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Slow Cooker
I have not regained any enthusiasm for writing since my last post. Muggy weather blahs? I think what I really need is a nice long run to clear my head and get some good fresh air in my lungs. The problem with this is that I do not run and I’m severely out of shape. Anyway, I’m going to attempt to write something, even if it is only a paragraph and post it tomorrow for Fiction Friday. Technically, I need to write at least two paragraphs – one for last week, too.
I am not joking about needing some good vigorous exercise. I need it. I need it bad. So, I vow to take a walk tomorrow, even if it is for only 10 minutes. I need to get my juices circulating. That’s all there is to it. An exercised body will lead to a more exercised brain.
I have finished The Kite Runner and it was simply amazing. It has been a long time that the ending of a book brought tears to my eyes. I need to give it some more thought before I write my formal review. I will simply say that Judi picked a gem for me.
For those of you who might be interested, don’t forget that the Literate Housewives Book Club officially begins on July 1st. If you would like to read Perfect Match by Jodi Picoult with us and post your own reviews, comments, questions, or impressions, send me an email and I’ll set you up. You need only have a WordPress account.
Postponed – Fiction Friday Installment
I am feeling particularly unmotivated today. I didn’t even think about it last night. I know that it is Fiction Friday, but I have nothing at this point. What I have learned is not to leave the writing until Thursday night. I will post my Fiction Friday for this week at some point this weekend.
Along those lines, I haven’t gotten much reading done this week, either. No, Judi, it’s not because I want to make you wait anxiously at your mailbox for as long as possible. I guess it’s been a combination of things. I live 700 from home. Much of the time, it keeps me out of any drama that might ensue. At other times, I get hit with hot magma from a family drama that’s been brewing for a long time. I’m not sure if it would have been better to know all along or not.
On Sunday I found out that a relative of mine has been in prison for about a month in a county jail for a fourth DUI on a suspended driver’s license. After having been bailed out on all previous occasions, family chose not to step in. This family member isn’t that much older than me, but I’m sure that tough love is a hard decision for parents no matter how old your child is. They have made the right decision; still, my heart breaks for M. I can’t imagine how it must feel to know that you have gotten yourself to a place like that. Alcohol has a history in my family and I’m sorry that it has affected my generation. Other than bales of hay, it’s probably the number one killer (though usually not directly) on my dad’s side of the family.
Ever since I found out, it has been on my mind. It’s hard to live so far away. My Dad told me to pray for her, and I do. Still, doesn’t that seem like a little bit of a cop out? How is that all that different from Pontius Pilot washing his hands? Then again, prayer isn’t my “thing.” I am much more of an action person. I’m definitely not a meditative person. I know that there are people who are and I’m thankful for them.
I asked my parents for M’s address and they weren’t even sure of the facility. Thank goodness for the Internet. I was able to find her within a few minutes after only one Google search. I thought about what I would want to hear if I were in her shoes. I would really be embarrassed. It’s one thing to hit rock bottom. It’s quite another to have it happen so publicly. I wrote her a note telling her mentioning an old picture where I’m nearly strangling her with a hug when she was a baby. I wish that I could do that right now. I also mentioned that I loved her and always would. We both have our own demons. Mine is food. Hers is drink. I told her that we come from strong stock and that we had everything we need to change our situations inside of us. Most of all, I told her that believe in her. We all need to hear that from time to time, no matter where we are.
We are readers. We know how powerful the written word can be. If there is someone you know who could use a little encouragement, please take the time let them know that you care. What better way could there be to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the Summer of Love?
___________
P.S. I have a confession to make. I love the word incarcerated. Every time I hear it, I can see the scene from Say Anything where Lloyd Dobler in the prison yard visiting Diane Court’s father, who is nearly spitting in his face, “I’m incarcerated, Lloyd!” Just thinking about that makes me laugh (because of the tie-back to the pen). It has been hard for me not to think or say that word this week. I hope there was someone in prison who is able to make M forget, even just for a second, where she is and laugh.
#29 ~ The Way The Crow Flies
The Way the Crow Flies by Ann-Marie MacDonald
When you sit down to read a book over 800 pages, you know that you’ve committed to a very detailed story. When you’ve challenged yourself to finish every book come hell or high water, that commitment can be very daunting. Thankfully, The Way the Crow Flies by Ann-Marie MacDonald was mainly an enjoyable read about the unintended impact secrets can have.
