I'm lazy and bad at coming up with new content. So from time to time, I think I am going to post a random page or two of some of my old stories. I think the oldest ones I have are from high school, I have several from college creative writing classes, and I have some from the last year or so. They won't be in order, and probably won't make much sense, but I can feel good about myself for updating, so I think that makes it a win.
This first excerpt is from the first story I did in my intro creative writing class in college. This scene is from the first third of the story.
Morgan and Fiona in the Deep Dark Woods.
The morning promised another of the hot bright days that seemed to be the rule that June. There had been a thunderstorm the night before, and the air was oppressively humid. Morgan was eating breakfast when Fiona, sweat dripping down her freckled nose, burst into the kitchen and struck a dramatic pose. “There has been a rain of frogs,” she proclaimed, “and I need you to help me get rid of them. Are those pancakes?”
Morgan got her a plate, knowing that she would not tell him anything until she got fed. He suspected that she spent most of her free time coming up with outlandish statements to spring on him at breakfast. Fiona’s family were cold cereal people.
When she had carefully licked the last drops of syrup from her plate she sat back and folded her hands in front of her, waiting for Morgan’s attention. “Last night,” she began, “during the storm, I heard a sort of plopping on the roof. Not rain, more like splatting. I got out of bed and looked outside, but it was dark—“
“As night often is”
She glared, “and all I could see was that there were larger things mixed in with the rain. So this morning I got up early and went outside and right off I noticed guts! Guts everywhere!”
“That’s disgusting, Fi.”
“Well, once I got past the guts I saw that there were absolutely thousands of frogs lying about. Most of them were dead—splattered on the ground, their guts everywhere—“
“Still gross.”
“--but there were still a bunch of them hopping around. And so you have to help me save them, because it’s going to be very hot today, and I think they’ll dry out and die. So we have to move them to the creek.”
Morgan looked at Fiona—she certainly seemed serious at least. But her imagination was a touch overactive, and if she wasn’t sufficiently entertained she would start to entertain herself.
“Morgan! We have to go now, before they all dry out!”
Morgan was fairly sure that he would have noticed a rain of frogs, but he supposed it could have been a very localized storm. “Fine,” he said, “let me get my shoes.”
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Wedding
The biggest drama at my wedding was the issue of The Suit.
My husband and I both got our wedding clothes on Etsy, we posted alchemy requests and found people to custom make us outfits. Mine went perfectly, and I had a great dress a month before I needed it.
His process was more complicated. Suits are harder to make than dresses, and it took longer to find a tailor who was willing to custom make a three piece suit for an affordable amount. The one he eventually found lives in France. She had a great portfolio, and was willing to do the whole thing, shipping included, for $300.
We knew the timing would be pretty tight. The deal was finalized five weeks before the wedding, and the tailor promised to get the suit in the mail a week before, with the fastest transatlantic shipping available.
It's easy to make that sort of call five weeks out, but a week before the wedding we were starting to get nervous. The suit was finished and in the mail 8 days before the wedding. Unfortunately, it looked like it wouldn't be fast enough. We got married in my hometown, which is three hours away from where we live now. We had to be there two days before the Friday wedding, and it was pretty obvious on Monday when the suit was still stuck in French customs that we weren't going to get it before we had to go.
After a bit of quietly freaking out, we called his uncle, who lives in the same town we do and was coming to the wedding. We learned that the uncle was planning to drive down Friday morning. He agreed to check our mailbox for the next two days and see if the package was there.
All of this was complicated by the fact that our mail is delivered on a very erratic schedule. Sometimes it is there before noon, sometimes we don't get it until six or six-thirty. There's no way to tell when it might get there. The suit required a signature for pickup, so in order to get the package our mail would have to get there in time for the uncle to check it, get the pickup slip, and go to the post office.
Thursday afternoon we got a call--the slip had been delivered, but when the uncle had gone to the post office to pick up the package he was told that the carrier was still out. The post office branch closed at six, and with the erratic mail pattern, there was no guarantee that the carrier would be back in time. Since the wedding was at 11 AM, if the package wasn't delivered in time that night there would be no way to get it to us. We looked at local rental places, just in case.
