tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67403443663203194602024-02-02T02:34:26.629-08:00JNR WritingHome of Jennifer Roush's free content, news, and the web serial "A Life Less ExTraordinary: Diary of a Housewife Turned Space Captain".Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-50165680608930390642014-09-24T07:27:00.002-07:002014-09-24T07:27:29.210-07:00One Year of Letters!Have you ever wanted to change your life? <a href="http://oneyearofletters.wordpress.com/2014/09/24/jennifer-9242014-time-to-change/" target="_blank">One Year of Letters</a>, written with my co-authors: Elaina Portugal, Colleen Aune, and Mary Knuckles, is how we're changing ours.<br /><br />Each week we'll write letters seeking to change the very essence of who we are: by facing our challenges, by conquering our fears, and by working through our traumas. While we hope we find stronger, authentic women after the year is through, I know, in the process, we'll discover both hope and courage.<br />
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Join us! If you were to write yourself a letter about this week, about obstacles you face and how you will overcome them, what would you say? Say it at <a href="http://oneyearofletters.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">One Year of Letters</a>Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-40339373626868910792014-08-22T14:16:00.002-07:002014-08-22T14:16:57.517-07:00BlackMan: The Revolution Freebie: #4 STLFor free! A VERY short "Blackman: The Revolution" Short:<br /><br />STL<br /><br />
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Her words poured over him,
cold at first and then biting into his sweat glands like acid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“I’m not going.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“What do you mean you’re not going? You’re my wife.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">She stared nails into the palms he proffered. “I am not going to
Ferguson, Missouri. People are getting *killed* there. Your stunt with the kid
was bad enough. Are you going to take him, too?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“If he wants to go, I don’t see why not.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">She threw her hands into the air, making strangled noises. Her
hair whipped out around her when she turned. The floor creaks diminished as she
stamped deeper into the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Alone. He’d have to do this alone. Her position was written all
over her face, even if he pretended he couldn’t see it. She wouldn’t go. She
wouldn’t let him take Big D, their ersatz foster kid. Maybe it was the way her
jaw worked or the set of her spine as she left, but he knew. He’d do this
alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">If he did it at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">People were getting shot. Mike Brown did, and now protesters,
too? Maybe it was too dangerous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Or maybe it was exactly the time. The time to talk peaceful
protest. The time to talk signs and words, not guns and knives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The carpet scrunched under his toes. The cool air (Damn that
polar-bear wife!) blew over him, raising the hairs on his arms. Turning the
corner to the kitchen, he spotted her cradling the mug of hot cocoa. Damn, she
must be upset. Hot cocoa was PMS medication, or Somebody Died therapy. Not some
trifling thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“A superhero isn’t needed when everything’s OK. He’s needed when
it’s dark and dangerous.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">She eyed him over the brim of her cup.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Fuck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Her voice echoed, hollow and scary, from the ceramic. “You are
not a super hero. You are someone who shoots videos, not guns. That shit you
pulled at Tops? That ain’t never happening again. And you are NOT going to St.
Louis to fight no goddamned race war.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">He tried a smile on: “You know I like it when you talk ghetto.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">A manicured nail sparkled in the kitchen’s light. The middle
one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“I’m going.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“You are not.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“I’m going, Madeline. You know I have to. They’re sick out
there. Sick with rage. They shootin’ and lootin’ because they can’t find their
voice, like when you stormed out of the bedroom. They can’t talk about what’s
wrong ‘cause it’s just so much that’s wrong. 300 years and it’s got to stop.
And they gotta breathe. And someone’s gotta get them talking instead of
fighting. But fightin’s all they know, and it’s all they’ll do unless I go out
there and show them otherwise.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“You’re serious? You think you got some super-powers now?
Because you know the names of little kids who steal food. Because you know the
name of a beaten prostitute?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Because they didn’t shoot Big D. Here, I can show you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Show me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Her hand heated his. The air around her smelled like hot cocoa
and buttery lotion. A habit she’d picked up from him, putting lotion on every
day out of the shower.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The heat of the day beat on them as soon as he opened the door.
Gray sky hung over them, sealing them in, as it did most days in August. Rocks
stabbed the soles of his feet but he half-jogged through the gap in the fence
toward the parking lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Where are we going? Why don’t you have shoes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">He ignored her. His cheeks hurt from smiling. He pulled her
toward the street, slowed down. “Stand here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">She stood, holding onto the pole of the bus stop sign out of
habit. Anchoring herself. “What are you doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Just stay there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">The bus stop shelter smelled like piss in the heat, but he
ducked behind it anyway, careful not to touch it. Soon enough, the stop light
turned yellow and then red. Cars piled up quickly, forming perfect rows,
waiting for the light to change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Listen up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">She turned toward his whisper, and he stepped out from behind
the shelter. “What—?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Shh. Listen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Cement struck his heels as he strode toward the stop. At first,
nothing. Then a single *chunk* of a door lock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Madeline’s hair shined gold as she spun toward the sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Another step. *chunk, chunk*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Now he was even with the pole. He looked into the passenger
window at dyed-red wiry curls. White wrinkled neck dripped over the seat belt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Step.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Chunk. Chunk. Pop chunk chunk pop snap chunk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">He turned back toward his wife, arms up and shining blackly in
the sun. “See? Superpowers.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Her
finger came up again. Not to him this time, but to every car stopped at the
light. “Fucking racist assholes!” She turned to him, gray eyes flashing. “I’m
coming with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-87853995003741530592014-07-31T12:19:00.002-07:002014-07-31T12:19:24.547-07:00Busy, Busy BeaverHello!<br />
<br />
It's been quite the ride over the past few months. I've learned so much about writing, and I've written so much, that I'm dizzy with all of the updates.<br />
<br />
For the first time, probably ever, the reality of being a full-time writer/editor/coach is close enough for me to actually believe in.<br />
<br />
Not only am I working on a new series (the Blackman series of short stories), but I have TWO trad-published books coming out soon. Plus, I'm excited by my re-write of Scales, which is so close to being done that I want to jump up and down.<br />
<br />
Because of my critique group, I'm going to start offering critiques and coaching for a fee.<br />
<br />
I am so excited! I'm building a platform! And I couldn't do it without my wonderful readers. Thank you for believing in me even when I didn't!Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-74329469692826657162014-04-18T11:52:00.000-07:002014-04-18T11:52:15.527-07:00Trying<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.31999969482422px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Ice pit</div>
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Ice bites into my fingers. It’s not going to hold. Already, I can feel sandy granules breaking off against my skin. This isn’t solid, like some sheet of water frozen in one go; this isn’t orderly molecules aligned in hexagonal prisms. No, this is an amalgam of ice pebbles, with a mortar as arbitrarily strong as my muscles: some strong, some weak, some tearing under the strain.</div>
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A twitch vibrates up my thigh; I can’t hold out much longer. What can my abducting muscles handle: 80 lbs? And they’re holding at least 150. My triceps scream, but they can hold the other 100 lbs for a few minutes more. Enough to ease myself out of this chimney.</div>
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God, damn it. I saw the rock. I knew it was there. I know better than this, to walk near one. I know they melt the snow under the crust, leaving pockets. And I fucking walked right into it. Foom. Buried to my thighs, ice walls on my right and nothing but pocket everywhere else. Just air, like someone decided to make me a bedroom in the great outdoors. My breath didn’t even frost down there; it must be 40 degrees. The ceiling dripped onto the sides of the rock, releasing silicate smells in the dampness. My salvation, however tempting, would not be the rock. “Rock solid” doesn’t apply to the snow around the damn thing. Ice walls it would have to be.</div>
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And now, most of the way up the ice walls, the side of each knee digging into any divot I can find, I grip the top of the crust of snow, away from the rock, and I know it’s not going to hold. It’s going to crack, or melt under my bare fingers, or it’s going to break when my thighs give out.<br />I pull my body up, an inch at a time. I don’t even hear the break.<br />I fall. Foom. Into the snow. Back into my bedroom of ice.<br />Would it be so bad, to take a nap here? I’m tired. My legs are shaking and now my arms are shaking and when was the last time I ate anything?<br />The snow collapses in my hand. I suck the water, so much less voluminous than the snow. No napping. Recharge and retry.</div>
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The walls are too clean. No footholds, but too close together to put my back to one and push against the other. That would be the ideal way, my biceps femoris and my quads can support my whole weight plus a hundred pounds, easy, indefinitely. Well, for minutes and minutes and minutes. Enough minutes to get the Hell out of here.</div>
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The walls are too clean. I know that’s my problem. My real problem. I’m only stuck in here because I can’t get a grip. I only have the one knife—no climbing picks. But compress ice and what happens? Water. One of the few substances on Earth for which that’s true. And a knife functions on what? Pressure. Force applied to a small area-the edge. Maybe I can cut some footholds, some handholds. After all, I’m in here until I get out, right? I have all the time in the world. Three weeks, to be exact, since I have insulation in the form of the air bubble in the snow, and I have fresh water. I’ll live until I starve, and with my reserves, that could be more than three weeks. Plenty of time to cut into the ice.</div>
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I push the blade, using my weight and not my muscles to apply the pressure. It’s working. The knife is sinking in: a half a centimeter. A centimeter. This might actually work. Ugh! But it’s hard!</div>
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Fuck it. I’m not going to try that hard. This place is comfortable. So what if I die here? It’s nice here. I’ll work with what I’ve got in here and I won’t use my tools or put in a lot of effort. Besides, the snow will melt some day and I’ll be able to just walk out of here. In three weeks, it will be May. I’m sure it won’t snow much in the meantime.</div>
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My stomach growls. Muscles shake. God, but I’m hungry. Oh, well. It doesn’t matter anyway. This story was just for fun.</div>
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…and THAT, my dear colleagues, is why it is so frustrating when people don’t really try your advice, or they say they aren’t serious after you’ve done a lot of work. Trying and failing is fine, as you can see in the story. But not trying hard is unsatisfying. We are all the protagonists of our life-stories. If we don’t try with every bit of what we have, or if we say it’s not serious, then we are doing a great disservice not only to ourselves, but to the audience—our loved ones, our friends, our acquaintances who watch our lives. And how many times will you read a story if you know the protagonist always gives up? How often will you engage?</div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-85432126870598367152014-04-08T14:08:00.001-07:002014-04-08T14:08:19.370-07:00To the Cusp<div class="MsoNormal">
My parents could have worked in Marketing for any University
in the world. All my life, they told me that if I just hung in there, I would
go to college, where the professors would take me to the cusp of knowledge, to
the very precipice, to the cliff, after which the wide gulf of discovery would
open up before me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cusp.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s where I feel now. Not the cliff my parents talked
about, but the crest of a hill. Right now all I can see is my dashboard and the
sky, but in a minute or two, my car will level out and I’ll see the wide world
of creating verbal art. I’ll see it from the airplane perspective: all
geometric fields and wooly forests. Rivers of plot wind through character
rills, and the perfect stone outcroppings dot the world like upthrust thumbs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sensation started with the gut-level understanding of
something that had only lived in my head: stories are manufactured. Everything
in them is planned and calculated for effect. They are DESIGNED.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, duh. That’s what my head said. Of course they are
manufactured. They don’t grow under mushrooms (although a few ideas have grown
OUT FROM mushrooms, I must admit).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But my heart did not hear this. My heart heard: I will sit
at my keyboard and story shall stream from my fingertips!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I picked up Swain. And I believed. Ahh! Cried the
angels. I learned even more: climax must be a choice between what is right and
what is easy, for both the protagonist and often the antagonist. Then the
character should get what he or she deserves: the essence of (not the actual)
his goal, or conversely the actual accomplishment, but robbed of meaning.
Judgment. Justice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stories aren’t real life! Bad guys get punished. People get
second chances! Good guys finish, if not first, at least with their dignity
intact! Oh my God, how did I never see this?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After that, of course I devoured Stein. And Stein had even
more to say: dialogue should be a confrontation. An oblique one. It shouldn’t
sound “real”, because you’re only using the meat. But it should be
distinguishable, from character to character.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, the coup de grace: What we want to see is that
picture in the pocket that the characters hide from everyone else. That one
soul-jerking moment, that one vulnerable spot.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This echoes with what Randall has been teaching: be
vulnerable. Suddenly, I read Stein saying the same thing: Start with your
vulnerable moment. Start with that photo you wouldn’t show your best friend,
that the paramedics would find upon searching your pockets, and you’d be
mortified (dead!) if you knew they saw it: the dirty undies of your soul.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And here I am, encased in this knowledge, cresting this
hill: I get it. I get it, and I’m ready to DO it. I will dive into the gulf of
discovery, taken to the cusp of knowledge by these wonderful authors and
editors.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, after a good swim, I’ll be ready to dive back into
these and other books for my next cusp.<o:p></o:p></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-40135627132753096502014-03-25T08:00:00.000-07:002014-03-25T08:00:09.002-07:00NYC Midnight Short Story Contest_ Made it through the First Round!I made it through the first round of the NYC Midnight Short Story Competition. I'm very excited. We were separated into heats, and the top five stories from each heat were selected to continue. I was heat 18, if you want to check it out <a href="http://www.nycmidnight.com/Competitions/SSC/1st%20Round/1stRound.htm">here.</a><br /><br />The story requirements were genre: historical fiction (not my forte), Character: ballerina, and plot device: secret club.<br /><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Burning Truth<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">SYNOPSIS: Marguerite de Valois,
Queen of France, wrote her memoirs while imprisoned by her brother in his
castle. Only after she delivers them to their keeper, where they remain hidden
until her death, does she sit at her desk to pen the true story of her
husband’s salvation from the Bartholomew’s Day Massacre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To read the Actual letters, click here: </span><a href="http://www.fullbooks.com/The-Memoirs-of-Marguerite-de-Valois-V1.html"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">http://www.fullbooks.com/The-Memoirs-of-Marguerite-de-Valois-V1.html</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.25in;"> </span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">***</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;">18-Burning
Truth</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Marguerite de Valois,
Queen of France, fanned herself with her palimpsest of secrets. Though pursing
her lips might ruin her powder, she made the face anyway. No one of consequence
would see it. Unlike this salty memoir in her hands, most of which was even
true. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The tang of blood
burned her mouth as she chewed her lip. If she tarried any longer, her resolve
might burn to ashes. She must execute this final transaction anon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Queen Marguerite thrust
the parchment toward a servant. Slender fingers, cool and sure, closed around
her clammy ones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Here!” Marguerite
commanded. “I charge you to take this and hide it where you will. Do not
release these words of scandal and mischief until my death.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She whirled away from
her act, heavy skirts swishing. Rank fear billowed from under brocade and
starched collars. The servant should have left by now, but Marguerite heard her
breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I may be a prisoner in
this castle,” Marguerite complained, “but I am still wife to King Henry IV of
France, am I not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A familiar squeak
sounded behind her. She did not turn. This would not do. This was no regular
servant. This woman...she owed this woman her life, the Monarchy. The Queen
softened her voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Do as I bid, Anne. I
swear upon my crown, my gowns, and the sweet Virgin that I have not exposed
your role that night.” Marguerite turned back toward the woman. She held out
her hands as if to grasp the servant’s, but stopped. Her hands rubbed
themselves against her bodice, soiled by the mere thought. She locked eyes on
the poor girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Now, child, our
previous familiarity endears you to me, and as a consequence, I have written
this letter recommending your service to anyone who would wish to have you. I
may never escape my gilded cage, but you will, my nymph. You have saved my
silly Huguenot husband more than once; I will admit to wondering if the ballet
you danced for the Royal wedding were some portent. But, enough." Queen
Marguerite pointed her finger. "If you dally any longer, I will have your
head. These parchments must be hid, rested until my demise. If word reaches me
or my successors that these secrets came out, or were lost…my revenge upon my
brother is worth even your life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Away with you, that
you might be safe from Catholics and Huguenots alike. That my words might be
safe from the Queen my mother, who schemes whilst her plots fail around her.
