Name: Kathleen S. Allen
Genre: YA dark contemporary
Title: SHATTERED-REV 2
I don’t do well in crowds.
The shoving and jostling, sends me into panic mode. I should be able to get through this, no one else is panicking about their first day of high school. Old friends embrace one another, lockers bang, laughter rings out but it all fades to a distant echo as my heart speeds up and my palms sweat. Eager to get away from the crowd, I spot an open door up ahead.
Please don’t let me pass out.
The bubble of panic lodges in my throat and swells. Footsteps echo behind me. Through the door is the sweet scent of rain.
Holding my bag in front of me like a shield, I rush out. My gaze darts searching for a place to hide. The rain-soaked air cools the hot bubble. The bell rings for first hour and I breathe easier.
Welcome to the first day of high school, Zoey. Congratulations, you made it a whole ten minutes.
Careful not to get too wet, I duck under the eaves to watch the rainwater gush from the ends of the half-broken gutter pipe onto the dirt making muddy puddles at my feet. Glass panoramic windows afford me a view into the school. But if I can see in, my classmates can see out. I catch the gaze of a girl staring at me and I duck to scoot around a corner.
I jump when I encounter a boy who smiles the kind of smile I wish I could keep in my pocket. I blink, caught in its brilliance. Frozen deer-girl, blinking stupidly at this boy. His smile deepens and his bright blue eyes mesmerize me.
The overhang doesn’t afford much shelter. A sharp crack of thunder in the distance draws my attention. I don’t notice him reaching for me until he already has the strap of my leather satchel in his hand, tugging on it. I’m tempted to give it to him, all he’ll find in it is an empty wallet with the picture of a girl I like to imagine is my sister and my book of Poe poetry. Still, I’m not sure why he’d want it, so I tug back. He pulls harder, jerking me closer to him.
My gaze drifts to the ground wondering what this boy wants. Lifting my eyes to his, he smiles.
“Stay out of sight,” he says. “Or they’ll find us.” His soft, soothing voice surrounds me like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. I long to cocoon myself inside his words. My grip tightens on the strap of my bag and he finally lets go. I stagger backwards and press myself against the wall of reddened-bricks. And my heart beats so loud I’m sure he can hear it, but he gives no sign he can.
His tall, lanky frame lounges against the building. “I like the rain, too. It doesn’t rain much here so we have to enjoy it when it does.”
I press my back into the rough texture of the cool bricks and relax my hold on the strap.
The rain pummels the overhang and gathers into fat red drips at the edge. “It was night and the rain fell; and, falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood. And I stand in the morass among the tall lilies, and the rain fell upon my head-and the lilies sighed one unto the other in the solemnity of their desolation.’”
“Edgar Allan Poe,” he says. “And the red is from paint on the roof.” He inspects me as if he’s never seen a Poe-spouting girl before. “Do you write it or read it?”
“Both,” I say.
He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Instead, he runs a hand through dark curly hair too long to be considered fashionable, unless he’s in a rock band. His gaze sweeps from the top of my head to my muddy Doc Marten’s and back up again to rest on my eyes.
I blink and his grin expands. “Freshman?”
“Yes.”
“From?”
“New York.”
I’ve already shared more than I usually do. Does he know about me? Do I have a scarlet letter emblazoned on me like Hester Prynne? Yes, I’m the same girl you saw in the news, I’m that Zoey Walker. Maybe I should’ve changed my name along with my address. My hands shake more than usual as I wait for the question everyone asks: what was it like to be kidnapped and held prisoner for six months? But instead, his eyes turn back to the now-muddy parking lot. My shoulders relax.
He doesn’t know about me.
The scent of the rain seeps through my skin and I want to keep it there as a memory for future rain-starved days. His cool gaze is on me again. His intense stare rattles me and my eyes dart to the left side, but there’s only another building, another brick wall. A nook carved prison just big enough for a small goth girl. I search his face as he scrutinizes me.
“Hold still.”
He reaches out a hand to my hair. I freeze and close my eyes, anticipating the first touch of his long fingers. I shiver breathless as he swipes at the top of my hair. A finger flicks at my cheek.
“Got it,” he says. I open my eyes blurry with visions and he shows me a tiny insect. “This critter was in your hair.” He puts the bug in the grass and it skitters away grateful for a stay of execution.
“You didn't kill it.”
He steps back and leans against the wall again.“Why should I? It’s not its fault your hair got in its way---.” He smiles. “---I’m Rowan.”
He expects me to say my name but I remain silent. When you know a person’s name, you have control over them. And no one has control over me.
Not anymore.
He leans one foot on the wall. My hand aches with longing. One touch. One touch and I’ll be lost. I make a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan. His gaze is kind on mine.
“You okay?”
I try to keep it inside but I have to get out of here or I won’t be responsible for my actions. This can’t be happening again.
I promised.
He turns toward me, blocking me in. I reach out a hand wanting to feel his skin against my palm. Needing to feel it. But before I connect, the door opens. We tip our heads to the side like dogs listening for their master’s voice. A youngish teacher with black-framed glasses too big for her face peers at us from around the corner of the building.
“I thought I saw someone come out here. Back inside, both of you. The bell for first hour already rang.” Her nasal, high-pitched voice grates on my nerves.
The rain plasters her hair to her head. Her curls droop like her expression. Little does she know she’s my savior. Breathing a sigh, I nod.
Rowan shrugs. He takes his time extracting himself from his position against the building. In a leisurely stride he walks to the door. I rush past him to stand in the hallway, breathing hard to focus on calming down.
“Get to class.”
She reaches up to smooth her wet hairdo and makes a face. Her brown and white flower-print dress hangs on her frame. She pushes her too heavy glasses up with one finger. “Well, why aren’t you going?”
Neither one of us moves. She sighs and holds out a palm to me. “Schedule.”
I reach into the top of my right boot and pull out the folded piece of soggy paper and hand it to her. She holds it between two fingers as if it’s contaminated and squints at it. “Library is down the hall, Miss Walker. Find it.” She gives the schedule back and I refold it and stuff it back inside my boot.
I’m not sure if I’ve been dismissed or not. I hesitate and glance at Rowan. His crooked grin shows his amusement.
First Five Pages Writing Workshop: Jump Start Your Novel and Career
Monday, August 18, 2014
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Leun Rev 2
Name: Garrett Vander Leun
Genre: YA - Urban Fantasy
Title: MONSTER TOWN - Revision 2
Henry had thought about killing his dad before. Hell, he'd wished it on candles.
Henry picked apart a fistful of foam from the hole in his seat, watching through the windshield while his dad got his special driving outfit all sorted out.
A pink gardening hat with a brim big enough to blot out twenty suns.
Yellow plastic kitchen gloves, cinched around his wrists with hair ties.
Orange snowboarding goggles, wrenched down so tight that his pasty face screamed pink mercy all around the edges. And then there was the shirt. A vintage, loosey-goosey Hawaiian shirt just because. Because he liked the way the flora made his soul sing, just like he liked the way his leather sandals tickled his toes, just like every little thing he did seemed calculated to piss Henry off.
Henry's eyes shifted over to a green, wooden gardening stake on the work table in the garage. What would it take, two seconds to climb out and grab it? Five more to plunge it through his dad's vegetarian, vampire heart? Henry smiled. Blood would spurt all over the concrete, his dad would drop, and the wonders of his weakness would do the rest. His dad would probably gurgle out some sort of wheezy last words, too.
But I loved you, Son!
Total bullshit. It was Henry's release day - one more test to prove he was a human and then he'd get good and gone forever - and his dad hadn't said one word about it. Sometimes his dad would get so lost in his little nocturnal world of secret research at the library and his clandestine meetings at the hardware store that Henry would have to bang on the blackout chamber door and remind his dad that someone in the house still depended on real food to survive.
Anton climbed inside the car with a thermos full of the bright orange liquid the government supplied for his cravings. The entire van reeked like fish as soon as he took a sip off the top.
There was a pen inside the cup holder that could serve as a stake in a pinch. Maybe Henry could use it on their way to the hospital that night. Ram it into his dad's sternum and slap him across the face when the death rattle crept up his throat. Hey, he'd yell, stay with me! I got something to say on my last day, something for mom. This is for chasing her off when I was three, for leaving me with nothing but a faded yellow picture and half a bottle of her favorite perfume. This is for flushing it down the toilet when you caught me spraying it in my bedroom.
Anton looked at Henry. "Something on your mind?"
Henry answered with a turn of his middle finger.
Anton sighed and stabbed the key into the ignition. "You know what?"
Henry never would know 'what' because his dad loved to let an empty threat dangle. Cowardice was the lifeblood of Section 671, the reason all those minor monsters ended up between those four giant walls when The War was over. Their monster kids played the same game, too; anytime they wanted to work their vengeance against humanity out on Henry, they simply made it look like an accident.
Scratches, scrapes, scars - every single report went to the sheriff station with a box marked 'accident' and the government never thought to ask otherwise. Henry still walked with a limp from the time a centaur 'accidentally' stepped on his foot and shattered three metatarsals. Every time he shaved his head, the scar from a gnome's overthrown dirt clod left a moon-shaped circle behind his ear.
The pinky finger was the one the other kids stared at. The little feeding accident involving one of the half-shark selachs. Henry grabbed onto the nub and waited for the van's engine to start up. You could hear their van coming from blocks away, a sound like someone playing basketball with a typewriter. It was one of many things Anton was going to take care of just as soon as he was done obsessing over himself.
Anton took a sip off the top of his mug and shivered. "Well, here goes..." He held his breath while the car rolled backwards, waiting to see what bit of skin he'd forgot to cover.
"Your forearms, Anton."
"Ah-ya-ya!" Anton's exposed flesh crackled like bacon as soon as the sun hit.
"Jesus." Henry grabbed the cuffs of his dad's long-sleeve t-shirt and pulled them out from under the short-sleeved Hawaiian one. His dad's constant flirtation with death-by-stupidity was the only thing that required physical contact between the two of them.
"We're good - I'm good - everything's good." The car pummeled the neighbor's bushes and laid waste to most of their lawn before everything was finally good. Anton steered the van out on the open road and choo-choo'ed his pain through the back of his teeth. "I asked you to lay off his name."
"Who? Jesus Christ?"
His dad moaned through a wave of nausea.
"You realize Arbo messed with me every time you destroy their yard?" Their neighbors were plant elementals; they felt every green, growing thing in town like it was their own skin.
"So tell Arbo it was an accident, he'll understand."
Henry shook his head. Not even the monsters understood his dad.
He'd disbanded his gang of vampires before Henry was born and gone vegetarian shortly after that. Henry came along right about the time The War was coming to an end and his dad was the only supermonster to sit it out. In a town full of minor monsters, his dad was treated like a disease. Henry had never even seen his dad sprout a single fang or batwing despite years of begging.
It cramps up my arms, Hanky Panky!
Between that and all the Cat Stevens music, Anton was about as human as a monster could get.
Anton pushed the cassette tape in and, true to form, Peace Train came blaring down the tracks. Henry gave it about two seconds before he popped it back out.
"Don't start - it's my week, Henry."
"And it's my release day, Asshole."
His dad's face went paler than pale. It went translucent. "I didn't forget. I was thinking about it this weekend, you know." He looked at Henry. "I was going to plan something, but I was up 'till sunrise last night, doing some work and..."
"Where?"
"The library."
"Doing what? What could you have possibly been doing that made you forget about today?"
Anton's eyes bounced around the mirrors. "Work."
Henry turned out towards the window. "Awesome."
Anton sighed. "Come on, I know this is a big deal. This is a big deal." He cleared his throat. "Happy birthday."
The town outside Henry's window moved by like an endless, tattered rainbow. Yellow was the color of the weeds in the ghouls' yards, because they were too dead to care. Black was the color of the oil stains splattered in the driveways of the ghosts, because they were too immaterial to scrub it. Brown was the color of the burnt and brittle dirt in the centaur paddocks, because those proud little ponies would never be forced into running behind a fence.
Every time another color disappeared behind them, Henry told himself it was the last time he was going to have to look at it. That it was going to be the last day he lived in a world built on hand-me-down human relics.
By tomorrow, everything's going to be new, he thought.
Genre: YA - Urban Fantasy
Title: MONSTER TOWN - Revision 2
Henry had thought about killing his dad before. Hell, he'd wished it on candles.
Henry picked apart a fistful of foam from the hole in his seat, watching through the windshield while his dad got his special driving outfit all sorted out.
