you choose to drop into it.

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My response:

Ok, so what if a group of teenagers went into a fortune teller's tent at a fair to make fun of their fortunes.  They expect something vague and predictable, but instead, the young kid (old woman is too typical, make it a small child, maybe even young enough she shouldn't be talking, yet) predicts each of their gruesome deaths.  They come out a little stunned, but laugh it off, until a few days later, the first one of them dies ... exactly how the fortune teller predicted.

(It must be the whole "Steven King" vibe - I don't usually go that dark in my writing.)

What she saw ...

Let's go for something short and sweet this week. 

Prompt:  "He handed it to her, but when she looked inside, she dropped it ..."

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My response:

It might not have been such a bad thing, except ... well, it was. 

The St. Louis Cardinals were his favorite team, and they were playing the Yankees on home ground in Busch Stadium.   He'd been looking forward to the game for weeks.  She'd bought him the tickets for his birthday, and that seemed to him a sign that she got him ... really got him ... and he'd be stupid if he let her go.

He hadn't planned on proposing that night.  He had bought the ring, figuring eventually the moment would feel right, and he would ask her to marry him, but he didn't feel like it had to be right now, either.  Their seats were in the nosebleeds, but that didn't bother them.  They both had good eyesight, and the night was warm.  They'd eaten hot dogs and downed a few beers while cheering his team on to win.  It was a long game, his stomach was full of meat, and his brain swimming in beer when he recognized his own face on the jumbo-tron.  She sat next to him, Cardinal's hat over her brown hair and a white tank top.  She was the image of perfection.

Suddenly, his moment was there.  He put down his beer, dropped to one knee, and handed her a blue velvet box.  She took it, glancing around nervously, and pried it open.  Then her eyes went wide.  One hand flew to her mouth, and the other, trembling, dropped it.

The oohs and ahhs from the stadium crowd turned into gasps as he launched himself forward onto the seats beneath them, arms flailing, and his face smashing against an armrest as he tried to catch the box.  She fainted dead away, and it was lucky he was already sprawled on the chairs to break her fall.  They lay there in a lump as the box continued, bouncing daintily along.

The cameras followed its course to the bottom of the stairs, where it rolled to a stop.  Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, the ring had become dislodged.  It was no where to be seen.

Up on top, the unlucky couple came to, struggling to regain their feet.  A few moments of agonizing awkwardness and they managed to stand.  She had pressed her elbow into his ribs to stand up, and he tested them gingerly to make sure they were still whole.

A boy, about ten years of age, wearing a Cardinals hat and jersey joined the search for the ring and was the lucky one to find it.  With a shout and a flourish, he held it high over his head and, to the thrill of the crowd, dashed up the stairs towards the couple.

Again, he took a knee.  Again, she looked like she might faint.  Then, with their faces displayed larger than life on the big screen ... she shook her head no.  And turned.  And ran up the stairs and out the gate.

Character Sketch - Girl in a Window

Believe it or not, I am actually capable of scheduling a post so it goes up when I want it to, even if I'm gone.  I was planning on doing that this week, while we were out of town on vacation ... but you can see just how that worked out.  Then, Monday was one of the busiest days of my life - five hours at the zoo, driving an hour to a cousin's party, driving back - and managing the kids without my husband, who was at a conference (my extreme sympathies to all single parents out there - it's hard work!).

The whole time we were gone, I was haunted by a character.  She came to me in a flash, and I can't get much more than a picture of her.  I have no idea if her storyline is a Cinderella story or that of a rebellion leader (i.e. Hunger Games) ... or maybe I just haven't hit on the right storyline for her, which would explain why I can't make anything stick.

I've found the easiest way for me to nail down my characters is to do a character sketch, so, because this is my blog and I can do what I want, that's our prompt for the week.  Choose a character and write a little sketch.  They can be from your work, someone you saw on the street or at the mall, or just choose a random image from the internet.  Choose a character, and have fun!

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My response:

Name: Skate
Age: Unknown - young teens
Gender: Female
Ethnicity: Varied
Hair Color: Black
Skin Color: Walnut Brown
Eye Color: Brilliant Green

Our footsteps were soft in the ventilation shaft.  None of us had proper shoes, and we'd learned when we were young to walk softly.  Thumping meant calls to the local gumps, and if they caught us, it meant a week or two in the brig, where the food was rancid and the water worse.

I carried my small, linen sack in the crook of my elbow.  The strap hung loosely around my body, but the tiny space of the shaft made me lean over.  I didn't like the bag smacking my shins, so I clutched it tightly.  Benjy was in front of me, his loping gait - half walk, half skip - a remnant from a childhood bout of the Ezz.  Down in the town, he wouldn't have had to suffer through something like that.  He'd have seen a doctor, and one week later, he'd have recovered.  But he was born in the sky, and even if we knew which medicines to use, stealing them was a bigger job than we could take on.

The ventilation shaft led up, up, into the outer edge of the station.  Other shafts branched out in unmarked passages, but I'd grown up here.  I knew where the window was.  We passed it every day on the way home.  Derk never let me stop long, but sometimes I could get a real good look before I'd hear his sharp voice calling me back.

Just a few more steps.  Around another bend.  And there it was.  I sped up to get to the window, then stopped in front of it.  The line moved on, Benjy limping ahead.  Rag pulled up sharply behind me, calling ahead to Derk even before he'd come to a stop.  "Derk, Skate's at it again!"

I stared out the window, blocking out their voices.  I was in luck today.  In the darkness, a blue-green planet filled half the window.  White clouds swirled around in patches, as if they'd been frozen in time.  It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"Skate!"  Derk's voice snapped.  I knew I'd have trouble if I pushed too hard, but I couldn't help stopping.

"Coming ..." I called, keeping my eyes on the window as my body turned and moved away, further up the shaft.  Derk just didn't understand.  He had everything he ever wanted.  He was only twenty-two and already king of our end of the sky.  The guys like him, and the girls can't get enough of him.  Honestly, I have it pretty easy as his baby sister.  I've never had to go without food, and he'd always bring me something new to wear before I outgrew my last outfit.  He just couldn't understand that I wanted more.  I wanted to know what it was I saw through the window.  I wanted to walk through Town, just once, without worrying about someone stopping me and trying to scan my wrist, then finding I don't have an ID tag and throwing me in the brig for a week.  (Apparently it's a crime to have no identity, but the Town won't put out the money to give new tags to criminals.)  There's got to be more to life than just the sky ...

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UPDATED:

Ok, wait, let's try this from another angle:

I was born in the Sky.  It wasn't as mystical as it sounds.  When you live on a planet, the sky is a broad expanse of freedom and opportunity.  When you're born on a space station, the Sky is the outer layer of ventilation shafts and empty supply rooms packed with the uneducated, unwanted gutter trash of society.  I didn't realize then how unusual my life was.  My brother was the local "king".  That afforded me unique protections.  I thought I was happy, though I used to gaze out the one window in our part of the Sky and wonder at the blue-green orb that hung in the darkness outside.  When I got caught, I fought with every last ounce of strength I had.  If I had known then what I know now, I would have turned myself in.  Now I live in a palace full of windows, where the breeze flows in from the gardens, bringing the scent of fresh lilacs with it.  But it wasn't all a bed of roses.  This is my story.

 
Coming at it this way, a few things changed, but that always seems to happen, and seeing as her story is so fluid right now anyway, I'm not surprised at all.  Who knows, maybe she'll have her own novel one day? :-)