Much of this book is told from the perspective of Madeleine, the young child of a happily married Royal Canadian Air Force family, and her father, Jack. As the book begins, her family is relocating to the base in Centralia, the site of the accident that prevented her father from battling the Germans during World War II. She looks up to her father, Jack, as a hero. She loves for him to tell her the stories of his plane accident and how he met her mother, Mimi. Mimi is Acadian and frequently speaks to her children in French. Like many younger siblings (most typically my own), she worships her older brother Mike and would like nothing more than to be in his favor. For a little more than 100 pages, the reader gets to know the McCarthys. They are a typical nuclear family.
Through a connection with his beloved flight instructor and mentor, Simon, Jack becomes involved in a covert mission to move a rocket scientist who has defected from the Soviet Union into the United States. Jack’s mission is to take care of him while he’s located in London, Ontario, waiting for an American soldier to take him over the border. To his knowledge, Jack is the only person in Ontario aware of what is happening. Although he feels guilty about keeping this mission secret from his Commanding Officer, the young American officer who does not know why his family has been stationed in Centralia, and his beloved wife. In the beginning, his little white lies are easy enough to conceal and he enjoys being “in the know.”
Madeleine enters grade four about a month after the move. She’s made two good friends, Auriel and Lisa, made contact with an unconventional family living across the street, has come to dislike a pushy girl named Marjorie, and dislikes her teacher, Mr. March. For the first few weeks of school, her life is what could be expected of a fourth grader. When her teacher begins making her stay after school to do backbends in front of his chair, the entire book picks up and becomes difficult to put down. Madeleine’s happy childhood is over. She is ashamed of what he does to her and no longer feels worthy of her parents, most especially her father. When Mimi senses something isn’t right, Jack takes over and misses the signals that Madeleine is fighting so hard to hide. As a reader, your heart breaks for her and for all of the girls forced to stay “after three.”
Madeleine’s despair eventually leads to a habit of smelling her fingers. She is sure that everyone can smell the disgusting things she’s experienced. On Halloween, Madeleine takes her emotions out by soaping Mr. March’s classroom windows and debarking a tree with her father’s golf club. Her conscience gets the best of her and it is her confessions to Mr. March and the principal that save her from having to stay after school any longer. In addition, she has become friends with Colleen, the oldest daughter of the non-military neighbors across the street. Colleen is a rough and tumble older girl. Eventually, she makes Madeleine her blood sister.
All of this would have been a happy thing for her, except that he chooses the daughter of the American officer to replace Madeleine in the “exercise” group. Claire is a nice girl and Madeleine cannot bare the thought of sparing herself for this to happen. She finds away to protect Claire, but her experience in the “exercise” group with Marjorie and Grace, the two class misfits, has set into motion a string of events that could not be stopped.
After Claire is murdered and Colleen’s brother is implicated, Madeleine’s family loses its shine. At the same time, Jack’s entanglements with the defecting scientist began to interrupt his work and home life. He is forced to choose between being the honest person he has prided himself with being, his family, and his closest friend in Centralia or his covert position and relationship with Simon. His decision changes his future and that of each member of his family. In fact, all of the families that Madeleine has come to know in Centralia make life changing decisions after the murder. Although it is believed that the murderer has been captured, everyone who was due to transfer does so happily. It was as if this mass exodus was a predictor of the eventual dissolution of the Royal Canadian Air Force itself.
As an adult, Madeleine has to come to terms with the abuse she experienced and the unsolved murder of her childhood. Her parents, while still married, have grown apart. Jack spends much of his time watching television while Mimi gets a job and loses herself in volunteer work. The mother and daughter are no longer close. For me, the book slows down at this point. It is interesting to learn of Madeleine’s career and her adult relationships, but the lead up to the conclusion is long and tedious. As many things are not a secret to the reader, the build up of Madeleine’s therapy sessions is anticlimactic.
This book would have been much improved if the first 100 pages were shorted 75 of the last 150 pages were somehow condensed. Also, there is a lead in to many sections that talks about the crows, and what they saw of the murder victim that took me out of the story. Their intended purpose was lost on me. Still, I enjoyed this book and looked forward to learning the fate of all the people we met in Centralia. Unless you’re dying to read a long book, I would suggest waiting for the movie. It ought to be really good.
