A Dangerous Journey

Dear friends:

Once upon a time, I posted the first chapter of a story I wrote.

This is the second chapter. Enjoy. Comment. Critique.



Normal is Write (part one)

            Maleya slammed the front door to vent and turned cheerfully down the sidewalk. The writers gathered weekly in a park only a short distance from where Maleya lived. Leaves both shaded and carpeted her walk. Emerald filtered light fell around her.

            "He-ey Leya! Whatcha got written?" Straight blond hair danced around the face of Maleya's friend.

            "He-ey Liss! What's your guess?"

            "Nope. You have to tell."

            "Fat luck." Maleya smiled up into the face of the taller writer.

            "Pout." Liss frowned at Maleya and bounced beside her on long legs.

            "Suck it up, cupcake." Maleya laughed at Liss's irked face.

            "You know I could take you any time. Then you'd have no choice. Cupcake." Liss bunched her fists.

            "Yeah, yeah. You think you're stronger than me."

            "Think?!" Liss was always easily riled. She attempted to control herself. "I can take you, Leya." Somehow the telling wasn't enough. Maleya found herself unceremoniously draped over Liss's lofty shoulder, watching the leafy cement receding.

            "I get your point, Liss."

            "Thought that might help." Liss dropped her friend on her feet and let her stumble a few steps.

            "You know something?" Maleya grasped the manuscript and pert-paper that had fallen. "Your story's gonna feel like that. Real soon."

            "Like what? I can't claim to know how that felt, honestly," Liss said savoring her victory.

            "Punched in the gut, dropped from a great height, and left in pain and awe to ponder."

            "Good to know you respect me," Liss swallowed the complement for it's worth.

            Maleya turned to an arch between two of the trees and let her feet plod as a hill ducked out from under her.  Sunlight had plopped itself in the broad lap of the lawn and Maleya's finger print on  her lens made the lenses of her glasses into shades. Fellow writers stood and sat everywhere – most talking, some writing, some glancing around snobbishly.

            At the bottom of the hill sat Hendlic Todd, the writer the whose expertise they had all been assigned to learn from. The hill sloped into a natural amphitheater around the man at the bottom. From the top there was a glorious view of forest covered hills and peaceful country villas fading into purpleness. Maleya sat at the bottom and closed her eyes. She felt – but did not see – Hendlic look up and narrow his eyes at her. It was a sweet moment.

            A sharp whistle stopped several writers short in their mixed conversations.

            "Shut up, Liss!" Hendlic's voice cut the whistle short and secured the attention of the proteges. Maleya looked up. Liss was standing behind Hendlic with her lips still pinched into an o. She let out another short blasting whistle and grinned. Hendlic backhanded her and glared at the writers. The author wasted no time.

            "Today's lesson is about beginnings," he said simply. He stood up and did not wait for Liss to take her seat, or writers to pull out their electric, note-taking pert-paper. Maleya turned up the volume on hers and watched a heading fade into view – "Today's lesson is on beginnings." Maleya scribbled out the first four words with her fingernail and capitalized the word beginnings. It would do for a title.

            "Do you know how people decide which story to read?" Hendlic dared anyone to answer incorrectly. The beautiful blue in his eyes had practiced this menacing glare for the extent of his career.

            "The first sentence," a newcomer bellowed from the top of the hill. Writers nodded and glanced apprehensively at their instructor.

            "Why?" Hendlic always had a question ready. There was a moment of silence.

            "Because the general public has a short attention span. They must become interested in the first sentence or two, or they will decide the story is not worth their while." Maleya answered without looking up from editing her notes.

            "Read me your first sentence."

            Maleya took a breath to start reading and paused suddenly. She had two stories prepared. One was normal. The other not. It was dangerous; the merging of areas of expertise always was. It would serve as a signal flare for Maleya. The future of her mixed writing and techy inventions depended on the reaction to her story. But it's about time, anyway. And the first sentence won't hurt me. Maleya tried to shrug away the knot in her mind and read her sentence aloud.

*GULP*

Eyes closed, fingers crossed, I'm handing it over. 

Taggitenreadit. Pretty pretty please?