A pink gardening hat with a brim big enough to blot out twenty suns.
Yellow plastic kitchen gloves, cinched around his wrists with hair ties.
Orange snowboarding goggles, wrenched down so tight that his pasty face screamed pink mercy all around the edges. And then there was the shirt. A vintage, loosey-goosey Hawaiian shirt just because. Because he liked the way the flora made his soul sing, just like he liked the way his leather sandals tickled his toes, just like every little thing he did seemed calculated to piss Henry off.
Henry's eyes shifted over to a green, wooden gardening stake on the work table in the garage. What would it take, two seconds to climb out and grab it? Five more to plunge it through his dad's vegetarian, vampire heart? Henry smiled. Blood would spurt all over the concrete, his dad would drop, and the wonders of his weakness would do the rest. His dad would probably gurgle out some sort of wheezy last words, too.
But I loved you, Son!
Total bullshit. It was Henry's release day - one more test to prove he was a human and then he'd get good and gone forever - and his dad hadn't said one word about it. Sometimes his dad would get so lost in his little nocturnal world of secret research at the library and his clandestine meetings at the hardware store that Henry would have to bang on the blackout chamber door and remind his dad that someone in the house still depended on real food to survive.
Anton climbed inside the car with a thermos full of the bright orange liquid the government supplied for his cravings. The entire van reeked like fish as soon as he took a sip off the top.
There was a pen inside the cup holder that could serve as a stake in a pinch. Maybe Henry could use it on their way to the hospital that night. Ram it into his dad's sternum and slap him across the face when the death rattle crept up his throat. Hey, he'd yell, stay with me! I got something to say on my last day, something for mom. This is for chasing her off when I was three, for leaving me with nothing but a faded yellow picture and half a bottle of her favorite perfume. This is for flushing it down the toilet when you caught me spraying it in my bedroom.
Anton looked at Henry. "Something on your mind?"
Henry answered with a turn of his middle finger.
Anton sighed and stabbed the key into the ignition. "You know what?"
Henry never would know 'what' because his dad loved to let an empty threat dangle. Cowardice was the lifeblood of Section 671, the reason all those minor monsters ended up between those four giant walls when The War was over. Their monster kids played the same game, too; anytime they wanted to work their vengeance against humanity out on Henry, they simply made it look like an accident.
Scratches, scrapes, scars - every single report went to the sheriff station with a box marked 'accident' and the government never thought to ask otherwise. Henry still walked with a limp from the time a centaur 'accidentally' stepped on his foot and shattered three metatarsals. Every time he shaved his head, the scar from a gnome's overthrown dirt clod left a moon-shaped circle behind his ear.
The pinky finger was the one the other kids stared at. The little feeding accident involving one of the half-shark selachs. Henry grabbed onto the nub and waited for the van's engine to start up. You could hear their van coming from blocks away, a sound like someone playing basketball with a typewriter. It was one of many things Anton was going to take care of just as soon as he was done obsessing over himself.
Anton took a sip off the top of his mug and shivered. "Well, here goes..." He held his breath while the car rolled backwards, waiting to see what bit of skin he'd forgot to cover.
"Your forearms, Anton."
"Ah-ya-ya!" Anton's exposed flesh crackled like bacon as soon as the sun hit.
"Jesus." Henry grabbed the cuffs of his dad's long-sleeve t-shirt and pulled them out from under the short-sleeved Hawaiian one. His dad's constant flirtation with death-by-stupidity was the only thing that required physical contact between the two of them.
"We're good - I'm good - everything's good." The car pummeled the neighbor's bushes and laid waste to most of their lawn before everything was finally good. Anton steered the van out on the open road and choo-choo'ed his pain through the back of his teeth. "I asked you to lay off his name."
"Who? Jesus Christ?"
His dad moaned through a wave of nausea.
"You realize Arbo messed with me every time you destroy their yard?" Their neighbors were plant elementals; they felt every green, growing thing in town like it was their own skin.
"So tell Arbo it was an accident, he'll understand."
Henry shook his head. Not even the monsters understood his dad.
He'd disbanded his gang of vampires before Henry was born and gone vegetarian shortly after that. Henry came along right about the time The War was coming to an end and his dad was the only supermonster to sit it out. In a town full of minor monsters, his dad was treated like a disease. Henry had never even seen his dad sprout a single fang or batwing despite years of begging.
It cramps up my arms, Hanky Panky!
Between that and all the Cat Stevens music, Anton was about as human as a monster could get.
Anton pushed the cassette tape in and, true to form, Peace Train came blaring down the tracks. Henry gave it about two seconds before he popped it back out.
"Don't start - it's my week, Henry."
"And it's my release day, Asshole."
His dad's face went paler than pale. It went translucent. "I didn't forget. I was thinking about it this weekend, you know." He looked at Henry. "I was going to plan something, but I was up 'till sunrise last night, doing some work and..."
"Where?"
"The library."
"Doing what? What could you have possibly been doing that made you forget about today?"
Anton's eyes bounced around the mirrors. "Work."
Henry turned out towards the window. "Awesome."
Anton sighed. "Come on, I know this is a big deal. This is a big deal." He cleared his throat. "Happy birthday."
The town outside Henry's window moved by like an endless, tattered rainbow. Yellow was the color of the weeds in the ghouls' yards, because they were too dead to care. Black was the color of the oil stains splattered in the driveways of the ghosts, because they were too immaterial to scrub it. Brown was the color of the burnt and brittle dirt in the centaur paddocks, because those proud little ponies would never be forced into running behind a fence.
Every time another color disappeared behind them, Henry told himself it was the last time he was going to have to look at it. That it was going to be the last day he lived in a world built on hand-me-down human relics.
By tomorrow, everything's going to be new, he thought.
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Hedderly Rev 2
Name: Kate Hedderly
Genre: New Adult, Romance/Fantasy
Title: A Beautiful Lie
The gravel lot of the store was empty when Lena pulled in except for one vehicle, a truck. Not all that odd for a weekday but the CLOSED sign hanging on the door was odd. It was only midday.
From her car she saw movement through the window of the store. A man stood eye to eye with her grandfather. He ran his hand through his hair and spoke using his hands. Lena’s grandfather, George, rubbed his face with his hands several times and then shook his head from side to side.
Lena wondered why George was troubled and what could have made the customer so agitated. Her grandfather was known around town for always treating his customers with respect; he was such a patient and kind man.
Her mother, Nora, quickly came to George’s side and placed her hand on the strange man’s arm. It looked like her mother knew him but Lena didn’t recognize the customer and she was pretty sure she knew everyone her mother and granddad knew since she had lived in the small town her whole life and had spent most of her free time working at the store.
Finally, the trio walked out of view and headed to the office at the rear of the store. Well, it’s obvious I wasn’t invited to this party, Lena thought, this is so weird.
After several minutes, curiosity got the better of her. She gathered her things from the passenger seat, got out of her Jeep and headed to the front door of the building.
Not surprisingly, the door was locked. Slowly Lena pushed the key into the lock and turned gently. The door swung open easily and she was careful not to disturb the brass bell that hung above the door. She crossed to the far wall and tip-toed to the office under cover of armoires, large mirrors, bookcases, and display cabinets.
Located on the main thoroughfare between the university and the center of the sleepy little town, Hanson’s Antiques, had been around for as long as Lena could remember. The front of it resembled an old general store, which given the timeworn treasures inside, seemed appropriate.
A gothic walnut buffet sat just across from the office so Lena stood against it, still as a rock watching the scene unfold in front of her.
“I barely managed to get through it. It’s getting weaker. It won’t hold for much longer George,” the man said with a British accent. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can check my calculations again, perhaps I can strengthen it.” George shook his head and worry began to crease his face. “Did you get it? We never received word.”
Lena’s face wrinkled in confusion. Barely managed to get through it? Check his calculations? What the hell? She mouthed.
“Yes, otherwise I do not believe I would be here. It had to be the power from it that allowed me through.”
The man handed Nora a small package wrapped in burlap. She placed it on the nearest table and unwrapped the covering and let it fall to the side. Inside was a box and her hands shook as she lifted the clasp and opened the lid. Her mother let out a gasp which made Lena want to see what was inside that much more. She stood on her toes to get a better view and when that didn’t work she silently zig-zagged her way between pieces of furniture in the hopes that she could get close enough to see.
Lena wanted to make sure she found out who the man was before they left. She crept back to the front door then opened it and shut it with force to make sure it could be heard in the rear of the store. Ten seconds later the door to the office closed and the three of them walked down the middle aisle with George in the lead.
“Lena!” granddad said with a bit too much enthusiasm, “This is Mr. Garrett Wymond,” he continued politely.
“Hello Mr. Wymond. It’s nice to meet you.” Lena held out her hand.
The man just nodded his head and muttered something inaudible.
“He just brought us a very rare piece. Quite magnificent really,” George and Nora’s eyes met. “If you would, please inventory it and place it into the safe.”
“Sure,” Lena answered. The air in the room was so thick with tension that Lena’s stomach quivered.
Garrett Wymond held a brown leather cowboy hat in his hand and Lena noticed some sort of gold signet ring on his index finger. She focused on it more closely but all she could make out was a green stone surrounded by an etched pattern.
“Nora. George.“ Garrett Wymond nodded then turned to face Lena.
Immediately Lena’s body went rigid, her eyes fixed on his scarred face. A pink line ran from the middle of his forehead over the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. His reddish beard was starting to gray which made him look like a lumberjack. He smiled at her but there was something else on his face, pity. He swiftly turned and walked out the door.
“Wow. What was that all about?” Lena asked after a moment of composure.
“It was nothing Lena,” her mother answered. “He wanted to be paid for his delivery. We were trying to explain that he would receive his payment when we examined the authenticity of the piece.”
“What did he bring, the Holy Grail?” Lena eyed her mother and grandfather and walked down the middle aisle of the store to the office.
The small box sat exactly where her grandfather said it was. Lena reached for her canvas apron with the burgundy Hanson’s Antiques emblem on the front, and fastened it quickly around her waist eager to see what was in the burlap wrapped package. She hadn’t been able to get a good look from her vantage point earlier. Lena had been more than a bit surprised when her grandfather had asked her to inventory it. This seemed like a huge production for something she was going to see anyway.
The box itself looked priceless. From all of the years she had spent working at Hanson’s Antiques, Lena knew that it was made of cedar and she knew it was old. She recognized the warm amber wood and the faint sweet scent which reminded her of the attic at her house which was also filled with small antiques and other possessions. It had an intricate coat of arms carved on the lid which was attached by two thick brass hinges. The carving was hard to make out, worn down from years of wear but it was a bit more archaic than she initially thought. What she thought was a coat of arms looked more like hieroglyphics or small plain etchings. It was certainly not something she had ever seen before. It looked more like something that belonged in a museum rather than an antique store.
Lena put on her gloves and gingerly opened the ornate box. Thick purple velvet lined the inside of the wood and in the middle was a small pillow encased in the same soft material. She ran her finger along the soft material and picked up the little pillow. Her breath caught as she registered what she saw. A small gold medallion, the size of a half dollar piece, was placed securely in the middle of its resting place. It was round with what could only be described as thin delicate spokes, spanning the circumference of the circle. The spokes attached to another small circle which surrounded an emerald about the size of a dime. Immediately she thought of the ring the man was wearing.
Using her magnifying glass Lena looked at the jewel again. What she thought were tiny spindles were more of the same symbols she saw on the box.
Genre: New Adult, Romance/Fantasy
Title: A Beautiful Lie
The gravel lot of the store was empty when Lena pulled in except for one vehicle, a truck. Not all that odd for a weekday but the CLOSED sign hanging on the door was odd. It was only midday.
From her car she saw movement through the window of the store. A man stood eye to eye with her grandfather. He ran his hand through his hair and spoke using his hands. Lena’s grandfather, George, rubbed his face with his hands several times and then shook his head from side to side.
Lena wondered why George was troubled and what could have made the customer so agitated. Her grandfather was known around town for always treating his customers with respect; he was such a patient and kind man.
Her mother, Nora, quickly came to George’s side and placed her hand on the strange man’s arm. It looked like her mother knew him but Lena didn’t recognize the customer and she was pretty sure she knew everyone her mother and granddad knew since she had lived in the small town her whole life and had spent most of her free time working at the store.
Finally, the trio walked out of view and headed to the office at the rear of the store. Well, it’s obvious I wasn’t invited to this party, Lena thought, this is so weird.