Dance away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hearkening to her
former ballet career, Anne arose and glided through the doorway, past the guards
in wigs, tights, and pikes. Now, with Anne safely away, she would write the
last scandal: the secret clan of ballerinas and the improbable rescue by common
court dancers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She perched upon her
ornate chair. A quill, not yet cold, fit snugly into her hand. There was
nothing else to do, she reasoned. For her own safety she'd been imprisoned by
her brother, so no fit vengeance for her lot in life existed except to tell the
truth. The trivial truth from a woman, a non-entity, a vacuous girl with dreams
and laughter in her head and no cares except donning the most expensive frock.
Well, she’d given them that. No one could fault her for the whimsical tone in
her memoirs, for that is how they saw her: whimsical. Weak. Powerless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But here, in her hand,
she held more power than her mother ever did. Catherine de Medici’s family
thought power resided with the Church, but the Protestants proved it resided in
ink when they printed those Bibles and unleashed the Huguenots upon the world.
Words had beaten down the once mighty Catholic Church; her words would beat
down this farce of a monarchy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She dipped her nib into
the ink, tapping her quill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Letter V Redux<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“The True Events of the
Massacre of the Huguenots on St. Bartholomew's Day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“King Charles, as I
have written before, a prince of great prudence, always paying a particular
deference to his mother, did indeed adopt a sudden resolve to follow her
counsel, and put himself under the protection of the Catholics. Sadly, it was
not in his power to save the wretched Teligny, honorable La Noue, or M. de La
Rochefoucauld. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“However, after Charles
resolved upon the “Massacre of St. Bartholomew” with M. de Guise, the Princes,
and the Catholic officers, and before I became aware of the goings-on inside
the palace, my original history took a fictitious, though believable, bent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I did, as I reported
so genuinely before, go to the Queen my mother’s bed chamber in my panic,
whereupon it was not my sister who shared my mother’s chambers, but a lowly
servant, whose tears gushed down her linens, and who begged me to stay and defy
the Queen’s request for me to retire. The Queen was, as I wrote in my previous
account, in discourse with another party whom I could not see. The servant
sobbed so loudly I could not hear, except to hear the servant warn me that
leaving the Queen’s bedchamber would mean my life, and I must not go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“But the Queen
commanded obedience, and, upon the Queen my mother’s wroth, the servant Anne,
rushed me from the room, escorting me to my own chambers, and prevailed upon me
to listen to her tales of intrigue. I would never have listened, despite our
occasional dalliance in the past, except that, in all the palace, she seemed
the only one to be informed as to the general panic and activity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“As you may know, years
before this night, on the subsequent festival days of my marriage to Prince
Henri of Navarre, dancers performed in a series of festivities arranged by the
Queen my mother, always so fond of the arts. Girls dressed in feathers and
lace, disguised as nymphs, performed a dance, to wit a ballet, much to the
delight of the Court. The aforementioned serving girl was one of these dancers.
Without my knowledge, nor the knowledge of anyone in the Court, including the
shrewd and observant Queen my mother, these dancers then insinuated themselves
into the Courts and the nobles, with that oldest of recreations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Having taken up as
lovers with the Princes of the Court and even the Huguenots in the country, who
claimed to eschew such things, their secret group was in the perfect position
to know the impending Massacre and to save the Royal family. You will recall,
prior to the religious wars that plague our country, the manipulation and
misalignments perpetrated by Queen Catherine served only to infuriate both
sides. Far from quelling the fire of religious fervor, her acts merely fanned
the flames of fanaticism. Thus, the plot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“This the servant told
me, crying into my ear, and bid me to stay in these my own bedchambers as she
barred the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“The remainder occurred
as written, with my husband the King and I retired for the night, although we
did not sleep for fear, surrounded by his gentlemen and my new servant, Anne,
whom no one recognized as the dancer. When, in the morning, King Henri IV and
his gentlemen repaired for the tennis courts to speak to King Charles, and
after the hour during which I finally reposed, the pounding on the door and the
shouts, “Navarre! Navarre!” did wake me from my slumber and transfix my nurse,
who threw open the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Despite my previous
chronicle depicting M. de Teian saving me from archers, the afternoon’s
activities unfolded quite differently. M. de Teian did indeed recover from his
injuries, which were sustained outside as he ushered the King to my room. But
as it is unkingly for the King of France to hide inside his wife’s bedchamber,
I have penned the fictitious account, sans dancers, sans secret groups, and
sans hiding King. That the monarchy was saved not by the Grace of God,
Protestant or Catholic, but by lowly courtesans brings me mirth and melancholy
in equal measure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Marguerite sprinkled
sand upon the parchment. Her lungs deflated as she leaned back. Her corset
creaked. This history, the true version, amused her now that years separated
her from the affair’s tensions. She stood and held the parchment up to the
light streaming in her window. Her words droll now that the smell of blood and
steel no longer assaulted her nose, now that the bile of fear no longer soured
her breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yet what would such
amusement serve? What would the commoners do if they realized their exalted
King had shivered and cried in the night, and accidentally stabbed a man,
already injured, who’d come to protect him? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It would not serve. If
Kings were not chosen by God to rule—Queen Marguerite shuddered to think. She
drifted toward the fire. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If Kings were not
chosen by God, but were flawed people, no more special than common dancers and
serving girls, then she could foresee a true massacre. A real French
revolution. Her hand fluttered to her chest. No, that could never be. Not now,
not in 200 years. But it was one thing to narrate the Court’s licentiousness.
It was quite another to defame the King, to mortify him. The Court was no place
for truth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She bent toward the
grate, dropping her secrets into fire. Blackened, the parchment crackled and
curled in the flames.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-1793762373831469122014-01-17T09:54:00.002-08:002014-01-17T09:54:29.503-08:00Check Out my Flash Memoir at "Run to the Roundhouse, Nellie"!Check out my 246-word memoir at "Run to the Roundhouse, Nellie". Hurry! I don't know how long it will stay up!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://run-to-the-roundhouse-nellie.com/readers-house/" target="_blank">Run to the Roundhouse, Nellie </a>Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-85432982334675904972014-01-09T06:40:00.001-08:002014-01-09T06:40:14.896-08:00Something Happened<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I don't know exactly when it happened. I think it
started last year, when I became bound and determined to do whatever it took to
get Scales published by a third-party publisher. Something snapped in my
head that told me I had to do something different about my writing career.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">That Nanowrimo and scribbling short stories in my
spare time wasn’t enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">So I started to take my work seriously. I started
seeking critiques, no matter how much they hurt. I started reading about
writing, and actually applying the lessons, instead of nursing the ache in my
chest when I realized I wrote something “wrong”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Perhaps it happened this past December, when I
purchased and read some of the most influential writing books of all-time. I
realized, with a certain amount of heartache, and more than a little
excitement, that everything I had written was wrong. Wrong in very specific,
fixable ways. I realized I could salvage my old work, without losing the
essence of the story, and spin it better this time. Make it more durable. Make
it speak louder to people’s hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Maybe it began when I submitted a story, and I didn’t
look for the response right away in my email. I patted myself on the back for
submitting it and let it go, regardless of the response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">It may have started last year, but it came into
fruition this year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">This year; this first week of January, I’ve had
positive responses (even in a rejection) from every person to whom I’ve sent a
story or poem. Positive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">For the first time in my life, people are not telling
me that they can’t understand what’s going on, that the writing is pretty, but
confusing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">For the first time in my life, when I ask someone to
publish my work, their answer is simply “Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Yes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">What a powerful word it is to hear. And the “yes” robs
the sting from the “no”. I am now more excited than ever to learn about
writing. And I want to write everything. I want to write even when I don’t want
to write; I just write about something else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">For the first time, I can actually see a future in
this path I’ve been unable to unchoose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Since I was little, writing caused me pain. I got in
trouble, over and over, for things I’d written. My school said there was too
much sex and violence. Fiction got interpreted as fact too often, but never
when I actually meant it to be interpreted that way. Letters and poems and
journals all were read, shared without my permission.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">It hurts to be violated that way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">But I couldn’t stop. I had to write. Even after
publishing shitty books, and realizing they were shitty, I could not stop. I
had to keep moving on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">And now, for the first time, it’s bringing me
pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Something happened. After all this time writing, I
learned how to write. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-12839639667922712382014-01-07T13:54:00.001-08:002014-01-09T08:19:00.689-08:00Swain to the Rescue!<div class="MsoNormal">
Swain (and Stein) to the Rescue<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the first things Swain mentions in his book
“Techniques of the Selling Writer,” is the concept of specificity. Newbie
writers, he tells us, write in general terms. They talk of “people” and
“sheep”, “rivers” and “lands”.
Experienced, selling authors, however, describe the passerby in the
purple top hat, stopping to stare at our main character, mouth agape and gold
tooth shining. The professional writer will talk about the blackface sheep with
the limp, hobbling as fast as it can from the wolf and bleating to its fleeing
mother. The beginning writer might also
discuss “rain”, and then modify the rain with the word “hard”, instead of using
the specific noun “downpour” or even, “monsoon”. Adjectives can be almost eliminated
if one uses the correct, specific noun instead of a generic noun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The same is true for adverbs and verbs. If one “ran
quickly”, perhaps one “sprinted”. If
someone “laughs heartily”, maybe it is more appropriate to say he “guffaws”.
The right verb can clarify the action without using an adverb (most of the
time). This is how adverbs and adjectives got such a bad name in writing: it
isn’t because they are bad, but simply because many a beginning author will use
them instead of picking a specific noun and verb.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I’m also going to highlight, in a separate color, redundant
words, verb phrases, and prepositional phrases, all of which can be addressed
by using specific nouns and verbs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
As an example, I will work with a flash fiction piece of my
own called “Holy Woman”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Original text: (933
words)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">yellow</span> light <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">from the windows</span> smears <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">out across the snow</span>, casting the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">flickering</span> shadows <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">of the dancers into</span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">long</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">lines of motion</span>.
Despite the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">frigid</span>
air, I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">can still
fell</span> the warmth <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">of
the praise and faithin my blood</span>. I thank the man <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">again</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">for his hospitality</span> and <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">immediately</span> stumble <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">blindly</span> as my breath fogs up my glasses. His <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">strong</span> grip <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">on my arm</span> steadies
me until my breath evaporates off the lenses. Maybe he <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">had</span> glasses once <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">up on a time</span>, but
as I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">look</span> at
his <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">handsome, dedicated</span>
face I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">can see</span>
no evidence of spectacles <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">now</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I wouldn’t want you to catch cold out
here; it’s a long walk to the bus stop,” he <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">tells</span> me, careful to keep his breath-cloud
pointed away. “And all that waiting ou tin the cold? No, I’ll drive you home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I smile, trying to ignore the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">warm, squirmy</span> feeling low
<span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">in my stomach</span>
that threatens to overwhelm me whenever I look <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">in his eyes</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I break away <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">from the</span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">light gray</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">eye</span>s, so <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">compellingly</span> wrapped in <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">dark</span> lashes. I cannot look, or else I will
lose my composure. I can’t lose my composure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">careis</span> a <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">docile tan</span> vehicle <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">in a line of</span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">flashier</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">cars</span>. It<span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">’s</span> a <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">boxy</span> design, and a <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">practical</span> decision <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">in this kind of climate</span>. The <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">good-natured</span> ribbing <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">of his</span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">younger</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">siblings</span> precedes them <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">to the vehicle</span>, and <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">soon</span> all is <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">slamming</span> doors and
laughing as he opens the door <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">for me</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I bundle myself in, <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">trying to dust</span> the
snow that <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">has
blownup on me during the</span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">short</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">walk</span>.
I avoid his eyes this way <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">for
almost ten secondsbefore I realize he has not started the car</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">turn to ask</span> him if there’s something wrong, the
intensity <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">of his
gaze</span> stops my tongue. <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">I feel as though</span> my mouth <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">has frozen</span> into a <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">surprised</span> “oh!” shape, stuck <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">by the</span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">icy, fiery</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">eyesneedling into mine</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I wanted to ask you a question,” he <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">nearly</span> whispers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="background: lightgrey; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">Even though</span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I<span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">’m consciousof the noise
and vibration of</span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">arguingyoung</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">men in the back seat</span>,
I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">can hear</span>
his <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">low</span> voice as
clearly as if his mouth were against my ear. Goosebumps stand <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">up on my arms</span>, <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">blessedly</span> covered <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">by my coat</span>, as I
imagine the tickle of his <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">warm</span>
breath <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">on my ear</span>.
If only <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">he had been</span><span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">that</span> close!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My tongue <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">comes</span> unglued, “ask away,” <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">I tell him</span>, <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">trying to</span> lighten
up the heaviness <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">in
my stomach</span>. How can I advise this man <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">in this state</span>? I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">try to pray</span>, <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">to communewith my godwhilekeeping</span> my gaze
locked <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">on this
Adonis</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My brothers,” he says, and he cocks
his head <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">toward the
backseat</span>, “they have some friends who come over. These friends live so
dangerously, taking risks and playing games that are too mature for them.
They’re rebellious and disrespectful, but I like them. And the boys do, too. I
guess I’m not sure what I should do about it.”
He leans in <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">closer</span>,
listening <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">for my
answer</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">have to close</span> my eyes <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">to keep</span> his beauty from distracting
me. “Are you responsible for these kids? If they get hurt while they are under
your care, are you responsible?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">can hear</span> the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">petulant</span> tone <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">of The Old Crone in my voice</span>, and <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">inwardly</span> I cringe. <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">Even though</span> it <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">was</span> the Sybil he
wanted, I wished I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">didn’t
have to set</span> him thinking <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">of me</span> as <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">some</span>
Prophetess. I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">wanted</span>
him <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">to thinkof me</span>
as a woman, not a shaman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But the gleam <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">in his eye</span> tells me I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">have done</span> what he
wanted. He leans in <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">closer</span>,
<span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">almost halfway
across the car</span><span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">now</span>,
and <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">eagerly</span> nods.
“Yes!” he hisses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Crone smiles <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">with my face</span>, and
says <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">with my mouth</span>,
“then you know what you must do. You must guard and keep these boys as you
guard and keep your brothers. They will see how you care for them and how you
are just and kind, and they will respond.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I feel the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">holy</span> presence <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">leave</span> me and <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">sighin relief</span>. When I look <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">back to him</span>, he <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">is nodding</span>, <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">pulling</span> the car <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">out from his </span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">parking</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;"> spot</span>, and <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">beginning</span> the drive
<span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">down the lane</span>.
I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">watch</span> him <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">mullingover the witchy
words</span> I spoke, and I wonder if he knows the power that comes over me,
the role that assumes me in necessity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But no, I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">know</span> he doesn’t. He glances over to
me <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">appreciatively</span>, but
not the way I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">want</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes,” he says, smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">can see</span> the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">creamy, satisfied</span> look <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">in his eyes</span>. His oracle <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">has performed</span><span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">as he wished</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Diminished, I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">lookout the </span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">front</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;"> window</span><span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">in time</span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">to
see</span> the bus stop ahead. “Could you pull over here?” <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">I ask him</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">see</span> the hesitation, and <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">I add</span>, “I feel a strong pull by the
Spirit to be here, now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He nods <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">in agreement</span> and pulls the car <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">over</span>. <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">Before</span> he can open his door,
I <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">have leapt</span>
knee-deep <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">into the
snowbankat the side of the road</span>. <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">I start closing</span> the door, but his voice stops
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“If you don’t mind me asking, is there
anything you struggle with, that I might help?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I look <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">one more time</span> at the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">sculpted</span> face and the hair like the tips of <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">raven’s</span> wings. His <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">whole</span> countenance <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">is touched</span> by awe
and submission—a stain <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">across
the </span><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">otherwise
perfect </span><span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">features</span>.