I'm posting the first part of a story I'm working on. Before you proceed, you must promise to comment. I don't care if it's only one word - I just want to know what you honestly think. Except still be nice. But comment regardless. I command thee. (I will be sneaky and check my page views and compare them to comments to make sure you all did. Don't think you'll get away with it. -_-  )

Chapter 1: Of Dangerous Bifocals
{Part two of chapter one to follow in a later post.}

Wind snapped through the grass with angry speed.

            "Nope," Maleya muttered darkly. She slid her fingers across the screen and tapped a different tab. Another tap and a keyboard appeared below codes dictating grass texture and strength. With one fingertip, she highlighted a section of code, deleted it, and typed something to replace it. She grabbed a pair of bulky, thick-lensed bifocals and slipped them on over her own tiny glasses. Tapping the screen again, she changed the control from touch to voice.

            "Wind snapped through the grass with angry speed."

            The bifocals – screens in reality – glowed for a moment, then grass appeared in them, waving and bending under a heavy wind. Maleya watched five seconds of footage before the motions began to repeat themselves.

            "Um...." she searched desperately for a word or a sentence that would keep the story going. “The two field mice were...were...unperturbed by um...the fury above them." Images flickered belatedly across the lenses. Two something-or-other’s blobbed together sheltered by the waving grass. Maleya grabbed the microphone and pulled it as far from the touch-screen as the limited cord would allow.

            "The mice scurried!" she exclaimed trying to keep her tones natural. Frustration was taking over. The blobs in the vision of the bifocals shrank and became detailed images of the tiny rodents specified. With deft fingers she took control of the screen again, delicately dragging an iconic marker back to the first word, which had appeared on a digital paper with handwriting coded to her own.

            "And...open book." This time she paused the pantomime before the mice came into the story. Sky: blue. Grass: improvised mixes of green and tan. Soil: barely visible through the thick growth. Slowly Maleya nodded. Tap. Story deleted. Maleya removed the bifocals and slipped them into a soft velvet bag.

            "Now..." Maleya dug a sloppy sheaf of notebook paper out of a drawer in her desk and began to read it aloud to the screen.

            Maleya was a writer. Well, really she was a renegade. But she was supposed to be a writer. Writing was what she did. It was what she knew. It was her passion. Everyone knew Maleya was a writer. Even Maleya did. But that didn't change her mind about anything. It just scared her.

            Barley wasn't an anything yet. He would be, soon enough. Everyone knew that. He'd be an expert in something. He'd be the talk of the town. He'd learn from the best and improve on their methods, until he was the best. But he was still trying to figure out which pert to ex.

            Well, currently he wasn't figuring anything about exes or perts. Barley was rather viciously concerned with knowing. He seemed to always know what was going on with everybody in the family. It was his business, somehow. He'd pop up whenever anybody had an idea, or a new plan, or a change of plan, or a challenge. He was always the first to know. How he knew when to pop up was a mystery. Most likely he had programmed his intuition to sense that sort of thing – that time when someone is bursting with an idea or nervous about an appointment and just aching to tell someone. It wasn't an annoying thing. Barley was the family calendar. It was his quirk. Everyone had one of those too, just like they had an area of expertise. Things just were that way.

            There was really nothing wrong with the way things were. Everyone was an expert at something and their expertise usually became obvious when they were 10 or 11. Everyone had a quirk, and it always lasted at least a year or too after you became an expert (only cropping up occasionally thereafter.) Everyone was beautiful in some way. If you didn't have soulful eyes, you were bound to have beautiful lips. If you didn't have those, well your complexion was probably perfect. More people than not had several of these handy features. Most people only had a limited amount of techy stuff. It was typical. But the Hominy family had a bunch of tech knowledge and equipment. That part wasn't supposed to be that way. Only Maleya really took it too far though. But no one knew, so even though it wasn't supposed to be that way, it was, and it didn't matter.

***

       

Gratitude Challenge: Day 7

Life. Is. Good.

And it's entirely due to God's grace. A couple of reasons I know that's true:

*I have sisters who love me.

*I have hilarious friends.

*We have hilarious conversations.