Fiction Friday #3 Crystal Lake Bit 2
Fiction Friday is a challenge my good friend Mark made to himself to remind him of how much he enjoys writing. Dreal joined him in this challenge and so have I. I jumped in two weeks ago. If you would like a fun way to keep yourself writing, just let Mark, Dreal, or I know. We’ll link to you so we can all be inspired by each other’s work. Otherwise, please read what we’ve been writing. We’d love to hear what you think.
This is the second bit of what I’m entitling Crystal Lake. It does not pick up where my first entry left off and it’s in a completely different voice. It will eventually lead up to the first bit. I hope that the change in voice will not be confusing. I’m not sure which voice, if either, will change once the story lines meet. Once again, we’ll see. Here goes:
The wind was furious, even for October, and it howled against the weather worn frame of our farmhouse. You might suspect that this worn old place is spooked, but those noises and shakes are as familiar to me as my dog Schroeder’s nose. I was brought to this house before I was a week old so I know that it can rattle and jar like it’s riding a tornado, but it’s perfectly safe. It wasn’t until I heard something unfamiliar and faint that I looked up from my studies.
Rubber soled shoes pounded across the scalloped roof. Their destination was my brother’s room in the attic, so I decided to climb the stairs. Sure enough, I crouched down on the shadowy landing just in time to find him opening the window. I just about finished planning my lecture to him about using the door when someone grabbed Kurt’s shoulder and used it to ease into the room. It seemed to take Amber forever to catch her footing, but as soon as she did, she stroked the front of his jeans. He grabbed a hunk of her blue-black hair in his hand and yanked her head back so that she was looking up to him.
“I’ll thank ya later for what ya did, Babe. Anyway you’d like. Everyway you’d like.” They’ve taken to sleepovers up here, supposedly on the sly. I’m not sure if Dad knows how often or not. I backed against the wall and held my breath in fear of being discovered, but most to avoid the foul stench of a cloud I imagined floating across the attic toward me, not unlike the great fog of death as it made its way through Egypt. Before, Kurt would have known what I was thinking. He would have puffed up his chest and yelled, “Pharaoh, let my people go!”
Kurt sneered down at her and pulled her hair just a little more. “It’s a good thing we’ve got all night. You’re gonna need every last second.”
Dad should have bolted the window shut after the first time he fought with Kurt about pulling these kinds of stunts. On top of that, I can’t fathom why I can’t have the room myself. Right inside the west slope would be the perfect cradle for my bed. In the middle, where the ceiling was high, I could make enough bookshelves to harbor my entire collection. The huge window faced east so it would be a necessity for my reading bench to sit right underneath it. I wouldn’t need lamps to read until supper and I’d keep it just as pretty as Momma has kept the living room. For pity’s sake, Kurt has everything flopped all over the place and his decorating job, if you could call it that, is unsatisfactory. What was so attractive about bloody rock bands and gothic creatures? As it is, my room is too small for my needs. Just think of all the used library posters I could frame and mount to the walls! I know Mrs. Holston would give them to me. Then you could barely tell that the attic wasn’t finished. I don’t think that Kurt’s friends even know how to read.
Kurt didn’t even look away from her when he yelled, “Hey Drew… Jase… All’s clear!” Still, his eyes were glazed, not twinkling the way they were when he first told me about her. He curled his lips and sucked on her face while haphazardly trying to clear his old hunting equipment and girlie magazines away from the window. He probably hoped his two stooges wouldn’t trample them.
Amber didn’t seem too concerned about his divided attention, but I was. I wanted to jump out from the darkness and make him look at me. I wanted to slap him, make my brother come back to me. When we were kids he never lost at hide and seek because he had this uncanny ability to feel me when I was around. He even could tell when I was walking the halls at school instead of sitting in the classroom. Now, I could be standing right in front of him and he wouldn’t see me there any better than Helen Keller could.
I miss our wonderful talks. Fall used to be the best. We would set the Franklin stove to fire and cook marshmallows and watch cheesy late night movies. We could share everything. To this day he is the only one who knows that Chucky reached under my shirt and pinched my titties when I was twelve. Kurt beat him up pretty badly after that. I still haven’t found anyone brave enough to be my boyfriend.
Kurt was thoughtful, too. It wasn’t even that long ago. On my birthday last September, he jumped up on the picnic table at Blain Park, pointed at me, started to dance dramatically, and started singing “You are fifteen going on sixteen…” If he weren’t my brother, I don’t know how I would have reacted. I just beamed and looked back and forth between him and Daddy. I think I even saw a tear in Daddy’s eye when he applauded Kurt’s performance.