I look <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">away</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“The Devil,” <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">I say to him</span>. “Every day.Inside us
all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shut the door <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">on his worship</span> and
wait <span style="background: lightgrey; mso-highlight: lightgrey;">for the bus</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Notice that I have not highlighted anything in the speech.
Why not? Because people talk like this. I will, however, make sure (in a later
lesson) that each character stands out (sounds different, has specific
details).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took out the prepositional phrases, simplified the verbs,
and removed (most of)the adverbs and the adjectives. Note that the majority of
the story makes sense, but it is much shorter (541): <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The light smears, casting shadows.
Despite the air, praise and faith warm my blood. I thank the man and stumble as
my breath fogs up my glasses. His grip steadies me until my breath evaporates
off the lenses. Maybe he wore glasses once, but I see no evidence of spectacles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I wouldn’t want you to catch cold out
here; it’s a long walk to the bus stop.” He keeps his breath-cloud pointed
away. “And all that waiting out in the cold? No, I’ll drive you home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I smile, ignore my stomachwhich
threatens to overwhelm me.I break away. I cannot look, or else I will lose my
composure. I can’t lose my composure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His younger siblings’ ribbing precedes
us. he opens the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I bundle myself in, dusting snow off.
I avoid his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Is there something wrong?” His eyes
needle into mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His gaze stops my tongue. My mouth freezes
into an “oh!” shape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I wanted to ask you a question,” he
whispers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The brothers argue in the back seat,
but I hear his voice as clearly as if his mouth were against my ear. Goosebumps
stand as I imagine the tickle of his breath. If only he were close!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My tongue unglues, “ask away.” My
stomach lightens. How can I advise this man? I commune with my god until my
gaze locks on this Adonis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My brothers,” he cocks his head,
“they have some friends who come over. These friends live so dangerously,
taking risks and playing games that are too mature for them. They’re rebellious
and disrespectful, but I like them. And the boys do, too. I guess I’m not sure
what I should do about it.” He leans in,
listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shutout his beauty. “Are you
responsible for these kids? If they get hurt while they are under your care,
are you responsible?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Old Crone speaks for me, and I
cringe. He wanted the Sybil, but I wished he saw me, not some Prophetess. A
woman, not a shaman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His eyes gleam. He leans in closer.
“Yes!” he hisses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Crone smiles with my face, her
words pour forth, “then you know what you must do. You must guard and keep
these boys as you guard and keep your brothers. They will see how you care for
them and how you are just and kind, and they will respond.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The presence releases me. I watch him mull
my witchy words. Does he know the power that assumes me in necessity?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But no, he doesn’t. He glances over to
me.“Yes,” he says, smiling. His eyes film over. His oracle performed as
expected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Diminished, I look through the
windshield to the bus stop ahead. “Could you pull over here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He hesitates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I feel a strong pull by the Spirit to
be here, now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He nods and pulls over. Before he can
open his door, I leap knee-deep into the snowbank. His voice stops (snags?) me.
I wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“If you don’t mind me asking, is there
anything you struggle with, that I might help?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sculpted face and raven hair taunt me.
Awe and submission stain his features. I look away.“The Devil.Every day.Inside
us all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shut the door on his worship and
wait for the bus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, what about using specific nouns and verbs? Great question! As you can see, just taking
out the extra verbiage isn’t really enough to make the story pop. In order to do that, we review the text
again, but this time, we insert very specific nouns and active verbs wherever
we can.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The light smears, <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">throws</span> shadows. Despite
the <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">chill</span>, praise and
faith warm my blood. I thank the man and stumble as my breath fogs up my
glasses. His grip steadies me until I see again. Kindness confuses me: maybe he
wore glasses once. I see no evidence of spectacles. Maybe he wants something
from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I wouldn’t want you to catch cold out
here; it’s a long walk to the bus stop.” He <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">averts</span> his breath-cloud. “And all that waiting out
in the cold? No, I’ll drive you home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I smile. My stomach <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">lurches</span>.I <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">glance</span> away. I cannot
look, or else I will lose my composure. I can’t lose my composure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His younger siblings<span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">rib</span> each other. He opens
the <span style="background: lime; mso-highlight: lime;">passenger’s door</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I bundle myself in, dusting snow off.
I avoid his eyes. (shut the door, get in the other side, still bothered by
kindness)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Is there something wrong?” His eyes
needle into mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His gaze stops my tongue. My mouth
freezes into an “oh!” shape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I wanted to ask you a question,” he
whispers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The brothers argue in the back seat,
but I hear his voice as clearly as if his mouth were against my ear. Goosebumps
stand as <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">I imagine his
breath tickling my neck</span>. If only he were close!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My tongue unglues, “ask away.” My
stomach lightens. How can I advise this man? I commune with my god until my
gaze locks on this Adonis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My brothers,” he cocks his head,
“they have some friends who come over. These friends live so dangerously,
taking risks and playing games that are too mature for them. They’re rebellious
and disrespectful, but I like them. And the boys do, too. I guess I’m not sure
what I should do about it.” He leans in,
listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shutout his beauty. “Are you
responsible for these kids? If they get hurt while they are under your care,
are you responsible?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Old Crone speaks for me, and I
cringe. He wanted the Sybil, but I wished he saw me, not some Prophetess. A
woman, not a shaman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His eyes gleam. He leans in closer.
“Yes!” he hisses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Crone smiles with my face, her
words pour forth, “then you know what you must do. You must guard and keep
these boys as you guard and keep your brothers. They will see how you care for
them and how you are just and kind, and they will respond.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The presence releases me. I watch him
mull my witchy words. Does he know the power that assumes me in necessity?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But no, he doesn’t. He glances over to
me.“Yes,” he says, smiling. His eyes film over. His oracle performed as
expected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Diminished, I look through the
windshield to the bus stop ahead. “Could you pull over here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He hesitates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I feel a strong pull by the Spirit to
be here, now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He nods and pulls over. Before he can
open his door, I leap knee-deep into the snow bank. His voice <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">snags</span> me. I wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“If you don’t mind me asking, is there
anything you struggle with, that I might help?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sculpted face and raven hair taunt me.
Awe and submission stain his features. I look away. “The Devil.Every day.Inside
us all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shut the door on his worship and
wait for the bus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Note that we didn’t change much—yet. But already, the words
we changed have given a more specific picture of the events. The reason I
haven’t gone into too much of the word-changing is this: Our lessons are not
complete. Before I delve in and worry about <i>how</i>
I’m wording something, I first want to go into the story and answer some
questions. First, from Swain:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-size: 9px;"> W</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">hat is the story about?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What is the climax?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">How is the climax a choice between following the
protagonist’s values or not?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What is her easy way out?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">How does the protagonist get what she deserves?</span></li>
</ul>
<!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are weighty questions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Firstly, in a sentence, the story is about a woman
considered Holy by others, who does not feel so holy. In other words, people
are attributing Holiness to her, when she feels that it is some other presence
working in her. The Climax of the story is her decision to continue (what she
feels is) the charade. Her values tell her not to lie. Her body tells her that
she wants this man—this is the real her. By denying her body’s desires
(according to some of her values), she is actually promoting this Holy lie
(violating other values).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
In this case, there are two easy ways out: she can continue
the charade, or she can permanently destroy the charade and let her lust take
over. The valiant way would be to
correct him, and not take advantage of him, all at the same time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
How does the protagonist get what she deserves? By
continuing the Holy Woman sham, she is so disgusted with herself that she
purposely puts herself back out into the cold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Great. Now we know what the story is about. Let’s switch writing coaches for a moment,
and move to Sol Stein. While both
coaches describe writing as the production of emotion in the reader, Stein goes
a bit further:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Which emotions are we trying to convey in each portion of
the story—and do those emotions make sense, according to the climax?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
At the climax of the story, we want to feel the strength of
the walls boxing in our protagonist. Once she makes her decision, I want the
audience to feel …what do I want them to feel? I want them to feel sympathetic
to the woman, so I have to give her no choice but to continue the farce. I want
them to feel like there is no good answer, only a lesser of two evils. Because
of this, she has no choice but to be punished, and it is because it is her
judgment alone calling her Holiness a farce, she punishes herself. The reader
must feel like she is creating her own prison, but be sympathetic to her in the
same way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Wow, that’s complicated, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Of course it is. You thought that all that BS in High School
was the teacher putting his/her own views into a piece of fiction, didn’t you?
Well, maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t. There’s a lot of intent that is put in
a story, or a book, or everything else. It is <i>manufactured</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
So, the first feeling we want is one of sympathy. Since we
want the reader to feel this way throughout the story, I’m going to address it
later. Secondly, we want people to feel that there is no right answer. Already
we have a plot hole: I mentioned earlier that a third option was to just talk
to Adonis, tell him that it was all a lie, that she wasn’t holy, and that it
was something else moving inside her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
So what do we do? We take this option away. How do we take
it away? We have her go ahead and take this option, and we make it not work.
That’s the most obvious way to do it. Now we only have to evils: follow the
script laid out for her, or nail the hot guy in the car. Voila! Character
effectively boxed in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Thirdly, we want the reader to feel, in the climax, that her
feelings belong only to her; the outside world sees her very differently. Because we can only show this through
dialogue (whether spoken or unspoken) because of the POV, this ties into
another one of Stein’s commandments: dialogue is a conflict. All dialogue
should be a conflict.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
In our current story, the dialogue is not a conflict. It’s
an exchange of information: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Char 1: “I have a question.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Char 2: “I have an answer.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Char 1: “I have another question.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Char 2: “I have an answer to that question, too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
READER: Ho, hum.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
So, what if we revamp the dialogue?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
He takes her arm and tells her he won’t let her wait out in
the cold for the bus. He’ll drive her home. What if he says, instead, that he
knows such a spiritual woman doesn’t mind the cold, but he’d be honored to
drive her home? This way, he’s kissing up to her, but he’s also trapping her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
She’s already suspicious. She looks at him. He’s effing
cute. “No, son, don’t waste your time on an old hag like me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“Come on,” he insists. Well, that’s what he would insist if
he DIDN’T think she was some Saint. But he does. So he says, “It’s no trouble
at all.” And leads her toward the car.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
(the kids are misbehaving)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Adonis yells at the kids, to get them to settle down. Now
he’s established authority. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“It’s all right; I don’t mind. Boys will be boys,” She’s
enjoying their antics, still feels uneasy, like there are strings attached.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“Actually, I want to be able to talk with you. You see, I
have this question.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Aha!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Sympathy: “No, child, let this old woman rest.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“You’re not that old,”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“And yet, you lap at my font of wisdom” (sarcasm).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“It’s just a quick question. Look, the car is already warm.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“I am not a Saint, child. I am a woman. Just a woman. I have
no special powers or divine spirit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“I’ve seen you in the Spirit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“You don’t know what you saw.” At the same time: damn, that door is closed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“Just hear me out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“Ask away” (sarcasm). Better: “Ask, then.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b>
<h4>
<b>Giving Space</b></h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Swain believes in space. He believes that, the more
important an event is to the story, the more space it should take up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Let’s assume that our story is 1000 words long—the upper
limit of flash fiction. Our climax is the most important part of the story. We
could conceivably give the climax of our story 250-500 words. Let’s keep that
in the back of our minds, while we work on one more important item: the plot
diagram.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
Plot diagram</h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[endif]--><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1027"
type="#_x0000_t32" style='position:absolute;margin-left:83.25pt;margin-top:16.7pt;
width:81pt;height:58.5pt;flip:y;z-index:251659264' o:connectortype="straight"/><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span style="height: 80px; margin-left: 110px; margin-top: 21px; mso-ignore: vglayout; position: absolute; width: 110px; z-index: 251659264;"><br /></span><!--[endif]-->
<br />
In middle school or high school, you
may have come across a Plot diagram. The picture looks something like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="left" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td height="11" width="0"></td>
<td width="112"></td>
<td width="197"></td>
<td width="103"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td height="2"></td>
<td align="left" valign="top"><img height="2" src="file:///C:/Users/jtaberro/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image003.png" v:shapes="_x0000_s1026" width="112" /></td>
<td></td>
<td align="left" valign="top"><img height="2" src="file:///C:/Users/jtaberro/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image004.png" v:shapes="_x0000_s1029" width="103" /></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t32"
style='position:absolute;margin-left:.75pt;margin-top:8.85pt;width:82.5pt;
height:0;z-index:251658240' o:connectortype="straight"/><v:shape id="_x0000_s1029"
type="#_x0000_t32" style='position:absolute;margin-left:232.5pt;margin-top:8.85pt;
width:75.75pt;height:0;z-index:251661312' o:connectortype="straight"/><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]-->
<!--[endif]--><o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZL0V28tcjd6g391LSpmEd0lWG6nWGUGaWSSXYJ2ZOTinD8KD5yuXhg6-Pw_tVRv2yqJvSchhUjZsGbs_yYImsC5qV97gvfxCkkxAtDtmL5Tp1o_RYOlwnMuoKrXTn6MSjmKipyxE_zwo/s1600/HighSchoolPlot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZL0V28tcjd6g391LSpmEd0lWG6nWGUGaWSSXYJ2ZOTinD8KD5yuXhg6-Pw_tVRv2yqJvSchhUjZsGbs_yYImsC5qV97gvfxCkkxAtDtmL5Tp1o_RYOlwnMuoKrXTn6MSjmKipyxE_zwo/s1600/HighSchoolPlot.png" height="62" width="320" /></a></div>
<br clear="ALL" />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1031" type="#_x0000_t32"
style='position:absolute;margin-left:28.5pt;margin-top:14.15pt;width:143.25pt;
height:58.55pt;flip:y;z-index:251663360' o:connectortype="straight"/><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span style="height: 80px; margin-left: 37px; margin-top: 18px; mso-ignore: vglayout; position: absolute; width: 193px; z-index: 251663360;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7_KrewydtP_2Uw4cib38G0Cek8zJLJUC-_FaujbT2GaH_vVaUP12VGLVGwA8I1gtyHi94OAGzCMXyRdZcEl8C8rKciuESsyBT8ZCjrM3S8NIlV3FfF5__PtIAALf8C4qlbpTgvWccQo/s1600/ActualPlotSlope.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7_KrewydtP_2Uw4cib38G0Cek8zJLJUC-_FaujbT2GaH_vVaUP12VGLVGwA8I1gtyHi94OAGzCMXyRdZcEl8C8rKciuESsyBT8ZCjrM3S8NIlV3FfF5__PtIAALf8C4qlbpTgvWccQo/s1600/ActualPlotSlope.png" /></a></span><!--[endif]--><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1032"
type="#_x0000_t32" style='position:absolute;margin-left:171.75pt;margin-top:14.15pt;
width:3.75pt;height:58.55pt;z-index:251664384' o:connectortype="straight"/><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><span style="height: 80px; margin-left: 228px; margin-top: 18px; mso-ignore: vglayout; position: absolute; width: 7px; z-index: 251664384;"></span><!--[endif]-->There’s an intro, rising action, a
climax, falling action, and resolution. In real life, most plot diagrams look
like this:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="left" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td height="7" width="10"></td>
<td width="29"></td>
<td width="194"></td>
<td width="26"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td height="3"></td>
<td align="left" valign="top"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</td>
<td></td>
<td align="left" valign="top"></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1030" type="#_x0000_t32"
style='position:absolute;margin-left:8.25pt;margin-top:6.35pt;width:20.25pt;
height:.05pt;z-index:251662336' o:connectortype="straight"/><v:shape id="_x0000_s1033"
type="#_x0000_t32" style='position:absolute;margin-left:175.5pt;margin-top:6.35pt;
width:18pt;height:.05pt;z-index:251665408' o:connectortype="straight"/><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]-->
<!--[endif]--><o:p> </o:p></div>
<br clear="ALL" />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
But the same ideas are there. This plot diagram is also
called a <i>tension line</i>, because it
graphs the reader’s tension throughout the story. Tension is what we want the
reader to feel, because the reader reads in order to experience safe tension
(much like a roller coaster is a safe form of tension). But, in using Swain’s understanding of space,
the graph becomes this (for a flash fiction as short as this one):<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1i4K8dYHVccZfL9cJ90ZQl-ptvssIpaOhstoh2FqDyY3-JIeadPzWt9bImvu0al-03c1slg0AeLXdkHf8RUMynRj843HmT6UsWjwBy3naY8fSlKd6cajM3fDW9S59s6qVlz7VzdFKCo/s1600/Short_Story_Plot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1i4K8dYHVccZfL9cJ90ZQl-ptvssIpaOhstoh2FqDyY3-JIeadPzWt9bImvu0al-03c1slg0AeLXdkHf8RUMynRj843HmT6UsWjwBy3naY8fSlKd6cajM3fDW9S59s6qVlz7VzdFKCo/s1600/Short_Story_Plot.png" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br clear="ALL" />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is because, in a very short story, there are only a few
events that lead up to the climax. The climax and the end of the story (the
character getting what he/she deserves) take up the majority of the story. In
fact, in our example, about half.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
So now we know how our story is going to be structured. We
know we want (in this case) two or three events that ratchet up the tension,
until we get to our climax. Then we want to show the protagonist making a
decision between following her values or not, and getting what she deserves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Our events, as we’ve outlined our story, need to generate
sympathy for the old woman AND set up the climax.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
So far, we have these events in the story:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The woman falls down.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The man offers the woman a ride. (she’s
suspicious)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The man asks a question, once she’s trapped in
the car and they are pulling off. (she’s trapped)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">The parts of her fight one another</span></li>
</ul>
<!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since we only want two or three events in the story, then we
can probably lose the woman slipping in the snow from her foggy glasses.