*That I can talk dead-seriously about things like majoring in chickens and yard work to perturbing images of hippos in pink wetsuits.

*That I can sit up late at night and hear the music of silence. It sounds somewhat like the wind blowing and the fridge running and typing on me laptop and absolutely nothing else.

*That when I randomly looked at a model in an advertisement, she had the same haircut as me. (I am not paranoid about weight and name brand clothing etc., but it's encouraging to see a model showing off the same style and color hair as you have.)

*That I had cheese and broccoli for supper.

*For goosebumps. Because they necessitate blankets and cocoa and fires in fireplaces and good books and no homework.

*For a mumsy who likes to play with my hair.

*For sleep.

Goodnight.

Today I Did

5.1.11 Today I washed my hair and let it dry in front of our fireplace. What a lovely feeling.

4.30.11 Today I went to the Evangelical Covenant Church and helped package rice meals with Kids Against Hunger. It felt wonderful to know that I was helping starving children. By the time we finished, I was regretting that I'd been frustrated with my mom for making me go. I only wish I'd volunteered to go earlier. As a note in passing, to help somebody who can't help me back is one of my New Year's dreams. (Yes, I'm still thinking about them.) Last night I thought this would qualify, but now I'm not sure. Helping to package the food gave me a deeper sense of compassion and a desire to do more. Isn't that a way of helping me back?

4.29.11 Today I studied hard. Aside from the fact that it was studying and it took forever, it felt good. (Astronomy, if you want to know. Mostly about stars: Red Giants, Supergiants, White Dwarfs and all that jazz.)

4.29.11 (Evening) My study was rewarded - I went to a sleepover with some girlfriends and we had a wonderful time playing Kinnect, Bananagrams, and watching a movie. Got to bed at 3-ish. *Blissful sigh*

5.1.11 Today I and my older brother led the High school Sunday school class. We played clips of a speaker talking about using good questions to discern inconsistencies and contradictions in false worldviews. It was a good video, humorous, relevant, profound, and useful. We prayed beforehand that the teaching would impact the class and be meaningful.

4.25.11 Today I was jealous when I found out my friend is going to Alaska played basketball and soccer with some friends. It was a beautiful day, and it felt sooooooo good to be outside. I think the girls team won too. (Just sayin', Friend-in-Alaska.)

5.1.11 Today I received the following email from my dad.

"Hey G babe! This is doting dad! I can't think aof anythibng rlly good to anny U at the momnt except fir realyy bad spelling and hpfully grmmr!"

Uh-huh. I have great parents, just for the record. Life if rough.

He got this back.

"I don't know exactly what or who gave you this mistaken idea, but you seem to think you're hilarious. News flash. You aren't. Read that again. Memorize it.




Are we clear?"
 
But of course, he couldn't let that rest. So I got this back.
 
"Perhaps someday you will rise to my level of humor... until then I suppose I shall have to put up with you as you are, irritating little dolt that you may be."
 
Yeah. Loving, no?
 
I searched him out and pummeled him. As well as I could. Which...wasn't very well, but I tried.

5.1.11 Today I went out to breakfast with my dad. We had a lovely time talking and laughing. Talking about books that I was reading and he wanted to read: laughing (mostly Dad) when we discovered I'd talked right through spilling on my dress pants. FYI: melted cheese doesn't wipe off of dress pants as one might desire. Also: be very careful what you eat and how you eat it if you are going to speak in front of a crowd.

Character Sketches

I love the little things in life so accurately and clearly portray some one's character. It's an instant in time when everybody is doing something different - oblivious to the fact that I'm furtively sneaking glances at them, the object in their hands, and pausing occasionally to scribble notes. Mwahahahaha - if your name (or something representative of your name) appears in this post, keep a look-out behind you for a short fella with glasses (lime green rims,) a tall yellow hat and an epic beard. He's my insurance policy*.

My brother and two sisters sat on the couch one evening. For blogging purposes, their names are Nonchalant, Shutterbug, and Art Maniac.

Nonchalant was flipping through a magazine, discussing with another irrelevant the engine sizes of particular cars and small trucks, comparing estimated miles-per-gallon averages, and generally drooling over anything less than 17 years old and rust-free.