After several minutes, curiosity got the better of her. She gathered her things from the passenger seat, got out of her Jeep and headed to the front door of the building.
Not surprisingly, the door was locked. Slowly Lena pushed the key into the lock and turned gently. The door swung open easily and she was careful not to disturb the brass bell that hung above the door. She crossed to the far wall and tip-toed to the office under cover of armoires, large mirrors, bookcases, and display cabinets.
Located on the main thoroughfare between the university and the center of the sleepy little town, Hanson’s Antiques, had been around for as long as Lena could remember. The front of it resembled an old general store, which given the timeworn treasures inside, seemed appropriate.
A gothic walnut buffet sat just across from the office so Lena stood against it, still as a rock watching the scene unfold in front of her.
“I barely managed to get through it. It’s getting weaker. It won’t hold for much longer George,” the man said with a British accent. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can check my calculations again, perhaps I can strengthen it.” George shook his head and worry began to crease his face. “Did you get it? We never received word.”
Lena’s face wrinkled in confusion. Barely managed to get through it? Check his calculations? What the hell? She mouthed.
“Yes, otherwise I do not believe I would be here. It had to be the power from it that allowed me through.”
The man handed Nora a small package wrapped in burlap. She placed it on the nearest table and unwrapped the covering and let it fall to the side. Inside was a box and her hands shook as she lifted the clasp and opened the lid. Her mother let out a gasp which made Lena want to see what was inside that much more. She stood on her toes to get a better view and when that didn’t work she silently zig-zagged her way between pieces of furniture in the hopes that she could get close enough to see.
Lena wanted to make sure she found out who the man was before they left. She crept back to the front door then opened it and shut it with force to make sure it could be heard in the rear of the store. Ten seconds later the door to the office closed and the three of them walked down the middle aisle with George in the lead.
“Lena!” granddad said with a bit too much enthusiasm, “This is Mr. Garrett Wymond,” he continued politely.
“Hello Mr. Wymond. It’s nice to meet you.” Lena held out her hand.
The man just nodded his head and muttered something inaudible.
“He just brought us a very rare piece. Quite magnificent really,” George and Nora’s eyes met. “If you would, please inventory it and place it into the safe.”
“Sure,” Lena answered. The air in the room was so thick with tension that Lena’s stomach quivered.
Garrett Wymond held a brown leather cowboy hat in his hand and Lena noticed some sort of gold signet ring on his index finger. She focused on it more closely but all she could make out was a green stone surrounded by an etched pattern.
“Nora. George.“ Garrett Wymond nodded then turned to face Lena.
Immediately Lena’s body went rigid, her eyes fixed on his scarred face. A pink line ran from the middle of his forehead over the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. His reddish beard was starting to gray which made him look like a lumberjack. He smiled at her but there was something else on his face, pity. He swiftly turned and walked out the door.
“Wow. What was that all about?” Lena asked after a moment of composure.
“It was nothing Lena,” her mother answered. “He wanted to be paid for his delivery. We were trying to explain that he would receive his payment when we examined the authenticity of the piece.”
“What did he bring, the Holy Grail?” Lena eyed her mother and grandfather and walked down the middle aisle of the store to the office.
The small box sat exactly where her grandfather said it was. Lena reached for her canvas apron with the burgundy Hanson’s Antiques emblem on the front, and fastened it quickly around her waist eager to see what was in the burlap wrapped package. She hadn’t been able to get a good look from her vantage point earlier. Lena had been more than a bit surprised when her grandfather had asked her to inventory it. This seemed like a huge production for something she was going to see anyway.
The box itself looked priceless. From all of the years she had spent working at Hanson’s Antiques, Lena knew that it was made of cedar and she knew it was old. She recognized the warm amber wood and the faint sweet scent which reminded her of the attic at her house which was also filled with small antiques and other possessions. It had an intricate coat of arms carved on the lid which was attached by two thick brass hinges. The carving was hard to make out, worn down from years of wear but it was a bit more archaic than she initially thought. What she thought was a coat of arms looked more like hieroglyphics or small plain etchings. It was certainly not something she had ever seen before. It looked more like something that belonged in a museum rather than an antique store.
Lena put on her gloves and gingerly opened the ornate box. Thick purple velvet lined the inside of the wood and in the middle was a small pillow encased in the same soft material. She ran her finger along the soft material and picked up the little pillow. Her breath caught as she registered what she saw. A small gold medallion, the size of a half dollar piece, was placed securely in the middle of its resting place. It was round with what could only be described as thin delicate spokes, spanning the circumference of the circle. The spokes attached to another small circle which surrounded an emerald about the size of a dime. Immediately she thought of the ring the man was wearing.
Using her magnifying glass Lena looked at the jewel again. What she thought were tiny spindles were more of the same symbols she saw on the box.
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Meehan Rev 2
Melanie Meehan
Middle Grade Fiction
Solstice- Revision 2
“I still don’t understand why we have to move now.” Katie closed her book, setting it on the floor next to her mattress. “Why can’t we stay in Connecticut until the end of the school year?”
Mom stood in the doorway with her arms folded. “I don’t have any new reasons, Katie, and I have gone over all of them with you already. Dad’s new company wants him now, the people who are renting our house want it on April 1st, and, most importantly, Nana needs us.”
“Is she that much worse than she was at Christmas?” When they had visited Nana in December, she had been redundant with her stories, but entertaining. Nana kept telling the story about how Pa was a camp counselor near the hotdog stand where she worked. He ate a lot of hotdogs that summer, always asking her out and being rejected. Nana finally said yes when he ordered a hamburger.
“Uncle David says she’s worse.” Mom crossed the room and sat down on the mattress next to Katie. “My goodness, that’s low without your bedframe.”
Movers had worked all day, packing everything except what was absolutely necessary.
“And hard,” Katie said.
“Uncle David says that Nana’s unsafe. She doesn’t get herself food and she forgets to feed Nellie. When he stopped by last week, the heat was off and Nana was on the couch wrapped in blankets.”
“Why can’t he take care of Nana until June?”
“He travels all the time.” Mom sighed. “I’ve tried to think of ways to work this out so that everyone is taken care of, but life’s not perfect in this situation, and we all have to give a bit.”
“Why can’t we just hire someone to check in on her?” It seemed to Katie that she was giving the most.
“Katie Crowe.” Mom shook her head and chortled. “Can you really imagine Nana allowing someone to check in on her? She’d never allow a stranger to do her grocery shopping. As it is, we are moving in under the pretense that we are staying temporarily until we know whether Dad likes his job.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Katie asked. “What if he hates it?”
“Sometimes, Katie, being happy is a decision we make, and we are choosing to make this situation work.”
“My room is echoing.” Katie rolled over on to her side and faced her mother. “Miss Devers taught us that sound travels in waves and bounces off of surfaces to make echoes.” A sudden tear pushed against Katie’s eye, and she rolled back toward the window. Miss Devers had given Katie a special notebook and made her promise to keep writing. Maybe her first entry would be about echos and empty spaces.
Mom lay down on the bed beside Katie and the two of them looked out the window.
“I love that the trees all look different without your bedframe.” Mom said.
Without the leaves, the trees were silhouettes against the night sky. Katie and Mom had discovered letters, animals, and other designs over the years among the branches. Mom was right, though. From a different height, the branches created a brand new kaleidoscope of pictures.
“I miss my bed.” Katie pouted in the dark.
“But you see different things from different perspectives,” Mom said. “The trees are making a whole new set of shapes and designs.
“Jenna invited me to stay with her family for the rest of the school year. She said that her mom even talked to you about it.” Katie knew that her parents had said absolutely no to the idea when Jenna’s parents had offered. She also knew that everything except her toothbrush, mattress, and outfit for tomorrow was in bags and boxes. And she knew that she belonged with her parents, her brother, and her grandmother. But she couldn’t resist asking.
“You’ve always loved visiting Nana,” Mom leaned her head against Katie’s. “You help her bake, work in the garden, build fairy houses--”
“I know that the fairies are not real, Mom. I used to believe, but I don’t anymore,” Katie said. “And you don’t want Nana to be baking anymore and the garden won’t be doing anything in Vermont until June. You’ve said yourself that Vermont is always a few steps behind and a few paces slower than the rest of the world. And the fairy houses were Pa’s thing. Nana just talks to the fairies, but it was Pa who loved to make houses with me, and he’s gone.”
Mom winced, and Katie wished that she hadn’t brought up Pa.
“It’s not a perfect situation, Katie, and I know it’s hard for you to think about leaving your friends, but you’ll make more.”
Dad appeared in the doorway. “How are my two favorite women?” He crossed the room and sat down on the floor next to the mattress. “I have achieved victory in the bedtime battle with the little man of the house.”
“We’re just talking about how much we are looking forward to the drive tomorrow with that little man.” Mom twisted a strand of Katie’s curls around her finger.
“Not exactly,” Katie said. “We’re talking about why I can’t stay here with the Bordens and finish fifth grade. Then, I could come live with the rest of you at Nana’s.”
“Hmmm.” Dad leaned against the wall and scratched his chin. “Who would make sure that Mom doesn’t burn her toast?”
Katie rolled her eyes in the dark.
“Or teach Will to climb out of his high chair?” Dad pinched Katie’s toes.
“I don’t think he needs any lessons in climbing,” Katie said. “I don’t even know why you’re bothering to bring that chair. He’s going to get out of it any minute.”
“I’ll take all the minutes of Will in captivity that I can get.” Mom stood up. “He’s a full-time job these days.”
“I love you, Katy-kin.” Mom leaned over, smoothed Katie’s curls away from her face, and kissed her forehead. “Good night.”
Dad leaned down and looked out the window. “Ring around the moon, tonight.” He shook his head. “I think we’re going to be moving in the rain.”
“We could stay,” Katie said.
“No dice, ace.” He kissed Katie’s nose. “”I’ll see you in the morning.”
As soon as Dad left the room, Katie’s phone buzzed. Hey came across her screen from BFFJenna. You still up?
Yes, Katie texted back. M and D just left.
Any luck?
Katie shook her head and typed. No. Leaving in the morning.
While Jenna was typing, Katie studied the picture of the two of them that was her background. They were making their favorite duckface with fingers in peace signs. Mrs. Borden had taken the picture earlier in the afternoon when Katie had been saying goodbye. When Jenna’s text came across the screen, Katie smiled.
You will still be my best friend. Don’t worry. This time Jenna replied with hearts and sad faces.
Before Katie could respond, another message from Jenna flashed across the screen, telling Katie that her mom was going to take her phone if she didn’t put it away right now.
Katie listened to the murmurs of her parents bounce and echo up the stairs, fantasizing that they would return to her bedroom with her backpack and suitcase, telling her that she could finish fifth-grade with her friends and her all-time favorite teacher. But the murmurs stopped and the house darkened. Katie watched the moonlight dance through the branches until she fell asleep.
Middle Grade Fiction
Solstice- Revision 2
“I still don’t understand why we have to move now.” Katie closed her book, setting it on the floor next to her mattress. “Why can’t we stay in Connecticut until the end of the school year?”
Mom stood in the doorway with her arms folded. “I don’t have any new reasons, Katie, and I have gone over all of them with you already. Dad’s new company wants him now, the people who are renting our house want it on April 1st, and, most importantly, Nana needs us.”
“Is she that much worse than she was at Christmas?” When they had visited Nana in December, she had been redundant with her stories, but entertaining. Nana kept telling the story about how Pa was a camp counselor near the hotdog stand where she worked. He ate a lot of hotdogs that summer, always asking her out and being rejected. Nana finally said yes when he ordered a hamburger.
“Uncle David says she’s worse.” Mom crossed the room and sat down on the mattress next to Katie. “My goodness, that’s low without your bedframe.”
Movers had worked all day, packing everything except what was absolutely necessary.
“And hard,” Katie said.
“Uncle David says that Nana’s unsafe. She doesn’t get herself food and she forgets to feed Nellie. When he stopped by last week, the heat was off and Nana was on the couch wrapped in blankets.”
“Why can’t he take care of Nana until June?”
“He travels all the time.” Mom sighed. “I’ve tried to think of ways to work this out so that everyone is taken care of, but life’s not perfect in this situation, and we all have to give a bit.”
“Why can’t we just hire someone to check in on her?” It seemed to Katie that she was giving the most.
“Katie Crowe.” Mom shook her head and chortled. “Can you really imagine Nana allowing someone to check in on her? She’d never allow a stranger to do her grocery shopping. As it is, we are moving in under the pretense that we are staying temporarily until we know whether Dad likes his job.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Katie asked. “What if he hates it?”