Everything changed that Halloween when Amber, that wicked leech, took an interest in Kurt. It wasn’t long before he quit school and started making money. I’ve never figured out how. If it weren’t for her, he never would have demanded that Dad clean out all of Momma and Granny’s treasures so that he could make the attic “his palace.” He figured that since he had to start paying rent to live in his own home, he was entitled to as much. It’s a good thing Schroeder’s mine. She’d have gotten rid of him if he was Kurt’s dog. She’s ruined the rest of our happiness.
Dad should have kicked him out. I’ll never forget how he and Gramps kept sniffling as they moved all of those memories out of the dust and into the barn. I kept the special trinkets, like their wedding shoes, correspondences, and books in my room. Kurt couldn’t have concerned himself less. In fact, he took Amber to an all day horror film festival in Alma and didn’t lift a finger. The next day Dad told him to start looking for a place of his own; but, Kurt said that he had to be saving his money to order a ring for Amber out of the JC Penney catalog.
Things really got rough in November when Kurt first brought Jason and Drew home. It didn’t take Dad long to decide that those two meant trouble. They’d both seen jail before and I don’t mean juvenile detention either. Frankly, they made the hair on my arms pimple up faster than a spider would. Jason’s more than chubby but he’d at least look better if he had more than razor sharp stubble on the top of his head. I suppose he figures that gargantuan tattoos make up for hair. And he doesn’t dress any better than old Mr. Martin, the bum who used to be Dad’s football coach. Drew’s no better. They couldn’t find a tower tall enough to keep him away from Rapunzel. He’s 6′11″ or close to it. Stupid, though. Kurt kept telling him not to stand up straight but the fool went on beaning his head against the solid attic beams, one right after the other.
After Jason and Drew finally thudded into the room, Kurt’s kisses left Amber’s lips and started exploring Mexican territory, if you know what I mean. I knew well enough where this was headed. My room was unfortunately situated right under the usual location of his bed; but, I had no idea that he grabbed her like that in front of other people. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum stuffed their hands in their pockets and just stood there with grins on their faces. Amber peeled herself away and tripped over to the stereo. When she turn it on it nearly blew the speakers. The hair in my ears started to tickle and the floors were nearly vibrating.
I scampered down the stairs. It wasn’t until I got back into the kitchen that I was far enough away to distinguish the singer’s voice from the drumbeat. I shook my head and let my brown hair cover my entire head. It was too fine to block anything out. I wish I could stay at Gramps’ place tonight, but I don’t want to leave Kurt alone when Dad got home from work. It didn’t appear as though Kurt’s little party was going to be over by then. I think he’s finally going to lose it tonight and someone’s got to keep reasonable.
It wasn’t until then that I realized this was Friday night. Bowling night. Kurt’s smart, you see, but not as clever as me. Dad is always out late Friday night. However, I not only have the number for the alley but I know something my brother doesn’t. Gramps is coming over tonight so that he and Dad can get an early start to see Granny tomorrow. He wasn’t going to be any happier about what was going on than Dad and he’s no where near as soft. He won’t hesitate to take all of those boys down a peg or two. I had a feeling I would remember this night for a long time to come.
Literate Housewives Unite!
I know that I am not the only person (housewife or not) who loves to read. As much as I enjoy reading for my own pleasure, it would be nice to be able to talk about books with others. I know I’m not alone in that, either. There are book clubs just about everywhere. I just haven’t been able to find one to suite me in my area. Without any other alternatives, I’m going to create my own. I can’t take complete credit for the inspiration. It came up during a phone conversation I had with my best friend, Trista. She lamented that when I post what I’m currently reading that she doesn’t even have time to buy the book before I’m finished with it. We selected a book and agreed to read sections at a time so that we can discuss it. There are 700 miles of road between us. If we can do it, why shouldn’t other people join us? If you would like to read and discuss books with Trista, and other readers, I’m inviting you to join the group:
The Literate Housewives Book Club
Our first selection is Perfect Match by Jodi Picoult. For more information, check out the new blog. It’s still a work in progress, but I plan on having it completed by the time we begin our first book.