Shutterbug was intently perusing resale sites online in hopes of finding the cheapest perfect ipod on earth. If it was there, she was going to find it and she was going to drive a hard bargain. Her only presence in the room was denoted by the space she took. Consumer reports and "SAVE MONEY NOW!" advertisements manipulated her attention in turn.

Art Maniac was blissfully unaware of my photography as she studied products and pictures from a horse magazine. Horse and Rider? Quarter Horse Associated? Didn't matter. I don't even remember - all I know is that it had horses, which is all it took for her to sit mesmerized for as long as it would have taken me to memorize the thing.

See what I mean? It is as clear a picture of (that facet of) character as one could wish.

And another instance. Art Maniac, Shutterbug and myself were miles from home, talking, giggling, getting bored and otherwise enjoying our life-long sworn friend, Lari, when the idea came (it is not difficult to imagine how - we were goofing off) to give ourselves tattoos with the mascara that Lari was in possession of. Lari began to tattoo herself on her upper arm. In a minute or two of pondering and painting, a little black heart appeared, outlined and then filled in.

Shutterbug snatched at the idea and the mascara and in another minute or two, a face with a jolly smile and sarcastic tongue took life on the arm of my sister. I watched in amusement but without particular interest; the sleeveless dress I would be wearing for the next day's piano competition would advertise a tattoo rather  more distinctly than I really cared for.

But Art Maniac would not be outdone. She held out a well-muscled arm for decoration. "But I don't want a  ridiculous heart," she explained scornfully. A moment's conference and the design was decided upon. I was rather shocked; she was scheduled to compete in a piano competition on the morrow also, but she rebuked me for my fears, claiming that her sleeves would hide the "beautiful thing" and that it would help her endure the wearing of a dress. Shortly thereafter, she proudly displayed a barbed-wire tattoo before my bemused father and shocked mother. I believe she thought the reactions more than worth it.

You never knew watching people could be so amusing, did you? Another secret is to listen to the way somebody talks about a book they're enjoying. In my family it goes something like this:

Short Stuff (little brother): "Storyfingers! Guess what! Mom's reading me this book about the Pony Express and I'm going to be a rider for them!" "The Pony Express doesn't exist anymore, S. Stuff. See, it says in your book that..." "I know that, but I'm going to start my own. And if you want to ride, you have to come see me in my office." Some hours later (representative of days, perhaps?) I find mail, hand scrawled on torn note-book paper and dirty from a ride across the prairies and mountains of our backyard, safely resting on my bed.

Art Maniac: "Hey, get this. There's this book about a girl and her horse, and she rescued the horse from a ranch that was going out of business. And read this description - 'White with a perky medicine hat...'! Storyfingers, don't you know what that means?! It's like, the coolest marking a horse can have! And if you can get a well trained, papered horse with a medicine hat, you could sell it for, like, thousands! Storyfingers, isn't that, like, amazing?!" Receiving mostly a confused response, she returns to the book to retrieve more astounding facts about this miraculous dream horse.

Shutterbug: "Storyfingers, the book I'm reading is sooooo sad! It's about this girl, and her dad goes off to war, and her brother dies, and she's like, made fun of at school just because she's _____! I mean, can you believe it? That's just not fair! And her family isn't nice to her either. I mean, her dad was the only one who liked her, and he's gone. You know, the only way I can stop myself from crying is to keep reminding myself that it's just a book. It's not true, after all. But you should read it! It's soooo sad, I mean, just look at everything she goes through and none of it's her fault!"

Storyfingers: "Oh! I loved that book. I had to read it twice, I just had too. The author is such a good writer! Look at how she develops the lead character! It's so realistic and well written. It's so subtle and yet powerful how she changes the character throughout the course of the story! You should really read it." Or, "Yeah, I know it was about punctuation, but it was so humorous! Lynne Truss does is so skilled at laying out the guidelines for and the history of punctuation in a clear and interesting way! I don't see why anyone wouldn't want to read it. Her puns, dry humor and play on words are all so captivating." Or yet, "Not just his message, but his style really drew me in. I love the way he uses his adjectives. He writes to give every word it's full worth and potency. I love the way he balances simple, poignant sentences with a lengthy use of adjectives; it seems to create a much more vibrant picture."