“Sometimes, Katie, being happy is a decision we make, and we are choosing to make this situation work.”
“My room is echoing.” Katie rolled over on to her side and faced her mother. “Miss Devers taught us that sound travels in waves and bounces off of surfaces to make echoes.” A sudden tear pushed against Katie’s eye, and she rolled back toward the window. Miss Devers had given Katie a special notebook and made her promise to keep writing. Maybe her first entry would be about echos and empty spaces.
Mom lay down on the bed beside Katie and the two of them looked out the window.
“I love that the trees all look different without your bedframe.” Mom said.
Without the leaves, the trees were silhouettes against the night sky. Katie and Mom had discovered letters, animals, and other designs over the years among the branches. Mom was right, though. From a different height, the branches created a brand new kaleidoscope of pictures.
“I miss my bed.” Katie pouted in the dark.
“But you see different things from different perspectives,” Mom said. “The trees are making a whole new set of shapes and designs.
“Jenna invited me to stay with her family for the rest of the school year. She said that her mom even talked to you about it.” Katie knew that her parents had said absolutely no to the idea when Jenna’s parents had offered. She also knew that everything except her toothbrush, mattress, and outfit for tomorrow was in bags and boxes. And she knew that she belonged with her parents, her brother, and her grandmother. But she couldn’t resist asking.
“You’ve always loved visiting Nana,” Mom leaned her head against Katie’s. “You help her bake, work in the garden, build fairy houses--”
“I know that the fairies are not real, Mom. I used to believe, but I don’t anymore,” Katie said. “And you don’t want Nana to be baking anymore and the garden won’t be doing anything in Vermont until June. You’ve said yourself that Vermont is always a few steps behind and a few paces slower than the rest of the world. And the fairy houses were Pa’s thing. Nana just talks to the fairies, but it was Pa who loved to make houses with me, and he’s gone.”
Mom winced, and Katie wished that she hadn’t brought up Pa.
“It’s not a perfect situation, Katie, and I know it’s hard for you to think about leaving your friends, but you’ll make more.”
Dad appeared in the doorway. “How are my two favorite women?” He crossed the room and sat down on the floor next to the mattress. “I have achieved victory in the bedtime battle with the little man of the house.”
“We’re just talking about how much we are looking forward to the drive tomorrow with that little man.” Mom twisted a strand of Katie’s curls around her finger.
“Not exactly,” Katie said. “We’re talking about why I can’t stay here with the Bordens and finish fifth grade. Then, I could come live with the rest of you at Nana’s.”
“Hmmm.” Dad leaned against the wall and scratched his chin. “Who would make sure that Mom doesn’t burn her toast?”
Katie rolled her eyes in the dark.
“Or teach Will to climb out of his high chair?” Dad pinched Katie’s toes.
“I don’t think he needs any lessons in climbing,” Katie said. “I don’t even know why you’re bothering to bring that chair. He’s going to get out of it any minute.”
“I’ll take all the minutes of Will in captivity that I can get.” Mom stood up. “He’s a full-time job these days.”
“I love you, Katy-kin.” Mom leaned over, smoothed Katie’s curls away from her face, and kissed her forehead. “Good night.”
Dad leaned down and looked out the window. “Ring around the moon, tonight.” He shook his head. “I think we’re going to be moving in the rain.”
“We could stay,” Katie said.
“No dice, ace.” He kissed Katie’s nose. “”I’ll see you in the morning.”
As soon as Dad left the room, Katie’s phone buzzed. Hey came across her screen from BFFJenna. You still up?
Yes, Katie texted back. M and D just left.
Any luck?
Katie shook her head and typed. No. Leaving in the morning.
While Jenna was typing, Katie studied the picture of the two of them that was her background. They were making their favorite duckface with fingers in peace signs. Mrs. Borden had taken the picture earlier in the afternoon when Katie had been saying goodbye. When Jenna’s text came across the screen, Katie smiled.
You will still be my best friend. Don’t worry. This time Jenna replied with hearts and sad faces.
Before Katie could respond, another message from Jenna flashed across the screen, telling Katie that her mom was going to take her phone if she didn’t put it away right now.
Katie listened to the murmurs of her parents bounce and echo up the stairs, fantasizing that they would return to her bedroom with her backpack and suitcase, telling her that she could finish fifth-grade with her friends and her all-time favorite teacher. But the murmurs stopped and the house darkened. Katie watched the moonlight dance through the branches until she fell asleep.
Monday, August 11, 2014
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Hedderly Rev 1
Name: Kate Hedderly
Genre: New Adult, Romance/Fantasy
Title: A Beautiful Lie
1st Revision
The gravel lot of the family store was almost empty when Lena pulled in except for one vehicle, a truck. Not all that odd for a weekday but the CLOSED sign hanging on the door was odd. It was only midday. From her car she saw movement through the big plate glass window of the darkened store. A strange man stood eye to eye with her grandfather. He ran his hand through his wavy red hair and spoke animatedly using his hands. Lena’s grandfather, George, rubbed his face with his hands several times and then shook his head from side to side.
As she observed the soundless display through the window Lena wondered why George was troubled and what could possibly have made the customer so agitated. Her grandfather was known around town for always treating his customers with respect; he was such a gracious man, so patient and kind, a gentleman.
Her mother, Nora, quickly came to George’s side and placed her hand on the strange man’s arm. It looked like her mother knew him but Lena didn’t recognize the customer and she was pretty sure she knew everyone her mother and granddad knew since she had lived in the small town her whole life and had spent most of her free time working at the store. Finally, the trio walked out of view and headed to the office at the rear of the store. Normally, Lena would not concern herself about interrupting the conversation but something told her she wasn’t invited to this party.
After several minutes, curiosity got the better of her. She gathered her things from the passenger seat, got out of her Jeep and headed to the front door of the building. Not surprisingly, the door was locked. Slowly Lena pushed the key into the lock and turned gently. The door swung open easily and she was careful not to disturb the brass bell that hung above the door. She crossed to the far wall and tip-toed to the office under cover of armoires, large mirrors, bookcases, and display cabinets.
Located on the main thoroughfare between the university and the center of the sleepy little town, Hanson’s Antiques, had been around for as long as Lena could remember. The front of it resembled an old general store, which given the timeworn treasures inside, seemed appropriate.
A gothic walnut buffet sat just across from the office so Lena stood against it, still as a rock watching the scene unfold in front of her.
“I barely managed to get through it. It’s getting weaker. It won’t hold for much longer George,” the man said with an English accent. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can check my calculations again, perhaps I can strengthen it.” George shook his head and worry began to crease his face. “Did you get it? We never received word.”
“Yes, otherwise I do not believe I would be here. It had to be the power from it that allowed me through.”
The man handed Nora a small package wrapped in burlap. She placed it on the nearest table and unwrapped the covering and let it fall to the side. Inside was an ornate wooden box and her hands shook as she lifted the clasp and opened the lid. Her mother let out a gasp which made Lena want to see what was inside that much more. She stood on her toes to get a better view and when that didn’t work she silently zig-zagged her way between pieces of furniture in the hopes that she could get close enough to see.
Lena wanted to make sure she found out who the man was before they left. She crept back to the front door then opened it and shut it with force to make sure it could be heard in the rear of the store. Ten seconds later the door to the office closed and the three of them walked down the middle aisle like ducks in a row.
“Lena!” granddad said with a bit too much enthusiasm, “This is Mr. Garrett Wymond,” he continued with a nervous tick to his voice.
“Hello Mr. Wymond. It’s nice to meet you.” She said and held out her hand.
The man just nodded his head and muttered something inaudible.
“He just brought us a very rare piece. Quite magnificent really,” George said and met Nora’s eyes. Something unspoken was exchanged between them.
“Sure,” Lena answered. The air in the room was so thick with tension she could cut it with a knife. Lena’s stomach quivered.
Garrett Wymond held a brown leather cowboy hat in his hand and Lena noticed some sort of gold signet ring on his index finger. She focused on it more closely but all she could make out was a green stone surrounded by an etched pattern.
“Nora. George.“ Garrett Wymond said and nodded, then turned to face Lena.
Immediately Lena’s body went rigid, her eyes fixed on his scarred face. A pink line ran from the middle of his forehead over the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. His reddish beard was starting to gray which made him look like a lumberjack. He smiled at her but Lena saw something else on his face, pity. He swiftly turned and walked out the door.
“Wow. What was that all about?” Lena asked after a moment of composure.
“It was nothing Lena,” her mother answered. “He wanted to be paid for his delivery. We were trying to explain that he would receive his payment when we examined the authenticity of the piece.”
“What did he bring, the Holy Grail?” she asked and walked down the middle aisle of the store to the office.
The small box sat exactly where her grandfather said it was. Lena reached for her canvas apron with the burgundy Hanson’s Antiques emblem on the front, and fastened it quickly around her waist eager to see what was in the burlap wrapped package. She hadn’t been able to get a good look from her vantage point earlier.
The box itself looked priceless. From all of the years she had spent working at Hanson’s Antiques, Lena knew that it was made of cedar. She recognized the warm amber wood and the faint sweet scent which reminded her of the attic at her house which was also filled with small antiques and other possessions. It had an intricate coat of arms carved on the lid which was attached by two thick brass hinges. The carving was hard to make out, worn down from years of wear but it was a bit more archaic than she initially thought. What she thought was a coat of arms looked more like hieroglyphics or small plain etchings. It was certainly not something she had ever seen before. It looked more like something that belonged in a museum rather than an antique store.
Lena put on her gloves and gingerly opened the ornate box. Thick purple velvet lined the inside of the wood and in the middle was a small pillow encased in the same soft material. She ran her finger along the soft material and picked up the little pillow. Her breath caught as she registered what she saw. A small gold medallion, the size of a half dollar piece, was placed securely in the middle of its resting place. It was round with what could only be described as thin delicate spokes, spanning the circumference of the circle. The spokes attached to another small circle which surrounded an emerald about the size of a dime. Immediately she thought of the ring the man was wearing.
Using her magnifying glass Lena looked at the jewel again. What she thought were tiny spindles were more of the same symbols she saw on the box.
On Monday, August 4, 2014 1:56 PM, Kathleen Hedderly wrote:
On Monday, August 4, 2014 11:10 AM, Kathleen Hedderly wrote:
Name: Kate Hedderly
Genre: New Adult, Romance/Fantasy
Title: A Beautiful Lie
Lena had no idea that her life was about to change when she pulled into the gravel lot of her family’s store. It was almost empty except for one vehicle, a truck. Not all that odd for a weekday but the CLOSED sign hanging on the door was odd since it was only midday. Through the big plate glass window she saw a strange man standing eye to eye with her grandfather. The man looked agitated and Lena’s grandfather, George, looked worried. Her grandfather wiped his hand across his face and she wondered why he was so upset and what could possibly have made the customer so agitated. George had always treated his customers with respect; he was such a gracious man, so patient and kind, a gentleman.
Lena watched as her mother, Nora, quickly came to George’s side and placed her hand on the strange man’s arm. It looked like her mother knew him but Lena didn’t recognize the customer and she was pretty sure she knew everyone her mother and granddad knew since she had lived in the small town her whole life and had spent most of her free time at the store. My second home, she thought.
Located on the main thoroughfare between the university and the center of the sleepy little town, her family’s business, Hanson’s Antiques, had been around for as long as Lena could remember. The front of it resembled an old general store, which given the timeworn treasures inside, seemed appropriate.
When curiosity got the better of her, she gathered her things and headed to the entrance.
“I barely managed to get through it! It’s getting weaker. It won’t hold for much longer George,” the man said. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can check my calculations again, perhaps I can strengthen it.” George shook his head and worry began to crease his face. “Did you get it? We never received word.”
“Yes, otherwise I do not believe I would be here. It had to be the power from it that allowed me through.”
The man handed Nora a small package wrapped in burlap. She laid it on the nearest table and unwrapped the covering letting it fall to the side. Inside was an ornate wooden box and her hands shook as she lifted the clasp and opened the lid. She peaked inside not allowing herself to glimpse its entire contents in the open. These were dangerous times and it truly was not her right to behold it. By chance she happened to take her eyes away from the alluring piece and looked out of the window that overlooked the parking lot and her heart jumped when she saw Lena strolling toward the front door of the store.
“Lena!” granddad said with a bit too much enthusiasm, “This is Mr. Garrett Wymond,” her granddad continued with a nervous tick to his voice.