God Bless the Tigers
I got a call from my brother tonight. He wanted to tell me about Justin Verlander and his no-hitter against the Brewers – the first no-hitter for the Tigers in almost 24 years. It was the first ever at Comerica Park. Congratulations, Justin! Go Tigers!
Just hearing about Justin Verlander’s game tonight brought me back to the spring of 84. Jack Morris was the last Tiger to pitch a no hitter. My parents made me go to bed before the game was over because it was a school night. Still, I just had to watch the entire game to see what would happen. Even if Morris hadn’t pitched a no hitter that night, I couldn’t very well stop watching the in sixth inning. Pitching with that near perfection for that long is an achievement in and of itself. Thankfully I slept in the basement. Thankfully there was a television in the basement. Thankfully I had no qualms breaking the rules when I didn’t think I would be caught.
I stealthily turned on the TV downstairs and had the volume set really low. I pressed my ear close to the speaker so that I could hear the game being called by the great Ernie Harwell. Let me tell you, the combo of such a great game and such a great announcer was heaven to that 12-year-old girl who was in love with that team. I can’t believe I didn’t get some kind of brain damage for holding my breath so much. I felt jubilant when he finally finished off the White Sox. I was jumping up and down and screaming at the top of my lungs. I don’t remember getting caught, but it’s possible that if they knew I was up that they knew why. It was such an incredible game.
What an awesome achievement. I can’t imagine what it was like for those men to walk out on the mound in the 9th inning to such applause and excitement. I don’t think my stomach could handle anything more than just being a spectator. Do you think that members of the opposing team just give in? Could anyone really have the heart to try very hard to break a no-hitter in the 8th or 9th inning?
I wish I could have watched tonight’s game, but at least I’ve been able to watch one in my lifetime. The fear of being caught by my parents probably even added to the pleasure (I learned that at an early age 
). Maybe I’ll get to watch one with Emma and Allison 24 years from now if we’re all not too busy reading a good book…
The Summer of Love Turns 40
I was reading the Life section of USA Today last week Friday and there was an article about the summer of 1967, its impact, and how it is being celebrated in San Francisco as we speak. I don’t have much of an interest in the hippie movement or to the Summer of Love. As much as I love to camp, you’ll never find me in a commune or eating an entirely organic diet. I’m not big into poetry, psychedelic drugs, or psychedelic music. I guess you had to be there. Half of me wasn’t even a mature egg cell until 1971. I missed that train.
This is not to say that the generation involved with the late 1960s hasn’t had an impact on my life. A great many of my professors could very well have lived in the middle of Haight-Ashbury. My first adviser at Grand Valley State University was a Canadian who wished he was an American hippie. He went without shoes whenever possible. Cool, right? Nope. Who really needs an adviser who, during our first meeting, provided me “support” by offering to help me apply for food stamps? Perhaps he was trying to use some weird form of psychology on me and it may have worked. The very next day I switched my major from poly-sci to English.
Overall, their influences were positive. I count reading and enjoying Ulysses as one of the great accomplishments in my life. I would never have had the awesome experience I had with James Joyce without Dr. Susan Swartzlander. I don’t think that an older professor could have been as passionate about it the way that she was. I can’t tell you how sophisticated I felt to be invited to her home to eat hors devours and watch The Dead. She will always be my favorite professor. No one ever made me want to learn the way she did.
My only personal experience with the Summer of Love came about because of one of my English professors. I hate to admit that I cannot remember his name, but he made us read Howl by Allen Ginsberg. I can honestly say that I had never in my life read anything quite like that. To a young, inexperienced Catholic girl from the Midwest, he was simply scandalous. Reading his poetry made me feel uncomfortable. I can’t say that I enjoyed it, but I was drawn to its taboo much like a moth to the flame. During the following semester, I learned that he was giving reading at the Fountain Street Church. I brought with my sister, Donielle, saying that it would be a cultural experience for her. Really, I just didn’t dare go by myself. It was incredible. During those 90 minutes or so, his writing and his world came alive. It is the only time in my life that I ever enjoyed poetry. More than that, I got lost inside of it. I doubt that I’ll ever have such an experience with poetry again. What I experienced was Ginsberg’s writing within his sphere. It was expressed through his charisma, persona, and stage presence. There will never be another Allen Ginsberg. I am so happy to have been in that church with him. My only regret is that I didn’t have the courage to walk up to him after the reading and ask him to sign my copy of Howl.