Ahhhh. Just reading what I've written makes me want to go re-read some of those authors!

Now. Comment. Wait-wait-wait. Slow down. You didn't let me finish. Comment with style. Sketch a character you know well, and in so doing, sketch yourself in profile.

*Insurance policy: If you're looking for him, you'll never notice me. *Grin*

Book order

My eternal gratitude to those 3 (three?!) faithful friends who actually took the time to vote. I'm giving you a list of the books that the first sentences were from - you are now obligated to read the books you voted for. Notice that there is no 11th book. Ah. The sad truth is that my short story didn't pass the first sentence test. (Inna, I had hoped for better things...) Sigh.

1. The Fellowship of the Ring J. R. R. Tolkien

2. The Great Good Thing by Roderick Townley.

3. A Single Shard by Linda Sue park

4. Bat 6 by Virginia Euwer Wolff

5. Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynne Truss.

6. The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart

7. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens

8. Crazy Love by Francis Chan with Danae Yankoski

9. The Search for Delicious by Natalie Babbitt.

10. Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery

First Sentence Test.

This is an intense test. It takes lots of studying to pass it. It takes tons of practice. But it takes even more skill. It's a short test, but you'd probably sweat buckets waiting for results from the FST. It's called the First Sentence Test.

It works like this. Judges vote on whether or not they would read your book and the answer is entirely based on their opinion of the first sentence.

Don't worry though. Today you're a judge. I'm providing you with the first sentences from several different books. They'll be numbered, so all you have to do is read the sentence, find the corresponding poll (also numbered) and vote. You will need to select 11 answers to vote on each book. Take note of how you voted for each (or some) sentence(s) and leave a comment regarding why you voted that way, or what you think of the sentence. To avoid scientific variables and all that jazz, I'm not giving you the authors or the book titles.

1. "When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton."

2. "Sylvie had an amazing life, but she didn't get to live it very often."

3. "'Eh, Tree-ear! Have you hungered well today?' Crane-man called out as Tree-ear drew near the bridge."

4. "Now that it's over, we are telling."

5. "Either this will ring bells for you, or it won't."

6. "In a city called Stonetown, near a port called Stonetown Harbor, a boy named Reynie Muldoon was preparing to take an important test."

7. "My father's family name being Pirrip, and my christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip."

8. "What if I said, 'Stop praying'?"

9. "In his workroom at the top of the tower, Decree, the Prime Minister, was pacing up and down."

10. "Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived right where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed by alders and ladie's eardrops and traversed a little brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; itprobably  was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof."

11. "Deep in the soul of my family is a trait that lies hidden for most of the year but becomes manifest in mid-November."

Books you MUST read. And why.

In the past I have posted book lists as posts and books as a list on my sidebar, but now I'm going to select a few books that you must read and tell you why you must read them. Whenever somebody tells me to read a book I immediately ask what it's about, so it's only fair that I tell you why as well as what. I begin.



The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. This is an excellent book about one year in a boy's life during which he becomes a man. The story line is entertaining, flowing, and unexpected. The words are well chosen and the story is very well written. The theme of the book is deep and wonderful. (Did I seriously just write a review without giving anything away? *Cheers!*)



The Fellowship of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien. It's a fantasy set in another world. I would describe the world as magical because simply put, it is. But the word "magical" seemed so fairy-like and flippant. That is not this book! This book has a deep history in other tales which enhances the action and the understanding of this book. It is a story that is very mystical and wonderful, but very human (in a non-human way), real, and even painful. Beautiful beyond description. For a good description by C. S. Lewis go here.



The Great Good Thing by Roderick Townley. This book is made amazing by its highly amusing, rare and marvelous perspective. I cannot recommend a more entertaining or relieving read. I was amazing when I read this book, and you will be too (because you WILL read it. No?)


Now. Your turn. Leave a comment and tell me 1. If you have already read any of the above and 2. If you have any books that I MUST read. Also leave a comment if: I must leave a longer list. I must be more convincing (Really, people?) or You have not already left a comment on this post.