Besides, glasses usually fog up worse when you go into someplace warm, so what
if we make her feel even more vulnerable by making her glasses fog when she’s
in the car with him, helpless.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
How does the story start? Well, she’s a Holy Woman, so it starts
off with her being Holy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
Characterization</h4>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Swain discusses the significant detail when describing
characters. A significant detail about her appearance: Maybe our Holy Woman keeps a piece of jewelry.
Maybe it’s a rosary necklace. That would make Christians uncomfortable. Maybe
it’s a rosary necklace with a five-pointed star. That would make Christians
incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe she
shows this symbol to try to get out of telling the man the answer he seeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
A significant detail about her personality: she is viewing
what many people would consider the Holy Spirit as some kind of invading
spirit. She does not like someone else speaking with her voice. Even if that
someone might be God. And it might be God: she really doesn’t know, but simply
isn’t comfortable with it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
She is trapped, literally in the car, by the weather and the
driving, and figuratively because both extremes she feels are unacceptable. She
can neither give in to lust nor give in to Holiness. She is not either one, but
a mixture of both. Yet she is trapped to do one or the other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, let us take our sentences, our events, and put them in
the order they go, knowing all we know
about how our story is going to go:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The light smears, throws shadows.
Despite the chill, praise and faith warm my blood. A beautiful man slides his
arm into mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I know such a spiritual woman as
yourself don’t mind the cold, but I’d be honored to drive you home.” His voice,
syrup sweet, warms me. As do his chocolate-colored eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No, son, don’t waste your time on an
old hag like me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s no trouble at all.” And leads me
toward the car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His younger siblings rib each other.
He opens the passenger’s door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I bundle myself in, dusting snow off.
I avoid his eyes. (shut the door, get in the other side, still bothered by
kindness). I smile. My stomach lurches. I glance away. I cannot look, or else I
will lose my composure. I can’t lose my composure. He wants something. It’s the
only reason such a beautiful man would ask her into his car. Last Sunday had
been equally cold; but he had not offered then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Adonis yells at the kids, to get them
to settle down. Now he’s established authority. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s all right; I don’t mind. Boys
will be boys,” She’s enjoying their antics, still feels uneasy, like there are
strings attached.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He pulls the car out into the street.
The automatic locks click down. “Actually, I want to be able to talk with you.
You see, I have this question.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Aha!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sympathy: “No, child, let this old
woman rest.” She clutches her necklace beads.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You’re not that old,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“And yet, you lap at my font of
wisdom” (sarcasm). She toys with the necklace, letting the pentacle capture the
light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s just a quick question. I’ve
heard you answer questions in church for others. I’ve seen the Spirit come over
you. You’re Holy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6740344366320319460" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I am not a Saint, child. I am a
woman. Just a woman. I have no special powers or divine spirit.” Just a woman,
she thought. Her eyes drifted over his body. Maybe she could prove it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’ve seen you in the Spirit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You don’t know what you saw. I have
no choice about when the Spirit moves in me. The Crone, I call it. A witch” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You are not a witch. Just hear me
out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My stomach lightens. How can I advise
this man? I commune with my god until my gaze locks on this Adonis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My brothers,” he cocks his head,
“they have some friends who come over. These friends live so dangerously,
taking risks and playing games that are too mature for them. They’re rebellious
and disrespectful, but I like them. And the boys do, too. I guess I’m not sure
what I should do about it.” He leans in,
listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Does he know the power that assumes me
in necessity? Right now, his cocoa eyes, fringed with delicate lashes, lure me
in. I wet my lips. Parts of me, long since dried by menopause, tingle in the
same way they tingled with the first boy I ever loved. My cheeks redden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But when The Spirit—The Crone—overtakes
me, I lose all of that. The zest will drain away. I feel Her now, sucking pink
life from my lips. Drying me out. Calling me Magdalene, wanton, whorish. The
Whore of Babylon and the Crone Who Serves the Lord. One or the other. Never balance.
Never both.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Does he know the power that assumes me
in necessity? Is he aware of the strength of the Spirit, that it will take over
my mouth, my lips, my womb? Is he aware that, in the Spirit, I could kill his
brothers for their accidental blasphemies, or stone him for an adulterer?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Does he know the power that assumes me
in necessity? How close is he to God? How tight the bond between his Spirit and
the Spirit of Truth? If he knew the Spirit, wouldn’t he already know the
answer?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But no, he doesn’t. He glances over to
me. Chocolate eyes melt my tongue. <i>Magdalene</i>,
the Spirit whispers to me. She will not be denied, the Crone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shut out his beauty, let hers in. “You
know what you must do. You must guard and keep these boys as you guard and keep
your brothers. They will see how you care for them and how you are just and
kind, and they will respond.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The presence releases me. Such a small
defeat. A minuscule chip at my individuality. I tempt myself to think that it
doesn’t matter that I have eroded myself once more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I watch him mull my witchy words. His
eyes film over. His oracle performed as expected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Diminished, I look through the
windshield to the bus stop ahead. “Could you pull over here?” I hardly
recognize my own voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He hesitates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I feel a strong pull by the Spirit to
be here, now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He nods and pulls over. Before he can
open his door, I leap knee-deep into the snow bank. His voice snags me. I wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“If you don’t mind me asking, is there
anything you struggle with, that I might help?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sculpted face and raven hair taunt me.
Awe and submission stain his features. I look away. “The Devil. Every day. You.
Me. Inside us all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shut the door on his worship, on his
blind faith.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there it is, our story. The final step is to go back to
the beginning, to the specific nouns and active verbs. Doing so yields these
changes:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The light smears, throws shadows. Despite the chill, praise
and faith warm my blood. <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">Adonis</span>
slides his arm into mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I know such a spiritual woman as
yourself doesn’t mind the cold, but I’d be honored to drive you home.” His
voice, syrup sweet, warms me. As do his chocolate-colored eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No, son, don’t waste your time on an
old hag like me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s no trouble at all.” He steers me
toward the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">Buick</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">brothers</span> rib each other. He opens the passenger’s
door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I bundle myself in, <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">dusting snow onto the floor mats</span>.
<span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">I smile at the heating
vents</span>. My stomach lurches <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">with the shocks as he sits</span>. The heating vents help me keep my
composure. He wants something. It’s the only reason such a beautiful man would
ask me into his car. Last Sunday had been equally cold; but he had not offered
then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The brothers bump the front bench
seats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Settle down back there!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s all right; I don’t mind. Boys
will be boys,” <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">I say to my
wringing hands.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="background: yellow; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-highlight: yellow;">The
Buick oozes into the street. Automatic locks click</span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. “Actually, I want to be able to talk
with you. You see, I have this question.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Aha! He does want something from me.
Would that I could trade what he wants for what I want: an hour undisturbed,
punctuated by giggles and whispers. “No, child, let this old woman rest.” I
clutch my tired bosoms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You’re not that old,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“And yet, you lap at my font of
wisdom” <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">I dangle my rosary
before him, draining the innuendo out onto the floor mats with the melting
snow. It has a pentacle on it, but must not see it. If he did, he’d surely say something.
Then we could talk about anything other than his spiritual question.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s just a quick question. I’ve
heard you answer questions in church for others. I’ve seen the Spirit come over
you. You’re Holy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Holy. Full of holes. “I am not a
Saint, child. I am a woman. Just a woman. I have no special powers or divine
spirit.” <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">Just a woman. Maybe
I should prove it</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’ve seen you in the Spirit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You don’t know what you saw. I have
no choice about when the Spirit moves in me. The Crone, I call it. A witch” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You are not a witch. Just hear me
out.” <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">He does not wait for
my reply.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “My brothers,” he cocks his head, “they have
some friends who come over. These friends live so dangerously, taking risks and
playing games that are too mature for them. They’re rebellious and
disrespectful, but I like them. And the boys do, too. I guess I’m not sure what
I should do about it.” He leans in,
listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Does he know the power that assumes me
in necessity? Right now, his cocoa eyes, fringed with delicate lashes, lure me
in. I wet my lips. Parts of me, long since dried by menopause, tingle in the
same way they tingled with the first boy I ever loved. My cheeks redden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But when The Spirit—The Crone—overtakes
me, I lose all of that. The zest will drain away. I feel Her now, sucking pink
life from my lips. Drying me out. Calling me Magdalene, wanton, whorish. The
Whore of Babylon and the Crone Who Serves the Lord. One or the other. Never balance.
Never both.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Does he know the power that assumes me
in necessity? Is he aware of the strength of the Spirit, that it will take over
my mouth, my lips, my womb? Is he aware that, in the Spirit, I could kill his
brothers for their accidental blasphemies, or stone him for an adulterer?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Does he know the power that assumes me
in necessity? How close is he to God? How tight the bond between his Spirit and
the Spirit of Truth? If he knew the Spirit, wouldn’t he already know the
answer?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But no, he doesn’t. He glances over to
me. Chocolate eyes melt my tongue. <i>Magdalene</i>,
the Spirit whispers to me. She will not be denied, the Crone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 1.25in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 27.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 9.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shut out his beauty, let Hers in. “You
know what you must do. You must guard and keep these boys as you guard and keep
your brothers. They will see how you care for them and how you are just and
kind, and they will respond.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The presence releases me. <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">Such a small defeat. A minuscule
chip at my individuality. I tempt myself to think that it doesn’t matter that I
have eroded myself once more.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I watch him mull my witchy words. His
eyes film over. His oracle performed as expected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Diminished, I look through the
windshield to the bus stop ahead. “Could you pull over here?” I hardly
recognize my own voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He hesitates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I feel a strong pull by the Spirit to
be here, now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He nods and pulls over. Before he can
open his door, I leap knee-deep into the snow bank. His voice snags me. I wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“If you don’t mind me asking, is there
anything you struggle with, that I might help you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sculpted face and raven hair taunt me.
But awe and submission stain his features. I look away. “The Devil. Every day.
You. Me. Inside us all.” I shut the door on his blind faith.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-10015127425444487392013-10-17T13:24:00.002-07:002013-10-17T13:25:19.516-07:00Part 8: They Grow Up So Fast<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">(You are reading this story in progress. To start at the beginning, please click </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-facebook-dare-and-live-rough-draft.html">here</a></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">. To view the Table of Contents, click <a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/p/a-life-less-extraordinary-diary-of.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">here</a>. This story is being written live, daily, and with some audience participation in October 2013)</span></div>
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<b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">—</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>10/17/2013—</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sorry about the abrupt ending: they came back to my room to
get me for another round of training. But now I’m done. My eyeballs feel a
little funny and I feel a little queasy, but I wanted to finish writing up what’s
been happening the last few days, because if I don’t write it down, I probably
won’t believe any of this ever happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I finally know what day it is, in case you noticed the date
on this entry. It’s Thursday. I’ve been gone for almost a week now. Well, *we*
have been gone. The kids are . . .well, we’ll get to that in a minute. First
things first. Where were we?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh, yes. The first time I lost my temper with them. Well,
they knocked me out cold. And I totally understand that, because I am pretty sure
I was really trying to kill Glop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I call him Glop because that is the sound he makes.
Thankfully, they are not like cats, who all call each other the same thing and
have the same “name”. Well, <i>they</i>
might, but not to me. Each Theommi makes a unique sound so. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">. . .So I was trying to kill Glop, until Blurp came up and
stung me. The toxin works so fast you don’t feel the prick of the needles in
their skin. You’re just zonked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I woke up, I was in my new room. I freaked out, of
course, because a) I was in a different location b) I didn’t know how long I
had been out c) the kids were missing and d) why hadn’t we <i>started out </i>in rooms instead of a damn hyperspace dungeon? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">OK, it wasn’t a hyperspace dungeon, more like a hyperspace
cargo hold. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I yelled a lot. And punched the mattress. I held my knees to
my chest and cried. In short, I tantrumed like Juliette would. And thinking
about Juliette still makes me a little weepy, considering what they did to the
children. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But more on that later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They came to see me, once my rage had simmered down to a low
blubber. I’m not sure I did them justice, explaining what they look like, so I
made a little sketch:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffNcyN1TebDic2DEnvG8XbihRAmya5RZBZGEimaaavGLp_kVm4CXl0cjbSJBSjPLpTxOwFS5VbFlbThaTOOs1yzvKo0t9UMyNn2nRrjmAKlChRAxUrg5AptF5cCM1Aslkg9TecWGqSpg/s1600/Theommis_Pic_Smaller_Cleaner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffNcyN1TebDic2DEnvG8XbihRAmya5RZBZGEimaaavGLp_kVm4CXl0cjbSJBSjPLpTxOwFS5VbFlbThaTOOs1yzvKo0t9UMyNn2nRrjmAKlChRAxUrg5AptF5cCM1Aslkg9TecWGqSpg/s1600/Theommis_Pic_Smaller_Cleaner.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I realize I am not the world’s best artist. There is no
nose, by the way, it’s just a flap of skin that serves no purpose that I can
think of. There are gills on the neck that wrap all of the way down to the
chest, and they can take in air directly or they can suck in in through their
mouths. I learned this when strangling Glop, because he didn’t seem to mind not
getting air (he kept breathing the whole time), he just looked terrified. Maybe
I was cutting off his blood supply. Maybe the salt in my skin was uncomfortable
for him. Their skin kind of reminds me of slugs: wettish, transluscent,
jelly-ish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ha, they’re jelly fish. . .get it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">OK, not funny. Or probably not funny for you, because you’re
probably still thinking we’re all in danger. And we are; we’re just not any
kind of immediate danger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You see, they want me to fly their ship. Yeah, like the
video game. And the presentation is the same, with that same damn display I’m
having them take out. And the same controls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The whole cockpit smells musty and old. The ship has to be
millions of years old. I don’t know how they preserved it, but I’m wondering if
they can preserve food as well as this ship. I wouldn’t need a refrigerator
anymore, or have to throw out bags and bags of brown mushy lettuce.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The cockpit is actually pretty sweet. Not as complicated as
Star Trek, just simple and considerately dark enough to help out my eyes. And
the kids (I still call them kids) move around in it like they were born there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have two hand-mounted controls, which look amazing like
taking a PS3 controller and breaking in half for each hand. But they require
more than three fingers to operate everything, and the Theommis don’t have five
fingers any more. Nor do they have the fight response they had back in their
prime (or so they tell me. I’m not convinced they didn’t just steal this ship
and have me fighting to <i>produce</i> and
empire, instead of <i>saving</i> an ancient
empire like they keep telling me).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The kids are gung-ho about the whole thing, of course. Their
bodies might be fully-grown, their reflexes and brains trained to handle
complicated stimuli like an adult, but emotionally, they’re still children.