In celebration of this 40th anniversary summer, I’ll call Donielle and reminisce about that experience that we shared. It’s one of my favorite memories with her. Then, I think I’ll reread Howl while drinking an adult beverage with The Doors playing in the background. I still have the unsigned copy that I slipped into my warm winter coat that frigid February night. Here’s to you, Allen Ginsberg. I hope that you are now enjoying one eternal and warm summer of love.
Middle Childhood Reading Memories
Our local library was a little over a mile away from our house and the back roads route made it pretty easy to ride our bikes there during the summer. I looked forward to the summer book contest every year. I was a bookworm as a child. I could, and often did, spend days continuously reading with the exception of eating and taking care of hygiene. Still, I never won the top prize. There was one boy who read books of similar lengths who always read a dozen or so than I did. I suppose that was for the best, though. It’s always good to know that there is someone out there who pushes the limits of sanity when it comes to any hobby, job, etc. It makes you all the more normal and all the less obsessed.
Most importantly to me, I didn’t win, because I refused to “cheat.” There were many kids who read those Choose Your Own Adventure books and counted each and every one of them. Those were the kids who ended up winning. Taking a 30 page book and reading only a third to a half of it did not live up to the personal challenge implied by the contest. I made sure to read only what I considered substantial books. At that time, anything written by Laura Ingalls Wilder, Louisa May Alcott, or any other author whose stories lasted more than 100 pages counted. Anything or anyone less did not. So, even when evil girls like Pam or Lisa were announced as the winner at the summer end party, I held my head up high. I looked at their folders and knew that their summer of reading (assuming they even read those kiddy books) did not live up to mine. Not by a long shot.
This “the longer the better” attitude toward reading has carried on all the way to this day. For example, when I had to read a book of the Old Testament for Confirmation, I chose Isaiah, not Genesis or Ruth. Even within my own 52 Books or Bust challenge, I don’t consider books as “counting.” Although I enjoyed Janet Evanovich’s One for the Money, it felt wrong to me to consider that within my yearly tally. I did end up adding it because it was something out of my normal choices. I then read book Two and Three. I did not count those. That would be cheating.
I was surfing last night and found a reference to a book I loved very dearly at that age: A Girl of the Limberlost, written by Gene Stratton-Porter. Just seeing the title sent me back to summertime where I would read under the stairs in the basement where it was cool and I felt like I was in my own world. I thought that this is what it felt like to be an adult on your own. Those memories are glorious and precious. Oddly enough, I have no actual recollection of the book itself. Just the way it felt to be reading it. I know for certain that I read it more than once. I enjoyed it nearly as much as the Little Women and Little House on the Prairie series. So why is it that I can vividly see the cover of the book I read but not its contents? Does the “if it was important you would remember it” philosophy apply? Well, I plan to find out.
Danny introduced me to a site that provides free PDF and mp3 file downloads available for books or other documents that are in the public domain or when the responsible party grants permission to do so. A Girl of the Limberlost is available in mp3 format and I intend to listen to it. Certainly, I could read it, but I have precious little time to read and, as this book is meant for children and young adults, it would feel like cheating for me to read it and review it for this project. So, I’ll download it to my mp3 player and listen to it while I take walks. It will be fun to do that I think. Maybe it will feel like having someone read me a book.
I will review the Internet Archive in much greater detail after I am able to process everything that it makes available. I didn’t even look at the section that provides audio recordings. Danny says that there are mp3s of concerts that sound incredible. It was as overwhelming for me to look at that website as it was when I walked into the Egyptian Museum in Berlin. There is just so much you will never know.
The Moment You’ve All Been Waiting For…
The Big 3-0 – Free Book for You Contest has been held and the winner is:
Judi
Congratulations!!!!
As the Lucky Winner, Judi’s has two responsibilities:
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To reply to this post with the name and author of the book she’s selected.
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Send me an email with her full name and address so I can ship the book when I’m finished reading it. Judi, my email address is speedhaven@gmail.com.
I would like to thank all of you who entered this contest. Having you as readers makes this project all the more fun.
Fiction Friday #2 Crystal Lake Bit #1
Fiction Friday is a challenge my good friend Mark made to himself to remind him of how much he enjoys writing. Dreal joined him in this challenge and so have I. I jumped in last week. This is my second Fiction Friday installment. If you would like a fun way to keep yourself writing, just let Mark, Dreal, or I know. We’ll link to you so we can all be inspired by each other’s work. Otherwise, please read what we’ve been writing. We’d love to hear what you think.