“Hello Mr. Wymond. It’s nice to meet you.” The man just nodded his head and muttered something inaudible.
“He just brought us a very rare piece. Could you go into the storeroom and inventory the most recent delivery? You will find it in the small box sitting on my desk. I’m anxious to get it out of the box and examine it. When you‘re finished please put it in the safe.”
“Sure,” Lena answered. She could feel the intensity in the room.
“Nora. George. “ Mr. Wymond acknowledged them and nodded. He put on his brown leather cowboy hat, pulled it low over his face and turned meeting Lena’s gaze. Immediately Lena’s body went rigid, her eyes fixed on his scarred face, a pink line ran from the middle of his forehead over the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. His reddish beard was trimmed neatly and starting to gray which made him look like a lumberjack. He smiled at her but Lena saw something else on his face, pity. Lena looked down at his hands, which were balled into fists, and saw a gold ring on the index finger of his right hand, some sort of signet ring with a coat of arms and something green in the middle. Through all of this he didn’t utter a word and he swiftly turned and walked out the door.
“What was that all about?” Lena asked after a moment of composure. “Who was that? It looked like you were all arguing when I came in.”
“It was nothing Lena,” her mother answered with a hitch in her voice. “He wanted to be paid for his delivery. We were trying to explain that he would receive his payment when we examined the authenticity of the piece.”
“What did he bring, the Holy Grail?” she asked and laughed nervously.
With the slightest flutter both of their eyes met. They didn’t think Lena noticed, but she did.
“What? What am I missing?” she asked and looked back and forth from one to the other.
This time her grandfather answered, “You’re not missing anything? Why?”
“Well, when I made the comment about the Holy Grail, you two looked at each other, like you know something but don’t want to tell me.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about Lena. There was no look,” her mother replied but her tone told Lena something different.
“Uh-huh,” Lena said and looked at them skeptically. But she didn’t want to press the issue so she turned and walked quickly to the back of the store to where the office was located.
The small box was setting exactly where her grandfather said it was. Lena reached for her canvas apron with the burgundy Hanson’s Antiques emblem on the front, and fastened it quickly around her waist eager to see what was in the burlap wrapped package. Whatever was inside was the cause of the conflict, she was sure of it.
The box itself looked priceless. From her experience Lena could see that it was made of cedar. She recognized the warm amber wood and the faint scent which reminded her of the attic at her house which was also filled with small antiques and other possessions. It had an intricate coat of arms carved on the lid which was attached by two thick brass hinges. The carving was hard to make out, worn down from years of wear but it was a bit more archaic than she initially thought. What she thought was a coat of arms looked more like hieroglyphics or small plain etchings. It was certainly not something she had ever seen before. It looked more like something that belonged in a museum rather than an antique store.
Lena put on her gloves and gingerly opened the ornate box. It was lined with thick purple velvet and in the middle was a small pillow encased in the same soft material. Her breath caught as she registered what she saw. A small gold medallion, the size of a half dollar piece, was placed securely in the middle of its resting place. It was round with what could only be described as thin delicate spokes, like the wheel of a bike, spanning the circumference of the circle. The spokes attached to another small circle which surrounded an emerald about the size of a dime. Immediately she thought of the ring the man was wearing. Could that possibly be real? I’m no expert but the size of that rock has to be worth a fortune.
Genre: New Adult, Romance/Fantasy
Title: A Beautiful Lie
1st Revision
The gravel lot of the family store was almost empty when Lena pulled in except for one vehicle, a truck. Not all that odd for a weekday but the CLOSED sign hanging on the door was odd. It was only midday. From her car she saw movement through the big plate glass window of the darkened store. A strange man stood eye to eye with her grandfather. He ran his hand through his wavy red hair and spoke animatedly using his hands. Lena’s grandfather, George, rubbed his face with his hands several times and then shook his head from side to side.
As she observed the soundless display through the window Lena wondered why George was troubled and what could possibly have made the customer so agitated. Her grandfather was known around town for always treating his customers with respect; he was such a gracious man, so patient and kind, a gentleman.
Her mother, Nora, quickly came to George’s side and placed her hand on the strange man’s arm. It looked like her mother knew him but Lena didn’t recognize the customer and she was pretty sure she knew everyone her mother and granddad knew since she had lived in the small town her whole life and had spent most of her free time working at the store. Finally, the trio walked out of view and headed to the office at the rear of the store. Normally, Lena would not concern herself about interrupting the conversation but something told her she wasn’t invited to this party.
After several minutes, curiosity got the better of her. She gathered her things from the passenger seat, got out of her Jeep and headed to the front door of the building. Not surprisingly, the door was locked. Slowly Lena pushed the key into the lock and turned gently. The door swung open easily and she was careful not to disturb the brass bell that hung above the door. She crossed to the far wall and tip-toed to the office under cover of armoires, large mirrors, bookcases, and display cabinets.
Located on the main thoroughfare between the university and the center of the sleepy little town, Hanson’s Antiques, had been around for as long as Lena could remember. The front of it resembled an old general store, which given the timeworn treasures inside, seemed appropriate.
A gothic walnut buffet sat just across from the office so Lena stood against it, still as a rock watching the scene unfold in front of her.
“I barely managed to get through it. It’s getting weaker. It won’t hold for much longer George,” the man said with an English accent. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can check my calculations again, perhaps I can strengthen it.” George shook his head and worry began to crease his face. “Did you get it? We never received word.”
“Yes, otherwise I do not believe I would be here. It had to be the power from it that allowed me through.”
The man handed Nora a small package wrapped in burlap. She placed it on the nearest table and unwrapped the covering and let it fall to the side. Inside was an ornate wooden box and her hands shook as she lifted the clasp and opened the lid. Her mother let out a gasp which made Lena want to see what was inside that much more. She stood on her toes to get a better view and when that didn’t work she silently zig-zagged her way between pieces of furniture in the hopes that she could get close enough to see.
Lena wanted to make sure she found out who the man was before they left. She crept back to the front door then opened it and shut it with force to make sure it could be heard in the rear of the store. Ten seconds later the door to the office closed and the three of them walked down the middle aisle like ducks in a row.
“Lena!” granddad said with a bit too much enthusiasm, “This is Mr. Garrett Wymond,” he continued with a nervous tick to his voice.
“Hello Mr. Wymond. It’s nice to meet you.” She said and held out her hand.
The man just nodded his head and muttered something inaudible.
“He just brought us a very rare piece. Quite magnificent really,” George said and met Nora’s eyes. Something unspoken was exchanged between them.
“Sure,” Lena answered. The air in the room was so thick with tension she could cut it with a knife. Lena’s stomach quivered.
Garrett Wymond held a brown leather cowboy hat in his hand and Lena noticed some sort of gold signet ring on his index finger. She focused on it more closely but all she could make out was a green stone surrounded by an etched pattern.
“Nora. George.“ Garrett Wymond said and nodded, then turned to face Lena.
Immediately Lena’s body went rigid, her eyes fixed on his scarred face. A pink line ran from the middle of his forehead over the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. His reddish beard was starting to gray which made him look like a lumberjack. He smiled at her but Lena saw something else on his face, pity. He swiftly turned and walked out the door.
“Wow. What was that all about?” Lena asked after a moment of composure.
“It was nothing Lena,” her mother answered. “He wanted to be paid for his delivery. We were trying to explain that he would receive his payment when we examined the authenticity of the piece.”
“What did he bring, the Holy Grail?” she asked and walked down the middle aisle of the store to the office.
The small box sat exactly where her grandfather said it was. Lena reached for her canvas apron with the burgundy Hanson’s Antiques emblem on the front, and fastened it quickly around her waist eager to see what was in the burlap wrapped package. She hadn’t been able to get a good look from her vantage point earlier.
The box itself looked priceless. From all of the years she had spent working at Hanson’s Antiques, Lena knew that it was made of cedar. She recognized the warm amber wood and the faint sweet scent which reminded her of the attic at her house which was also filled with small antiques and other possessions. It had an intricate coat of arms carved on the lid which was attached by two thick brass hinges. The carving was hard to make out, worn down from years of wear but it was a bit more archaic than she initially thought. What she thought was a coat of arms looked more like hieroglyphics or small plain etchings. It was certainly not something she had ever seen before. It looked more like something that belonged in a museum rather than an antique store.
Lena put on her gloves and gingerly opened the ornate box. Thick purple velvet lined the inside of the wood and in the middle was a small pillow encased in the same soft material. She ran her finger along the soft material and picked up the little pillow. Her breath caught as she registered what she saw. A small gold medallion, the size of a half dollar piece, was placed securely in the middle of its resting place. It was round with what could only be described as thin delicate spokes, spanning the circumference of the circle. The spokes attached to another small circle which surrounded an emerald about the size of a dime. Immediately she thought of the ring the man was wearing.
Using her magnifying glass Lena looked at the jewel again. What she thought were tiny spindles were more of the same symbols she saw on the box.
On Monday, August 4, 2014 1:56 PM, Kathleen Hedderly
On Monday, August 4, 2014 11:10 AM, Kathleen Hedderly
Name: Kate Hedderly
Genre: New Adult, Romance/Fantasy
Title: A Beautiful Lie
Lena had no idea that her life was about to change when she pulled into the gravel lot of her family’s store. It was almost empty except for one vehicle, a truck. Not all that odd for a weekday but the CLOSED sign hanging on the door was odd since it was only midday. Through the big plate glass window she saw a strange man standing eye to eye with her grandfather. The man looked agitated and Lena’s grandfather, George, looked worried. Her grandfather wiped his hand across his face and she wondered why he was so upset and what could possibly have made the customer so agitated. George had always treated his customers with respect; he was such a gracious man, so patient and kind, a gentleman.
Lena watched as her mother, Nora, quickly came to George’s side and placed her hand on the strange man’s arm. It looked like her mother knew him but Lena didn’t recognize the customer and she was pretty sure she knew everyone her mother and granddad knew since she had lived in the small town her whole life and had spent most of her free time at the store. My second home, she thought.
Located on the main thoroughfare between the university and the center of the sleepy little town, her family’s business, Hanson’s Antiques, had been around for as long as Lena could remember. The front of it resembled an old general store, which given the timeworn treasures inside, seemed appropriate.
When curiosity got the better of her, she gathered her things and headed to the entrance.
“I barely managed to get through it! It’s getting weaker. It won’t hold for much longer George,” the man said. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can check my calculations again, perhaps I can strengthen it.” George shook his head and worry began to crease his face. “Did you get it? We never received word.”
“Yes, otherwise I do not believe I would be here. It had to be the power from it that allowed me through.”
The man handed Nora a small package wrapped in burlap. She laid it on the nearest table and unwrapped the covering letting it fall to the side. Inside was an ornate wooden box and her hands shook as she lifted the clasp and opened the lid. She peaked inside not allowing herself to glimpse its entire contents in the open. These were dangerous times and it truly was not her right to behold it. By chance she happened to take her eyes away from the alluring piece and looked out of the window that overlooked the parking lot and her heart jumped when she saw Lena strolling toward the front door of the store.
“Lena!” granddad said with a bit too much enthusiasm, “This is Mr. Garrett Wymond,” her granddad continued with a nervous tick to his voice.
“Hello Mr. Wymond. It’s nice to meet you.” The man just nodded his head and muttered something inaudible.
“He just brought us a very rare piece. Could you go into the storeroom and inventory the most recent delivery? You will find it in the small box sitting on my desk. I’m anxious to get it out of the box and examine it. When you‘re finished please put it in the safe.”
“Sure,” Lena answered. She could feel the intensity in the room.
“Nora. George. “ Mr. Wymond acknowledged them and nodded. He put on his brown leather cowboy hat, pulled it low over his face and turned meeting Lena’s gaze. Immediately Lena’s body went rigid, her eyes fixed on his scarred face, a pink line ran from the middle of his forehead over the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. His reddish beard was trimmed neatly and starting to gray which made him look like a lumberjack. He smiled at her but Lena saw something else on his face, pity. Lena looked down at his hands, which were balled into fists, and saw a gold ring on the index finger of his right hand, some sort of signet ring with a coat of arms and something green in the middle. Through all of this he didn’t utter a word and he swiftly turned and walked out the door.
“What was that all about?” Lena asked after a moment of composure. “Who was that? It looked like you were all arguing when I came in.”
“It was nothing Lena,” her mother answered with a hitch in her voice. “He wanted to be paid for his delivery. We were trying to explain that he would receive his payment when we examined the authenticity of the piece.”