They think this is all some adventure game. They don’t stop to think about
their parents and worried they must be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have to admit that I’m probably partly at fault for this
attitude. I am trying to keep things light, to keep us focused on “winning the
game” as if this all were the same video game we played a week ago. I don’t
want them to be as scared as I am, as sad as I am, as pissed off as I am. I
hope they understand, when we get back. If we get back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And if we get back, will the aliens put them back in their
child-bodies? It seems so unfair, to disadvantage them after growing them up.
But it seems so unfair to rob them of their childhoods completely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I woke up in my new room, the kids were gone. When the
Theommis came to see me, I asked about the children. Well, I demanded
information about them. I didn’t pull any punches, either, I made it clear that
I would absolutely murder the lot of them if they harmed the children in any
way. But they showed me six black boxes, and told me what they were doing to
the children: growing them up, teaching them the physics and engineering and
mathematics they need to be able to do their jobs on the Zeppelin-ship. And
when I saw them, in their new shiny silver suits, I had to admit that the
fish-aliens did a pretty good job. I could recognize each child, and the “them”
inside their eyes was still there for each one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Once they were out of their chamber, we all got a tour of
the residential portion of the ship. The bathrooms were shown to us (although I
didn’t have to go after I was knocked out. I hope I peed all over the place and
they had to clean it up: it will teach them that mammals need restrooms).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s not that I dislike them. They are peaceful
creatures. They remind me a little of
manatees, except slimier and thinner. But they have an innocence about them.
Their big round eyes never blink, which I think makes them seem sincere. And
they make cute noises when they “talk”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They’ve explained to me why they want to quell the
rebellions in their Empire. I’m just not sure I believe them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I mean, would you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But I have to help them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have to help them, because it's our only way home.</span></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-19132722703058607372013-10-16T06:47:00.001-07:002013-10-17T13:29:07.120-07:00Part Seven: Out of the Frying Pan<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">(You are reading this story in progress. To start at the beginning, please click </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-facebook-dare-and-live-rough-draft.html">here</a></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">. To view the Table of Contents, click <a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/p/a-life-less-extraordinary-diary-of.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">here</a>. This story is being written live, daily, and with some audience participation in October 2013)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>--Later</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got someone’s attention, alright. Maybe I should say, “I
got some<i>thing’s</i> attention”. It’s hard to describe, a bit like a fish, but
shaped like a person. Their limbs are thin, with three very long fingers,
webbed to the tip. There’s a lump on their arm from a vestigial thumb—they
showed me when they were explaining to me why I have to fly their ship instead
of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Am I doing it again? Getting ahead of myself. God, I’m going
to have to learn to be more patient. But then, if I were more patient, would
they have chosen me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So: I flicked the change at the wall, which made it ripple,
and I could see the edges of a hallway. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I was gathering up the coins to
throw again, I heard the swishing noise start up again. I flicked a quarter
right in front of the noise. The quarter hit the wall, making ripples on it
just like water, and in the valleys of the ripples I could just make out a
figure with a huge, strange head. I thought a giant eye was staring back at me,
but I couldn’t be sure. I yelled, “hey!” and jumped up and down, despite the
pain in my bladder.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I threw another quarter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looking back, I suppose it should have occurred to me that
the children slept right through this commotion. I should have marked that as odd.
But I didn’t. I was so desperate to get out of our cell that I just jumped and
waved and shouted “Hey!”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the eye came closer. It really was an eye, about ten
times the size of one of my eyes. And below the eyes were big, fleshy lips. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was an alien. It had to be. Any other day, this would
have scared the bejeezus out of me, but when you get picked up by a bright
light, I don’t know what else you expect besides aliens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I can’t say I was too surprised to see an alien on the
other side of the wall. He wasn’t too scary. Fishy, but very human, too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then it opened it’s mouth. A giant fish’s mouth: the
whole thing kind of protruded outward and got LARGE, right at my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It looked like he was going to eat my face. Or like he
kissed the wall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Naturally, I jumped back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then the blackness faded, from where the fish kissed the
wall outward in a huge circle. It was like getting your vision back from standing
up too fast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ran back up to the wall (which was still there), and I
pounded the side of my fist on it. Freak or not, alien or not, eat-my-face or
not, we needed to get the Hell out of there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And we did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Boy, did we get out of there. Out of the frying pan, into
the fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The chaos and the confusion of the next few hours (or days,
or however long it took) amazed me. I thought George’s company was run by
incompetent idiots, but those suits had nothing on these fish. The one who
kissed the wall just gawked at me for a while. He honestly looked scared of me,
which pissed me off, because if I had known that I was being imprisoned by
sheepish fish, and if I could have torn the damn wall down, I would have
fileted the lot of them, stolen their ship, and invited their carcasses to a
block party. There were enough of them to feed about forty people, with
leftovers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seafood salad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think they might have felt my rage. They certainly shied
from me when I was mad. And when the first fishy bowed and nodded and did
strange things with his webbed fingers, I was pretty mad. I felt like the Hulk,
I was so pissed off. Past seeing red and into seeing green.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Mama angry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, I didn’t say that. I didn’t even think it at the time.
All I thought was “Come back here you motherfucker or when I get out I swear I
will piss all over you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know, right? What would Mrs. Hernandez think? Or Mrs.
Williams? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Frankly, I don’t give a damn. I was mad. And now, I was mad
at a creature who had made strange gestures at me and then had taken off
running down the hallway, leaving me to stew and get even madder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was past the point of gritting my teeth. Past
hyperventilating. My hands were sweating, or bleeding, and I didn’t care except
to hope that the sweat or the blood wouldn’t compromise my grip strength when I
tore these creatures new assholes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If they even have assholes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They had stuck me in a crazy-making cell, stolen the
children, made me responsible for the stolen children—who knows what people
were thinking back home, that I was some serial killer or something—and then,
when I finally get their attention, they run like little girls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think I finally understand the expression “mad with rage”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And “Mama bear”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, the fish-head came back with more fish-heads. All of
them bowed and did funny things with their webs. Then one of them started to
dance. I’m serious. He put one hand in
the air, his fingers together, and the the other arm went out to the side, like
he was playing airplane. He jigged around in a circle. You know the one Native
American God you see playing the flute? Cocapelli? Well this dance was
Cocapelli meets Airplane. If I weren’t so pissed, it would have been funny. It’s
funny now. But then, I was mad as hell. I beat on the wall again, making the
fish jump back and eye me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Get us out of here!” I yelled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the fish put a finger in the air. The other fish-people
turned toward him. He put his hand to his chest, opened his mouth. I heard a
sound like a burp. The other fish-people nodded, their eyes wobbling a little
in their jellied flesh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then he put a finger to the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it disintegrated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was a dirt
smell, not a fish smell, like a fish tank. Then the noises hit me: I heard this
wet sucking slapping sound, and realized it was someone walking by. What I had
heard, through the wall, as a gentle swish-swish sound was really this
cacophonic wet fish-slap noise. They might not have heard me yelling, as it
would have been a small sound in an ocean of noise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once I was done reeling from the earthy smell and the noise,
I had the sense to charge the leader and wrap my hands around his throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m going to take a minute to tell you that I’m not normally
violent. I don’t believe in violence, I don’t spank my children (or anyone else’s).
I don’t even jokingly punch George in the arm. I’m a peaceful person. But put
me in a prison and deny me a bathroom—and put my kids in danger?—and I will
rock your world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I did. I rocked this fish face’s world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If it were possible for his thee-inch-wide eyes to bug out
even more, they did. His mouthparts worked back and forth, but he was too far
away to do anything more than gross me out. Which wasn’t enough to counteract
the rage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I squeezed. His skin was cool and gummy, and my fingers sank
into it. For some reason, all I could think about were Swedish Fish, those red
gummy candy’s with the strange (but good) flavor? I used to buy packets of them
with the $1.26 I had left over after my gas and insurance were paid, back when
I was 16.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If this creature tasted like that candy, I would have
considered literally biting his head off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other fishies initially jumped back (again!), but then
they schooled around me, touching me with those long, webbed fingers. It
creeped me out but I wasn’t about to stop what I was doing, which was
screaming, “Why did you lock us up?” at the rapidly glazing eyes of the fish I
was strangling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the fish’s mouths
open up, just a quick burp of sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Glop,”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But then, from nowhere I could name, a voice settled in
around me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes, you will do nicely, I believe. Just the sort of warlike
behavior we need.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I felt cool fingers against the side of my neck, and then I
must have passed out.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/part-8-they-grow-up-so-fast.html">Click here to view next entry</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-1053180941463097972013-10-14T07:46:00.002-07:002013-10-17T13:28:09.505-07:00Part 6: Housewife MacGyver. . . or not.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">(You are reading this story in progress. To start at the beginning, please click </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-facebook-dare-and-live-rough-draft.html">here</a></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">. To view the Table of Contents, click <a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/p/a-life-less-extraordinary-diary-of.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">here</a>. This story is being written live, daily, and with some audience participation in October 2013)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>--Later</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have to pee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Normally it isn’t something I’d write about, but at least if
I’m writing about it, then maybe I’m doing something about it. There’s nowhere
to <i>go</i>
here. It’s just a floor, the crazy scary walls, the light that seems to
come from the whole ceiling, yet from nowhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided we can’t be dead if I have to pee. You’re supposed
to stop needing food and restrooms when you’re dead. And I really need a
restroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And when the kids wake up, they are going to need restrooms,
too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe I should stop writing about it. I’m not sure if it’s
helping, but I <i>am</i> sure it’s making me
spitting mad to think about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean, who kidnaps someone, puts them in this mind-bending
cell, and then doesn’t let them go to the bathroom?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hear things in this cell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It doesn’t make me feel any more sane, believe me. I hear
shuffling sounds, like there’s someone just outside the cell. Since yelling
didn’t work earlier, when we first got here, I’m guessing it still won’t work
now. But I hear them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Swish, swish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like they are walking by this cell, not caring at all that a
woman and six children are being held prisoner in this cell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Without a toilet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn’t mean to write that. I didn’t even mean to think it.
But it hurts. I keep playing games with myself, breathing, making the periods
at the ends of my sentences bigger and bigger (if you hadn’t noticed). Trying
to breathe through the ache in my bladder. I can say, with certainty, I’ve
never done a longer or more intense session of Kegels. I will never leak when I
sneeze ever again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, my God, it hurts to laugh. Note to self: don’t make me
laugh at myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It occurs to me that I need to do something. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sorry, maybe I should have put more spaces. You don’t have
the sense of time that I have, journal. Here:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It occurs to me that I need to do something about this
imprisonment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can’t just lie here, watching the children sleep. I have
nowhere for them to go to the bathroom, no food. My milk dried up months ago,
and while it could probably come back, it would take a few days. By then, we’ll
have died of dehydration. I have no diapers for Juliette.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have no way to care for these children, and they very well
could die if I don’t do something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Therefore, I must do something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I dumped out my purse, to see what I’m working with. I’m
hoping that there was a reason I grabbed it so tightly to myself, other than
preserving you, journal, to help me with my sanity. Sanity is great, but it’s
not going to do much for me if I’m dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And yes, it is strange that I’m writing down every step of
what I’m doing. But I’m in a crazy prison, so strange is the order of the day.
If it helps me focus, journal, then I’m going to do it, and I don’t need any
flak from you or some future reader (which will never happen, because I’ll
either be stuck in this prison forever, sold into some kind of weird slavery,
wake up, or I’ll get home and burn this journal and all of the evidence of my
crazy in it).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m going to take inventory. And like I read in that
creativity article last week, instead of just writing down what the objects
are, I’m going to write down their
components in the most general form I can<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, this is what I have:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Four used tissues (used for blotting lipstick, not snot).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two pens (ball-point, medium, blue), one stick-pen, one
clicky pen.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A journal (blue butterflies, holographic).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wire in the binding of the journal.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The spring inside one of the pens.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A very fine wire from the spring inside one of the pens.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two plastic tubes (pens).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Three pieces of butterscotch candy.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Three small pieces of plastic (candy wrappings).</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So far, I could make spit-wads, or I could pick a lock if I
knew how to pick a lock, which I don’t, and if there were locks, which there
aren’t.</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Checkbook.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leather wallet:</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Snaps, a clasp, one 7” zipper. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Five rectangles of very hard plastic.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One rectangle of clear, flexible plastic.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Paper US bills: $57.00</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Change in the change-purse:</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Loose change: three quarters, eight pennies, a dime, and
three nickels.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two tampons and three overnight maxi pads (it never hurts to
be protected).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cardboard tubes (tampons), string, cotton?, stickers (maxi
pads).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A lipstick</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eye liner</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mascara.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Compact (powder, small terrycloth pad, mirror, snapping
round case)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A small brush (mascara).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Five receipts.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One pearl earring.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s it. I’m not sure what that was supposed to
accomplish, except to prove that I’m no MacGyver. I have no idea what to do
with any of this stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I suppose I could see if the lipstick or the powder stuck to
the walls. I could see if the wire bent, like if there was a deflecting force,
or if it just stopped, like it was trapped (and bent by my fingers, maybe).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could whistle Dixie, too. I don’t see what any of these
things would accomplish. Let’s face it, I’m not built for this. Give me a
thirty-item “to-do” list, a minivan, and cell phone and I’m dangerous, but . .
.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, it’s not here. My
cell phone. I just patted myself down, checked my purse, and even checked in my
bra for it, but it’s not here. I’m not sure it would have worked in here, but
it would have been nice to try.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There’s no point to any of this. I’m in prison, and I haven’t
done anything wrong since I was 17. I pay my bills, take the kids to practice,
go to the school on parent’s night. I do everything I’m supposed to do, except
maybe enough yoga. I don’t deserve
prison.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey, this is interesting: when I flick a coin at the wall,
it sticks there for a minute, and
sparkles, like the field is electric or something. Then it sparks a little drops the coin. Just lets it go. It doesn’t make
any noise, either, not even when the coin hits the floor (I hadn’t noticed that
the floor is this weird plastic-foam-skin stuff). The sparks don’t make any
noise, but I could swear that while the coin is there, I can see a little
through the wall. Like it ripples, and in the bottoms of the ripples, I can see
shapes, like hallways and doors and things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe there is something outside this cell, after all. Maybe
I can get someone’s attention.<span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/part-seven-out-of-frying-pan.html">Click here to read the next entry</a></i></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-2366993979494402282013-10-11T06:19:00.000-07:002013-10-14T08:16:43.008-07:00Part 5 Houswife Turned Space Captain: The Abduction.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">(You are reading this story in progress. To start at the beginning, please click </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-facebook-dare-and-live-rough-draft.html">here</a></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">. To view the Table of Contents, click <a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/p/a-life-less-extraordinary-diary-of.html" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">here</a>. This story is being written live, daily, and with some audience participation in October 2013)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Later (10/11/2013)</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I finally caught a nap today when Juliette went down for hers.
Not that it did any good—I had a dream about that light I saw the other day. It
was so vivid, it was like it was really happening, but it must have been a
dream. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I put Juliette down for her nap around 1:00. I was so tired
that I would find myself gasping for air, as if I had forgotten to breathe.
