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.”
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