“What did he bring, the Holy Grail?” she asked and laughed nervously.
With the slightest flutter both of their eyes met. They didn’t think Lena noticed, but she did.
“What? What am I missing?” she asked and looked back and forth from one to the other.
This time her grandfather answered, “You’re not missing anything? Why?”
“Well, when I made the comment about the Holy Grail, you two looked at each other, like you know something but don’t want to tell me.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about Lena. There was no look,” her mother replied but her tone told Lena something different.
“Uh-huh,” Lena said and looked at them skeptically. But she didn’t want to press the issue so she turned and walked quickly to the back of the store to where the office was located.
The small box was setting exactly where her grandfather said it was. Lena reached for her canvas apron with the burgundy Hanson’s Antiques emblem on the front, and fastened it quickly around her waist eager to see what was in the burlap wrapped package. Whatever was inside was the cause of the conflict, she was sure of it.
The box itself looked priceless. From her experience Lena could see that it was made of cedar. She recognized the warm amber wood and the faint scent which reminded her of the attic at her house which was also filled with small antiques and other possessions. It had an intricate coat of arms carved on the lid which was attached by two thick brass hinges. The carving was hard to make out, worn down from years of wear but it was a bit more archaic than she initially thought. What she thought was a coat of arms looked more like hieroglyphics or small plain etchings. It was certainly not something she had ever seen before. It looked more like something that belonged in a museum rather than an antique store.
Lena put on her gloves and gingerly opened the ornate box. It was lined with thick purple velvet and in the middle was a small pillow encased in the same soft material. Her breath caught as she registered what she saw. A small gold medallion, the size of a half dollar piece, was placed securely in the middle of its resting place. It was round with what could only be described as thin delicate spokes, like the wheel of a bike, spanning the circumference of the circle. The spokes attached to another small circle which surrounded an emerald about the size of a dime. Immediately she thought of the ring the man was wearing. Could that possibly be real? I’m no expert but the size of that rock has to be worth a fortune.
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Leun Rev 1
Name: Garrett Vander Leun
Genre: YA - Urban Fantasy
Title: MONSTER TOWN
Henry had thought about killing his dad before. Hell, he'd wished it on candles.
Henry picked apart a fistful of foam from the hole in his seat, watching while his dad got his special driving outfit all sorted out.
A pink gardening hat with a brim big enough to blot out twenty suns.
Yellow plastic kitchen gloves, cinched around his wrists with hair ties.
Orange snowboarding goggles, wrenched down so tight that his pasty face screamed pink mercy all around the edges. And then there was the shirt. A vintage, loosey-goosey Hawaiian shirt just because. Because he liked the way the breeze tickled his pits, just like he liked the way his leather sandals let his toes sing, just like every little thing he did seemed calculated to piss Henry off.
Henry's eyes shifted over to a green, wooden gardening stake on the work table in the garage. What would it take, two seconds to climb out and grab it? Five more to plunge it through his dad's vegetarian, vampire heart? Henry smiled. Blood would spurt all over the concrete, his dad would drop, and the wonders of his weakness would do the rest. His dad would probably gurgle out some sort of wheezy last words, too.
But I loved you, Son!
Bullshit! He'd straddle his dad while while he convulsed. I'm being released tonight, and you haven't said one word to me about it because the only thing you care about in this prison is you and your kind. Henry would slap him when the death rattle crept up his throat. Hey! Stay with me, he'd yell. This is for mom. This is for chasing her off when I was three, for leaving me with nothing but a faded picture and half a bottle of her perfume. This is to remind you that my kind won.
Henry saluted his dad with a middle finger.
Anton yanked the car door open and climbed inside. "You know what?"
Henry never would, because his dad loved to let the empty threats dangle. Cowardice was the lifeblood of Section 671, the reason all of the non-fighters ended up between those four giant walls in the first place. None of them fought during the war between monsters and humans. Their monster kids played the same game; anytime they wanted to work their vengeance against humankind out on Henry, they simply made it look like an accident. Like Henry couldn't walk without tripping one foot over the other.
Scratches, scrapes, scars - the school principal knew the truth, but every single report went to the sheriff station with a box marked 'accident.'
The car screamed when his dad turned the engine over, belts and things he'd promised to repair for years. You could hear it coming from blocks away, a sound like someone playing basketball with a typewriter. But his dad was going to fix it eventually, right after he made room in between all his secrets. All-nighters in the library, backroom meetings in the hardware store, entire days hunkered down inside his blackout chamber, and not a single one of them explained to Henry.
But I'm going fix our van up this weekend, Hanky Panky - trust me!
Anton held his breath when he backed out, waiting to see what bit of skin he'd forgot to cover when the sunlight rolled over the car.
"Your forearms, Anton."
"Ah-ya-ya!" The exposed flesh crackled like bacon as soon as the sun hit.
"Jesus!" Henry grabbed the cuffs of his dad's long-sleeve t-shirt and pulled them out from under the short-sleeved Hawaiian one. The whole car smelled like rotten lunch meat.
"We're good - I'm good - everything's good." The car pummeled the neighbor's bushes and laid waist to most of their lawn before everything was finally good. Anton steered the van out on the open road and choo-choo'ed his pain through the back of his teeth. "I asked you to lay off his name."
"Who? Jesus Christ?"
His dad moaned through a wave of nausea.
"You realize Arbo fucks with me every time you destroy their yard?" Their neighbors were plant elementals; they felt every green, growing thing in town like it was their own skin.
"Can you not with the language? Tell Arbo it was an accident, he'll understand."
Henry shook his head. Not even the monsters understood his dad.
He'd disbanded his gang of vampires before Henry was born and gone vegetarian shortly after that. Henry came along right about the time The War was coming to an end and his dad was the only supermonster to sit it out. Henry had never even seen him sprout a single fang or batwing even though he'd begged him for years.
It cramps up my arms, Hanky Panky!
Between that and all the Cat Stevens music, Anton was basically a human, too.
Anton pushed the cassette tape in. True to form, Peace Train came blaring down the tracks. Henry gave it about two seconds before he popped it back out.
"Don't start - it's my week, Henry."
"And it's my release day, Asshole."
His dad's face went paler than pale. The tiny blue veins practically screamed from the sides of his temples. "I didn't forget. I was thinking about it this weekend, but I had the thing at the library last night and I guess it just slipped out, you know?" His dad cleared his throat. "Happy Birthday, Son."
Henry turned out towards the window. The whole town was one endless, tattered rainbow. Yellow was the color of the weeds in the ghouls' yards, because they were too dead to care. Black was the color of the oil stains splattered in the driveways of the ghosts, because they were too immaterial to scrub it. Brown was the color of the burnt and brittle dirt in the centaur paddocks, because those proud little ponies would never be forced into running behind a fence.
Every time something else raced by, Henry told himself it was the last time he was going to have to look at it. That it was going to be the last day he lived in a world built on hand-me-down human relics. By tomorrow, everything's going to be new, he thought.
In all his time poking through the scratched up records and DVDs at Jukebox, Henry had only found four records that did anything for him. They did everything for him, actually.
BLACK FLAG's Damaged. He started shaving his head because of the cover and he worshipped the lead singer, also Henry, by name and grumbled gruffness alone.
DAMNED's Damned, Damned, Damned. The album sounded like a bunch of fools slopping their way through a party. Henry liked to pretend the band were his best friends, that he was rocking out right beside them.
MINOR THREAT's Out of Step. A galloping, relentless anthem for change and rebelliousness. Henry cued it up whenever his dad told Henry to take his mouth to his room.
He'd found the fourth gem hidden inside of the MINOR THREAT record. An anti-monster band. WOODY STEAKS' The Last Drop. Henry's dad still didn't know he had it; he played it during the day with headphones on while his dad slept.
Henry looked at his dad in the driver seat and then he flipped the cassette over - he'd recorded all his favorite songs on the backside - and shoved it in. And turned it up.
Genre: YA - Urban Fantasy
Title: MONSTER TOWN
Henry had thought about killing his dad before. Hell, he'd wished it on candles.
Henry picked apart a fistful of foam from the hole in his seat, watching while his dad got his special driving outfit all sorted out.
A pink gardening hat with a brim big enough to blot out twenty suns.
Yellow plastic kitchen gloves, cinched around his wrists with hair ties.
Orange snowboarding goggles, wrenched down so tight that his pasty face screamed pink mercy all around the edges. And then there was the shirt. A vintage, loosey-goosey Hawaiian shirt just because. Because he liked the way the breeze tickled his pits, just like he liked the way his leather sandals let his toes sing, just like every little thing he did seemed calculated to piss Henry off.
Henry's eyes shifted over to a green, wooden gardening stake on the work table in the garage. What would it take, two seconds to climb out and grab it? Five more to plunge it through his dad's vegetarian, vampire heart? Henry smiled. Blood would spurt all over the concrete, his dad would drop, and the wonders of his weakness would do the rest. His dad would probably gurgle out some sort of wheezy last words, too.
But I loved you, Son!
Bullshit! He'd straddle his dad while while he convulsed. I'm being released tonight, and you haven't said one word to me about it because the only thing you care about in this prison is you and your kind. Henry would slap him when the death rattle crept up his throat. Hey! Stay with me, he'd yell. This is for mom. This is for chasing her off when I was three, for leaving me with nothing but a faded picture and half a bottle of her perfume. This is to remind you that my kind won.
Henry saluted his dad with a middle finger.
Anton yanked the car door open and climbed inside. "You know what?"
Henry never would, because his dad loved to let the empty threats dangle. Cowardice was the lifeblood of Section 671, the reason all of the non-fighters ended up between those four giant walls in the first place. None of them fought during the war between monsters and humans. Their monster kids played the same game; anytime they wanted to work their vengeance against humankind out on Henry, they simply made it look like an accident. Like Henry couldn't walk without tripping one foot over the other.
Scratches, scrapes, scars - the school principal knew the truth, but every single report went to the sheriff station with a box marked 'accident.'
The car screamed when his dad turned the engine over, belts and things he'd promised to repair for years. You could hear it coming from blocks away, a sound like someone playing basketball with a typewriter. But his dad was going to fix it eventually, right after he made room in between all his secrets. All-nighters in the library, backroom meetings in the hardware store, entire days hunkered down inside his blackout chamber, and not a single one of them explained to Henry.
But I'm going fix our van up this weekend, Hanky Panky - trust me!
Anton held his breath when he backed out, waiting to see what bit of skin he'd forgot to cover when the sunlight rolled over the car.
"Your forearms, Anton."
"Ah-ya-ya!" The exposed flesh crackled like bacon as soon as the sun hit.
"Jesus!" Henry grabbed the cuffs of his dad's long-sleeve t-shirt and pulled them out from under the short-sleeved Hawaiian one. The whole car smelled like rotten lunch meat.
"We're good - I'm good - everything's good." The car pummeled the neighbor's bushes and laid waist to most of their lawn before everything was finally good. Anton steered the van out on the open road and choo-choo'ed his pain through the back of his teeth. "I asked you to lay off his name."
"Who? Jesus Christ?"
His dad moaned through a wave of nausea.
"You realize Arbo fucks with me every time you destroy their yard?" Their neighbors were plant elementals; they felt every green, growing thing in town like it was their own skin.
"Can you not with the language? Tell Arbo it was an accident, he'll understand."
Henry shook his head. Not even the monsters understood his dad.
He'd disbanded his gang of vampires before Henry was born and gone vegetarian shortly after that. Henry came along right about the time The War was coming to an end and his dad was the only supermonster to sit it out. Henry had never even seen him sprout a single fang or batwing even though he'd begged him for years.
It cramps up my arms, Hanky Panky!
Between that and all the Cat Stevens music, Anton was basically a human, too.
Anton pushed the cassette tape in. True to form, Peace Train came blaring down the tracks. Henry gave it about two seconds before he popped it back out.
"Don't start - it's my week, Henry."
"And it's my release day, Asshole."
His dad's face went paler than pale. The tiny blue veins practically screamed from the sides of his temples. "I didn't forget. I was thinking about it this weekend, but I had the thing at the library last night and I guess it just slipped out, you know?" His dad cleared his throat. "Happy Birthday, Son."
Henry turned out towards the window. The whole town was one endless, tattered rainbow. Yellow was the color of the weeds in the ghouls' yards, because they were too dead to care. Black was the color of the oil stains splattered in the driveways of the ghosts, because they were too immaterial to scrub it. Brown was the color of the burnt and brittle dirt in the centaur paddocks, because those proud little ponies would never be forced into running behind a fence.