Everything around me looked really sharp. . .really hard-edged, like it was cut
from metal or something. That used to happen a lot in college, but I’m
definitely not that young anymore. I don’t remember feeling this crappy after
losing one night’s sleep back when I was in college.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I laid down on the couch with a cool washcloth over my eyes.
I didn’t really mean to take a nap, I just wanted to rest my eyes a little bit
and get rid of some of the redness and swelling before I had to face the other
Moms. I don’t need them thinking I’m strung out, or a pot head or anything.
Rumors fly fast enough when they’re about missing Yoga—I can’t imagine how fast
word would get around if they thought someone was doing <i>drugs.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as my head hit the throw pillow I knew that I was
going to sleep. I felt this weightlessness take over my whole body. It was
actually quite comfortable. Then around the edges of my vision I saw this redness,
like light seeping in through my eyelids. The light grew brighter and brighter,
until I swear I could see the light streaming in between the threads of the
washcloth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And we have nice washcloths. <i>On sale</i> they still cost me $7.00 apiece.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the light was so bright that I couldn’t see anything
else, the weightless feeling vanished. I felt heavy suddenly. Heavy, but not in
pain. Not even from the bright light. That’s how I know I was dreaming—that kind
of light in real life would have singed my eyeballs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was no pain, but there was a tingly, prickly feeling
along my scalp. Like each one of the hairs on my head, including the little
peachfuzz hairs on my face, including my eyebrows and eyelashes, even the hairs
in my nose (which, let’s face it, we all have hairs in our noses, even if we do
our best to hide them), like they each stood straight up and off of me. Almost
like I was being electrified. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real; I’d be fried
alive if someone were pumping that much electricity into my head. And it was
only my head—my arms and legs and torso all felt normal but super-heavy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know, now that I really think about it, it almost felt
like there was a little breeze to the electricity, too, like a scan or
something in the movies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was so strange.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But of course it was a dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have to go. It’s time to shuttle the boys back to their
soccer practice. Juliette has been so good today, like she knows I’m tired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or like she’s waiting for something. Ooh. That just gave me shivers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>--Later. 10/11? </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t know where we are. I don’t even know what happened.
I’ve spent the past little eternity—has it been hours, minutes days?—convincing
the boys that everything’s going to be ok.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it’s not ok.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’re stuck. I’d say <i>jailed</i>,
but it’s not like any jail I’ve ever seen before. The walls are black. Not
shiny, not dull, not hot, not cold. Just Black. And just. . .there. Like your
hand stops moving, or your back stops moving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But there’s no surface. Your hand just stops moving. It’s so
strange.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are no bars anywhere. There are no doors that I can
see. No windows. It’s like the light—and I can’t even tell where the light is
coming from—like it just stops at the walls, the same way my body stops when I
encounter it. Like there’s nothing at all around us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s really frightening. I can’t stand to look at the walls
because of it. My brain just starts to freak out and turn back in on itself
when I look at them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tried yelling. That was the second thing I tried. The
first thing was just standing still with my mouth open.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve never been good in emergencies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just wish I knew where we are or what is happening. We
were in the car and then—bam! White light everywhere. That weird weightless feeling. Everyone
frozen but me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We never made it to soccer practice. Everyone’s going to
think we’re dead. Oh, God, I can’t imagine how scared George and the Hernandez’s
and the Craigs’ are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or maybe they’re frozen, too?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">God, I’m not even making sense anymore. I pulled out my
notebook and my pen for something to do, to keep from going crazy while the
kids sleep, and here I am going crazy anyway. And on the record.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I’m having a psychotic break and I’m
not even really here. Maybe I’m drooling in a hospital somewhere. Maybe the
kids are all safe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or maybe I got into an accident, because I knew I had no
business driving when I was so tired. Maybe we were in an accident and I’m unconscious.
And I have to <i>wake up</i> to get help for
the children and me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wake up.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wake up.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It doesn’t seem to be working.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">OK. I can’t keep gibbering to myself. I need to get my shit
together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What do I remember?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember picking the kids up from school. Isabella sat in
the passenger seat. Garrett crawled in behind me, and Juliette was in her car
seat next to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kyle, Carson, and Julio all piled into the back. For once,
because I was running a little late after a bad diaper mishap, they all had
their shin guards and their cleats on. I waved to the assistant principal as I
pulled away from the school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I asked the boys how they were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I turned right onto Oakwood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I drove toward the intersection of Elm and Conifer. Right
where the light hit us last time. I don’t remember actually bringing the car to
a stop, but my foot was on the brake and we were almost stopped. I just don’t
remember that little kick that signals a true stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And panic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the thought that maybe my dream wasn’t a dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember clutching my purse. Why would I do that, and not
reach out for one of the children? I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember not being able to turn my head right away. I know
I wanted to, to check on the kids, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the
brightness and the whiteness of the light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember wondering if I were looking at God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I felt my body rise up, like it was going to float
right up out of the seat. That’s when I finally could turn my head and check on
the children. I think I expected to see their hair floating, the detritus of
the car floating up around them, like we were in space or something, but they
were frozen back there, just like last time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Only this time, all of their faces showed slack-jawed,
white-eyed terror.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn’t have long to look. I got the sensation that
something was yawning open, about to swallow us whole. I looked out the
windshield but didn’t see anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hugged my purse tighter to my chest, like it was some kind
of shield. I feel so stupid for that, now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I can’t remember anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know time passed. I have the sensation of passing time, of
having lost some time. Disorientation or something else—I can’t explain it.
Maybe I fainted. Maybe I was frozen like the children, finally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember vision coming to me. Not like opening my eyes, because
my eyes were already open, but like, in my open eyes, vision just bloomed in,
from the center out, and suddenly I could see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I reached out and gathered up the children in my arms, who
must have regained their vision at the same time as I did. I pulled them all
together like little chickens, and me the mother hen. I think I finally let go
of my purse then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They started asking what had happened, but of course I
couldn’t tell them anything. All I could say was, “I don’t know, but whatever
it was, we’ll get through it together.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seemed like a good thing to say, but I don’t believe a word
of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, God. What if we're <i>dead?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/part-6-housewife-macgyver-or-not.html">Click here to read the next entry</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-24256241001179875752013-10-10T11:19:00.001-07:002013-10-14T08:16:02.464-07:00Housewife Space Captain Part 4: The Long Night of the Soul<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">(You are reading this story in progress. To start at the beginning, please click </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-facebook-dare-and-live-rough-draft.html">here</a></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">. To view the Table of Contents, click <a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/p/a-life-less-extraordinary-diary-of.html" target="_blank">here</a>. This story is being written live, daily, and with some audience participation in October 2013)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">10/11/2013-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It’s 4:30 in the morning. I’m supposed to wake up in a half
an hour to get the day started, and I haven’t even been to bed yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I don’t know what happened. I started playing the game as a
single-player, and there were so many more levels and so many more tasks to
do. The great part was that I never had
to repeat my orders or discipline my crew; they did everything I asked because
they were programmed to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The bad thing was that I stayed up all night playing a
stupid video game.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I can’t even say I’m mad at myself, or regret the time. I was
in my <i>flow</i>. I was in a perfect zone.
The night flew by, and I was exhilarated. I felt proud of myself, confident. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Frustrated sometimes, sure, but I felt <i>powerful</i>. Like I was making things happen, not just accommodating schedules
and “fitting things in” for everyone but myself. I was owning it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Or pwning it, as the kids say. Do they still say that? They used to say
that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Anyway, even though I had to wade through take-out
containers to get across the living room, I decided to write in here instead of
cleaning up like I should have done last night.
I just want a few minutes to relish this feeling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Powerful, effective, a real leader. A get-r-dun-er.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I conquered whole solar systems. I ran negotiations with
three separate races of aliens. Some of them didn’t even speak English and I
had to use a weird program to tell me how to contort my body to communicate
with them!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And the Theommis. . . They worshiped me. They kept telling
me that I was exactly what they had been looking for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I even—and I can’t believe I’m writing this—I even went
online this morning to tell the game makers how to improve the handling of
their Space Zeppelins. It’s so obvious after playing with them that the
gravimetric thrusters need to converge to a ring, not a point, because the
field will center at the point anyway, and you need to leave yourself enough leeway to get the damn thing
through the wormhole. So instead of threading a piece of yarn through a sewing
needle it’s more like parking a car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And they need to do something about the overhead displays;
they are so disorienting. When I turned off the display, my motion sickness
nearly vanished. Plus, you don’t bank in space, so if I stayed off the planets
by negotiating treaties, I didn’t have to deal with the atmospheres as much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I don’t know if they’ll respond to my emails. I feel like
that time when I was in middle school, and I wrote to Mars Candy asking them
how much rat hair was in their products. It’s a silly thing, but important. I
was so excited when they wrote me back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I hope they write me back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Anyway, I need to get the coffee brewing. I’ll just wake
George and Isabella early, and have them help me. I’ll cough a little and say I
stayed up coughing all night. Hopefully none of them will walk near the game
system and feel how hot it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I wonder if I should play the game again, and see if I can
win it even faster this time. I don’t believe that no one has ever finished it;
it’s a fun game, but it’s not rocket science.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">OK, maybe I should just stay away from the game. Here I am,
not having slept all night, and I’m contemplating spending part of my morning
playing the game instead of trying to catch a nap if Juliette lets me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I should take a nap, or clean, or do something constructive.
I can’t wish my life away on a stupid video game, right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I can’t believe I’m having such a hard time letting it go.
They must design these things to hook down into your soul.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/part-5-houswife-turned-space-captain.html">Click here for the next entry.</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-658782124291456852013-10-10T06:00:00.000-07:002013-10-14T08:15:12.353-07:00Part Three of Housewife Turned Space Captain: the Game<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">(You are reading this story in progress. to start at the beginning, please click </span><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-facebook-dare-and-live-rough-draft.html">here</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">. To go to the Table of contents, click <a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/p/a-life-less-extraordinary-diary-of.html" target="_blank">here</a>. This story is being written live, daily, and with some audience participation in October 2013).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">10/10/13-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> All this stink over a little video game, I don’t get it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Kyle and Julio were playing their newest video game, “Theommis
Wars.” I thought it was “The Amish Wars” at first, and then, when they cajoled
me into playing the game with them, I saw the actual name. I asked them who or
what the Theommis were, but they didn’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Anyway, they needed a fourth player. One of their online
friends had dropped off the game or something, and they wanted me to fill in.
So I was like, “Ok, I’ll play.” I mean, I like video games ok. They make me
nervous and my hands sweat, and yes, sometimes I get a little sensitive if
people are giving me too much of a hard time, but these are kids, right?
Nothing to worry about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Anyway, in Theommis wars, you’re flying a space ship. Only
it’s a lot like a hot-air balloon or what do you call it? A blimp? There’s
another word for it, like the rock band.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A Zeppelin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So you fly a Zeppelin, and it’s weird, because you don’t
think you’re going to move fast, but you do, and the damn thing swoops and
banks in this crazy way. I actually had to pause the game for a bit and take a
motion-sickness pill, because I was going to throw up. It’s all this crazy
motion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So I play the game, and there are all of these challenges
you have to go through, like obtaining the gravity drive, stealing into a space
fortress in the middle of the night, laying siege to a pre-space-flight
civilization, etc. It’s neat. Weird, but neat.
And half of the civilizations you meet are these kind of steam-punk
aliens that you feel really bad for because you’re—you know—subjugating them.
All with this one little ship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Well, you get more ships later on, when you become Fleet
Admiral, but the first 15 levels are all with one little ship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I got really into the game, and as I kept winning, I got
less scared. At first, the kids were making fun of me, talking smack, doing
what kids do, but after a while, they shut up and just did what I told them.
Apparently the guy who dropped out was the Captain. And, well, I’m a Mom, so I’m
pretty good at giving orders and organizing things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> To make a long story short, we won. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The boys freaked out. They jumped up and down and broke some
glasses (which I made them clean up), but they wouldn’t stop whooping and
hollering that no one had ever beaten the game. They both hugged me and
high-fived me all night, and when George came home, they told him all about it.
Even he was impressed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was fun, although it was a little embarrassing. I mean,
it’s just a video game.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I’m actually kind of glad it happened, because if it hadn’t,
I might not have ever written in hear again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I missed writing this morning. I was just so busy with
getting the kids ready<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Why am I lying?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I wasn’t busy. Or, I
wasn’t any busier than usual. Really, I just didn’t want to open up the
journal. I didn’t want to read what I wrote last night, to even remember it.
That’s why I started this on a new page. So I wouldn’t have to look at last
night’s entry. And here I am, bringing
it up, when I was happy just to let it live in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Maybe I’ll go downstairs and sneak in another game. I’m sure
they have a single-player version.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/housewife-space-captain-part-4-long.html">Click here to read the next entry</a></span><br />
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Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-43452920564061737182013-10-09T07:28:00.000-07:002013-10-14T08:13:21.953-07:00A Life Less ExTraordinary: Diary of a Housewife Turned Space Captain, Part 2(You are reading this story in progress. To start at the beginning, please click <a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-facebook-dare-and-live-rough-draft.html" target="_blank">here</a>. To go to the Table of Contents, click <a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/p/a-life-less-extraordinary-diary-of.html" target="_blank">here</a>. This story is being written live, daily, and with some audience participation in October 2013).<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>10/9/2013-</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Grabbing a few minutes of peace in the morning. I’m not a
morning person, but I love mornings now that I have three children. The morning
is the only time I have just for me, to sit in the quiet and sip my tea. To
read a book if I want, or even write in a journal. Maybe that’s why I bought
this notebook; to give myself a little time to myself in the mornings. Just a
slice of a moment for <i>me</i>, not doing
something for anyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I love my family. I do. I love George, who has to be the
most supportive and loving man in the world. I love Kyle, my little athlete. I
love my girls. Isabella is a little athlete, too, although she prefers softball
and dance to Kyle’s basketball and soccer. And Juliette. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Juliette is my precious little troublemaker. She’s the baby
who rips off her diaper and streaks across the house naked. Of all the kids,
she’s the one who reminds me the most of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or, at least, of who I used to be, before the children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Right now all of them are asleep. I’m about to brew some
coffee, which will wake up George and Juliette just by the aroma. Isabella and
Kyle will be asleep in their rooms. Kyle will have the sheets up over his head
like he always does. The child is so slim I’ve lost him more than once, just to
realize he was in his bed the whole time and I thought he was just a bunch of
wrinkles under the bed-covers. Isabella
will stomp her way through her morning, shattering my nerves. Then I’ll have to
get Isabella and Kyle off to school, come back and start to work on this messy
house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Kyle has a soccer game right after Isabella’s dance practice
tonight, and I promised this afternoon I’d get with some of the other Mom’s and
help them organize the fundraisers this year for the Intramural Soccer League.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I wanted to get my hair done, too, but it doesn’t look like
there will be time. Our anniversary is this weekend, and I wanted to look
pretty. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Oh, well, if George can still love me on a day like today,
when my hair won’t ever leave it’s messy ponytail, then I suppose he’ll love me
without a $100 haircut. I’ll do the best with what I’ve got, like I always do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And maybe I can steal a little time for myself this evening
before bed, to write some more in here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>-Later-</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Something weird happened. I don’t even want to write it
down, in case someone ever reads this and thinks that I’m crazy. I’m not even
sure that I’m <i>not</i> crazy. I can’t
believe it, but I remember it, and I . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Maybe I should just write it down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I was taking the kids home from soccer. I had my kids, plus
Carson and Garrett and Julio. I was dropping them off at Betty Hernandez’s
house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> No, wait. I should start at the beginning, if I’m going to
tell this at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I had texted George to tell him what the evening plans were.