This is the first bit of what I’m entitling Crystal Lake. I have no idea if this will take on the form of a short story or something longer. We’ll see. In the meantime, I hope that you enjoy the first installment. Here goes:
Crystal Lake
The urge to vomit was overwhelming and it pained her that she had nothing inside her belly to regurgitate. The dry heaves, when she gave in to her gut, only make it worse. It would be as if the spirits remained inside, mocking her feeble attempts to conquer everything that is so far out of her control. For they knew better than she that there were no more resources left. There was nothing left at all.
She would look a sight to any passersby, but people rarely ventured down this desolate, dusty, gravel road. The pine trees on either side of the road appeared drooped in despair over their location. She only stopped where she did because she couldn’t run any longer. Only the plentiful orange-breasted robins nesting in the branches betrayed that beauty is intended by nature. In mid-summer they knew nothing of suffering. Food was abundant and the clear Michigan sky was a glorious playground in which to be alive.
It was the sweet, expectant song of those robins that eventually calmed and settled Shannon. Still facing away from the road, she sat back on her Keds and wiped her lips with the back of one hand and then the other. She raised her head toward the heavens and took a deep breath. She breathed out slowly through her mouth before she wiped her damp cheeks on the sleeves of her coral t-shirt. The waves of nausea were no longer compelling and were finally dissipating.
Crossing her legs, Shannon leaned back on the palms of her filthy hands and continued to breath deeply. There wasn’t a breeze to speak of, but with the sun hot on her face, the hair matted to her forehead was drying quicker than expected. Shannon wondered if this is what her baby chicks used to feel after hatching. The constant 95-degree temperate must feel great after immerging from the moisture within their shell into the world of their incubator. Either way, they had it good. They had no concept of hunger, thirst, or their futures. They always have each other, and when they don’t, they don’t care.
She sat up and reached over for her olive green knapsack and dug inside for her thermos. The water was warm, but it couldn’t feel better if it were glazier cool. She took out a pack of peanut butter crackers and ate them slowly. Sticky peanut butter was not all that appetizing or easy to eat after being sick. She needed energy, though. She didn’t know for certain where she was headed, but she felt it was a ways away. She needed her strength. Now that she was as far away from the farm as she’d ever been on her own, she could walk instead of run. For all anyone knew, she could have gone anywhere. With any luck, they wouldn’t have bothered to start looking anyway.
Feeling stronger, Shannon stood up and looked around. The pine trees were grouped haphazardly on either side of the road. There were a lot of weeds poking through the gravel, except in the deeper groves the size of heavy-duty utility tires. She looked down the road as it marched straight back into the woods. She forgot her watch in the rush to get out of the house. She looked up at the sky. The sun was descending to the west. She didn’t want to be here or any further down this road when it started to get dark. There was no “Beware” sign posted, but she trusted her intuition. Nothing good or helpful was that way. She turned south and walked a quarter mile until she reached 17 Mile.
If she went West she would eventually walk right into Martiny Lake. She didn’t want to go there. That’s where Jacob, Cheyanne, and Kelly’s families spent their weekends during the summer. She wasn’t taking off on her own to accidentally run into any of them. Crystal Lake is what she would really like to see. Tonya always used to talk about taking vacations there before her family moved to Mt. Pleasant. She said that there was no place more beautiful than Crystal Lake. She’d head there. Once she got there, she knew that there would be a sign or something to help her figure out what to do next.
Now that her sweat was drying, her scalp was itchy. Shannon scratched all over hear head and then turned East on 17 Mile. She had no idea how to Crystal Lake. She only knew that Mt. Pleasant was East of Barryton. Maybe she could find Tonya and they could walk there together. She smiled and started to skip a little along the side of the road until she noticed her tummy. She slowed down and walk. Hopefully there would be a gas station or store soon, she thought. She needed a map.
Book Blogger Con
Have you heard about the 1st Annual Book Blogger Convention that will be held in NYC during the BEA? You should check it out. I know it will be a fantastic experience. Unfortunately I won't be able to attend due to family obligations, but I'll be trolling blogs for up to the minute news.
WE Magazine’s A Woman Blogger to Watch
Literate Challenges
What's in a Name? 3
Random Reading Challenge