Every time something else raced by, Henry told himself it was the last time he was going to have to look at it. That it was going to be the last day he lived in a world built on hand-me-down human relics. By tomorrow, everything's going to be new, he thought.
In all his time poking through the scratched up records and DVDs at Jukebox, Henry had only found four records that did anything for him. They did everything for him, actually.
BLACK FLAG's Damaged. He started shaving his head because of the cover and he worshipped the lead singer, also Henry, by name and grumbled gruffness alone.
DAMNED's Damned, Damned, Damned. The album sounded like a bunch of fools slopping their way through a party. Henry liked to pretend the band were his best friends, that he was rocking out right beside them.
MINOR THREAT's Out of Step. A galloping, relentless anthem for change and rebelliousness. Henry cued it up whenever his dad told Henry to take his mouth to his room.
He'd found the fourth gem hidden inside of the MINOR THREAT record. An anti-monster band. WOODY STEAKS' The Last Drop. Henry's dad still didn't know he had it; he played it during the day with headphones on while his dad slept.
Henry looked at his dad in the driver seat and then he flipped the cassette over - he'd recorded all his favorite songs on the backside - and shoved it in. And turned it up.
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Meehan Rev 1
Name: Melanie Meehan
Genre: Middle Grade Fiction
Title: Solstice
Katie struggled to spot any of the glitter or sparkle that normally greeted her as the family van turned into the driveway of 39 Partridge Hollow. Maybe the steady rain was hiding the glow that welcomed her in past visits.
At the top of the driveway, Dad shifted the van into park and looked at Mom, then at Katie and Will who were wedged between boxes and bags.
“Are we ready?” Dad rubbed his hands together the way he did when a big project loomed.
Katie rubbed her hands back at Dad.
“I’m not getting any readier.” Mom was biting her lower lip. A sure sign that the long ride, the rain, and Will’s whining had gotten to her.
“Out!” Will pulled at the buckles on his car seat.
“Can’t set you free quite yet.” Katie leaned across the boxes and kissed Will’s forehead. “Let us just get some of this stuff into the house.”
Katie pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face and wiped the mist off her window. Until now, visiting Vermont had happened when the house glistened with snow or when the gardens bloomed in the summer. April in Vermont was gray and bleak, grayer and bleaker in the steady rain.
“Probably not the best time to move to Vermont,” Dad said.
“Probably not,” Katie agreed. If moving in with Nana had to happen, couldn’t it have waited until the summer? Couldn’t they have at least let her finish fifth grade in Connecticut?
“Coming out, Katie-do?” Dad slid the door open. He stood in front of her, holding a giant golf umbrella. “You haven’t been here before in Vermont’s mud season. Did you know that Vermont is one of the only places in the world with five seasons?”
Katie slid out of the van, and her flip-flopped feet landed in a puddle. She looked up at the house. Instead of a blanket of snow or a bright cushion, a layer of dirt covered Katie’s favorite rocking chair on the front porch. Katie remembered sitting in Pa’s lap and having him tell her stories about fireflies, and owlets, and maple syrup. How old had she been? Four? Maybe five. She had been six when he died... When it got too late, Nana would shush Pa into the house and rock Katie to sleep before calling to him to carry Katie up the creaking stairs to her favorite bedroom overlooking the backyard and the fairies Nana said resided there.
Katie stepped out of the puddle and faced the house, wiggling the blood back into her brittle toes. A broken gutter curved away from the house and water poured through the opening toward the foundation. Mom and Dad had talked about the falling apart house in one of their hushed conversations before they told Katie that they were moving to Vermont. Nana couldn’t handle the house on her own.
“Out, Katie,” Will stretched out his arms to her. “Please.”
“Hold on, Will.” Katie picked a daffodil and handed it to him.
“Smell, Will.” Katie leaned into the van, careful not to drip water on any of the bags or boxes.
Will held the flower to his nose and tried to inhale, but made the sound of inhaling by breathing through his mouth.
“Through your nose, silly,” Katie said. She sniffed the flower for him. “You can’t smell through your mouth.” She studied the flower. “Doesn’t really have too much smell anyway. You’re not missing much.”
“Out, Katie!” Will pushed against the straps, straightening his body. He pulled at the petals, placing one of them on his tongue.
“Oh dear, Will,” Nana’s voice said, from behind Katie. “Daffodils are for looking at-- not for eating.”
Will scraped the petals off his tongue and laughed.
“Nana!” Katie put her arms around Nana and hugged her. “Love the footwear!”
Nana looked down at her feet. She wore a tall pink and purple polka dotted boot and one green gardening clog.
“Ah,” Nana shook her head. “I couldn’t find my other boot. Sometimes things just disappear in this old house.” Nana shook her head at Katie’s bare feet. “You’ll have cold feet for your first day at Baldwin tomorrow.” She laughed at her own joke and took Katie’s face in her hands. “Let me look at you. You’re almost as tall as I am! How is my favorite granddaughter with my matching eyes?” Katie and Nana both had two different colored eyes, one gray and one green. Nana always said that it helped them to see the world differently.
Not waiting for an answer from Katie, Nana returned her attention to Will and the wilting daffodil. “Are you ready to come out, young man?”
“We’re not quite ready for him, Mother,” Mom said. Mom and Dad had been making trips to the covered porch with bags and belongings from the back of the van. “We’re trying to get the van cleared out before the moving truck arrives. Maybe you could grab a bag?”
Katie watched both of her parents check out Nana’s feet. Another sign or symptom of whatever was wrong with Nana’s brain, Katie knew they were thinking.
“I’m ready for Will, though.” Nana unclipped the carseat and Will slid out. He left the crumpled flower on the seat behind him. Nana picked up the flower, whispered to it, then handed it to Katie. “This flower should go back to its friends.”
Katie returned the flower to the cluster, placing it gently beside the other daffodils. The flowers drooped, heavy from the rain, almost touching the ground and the crumpled comrade.
“Uh-oh.” Katie turned around and winced as Will headed straight to a puddle. “Mom and Dad are not going to be happy to have Will a free man,” she said to Nana. “He’s going to be drenched in about two seconds.”
“Supersplash!” Will yelled, jumping in the growing puddles.
“He’s all yours, Mother,” Mom said to Nana, as Will sat down in one of the puddles. His blonde curls flattened against his head, while streaks of dirt twirled down his cheeks.
“Come along, Will,” Nana said. “We have bigger puddles in front of the garage, as well as mud and worms. You have mud season to experience in Vermont. You coming, Katie?”
Will and Nana headed for the front of the garage and the deeper puddles, and Katie lagged behind. Jumping was still a novelty for Will and the splashes of water that flew up around him made jumping that much better. Katie shook her head as Nana sloshed into the puddle next to Will.
“You jump too!” Will took Nana’s hands and swung them up and down.
The two of them jumped and laughed and laughed and jumped in the puddles while Katie watched.
Sparkling, dancing droplets of water caught in Nana’s curls and Katie thought about joining in their stomping and sloshing. Just when Katie slid her feet out of her flipflops, Will sat down and began to blow bubbles in the puddle. No, she’d help with the unloading, instead.
“We’ll take all the help we can get,” Dad said to Katie. “Unless you’d rather bond with puddles and worms.”
“I’m in for unloading,” Katie said, leaving the puddle jumpers and mud explorers.
Just as Nana sat down in a puddle with Will, the moving truck arrived. When they slid open the back, Katie shook her head, wondering how this truckload of furniture and boxes would ever fit into Nana’s already cluttered house.
Katie winced, watching the furniture and boxes stack up in the space above the garage. Frames and coffee table books from the living room, good dining room china, extra linens and pillows, kitchen pots and pans were labels Mom had written with a thick black marker. Would they really see the dishes and blankets and pictures and glasses again? Mom and Dad said living with Nana would not be permanent, but they would all see how it goes, how they all got along, how forgetful Nana really was.
Genre: Middle Grade Fiction
Title: Solstice
Katie struggled to spot any of the glitter or sparkle that normally greeted her as the family van turned into the driveway of 39 Partridge Hollow. Maybe the steady rain was hiding the glow that welcomed her in past visits.
At the top of the driveway, Dad shifted the van into park and looked at Mom, then at Katie and Will who were wedged between boxes and bags.
“Are we ready?” Dad rubbed his hands together the way he did when a big project loomed.
Katie rubbed her hands back at Dad.
“I’m not getting any readier.” Mom was biting her lower lip. A sure sign that the long ride, the rain, and Will’s whining had gotten to her.
“Out!” Will pulled at the buckles on his car seat.
“Can’t set you free quite yet.” Katie leaned across the boxes and kissed Will’s forehead. “Let us just get some of this stuff into the house.”
Katie pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face and wiped the mist off her window. Until now, visiting Vermont had happened when the house glistened with snow or when the gardens bloomed in the summer. April in Vermont was gray and bleak, grayer and bleaker in the steady rain.
“Probably not the best time to move to Vermont,” Dad said.
“Probably not,” Katie agreed. If moving in with Nana had to happen, couldn’t it have waited until the summer? Couldn’t they have at least let her finish fifth grade in Connecticut?
“Coming out, Katie-do?” Dad slid the door open. He stood in front of her, holding a giant golf umbrella. “You haven’t been here before in Vermont’s mud season. Did you know that Vermont is one of the only places in the world with five seasons?”
Katie slid out of the van, and her flip-flopped feet landed in a puddle. She looked up at the house. Instead of a blanket of snow or a bright cushion, a layer of dirt covered Katie’s favorite rocking chair on the front porch. Katie remembered sitting in Pa’s lap and having him tell her stories about fireflies, and owlets, and maple syrup. How old had she been? Four? Maybe five. She had been six when he died... When it got too late, Nana would shush Pa into the house and rock Katie to sleep before calling to him to carry Katie up the creaking stairs to her favorite bedroom overlooking the backyard and the fairies Nana said resided there.
Katie stepped out of the puddle and faced the house, wiggling the blood back into her brittle toes. A broken gutter curved away from the house and water poured through the opening toward the foundation. Mom and Dad had talked about the falling apart house in one of their hushed conversations before they told Katie that they were moving to Vermont. Nana couldn’t handle the house on her own.
“Out, Katie,” Will stretched out his arms to her. “Please.”
“Hold on, Will.” Katie picked a daffodil and handed it to him.
“Smell, Will.” Katie leaned into the van, careful not to drip water on any of the bags or boxes.
Will held the flower to his nose and tried to inhale, but made the sound of inhaling by breathing through his mouth.
“Through your nose, silly,” Katie said. She sniffed the flower for him. “You can’t smell through your mouth.” She studied the flower. “Doesn’t really have too much smell anyway. You’re not missing much.”
“Out, Katie!” Will pushed against the straps, straightening his body. He pulled at the petals, placing one of them on his tongue.
“Oh dear, Will,” Nana’s voice said, from behind Katie. “Daffodils are for looking at-- not for eating.”
Will scraped the petals off his tongue and laughed.
“Nana!” Katie put her arms around Nana and hugged her. “Love the footwear!”
Nana looked down at her feet. She wore a tall pink and purple polka dotted boot and one green gardening clog.
“Ah,” Nana shook her head. “I couldn’t find my other boot. Sometimes things just disappear in this old house.” Nana shook her head at Katie’s bare feet. “You’ll have cold feet for your first day at Baldwin tomorrow.” She laughed at her own joke and took Katie’s face in her hands. “Let me look at you. You’re almost as tall as I am! How is my favorite granddaughter with my matching eyes?” Katie and Nana both had two different colored eyes, one gray and one green. Nana always said that it helped them to see the world differently.
Not waiting for an answer from Katie, Nana returned her attention to Will and the wilting daffodil. “Are you ready to come out, young man?”
“We’re not quite ready for him, Mother,” Mom said. Mom and Dad had been making trips to the covered porch with bags and belongings from the back of the van. “We’re trying to get the van cleared out before the moving truck arrives. Maybe you could grab a bag?”
Katie watched both of her parents check out Nana’s feet. Another sign or symptom of whatever was wrong with Nana’s brain, Katie knew they were thinking.
“I’m ready for Will, though.” Nana unclipped the carseat and Will slid out. He left the crumpled flower on the seat behind him. Nana picked up the flower, whispered to it, then handed it to Katie. “This flower should go back to its friends.”
Katie returned the flower to the cluster, placing it gently beside the other daffodils. The flowers drooped, heavy from the rain, almost touching the ground and the crumpled comrade.