I had just dropped off Isabella to her dance class, and I was swinging back over
to Mrs. Hernandez’s to pick up Kyle and the other boys so the other mothers
could talk candy bar orders amongst themselves. Juliette was having a ball in
the back seat, yammering to herself like she always does. I could hear her toys
rattling while she played with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Suddenly she stops talking. I looked in the rear-view, but
of course I can’t see anything because she’s in a rear-facing seat. But she was
so quiet, just all of the sudden. It scared me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know, Mom always warned me that as long as kids are
making noise they’re probably OK, and the point at which you should be worried
is when they are suddenly quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And she was quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I called back to her. “Juliette, are you OK?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I know she can’t understand me, but it was a reflex.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i> Except she did
understand me</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> At least, I think she did. Because she said, clear as day, “Yeah,
yeah.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Now, I know that could be just baby talk. She just made
sounds, and they sounded like “Yeah, yeah.” And I was a little creeped out, but
that’s what I assumed when I first heard it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I mean, I was busy. I was less than two minutes from Mrs.
Hernandez’s—I was concentrating on getting there. Goosebumps are not enough to
keep me from my mission, you know?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So I picked up the boys and dropped them off at the game.
Juliette and I watched the game for a little, and she was her normal self. Then
I picked up Isabella from Dance, and came back to the game with both girls. It
was great. A nice crisp feel to the autumn air. And you know that smell that
the leaves get when they are changing? A little bit acrid, a little bit musty?
The breeze had that smell. I watched the other parents clapping and hollering
for their kids. Everything seemed a little too sharp, a little too real. Maybe
it’s just my brain looking at everything suspiciously because of what happened,
but I remember thinking even in that moment that it was just so beautiful—so <i>real—</i>like nothing in my life had ever
been more real, like I had never been more present than I was right then. It
was pleasantly intense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They lost the game, but it was close, so they were a little subdued but happy when they all
piled into the car. Garrett is such a nice boy, he sat next to Juliette and
played with her while she cooed at him. I wouldn’t be surprised if those two
get married one day. He has a gentle heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Carson and Kyle were making boy war noises in the third row
seats, and I could hear Isabella giving them a hard time with her piping voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A normal trip home—or so I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The van was filled with the sounds and smells of a
successful evening. Everything still seemed just a little too crisp, a little
too perfect, but I ignored it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I should have ignored it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> While we were driving back—and it’s only a ten-minute drive
from the field to Mrs. Hernandez’s—I got this funny feeling in my chest. I even
put my hand to my heart, wondering if I was having a heart attack. It wasn’t
painful, it just felt swollen, like my heart or my stomach was expanding like a
bubble. I think I took my foot off the gas and put it on the brake without
realizing it, because when the ball of blinding white light dropped down in
front of the van, I hit the brakes so hard and so fast I barely had time to
brace myself. My head hit the headrest really hard, and I turned around, trying
to blink away the blind spots from that light, to check on the kiddoes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> But they were all frozen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> None of them had moved. I mean, not even a hair on their
heads had moved, from when the van had been cruising at 30 mph. Garrett’s hand
still held the rattling butterfly toy. Isabella still leaned halfway over the
second row seat. Kyle and Carson had their heads back in raucous laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> But none of them were making a sound, or a move.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They weren’t even breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I touched the back of my head to see if maybe I had hurt
myself. <i>I</i> could move. <i>I</i> was breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My head didn’t hurt, and the super-bright light showed me
that the children weren’t turning blue or anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I turned back toward the light. I shaded my eyes against it,
but I couldn’t make anything out. It was brighter than those construction
spotlights they use, and those things are so bright I have a hard time driving
after.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I still don’t know what possessed me. I guess it was fear
for the safety of my kids and the kids in my care. Whatever the reason, I
reached out my hand to the door handle, and I pulled it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What was I thinking? Was I really going to get out of the
car, leaving the kids behind, and go confront this thing?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I don’t know. I’ll never know, because as soon as the door
latch popped, the light was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Like <i>poof</i>. I mean
gone-gone. As if it had never been there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The kids started laughing again, mid-laugh. I heard Juliette
squeal in delight as Garrett shook the rattle toy. Everything resumed as if
nothing had happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I looked back at them, but none of them seemed to notice
anything was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And when I turned back toward the road, I saw I was at the
four-way stop at Elm and Conifer. And it was my turn to go. Just as I touched the gas pedal to go, I heard Juliette's unmistakable giggle. And then she said, very clearly, "All gone."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even Garrett heard it. I heard him gasp. I looked in the rearview mirror at his moon-white face. Even his freckles looked sickly pale. And I don't even know why I did it, but I put my finger to my lips and told him "shh."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Why did I do that? What had happened? Had I fallen asleep? Dreamed a ball of
light that stopped me right where I needed to stop, to keep myself and the
children safe. And how had a thirteen-month old baby suddenly learned to talk? Was I imagining it all? Hallucinating?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Had the ball of light been an angel, or a heart attack? Was the bright
light the tunnel? Was Heaven a place where even babies could speak? Am I losing my mind?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I don’t know. I can only hope it never, ever happens again.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/part-three-of-housewife-turned-space.html">Click here for the next entry!</a></span><br />
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<br />Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-70087097092129525282013-10-08T15:11:00.001-07:002013-10-14T08:11:50.377-07:00A FaceBook Dare and a Live Rough DraftA moment ago, I got caught up in a conversation on Facebook. Nano is around the corner (in 22 days), and I was looking for something to sort of whet my appetite before November, but I was not expecting to jump up and down to write a book.<br />
<br />
But with a Title like "A Life Less ExTraordinary: Diary of a Housewife Turned Space Captain", how can I refuse?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FvBhDFSjDWxiCSKALVTVHBTjOpBvbPMPxih5nJ7Vr4qL1g0v7cLhnaUR15hhkY_gUwbOyEJIg4w8TtaAadHAEEk2W8-mtD3fJ6befqm2TF04-N77h5HsEdCgwze-MJ_cslKMP-h0x-g/s1600/ALifeLessFB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FvBhDFSjDWxiCSKALVTVHBTjOpBvbPMPxih5nJ7Vr4qL1g0v7cLhnaUR15hhkY_gUwbOyEJIg4w8TtaAadHAEEk2W8-mtD3fJ6befqm2TF04-N77h5HsEdCgwze-MJ_cslKMP-h0x-g/s1600/ALifeLessFB.jpg" height="640" width="406" /></a></div>
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So, in addition to actually writing a novel before I write a novel (or two) in November, I might as well do it live.</div>
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Live and with Audience Participation.</div>
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So I invite you, gentle reader, to avail yourself of the comments section, because this puppy is coming out fast in the next 22 days. Fast and furious and if you don't like the way it's headed, or you have a strange and crazy idea for it, this is your time to tell me.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">10/8/2013-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don’t know why I even picked up a journal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve never kept one before. But when I saw the pretty blue butterflies
and the holographic flowers on the cover, something just seized me down to my
soul and screamed “buy me! Write in me!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s not like anything interesting ever happens in my life.
I mean, the most interesting thing today is that I bought a notebook on a whim.
Hold onto your socks, everyone. Really hot stuff in here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I always <i>wanted</i> to
keep a journal. I always saw myself as a journal-keeping person. I just never
did it. Why not? What was I so afraid of? That I’d have to write “dear diary”
in every entry? I didn’t write it on this entry, and the world didn’t end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I just checked outside and no, the world didn’t end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have to go make dinner. I can hear Isabella stomping
around the living room. George will be home any minute. He’ll want his dinner
before <i>The Walking Dead</i> comes on TV. How he can eat and watch that show is
something I’ll never understand. I have to wait until after. I suppose I should
check on Juliette, too, and make sure she kept her diaper on. . .</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Exciting, right? Real seat-of-my-pants living going on here. . . </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-life-less-extraordinary-diary-of.html">click here for the next entry</a></span><br />
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Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-17164733626296834492013-10-07T08:33:00.001-07:002013-10-07T08:33:25.530-07:00Dreams as InspirationOver the weekend, on one of those mornings where my husband and I lay in bed, drifting in and out of sleep and cuddles until we were both satisfied with the "sleeping in" experience, I had a series of dreams.<br />
<br />
I can't remember what they were now, but I remember that one after the other after the other flowed together. That I was awed at how well the story fit together, even as it subtly changed with each plunge into REM.<br />
<br />
I remember thinking that this was my next novel, or even series.<br />
<br />
Man, I wish I could remember what it was.<br />
<br />
I've used dreams before for stories. In middle school, I'd had a dream about a boy and his companion, and turned it into a very good story. I have dreams about tornadoes that have become short stories and poems. I dreamed of a long talk with my Pastor's wife, and that became a short story, too.<br />
<br />
"Attack of the Bloodthirsty Lesbian" came from a dream.<br />
<br />
And I'm not alone. Stephen King, Margaret Atwood, Isabelle Allende, Edgar Allen Poe, and countless others use their dreams as inspiration for their fictions. And why not? Dreaming and writing are very similar. I know I am not the only author to "see" my characters interacting, to argue with them as one would in a dream. I am not the only author to reach a nearly hypnotic trance while writing; barely aware of my surroundings, lost in the story.<br />
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And, like dreams, often when you "wake up" from a writing session, you lose the thread of your story.<br />
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I was hoping that by writing this post, I would remember my dreams, but I still don't. Maybe someday they will rush back to me and I'll either say, "Yes! My next book series!" or I will say, "What was I thinking? That doesn't survive the light of day!"<br />
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What about you? Do you use your dreams as inspirations for your fiction? Do you remember your dreams every night?Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-84627494131042283082013-09-19T11:24:00.000-07:002013-09-19T11:24:33.591-07:005 Reasons to Self-Publish and oh, yeah, I have a new book out.I'm a self-publisher.<br />
<br />
I am an unabashed fan of <a href="https://www.createspace.com/" target="_blank">CreateSpace</a>, which is what I use to self-publish. Now, I know the arguments against self-publishing: it's not "real", your sales are junk, you're not a "real" author if you self-publish.<br />
<br />
Boonswangle.<br />
<br />
And, no, that's not a real word. But anyone who has read "<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/frindle-andrew-clements/1100300730?ean=9780689818769" target="_blank">Frindle</a>" knows how much stock to put into "real words". I make up words all the time. Usually they're onomatopoeias, but nonetheless, I make up words when it suits me to do so. That's one of the reasons writers are called "wordsmiths".<br />
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Now that we've run down that rabbit hole, let's get to where we are going: self-publishing. I support it. I do it, and here's why:<br />
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<b>1. Self-publishing allows you to get works "out of your system" to go on and produce better works.</b> Once you have something (usually a sucky first novel, like my "<a href="https://www.createspace.com/3380896" target="_blank">Empowered</a>"), then you can take a deep breath, clear your mind, and work on something else (like my much, much better novel <a href="https://www.createspace.com/4330125" target="_blank">Scales--Skin Deep</a>).<br />
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<b>2. Self-publishing forces you to think of your work as a marketable object.</b> Yes, you want to reach deep into the hearts of your public and bring forth hitherto unrecognized universal longings and motivations...but you also want to support yourself, so you can unearth and bring forth more of them. To do that, you have to think of your work as a saleable package. A commodity. Does it cheapen your novel? Not at all, because it's done <i>after</i> you write it, but it helps you take your heart out of the text and do what needs to be done.<br />
<br />
(Time out for Shameless Plug): Guess what's suddenly available on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Every-Teacher-Lectured-Potential-ebook/dp/B00F9IW3YE/ref=sr_1_1_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1379614710&sr=1-1&keywords=To+Every+Teacher+Who+Ever+Lectured+Me+About+My+Potential" target="_blank">Kindle</a>, or in soft cover? The latest, the greatest novella you've ever read: To Every Teacher Who Ever Lectured Me About My Potential.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Every-Teacher-Lectured-Potential-ebook/dp/B00F9IW3YE/ref=sr_1_1_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1379614710&sr=1-1&keywords=To+Every+Teacher+Who+Ever+Lectured+Me+About+My+Potential" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnliW72ptviUh5SJkOC7ysVUIEKdBUYoWFxhu0zm5_9VjKXRFYy7PAzpyDqWmQsJTPLyeosZGeE3gosUfCFm39cy3T69MXgbQApWaRfR6D9aL7rG_5mi6HRB_ppVc8bEEeNipswaoO04/s1600/TETWELAMP_Kindle.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #073763;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When the word "Potential" gets dropped at her parent-teacher conference, precocious fourth-grader Jessie knows her day is ruined. But she has no idea how bad it can really get.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Although she gallantry tries to hold on to her feelings--and preserve her life in the process--she is unable to cope. Her abusive father and clueless mother drive Jessie toward school for solace. But a friend she makes reacts badly when Jessie spurns her inappropriate advance. Just when her father is acting human, her grandfather appears with his own brand of abuse. One Hell chases her into the next until she makes the only decision left to her to make. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Every-Teacher-Lectured-Potential-ebook/dp/B00F9IW3YE/ref=sr_1_1_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1379614710&sr=1-1&keywords=To+Every+Teacher+Who+Ever+Lectured+Me+About+My+Potential" target="_blank">Kindle</a> $2.99 <a href="https://www.createspace.com/4445910" target="_blank">Softcover</a> $4.99 + shipping</span></span><br />
<br />
<b>(Resume Informative Article....Right Now!!)</b><br />
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<b>3. Publishing is moving, and the old rules don't apply.</b> Everyone has a smartphone, and every smartphone can be a Kindle. Who could be reading your novel right now?<br />
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<b>4. You can build a following that you can then "sell" to other publishers</b>. Let's face it: are you really willing to gut the novel you so lovingly crafted (and to which you dedicated the last three years of your life) because an editor said so? No. Not right away, at least. So go ahead an publish it. Then write another. And another. And while you are getting to be an expert at writing novels, you become more and more willing to tweak them to suit the tastes of fickle editors. In the meantime, people all over the world (I have a small but amazing following in the UK, for example) begin to like you. They tell their friends, and other people like you. Suddenly, hundreds of people--<b><i>customers!</i></b>--are following you on Twitter.<br />
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<b>5. You don't die with a bunch of unpublished manuscripts.</b> Yes, it makes for a romantic story we all love to read. Reality check: this only happens if you make it big time. If you don't, no one discovers your stuff and it never gets read.<br />
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So, don't be shy. Publish your book, and then come here and tell everyone about it in the Comments section. I might buy your book, too! I love buying books of new authors. Paying it forward.<br />
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<br />Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-29273566880747359602013-09-13T07:00:00.001-07:002013-09-13T07:00:55.837-07:00Butt In ChairThe greatest writing success tip I've ever received came from <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">nanowrimo</a>: Butt in Chair (BIC or AIC, depending on your customary vocabulary).<br />
<br />
"Butt in Chair" is actually what I've been doing all this time with no posting. I actually have been posting, just not at this particular blog. I've been busy writing content for four other websites/blogs, plus contributing to at least two writing projects in this time, and several unrelated-to-writing projects.<br />
<br />
Well, nothing in my life is ever <i>unrelated</i> to writing, but you know what I mean.<br />
<br />
What is "Butt in Chair"? It's <i>writing</i>. Although I long for the days when I can have half an ergonomic keyboard strapped to each wrist, thus allowing me type in any body position, for now, the only way for me to type is to put my butt in a chair and pound the keys.<br />
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Why is "Butt in Chair" so important? Because writing has to be a priority. And it can only be a priority if you commit time to it daily (or nearly daily, but on some schedule, depending on temperament). Some people strive for an hour of writing a day. Some people set goals for a certain number of chapters or scenes per week. I personally am a fan of 300 words per day (although I often write 4-5 times that, and, during Nano, have hit several 10k+ days). Goals are important, but dedicating time to your craft is even more important. Time is money, after all, and even the Bible says, "For where your treasure is, there will be your heart also" (Luke 12:34).<br />
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Why am I quoting the Bible at you (as an Agnostic, it is really an odd habit)? Because it's a saying you've probably heard before, and because it's true. If you break down your finances to look at where you spend your money, you'll see what I mean.<br />
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For example, my finances say we spend the most money on where we live, and second, on food. Since food is very important to this food addict, that makes a Hell of a lot of sense. In other families, it may be entertainment, or vacations, or cable.<br />
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But you can also look at your priorities (note, I don't say <i>values</i>, I say <i>priorities</i>) by looking at where you spend your time. Most of us spend most of our time at our 9-5's. That makes sense. We all have to eat, right? (If you don't like this, my blog about <a href="http://buckthedream.blogspot.com/">Bucking the American Dream</a> might be for you).<br />
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Second on that list is usually time with our loved ones: family, friends, spouse.<br />
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Third on that list is usually our favorite hobby.<br />