The carrier got back to the post office at 5:55. The uncle got the suit. He would be getting to us at 10. The wedding, as I said, was at 11. It was tight.
The wedding was in my grandmother's back yard. I called her and asked if she could have an iron ready so the Boy could press the suit before he wore it. We crossed both fingers and toes that his uncle wouldn't have car trouble. There was also the question of whether the suit would fit. It was made to order, but he had never tried it on, and that close to the ceremony there wouldn't be time to get a rental.
I didn't actually see the suit arrive. When I got to the house just after ten though, the Boy was standing in the living room, ironing his pants. They even fit.
My husband and I both got our wedding clothes on Etsy, we posted alchemy requests and found people to custom make us outfits. Mine went perfectly, and I had a great dress a month before I needed it.
His process was more complicated. Suits are harder to make than dresses, and it took longer to find a tailor who was willing to custom make a three piece suit for an affordable amount. The one he eventually found lives in France. She had a great portfolio, and was willing to do the whole thing, shipping included, for $300.
We knew the timing would be pretty tight. The deal was finalized five weeks before the wedding, and the tailor promised to get the suit in the mail a week before, with the fastest transatlantic shipping available.
It's easy to make that sort of call five weeks out, but a week before the wedding we were starting to get nervous. The suit was finished and in the mail 8 days before the wedding. Unfortunately, it looked like it wouldn't be fast enough. We got married in my hometown, which is three hours away from where we live now. We had to be there two days before the Friday wedding, and it was pretty obvious on Monday when the suit was still stuck in French customs that we weren't going to get it before we had to go.
After a bit of quietly freaking out, we called his uncle, who lives in the same town we do and was coming to the wedding. We learned that the uncle was planning to drive down Friday morning. He agreed to check our mailbox for the next two days and see if the package was there.
All of this was complicated by the fact that our mail is delivered on a very erratic schedule. Sometimes it is there before noon, sometimes we don't get it until six or six-thirty. There's no way to tell when it might get there. The suit required a signature for pickup, so in order to get the package our mail would have to get there in time for the uncle to check it, get the pickup slip, and go to the post office.
Thursday afternoon we got a call--the slip had been delivered, but when the uncle had gone to the post office to pick up the package he was told that the carrier was still out. The post office branch closed at six, and with the erratic mail pattern, there was no guarantee that the carrier would be back in time. Since the wedding was at 11 AM, if the package wasn't delivered in time that night there would be no way to get it to us. We looked at local rental places, just in case.
The carrier got back to the post office at 5:55. The uncle got the suit. He would be getting to us at 10. The wedding, as I said, was at 11. It was tight.
The wedding was in my grandmother's back yard. I called her and asked if she could have an iron ready so the Boy could press the suit before he wore it. We crossed both fingers and toes that his uncle wouldn't have car trouble. There was also the question of whether the suit would fit. It was made to order, but he had never tried it on, and that close to the ceremony there wouldn't be time to get a rental.
I didn't actually see the suit arrive. When I got to the house just after ten though, the Boy was standing in the living room, ironing his pants. They even fit.
Friday, August 6, 2010
The Sandbox Saga, Part 4
So, returning to a story that I have been neglecting. When last we saw our heroes--the Princess of the Downstairs Bathroom (now deposed) and her Bodyguardin' Friend, immortal due to a freak military accident, and slaves of a tribe of feral children due to really terrible luck--they had just been introduced to another slave in the desert, the former queen of a nearby country who had been captured by the feral children several years previously.
The Feral Children were many things--excellent fighters, wielders of enormous power gathered through the ritual sacrifice of giant ants, and remarkably good architects. However, they were still children. Lizzie, the leader was somewhere between eight and ten. She was the oldest by a year or so. Most of the others were a bit younger, and the two plastic babies were...babies. Afternoon naps were common in the halls of Summercastle, and even those who felt they were too old for naps often dozed off over their books of ancient ant-lore.