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I leave off here "decompression time". Most of us spend several hours a day watching TV. We don't really care too much what we are watching, we're really just recovering from the demands of those around us. I throw that in with our work-day, because if we weren't holding down soul-sucking jobs, we wouldn't need to decompress as diligently as we currently do.<br />
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So what is the third-largest chunk of your time? Is it reading books? Is it writing? Is it doing household chores? Chores may not seem like a "hobby" of sorts, but it shows cleanliness as being a high priority in your life. Otherwise, you'd just let things get messy.<br />
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For a lot of us, our priorities are not our values. In other words, we're deeply frustrated (or completely unaware--it depends on the person) that we spend so much time on things we "have to" do, and so little time on things we "want to" do or "should be doing".<br />
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This is the classic battle of priority vs. value. If we value giving alms to the poor, but our priority is to live comfortably in the same way our parents did, then we have a struggle (unless you make a lot of money and can do both). If we value family time but our highest priority is a clean house, we have a struggle.<br />
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More to the point of this blog: if our value is writing, but our priority is anything else, we have a struggle.<br />
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Values are nearly impossible to change purposefully: what is important to you is important to you. But priorities are merely an administrative pain in the behind to change. The point is, you can change them. And you do so by structuring your day.<br />
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You dedicate a certain amount of time and/or effort, and you push aside anything that tries to get in the way. Thus: Butt in chair.<br />
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If you put your butt in the chair to write, you will, eventually, write. There are plenty of tools to help you, like the Nano perennial favorite: <a href="http://writeordie.com/">Write or Die</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.literatureandlatte.com/">Scrivener</a>, too, offers a full-screen version to reduce distractions.<br />
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No, these people don't pay me to put in these testimonials: they are based on experience and word-of-mouth. I know they work because I use them (Scrivener), or I know a million people who swear by them (Write or die).<br />
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The point is, if you put your butt in chair, you will write. And if you write, you will get better at writing. And when you get better at writing, you make all of us happy.<br />
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Make me happy: Put your butt in your chair.<br />
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Do you have any tools or practices to make yourself write? Comment and share them with us!Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-49286658784583717482013-08-30T11:24:00.002-07:002013-08-30T11:24:56.116-07:00Ideas Spring When There's No Time to Write Them.I know I'm not the only one frustrated by this: You are in the middle of six <i>hundred</i> projects, and suddenly an idea for a new work just pops into your head.<br />
<br />
It just happened again to me this morning. But I'm <i>busy.</i> In fact, I'm busy because four other projects popped up just like it, as insistent as this one, and wouldn't shut up until I started them.<br />
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But I haven't <i>finished</i> any of them!<br />
<br />
Begone! I say.<br />
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And then I run after it, screaming, "No, don't begone! Come back! I didn't mean it. I promise to be a good writer. I promise to keep you and coddle you and even start you. But don't leave me!"<br />
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Because, of course, the opposite problem is worse: having no projects going on, but also no ideas for any projects.<br />
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So I'm asking my readers: What do you do when you have a project that won't leave you alone while you are busy with a prior project?<br />
<br />
I was thinking of building a database. In fact, I have one I'm still building (another project) that I'm going to offer for free on this blog, for Outlining a fiction project, tracking submissions, etc. In fact, I have an idea module in this database, but it is more for generating work out of cast-off idea fragments, like, "I want to write a story about a blue person!"<br />
<br />
This idea isn't like that. This idea has characters, a plot, and a whole lot of tantalizing mystery. This one has ex-lovers and the end of the world. I have a old failed Nanowrimo that was about the end of the world, so I might throw this into that, and see if sparks fly.<br />
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So, that brings me back: What do <i style="font-weight: bold;">you</i> do when you have a story that won't get off your leg?Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-80686727334813343912013-07-15T05:31:00.002-07:002013-07-15T05:31:47.311-07:00The beginning of NewToday is the day after my 33rd birthday. "Talking Back" is wrapped up, finished, now in book form and available on my <a href="http://jnrwriting.blogspot.com/p/novel-excerpts.html">Novels</a> page.<br />
<br />
And now this blog becomes something different, something new.<br />
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My existential crisis is far from over, and one of the things I learned is that I cannot wait for conditions to be right to do things that I love: spending time with my children, cuddling with my husband, writing. As hard as it is to balance real-life/work-life/second career, this is what I must do.<br />
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I must fight for every day.<br />
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So, as this blog transforms from an online diary to an actual writing function, the diary portion will move to my <a href="http://eudaimoniaproject.blogspot.com/">Eudaimonia Project</a>, and the writing site will become about. . .writing.<br />
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About the tips I find useful on the internet as I continue to learn more and more about a subject I care about deeply.<br />
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Now, on to new things, now that the old things have been completed. . .Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-83095655761003833472013-07-15T05:00:00.000-07:002013-07-15T05:00:01.292-07:00The End<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1997-Thurs, April 28 (Night)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here I am, just back from 5 days on 3 East after overdosing on Mon. night (last week). Nobody found me until Wed night (Don’t tell me I don’t mean a lot to my family) Anyway, 911 got called. I got taken to Penrose Main ER (don’t remember this) I do remember drinking 2 glasses of activated charcoal. Then I was at 3 East (don’t remember that, either) Got fired Thurs. morning (I guess it wouldn’t do too much good to tell an unconscious person you were firing them..<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are a few more entries, 1 in 1997 and 3 in 1998, but not many. An undated slip of paper, from sometime in 1997, is printed with hot-air balloons. She says she needs to blow off some hot air. At the end of the entry, she says her therapist wanted her to promise her (the therapist) and me that she’d never try to kill herself again. She promised her therapist, but couldn’t promise me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At least two more times my mother went into the hospital. I know there were more attempts; she told me about them when she was compromised, perhaps confession-prone, before she died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And when I came home from work that day, to her white and gray and cool (too fast, far too fast, like she had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">been dying</i> before she actually died), I told myself she did not kill herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She did not kill herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She wasn’t taking her pain meds (I had them, anyway). She was making plans for the future. She was eating and drinking OK. Maybe she skipped her insulin or shot up with too much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a possibility.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And all of the years and years—almost 20—from the first time she tried to kill herself and now, I waited and waited –and always received—the call that she had tried again, or had gone into the hospital for trying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the Monday before she passed, I had to “rescue” her from conditions eerily similar to the ones in this entry: she was in bed for days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back then, I was so angry with her that even though I knew she was in bed for days, I went to work Wednesday anyway after school. Mom’s friend called me at work and told me she had called 911 because of the smell in Mom’s room and because the door was locked. I made arrangements to stay with a friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That was when DSS wanted to take me away from her, and send me with my abusive father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I told them I’d run and they backed off. I had my own car, a job, a place to live. I was OK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I was never OK.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was always waiting for that call.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For three months after she died, I waited for the call. The call from the Coroner saying she had killed herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But she didn’t. Her death was natural.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mom,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You didn’t kill yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t tell you how much of a relief it is. I can’t describe what it was like, first knowing you couldn’t hold your suicide over us anymore. I was—and continue to be—devastated by losing<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you. You were my friend as well as my Mom. Someone I could always talk to, once we got through the emotional fallout of your suicide career. But I am relieved to be out of one kind of pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am glad you didn’t kill yourself, that you went out on a high note. That you were finally planning things you wanted to do in the future. That you had killed the woman in this journal by confronting some of your fears. I remember the day I visited<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you, and you came out of your bedroom crying. “Was I bad mother?” you asked me, and my heart broke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t answer that. Only you can answer that. I know I love my Mom, even now. I know she had real problems. We all do. I spent so many years angry at her. But everything I love about myself comes from her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My creativity, humor, intelligence, kindness. Even some of my weaknesses and strengths, they all come from her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And her battles prevented some of my battles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m ready to let it go, Mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your family does care about you, and you do mean a lot. You did then, you do now, you did in between. I have always loved you, like you always loved me, even when you thought I was a burden, even when you were too sick and selfish to see how much pain I was in, or what your actions did to me. If you would have been able to see me, you would have cared. If I had been able to see some of this back then, I might have been at least a companion in your darkness. I could have said, “Hey, Mom, you sure sound like a molestation survivor like me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our secrets are our pain. I think you knew this, and that’s why you were so adamant I read these journals when you died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">No more secrets. No more waiting for life to start. I hear you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-90901041056431998602013-07-12T06:24:00.000-07:002013-07-12T06:24:00.074-07:00Peak Experiences<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was a portion of my Mom’s journal I skipped over as irrelevant, but since yesterday’s post, I think I need the break. I need to remember what I loved about my Mother, how she was this beautiful person. So I’ve included in here her response to a workbook assignment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dancing as a Peak Experience:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After I had been dancing for about 3 to 4 years I suddenly figured out (physically) how to twirl. At first I did part of a twirl (without thinking) and then found I could not will it to happen nor could I intellectually figure out who to place my feet to make it happen again. It began to happen more often but still I didn’t know how to make it happen. I just had to let it happen and learn through my body and not my mind. Finally I did a complete twirl (my body had learned on its own). I felt exhilarated, wonderful, light as a feather, graceful, beautiful, enchanted. I felt like a queen. I felt vindicated also because I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wasn’t</i> clumsy at this. I had become a dancer!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Skiing as a Peak Experience<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I got into skiing to please my husband. I always felt clumsy doing physical things. I don’t have good balance and my legs are crooked. After we had been skiing a while (about 3 years) I was beginning to really like the sensation of it. One day we went to a ski resort in Michigan-Schuss Mountain. It was like a little Swiss village. There was one run on the side which was a chute- about 25’ wide. I was scared at first and just skied the middle. I started going faster and faster (Rocket<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>runs). As I went faster I realized I could ski up the face of the sides and then swoop down into the chute and up the other side. It was magnificent. I could go fast like a racer and then let my speed take me uphill onto the side where I would slow down and stop gently as a butterfly. Then I could swoop down, go fast and then up the upper side. I felt free, weightless, excited (but not scared). I felt like I was a bird flying. At the end I would squat down and race through the bottom of the chute, letting my skis chatter across the bumps and my knees taking the shocks like a racer. I felt transported. I felt confident, beautiful and proud.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jumping down Sand Dunes as a Peak Experience:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Roan and I went to the Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes in Michigan. We climbed up to the top and decided to run down. We realized it was so steep that we could literally jump out and land about 15 feet down. I was scared at first but then got more confident. I started taking giant leaps and hollering “Moon man, Moon man” because I felt weightless and like the men on the moon could cover a big distance with one hop. I began to look forward to plunging over the edge. I felt no fear—only great exhilaration and fun. I felt like an athlete—not clumsy but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">daring.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Walking down the Aisle at my Wedding as a Peak Experience:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I felt radiant, happy and confident as I walked down the aisle. I felt beautiful and full of energy. I thought—this is exactly right. I felt like a princess. I felt full of love for myself and others. I was eager and happy. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seeing my babies as a Peak Experience:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It had taken 7 years before Annie was born. I had a C-section after 2 ½ days of labor. When I woke up I wanted to see her. She was so beautiful—long fingers, a little hair that glinted bright red in the sun. A little rosebud mouth and tiny nose. Blue eyes. I felt awed I felt happy and ex cited and full of energy. I felt complete as a mother. I felt proud and jubilant. When Jenni was born I was awake. As they lifter her out of she was a grayish lavender color. As she began to cry she turned pink right before my eyes. I could see she was healthy. She was a beautiful peach color. She waved her arms and legs. I was enchanted, delighted—so happy. It was so awesome to see her “born”. They put a little hat on her and later brought her to me in the recovery room to nurse. She nursed beautifully right from the beginning. I felt so proud and again so complete as a mother!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Snorkeling as a Peak Experience:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We went to Hawaii and wanted to snorkel to see the beautiful fish on the coral reefs. I had almost drowned as a child so it was hard for me to put my face in the water and just breathe through the snorkel tube. I finally learned to breathe out as I put my face in the water and then the next breath was no problem. I always had that fear when I started. We went to a famous beach. We had green peas which the fish love. I relaxed and began to feed the fish. It was great~ they would come right up and look in your mask. It was like being a fish! I could swim in the middle of a school of fish. I felt joyful, exhilarated, released from being human, free. I felt sleek and silky and magnificent. I was happy, Excited.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mom,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I miss this part of you. This part that would be daring. White-water rafting, roller-coasters, laughing and delighted like a child. This is who and how you were meant to be: smiling, exhilarated, triumphant. It’s hard, when I see you at your lowest, your most beaten, to remember you on your best days. But you did have best days. You laughed and touched people’s hearts. You were kind and funny and sweet. You cared about people—all people—and they felt it. I remember<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you recruiting me to make cards and decorations for the nursing home residents, because their families often didn’t. Not too many people do that, Mom, but you did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember the feeling of your hugs best of all. You scratching my head when it was in your lap. Ralph does that for me now, but I think of you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember.</span></div>
Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740344366320319460.post-57375590304468589692013-07-11T08:15:00.000-07:002013-07-11T14:24:18.853-07:00Hospitalization--AgainYou have a lot of good entries, where you are feeling OK, getting involved, doing better.<br />
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Until April 20, 1996.<br />
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<strong>April 20th (I think)</strong><br />
<strong>This last 2 weeks have been hard. On Monday, April 8th, I called Scott and asked for Ron--He said he didn't know if he'd be back. I asked him if Ron was still living there--he said no and he had a phone #, did I want it? I said no. I cried that night but mostly I felt numb an dmy mind wanted to scream no, oh no! Tues. morning I tried to get my mind on work but then at noon I was talking to Edwina and Cathy. I asked them if I should try to know who this woman was or if I was better off not knowing. I started to cry and then I left to go to St. Francis [Hospital to work] but couldn't quit crying. I drove around and tried to stop but couldn't. I wanted to get on the highway and keep running. I went to Lydia's and and sobbed & sobbed. I didn't go back to work or call. I know G. called while I was at Lydia's. When I got home I cried more. I started throwing up, I called G. and she took me to the Emergency Room (1st I called the 24-hr line but no one called back). They gave me a shot to help me stop throwing up. I slept until we went to St. Francis [Mental ward]. I wanted to go there to be safe.</strong><br />
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<strong>Sun May 5th</strong><br />
<strong>I did feel safe at St. Francis because it was a locked ward and no one could get in unless I OK'd it at the front desk. They took away belts, shoelaces, pens and pencils-anything we could use to hurt people with (or hurt ourselves with) I felt a strong urge to kill myself or kill Ron and then myself. At the same time I didn't want to hurt myself or Ron. The guy seemed disgusted by me--he said Biodyne had already seen me for a year and here I was in the hospital again. I got really mad at him and drew pictures of him lecturing me.</strong><br />
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<strong>I got out of St. Fancis 1 1/2 days later. . .I just can't get any interest going in the future. I know this is not healthy. I still just want out--away from the pain of life.</strong><br />
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I don't even remember this. This one, in the line of hospitalizations and attempts, didn't even make my radar. Jennifer Roushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02184342005475887375noreply@blogger.com0