The Queen--like all the non-feral players, she didn't get a name--did not look like much of a ruler. Like the girls, her head was shaved and she was dressed in sand-stained rags. She was also batshit insane, due to living in a hole for years while subject to the whims of feral children. Still, the Queen was cunning, and had managed to build up a bit of power through covert sacrifices--the ant-gods didn't care who did the sacrificing, after all. She thought that within another month or so she would be able to break the bindings that the children had placed around their part of the desert.
The great thing about being an eight year old in a sandbox is that the stories you make up for yourself don't have to follow story rules. The story I am telling here is such a small part of all that went on, with none of the side plots or random adventures, or any of the hours and hours of tedious plant gathering and mashing that was for some reason fascinating to me at the time.
The Queen's plan didn't quite work out. The Princess and her Friend agreed to the escape attempt, but it was delayed by storms and the problem of supplies. Treetown was at least a month away from the desert, and the grassland that separated them was an empty waste, with no food and very little water. The Queen probably would never have offered to take the girls with her, except that the grassland was populated by strange and savage beasts, and three people would have a greater chance of survival than one. It would just take time to gather supplies.
The one thing that no one saw coming was the Princess deciding to stay behind.
In the months it took to gather power and stash supplies, the Princess was working in the halls of Summercastle. The Princess had been raised to care deeply about her people. She was always expected to go out and meet her subjects, work in their villages, monitor conditions in the country, and ensure that her people had the best lives possible. When the war started and the Princess lost her power she also lost much of her identity. Her Friend knew it and had done the best she could to help, but it hadn't done much good.
The Feral Children changed all that. The Princess found peace in caring for them, and Lizzy realize early on that she had the capacity for real loyalty. It didn't take long before the Princess was moved out of the slave barracks and into her own room in the castle, where she worked as Lizzie's personal adviser, as a sort of big sister. By the time her Friend and the Queen were ready to run, the Princess informed them that she would be staying behind.
The Feral Children were many things--excellent fighters, wielders of enormous power gathered through the ritual sacrifice of giant ants, and remarkably good architects. However, they were still children. Lizzie, the leader was somewhere between eight and ten. She was the oldest by a year or so. Most of the others were a bit younger, and the two plastic babies were...babies. Afternoon naps were common in the halls of Summercastle, and even those who felt they were too old for naps often dozed off over their books of ancient ant-lore.
The Queen--like all the non-feral players, she didn't get a name--did not look like much of a ruler. Like the girls, her head was shaved and she was dressed in sand-stained rags. She was also batshit insane, due to living in a hole for years while subject to the whims of feral children. Still, the Queen was cunning, and had managed to build up a bit of power through covert sacrifices--the ant-gods didn't care who did the sacrificing, after all. She thought that within another month or so she would be able to break the bindings that the children had placed around their part of the desert.
The great thing about being an eight year old in a sandbox is that the stories you make up for yourself don't have to follow story rules. The story I am telling here is such a small part of all that went on, with none of the side plots or random adventures, or any of the hours and hours of tedious plant gathering and mashing that was for some reason fascinating to me at the time.
The Queen's plan didn't quite work out. The Princess and her Friend agreed to the escape attempt, but it was delayed by storms and the problem of supplies. Treetown was at least a month away from the desert, and the grassland that separated them was an empty waste, with no food and very little water. The Queen probably would never have offered to take the girls with her, except that the grassland was populated by strange and savage beasts, and three people would have a greater chance of survival than one. It would just take time to gather supplies.
The one thing that no one saw coming was the Princess deciding to stay behind.
In the months it took to gather power and stash supplies, the Princess was working in the halls of Summercastle. The Princess had been raised to care deeply about her people. She was always expected to go out and meet her subjects, work in their villages, monitor conditions in the country, and ensure that her people had the best lives possible. When the war started and the Princess lost her power she also lost much of her identity. Her Friend knew it and had done the best she could to help, but it hadn't done much good.
The Feral Children changed all that. The Princess found peace in caring for them, and Lizzy realize early on that she had the capacity for real loyalty. It didn't take long before the Princess was moved out of the slave barracks and into her own room in the castle, where she worked as Lizzie's personal adviser, as a sort of big sister. By the time her Friend and the Queen were ready to run, the Princess informed them that she would be staying behind.
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