“Uh-oh.” Katie turned around and winced as Will headed straight to a puddle. “Mom and Dad are not going to be happy to have Will a free man,” she said to Nana. “He’s going to be drenched in about two seconds.”
“Supersplash!” Will yelled, jumping in the growing puddles.
“He’s all yours, Mother,” Mom said to Nana, as Will sat down in one of the puddles. His blonde curls flattened against his head, while streaks of dirt twirled down his cheeks.
“Come along, Will,” Nana said. “We have bigger puddles in front of the garage, as well as mud and worms. You have mud season to experience in Vermont. You coming, Katie?”
Will and Nana headed for the front of the garage and the deeper puddles, and Katie lagged behind. Jumping was still a novelty for Will and the splashes of water that flew up around him made jumping that much better. Katie shook her head as Nana sloshed into the puddle next to Will.
“You jump too!” Will took Nana’s hands and swung them up and down.
The two of them jumped and laughed and laughed and jumped in the puddles while Katie watched.
Sparkling, dancing droplets of water caught in Nana’s curls and Katie thought about joining in their stomping and sloshing. Just when Katie slid her feet out of her flipflops, Will sat down and began to blow bubbles in the puddle. No, she’d help with the unloading, instead.
“We’ll take all the help we can get,” Dad said to Katie. “Unless you’d rather bond with puddles and worms.”
“I’m in for unloading,” Katie said, leaving the puddle jumpers and mud explorers.
Just as Nana sat down in a puddle with Will, the moving truck arrived. When they slid open the back, Katie shook her head, wondering how this truckload of furniture and boxes would ever fit into Nana’s already cluttered house.
Katie winced, watching the furniture and boxes stack up in the space above the garage. Frames and coffee table books from the living room, good dining room china, extra linens and pillows, kitchen pots and pans were labels Mom had written with a thick black marker. Would they really see the dishes and blankets and pictures and glasses again? Mom and Dad said living with Nana would not be permanent, but they would all see how it goes, how they all got along, how forgetful Nana really was.
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Allen Rev 1
Name: Kathleen S. Allen
Genre: YA dark contemporary
Title: SHATTERED-REV 1
I finger my charm-laden necklace. The sharp points of the Star of David dig into my palm as I walk. The pale blue and white Virgin Mary charm I discovered under my bus seat last year makes tiny clicks. The blue paint is chipped off in spots, but even without the paint if you peer at it, you can see the indentations of her features. I run a nail-bitten purple-polished finger over it. Hail Mary, full of grace…It’s the only part I know. I heard it on a TV show.
Please don’t let me pass out.
But the bubble swells. Breathing stutters. Heart races. Stomach twists. Skin sweats then chills. Shivers rack my bones. Footfalls behind me propel me to race to the partially open door I see off to the side. It leads to a field, empty of people but full of the smell of rain.
Clutching my bag in front of me like a shield, I venture out. My gaze darts to and fro searching for a place to hide. The rain-soaked air cools the hot bubble and I can breathe easier, I hear the bell ring for first hour.
Welcome to the first day of high school, Zoey. Congratulations, you made it a whole ten minutes.
Careful not to get too wet, I duck under the eaves to watch the rainwater gush from the ends of the half-broken gutter pipe onto the dirt to make muddy puddles at my feet. Glass panoramic walls afford me a view into the school. But if I can see in, my classmates can see out, at me.
I scoot around a corner and jump when I encounter a boy who smiles the kind of smile I wish I could keep in my pocket and bring out to dispel the loneliness of night terrors. I blink, caught in its brilliance. Frozen deer-girl, blinking stupidly at this boy. His smile deepens and bright blue eyes whisper secrets. If I’m still, as still as I can be, I’ll hear those secrets. He blinks and I’m freed from his spell.
The overhang doesn’t afford much shelter. A sharp crack of thunder in the distance draws my attention. I don’t notice him reaching for me until he already has the strap of my leather satchel in his hand, tugging on it. I’m tempted to give it to him. Still, I’m not sure why he’d want it, so I tug back. He pulls harder, jerking me closer to him. My gaze drifts to the ground, and the forming puddles wondering what this boy wants and if I can bring myself to give it to him. Lifting my eyes to his, he smiles.
“Stay out of sight,” he says. “Or they’ll find us.” His soft, soothing voice surrounds me like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. I long to wrap myself in his words, cocooned inside them.
My grip tightens on the strap of my bag and he finally lets go.
His tall, lanky frame lounges against the side of the building. “I like the rain, too. It doesn’t rain much here so we have to enjoy it when it does.”
I lean against the cool bricks.“Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.”
“Is that from a song?” he asks.
“Langston Hughes, the poet.” The rain pummels the overhang and gathers into fat red drips before falling. “It was night and the rain fell; and, falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood. And I stand in the morass among the tall lilies, and the rain fell upon my head-and the lilies sighed one unto the other in the solemnity of their desolation.”
“I know that one. It’s from Edgar Allan Poe,” he says. “And the red is from rust on the roof.” He inspects me as if he’s never seen a Poe-spouting girl before. “Do you write it or read it?”
“Both,” I say.
My insides quake. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Instead, he runs a hand through dark curly hair too long to be considered fashionable, unless he’s in a rock band. His gaze sweeps from the top of my head to my muddy Doc Marten’s and back up again to rest on my eyes.
I blink and his grin expands. “Freshman?”
“Yes.”
“From?"
“New York.”
I’ve already shared more than I usually do. Does he know about me? Do I have a scarlet letter emblazoned on me like Hester Prynne? Yes, I’m the same girl you saw in the news, I’m that Zoey Walker. Maybe I should’ve changed my name along with my address. My hands shake more than usual as I wait for the question everyone asks. What was it like? But instead, his eyes turn back to the now-muddy parking lot.
I clutch my necklace and mumble a silent prayer, hoping someone listens, except I know no one does. His cool blue gaze is on me again.
I inhale the scent of the rain as it seeps through my skin to keep it there as a memory for future rain-starved days. He watches me and with a shift of his feet, he’s standing. A move toward me makes me tremble. I brace myself against the reddened-bricks. My eyes dart to the left side but there’s only another building, another brick wall. A nook carved prison just big enough for a small goth girl. I keep my gaze on his face as he scrutinizes me.
“Hold still.”
He reaches out a hand to my hair. I freeze and close my eyes, anticipating the first touch of his long fingers. I shiver breathless as he swipes at the top of my hair. A finger flicks at my cheek.
“Got it,” he says. I open my eyes blurry with visions and he shows me a tiny insect. “This critter was in your hair.” He puts the bug in the grass and it skitters away grateful for a stay of execution.
“You didn't kill it.” Relief washes over me as if I’ve found the hope I so desperately seek.
He steps back and leans against the wall again.“Why should I? It’s not its fault your hair got in its way---.” He smiles. “I’m Rowan.”
He expects me to say my name but I remain silent. When you know a person’s name, you have power over them.
I like the idea of power because I have none. The bottom dropped out of my soul, not all at once but in dribs and drabs. When it finally emptied, it filled again. Not with light or hope or joy but with darkness, horror, and an evil so unspeakable even I dared not say its name to myself. Sometimes I can feel it inside me, begging to be let out, reveling in its glory as I give into it. But I can’t continue to let it take over. It means to consume me and where will I be then? It takes energy to keep it at bay and sometimes, like now, I want so much to let it loose, to give into its baseness but I won’t let it win.
Not anymore.
He leans one foot on the wall. If I reach out I can touch him and my hand aches with longing. One touch. One touch and I’ll be lost. The urge nearly brings me to my knees. I gasp and recoil from the thought. His gaze is kind on mine.
“You okay?”
I bite down on my lower lip to try and keep it inside. I have to get out of here or I won’t be responsible for my actions. He has no idea he’s the rabbit and I’m the wolf in this scenario.This can’t be happening again. I promised. This time will be different, I won’t give in. He turns toward me, blocking me in. I reach out a hand wanting to feel his skin against my palm. Needing to feel it. But before I connect, the door opens. We tip our heads to the side like dogs listening for their master’s voice. A youngish teacher with black-framed glasses too big for her face peers at us from around the corner of the building.
“I thought I saw someone come out here. Back inside, both of you. The bell for first hour already rang.” Her nasal, high-pitched voice grates on my nerves.
The rain plasters her hair to her head. Her curls droop like her expression. Little does she know she’s my savior. Breathing a sigh, I nod.
Rowan shrugs. He takes his time extracting himself from his position against the building. In a leisurely stride he walks to the door. I rush past him to stand in the hallway, breathing hard to focus on calming down.
Genre: YA dark contemporary
Title: SHATTERED-REV 1
I finger my charm-laden necklace. The sharp points of the Star of David dig into my palm as I walk. The pale blue and white Virgin Mary charm I discovered under my bus seat last year makes tiny clicks. The blue paint is chipped off in spots, but even without the paint if you peer at it, you can see the indentations of her features. I run a nail-bitten purple-polished finger over it. Hail Mary, full of grace…It’s the only part I know. I heard it on a TV show.
Please don’t let me pass out.
But the bubble swells. Breathing stutters. Heart races. Stomach twists. Skin sweats then chills. Shivers rack my bones. Footfalls behind me propel me to race to the partially open door I see off to the side. It leads to a field, empty of people but full of the smell of rain.
Clutching my bag in front of me like a shield, I venture out. My gaze darts to and fro searching for a place to hide. The rain-soaked air cools the hot bubble and I can breathe easier, I hear the bell ring for first hour.
Welcome to the first day of high school, Zoey. Congratulations, you made it a whole ten minutes.
Careful not to get too wet, I duck under the eaves to watch the rainwater gush from the ends of the half-broken gutter pipe onto the dirt to make muddy puddles at my feet. Glass panoramic walls afford me a view into the school. But if I can see in, my classmates can see out, at me.
I scoot around a corner and jump when I encounter a boy who smiles the kind of smile I wish I could keep in my pocket and bring out to dispel the loneliness of night terrors. I blink, caught in its brilliance. Frozen deer-girl, blinking stupidly at this boy. His smile deepens and bright blue eyes whisper secrets. If I’m still, as still as I can be, I’ll hear those secrets. He blinks and I’m freed from his spell.
The overhang doesn’t afford much shelter. A sharp crack of thunder in the distance draws my attention. I don’t notice him reaching for me until he already has the strap of my leather satchel in his hand, tugging on it. I’m tempted to give it to him. Still, I’m not sure why he’d want it, so I tug back. He pulls harder, jerking me closer to him. My gaze drifts to the ground, and the forming puddles wondering what this boy wants and if I can bring myself to give it to him. Lifting my eyes to his, he smiles.
“Stay out of sight,” he says. “Or they’ll find us.” His soft, soothing voice surrounds me like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. I long to wrap myself in his words, cocooned inside them.
My grip tightens on the strap of my bag and he finally lets go.
His tall, lanky frame lounges against the side of the building. “I like the rain, too. It doesn’t rain much here so we have to enjoy it when it does.”
I lean against the cool bricks.“Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.”
“Is that from a song?” he asks.
“Langston Hughes, the poet.” The rain pummels the overhang and gathers into fat red drips before falling. “It was night and the rain fell; and, falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood. And I stand in the morass among the tall lilies, and the rain fell upon my head-and the lilies sighed one unto the other in the solemnity of their desolation.”
“I know that one. It’s from Edgar Allan Poe,” he says. “And the red is from rust on the roof.” He inspects me as if he’s never seen a Poe-spouting girl before. “Do you write it or read it?”
“Both,” I say.
My insides quake. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Instead, he runs a hand through dark curly hair too long to be considered fashionable, unless he’s in a rock band. His gaze sweeps from the top of my head to my muddy Doc Marten’s and back up again to rest on my eyes.
I blink and his grin expands. “Freshman?”
“Yes.”
“From?"
“New York.”
I’ve already shared more than I usually do. Does he know about me? Do I have a scarlet letter emblazoned on me like Hester Prynne? Yes, I’m the same girl you saw in the news, I’m that Zoey Walker. Maybe I should’ve changed my name along with my address. My hands shake more than usual as I wait for the question everyone asks. What was it like? But instead, his eyes turn back to the now-muddy parking lot.
I clutch my necklace and mumble a silent prayer, hoping someone listens, except I know no one does. His cool blue gaze is on me again.
I inhale the scent of the rain as it seeps through my skin to keep it there as a memory for future rain-starved days. He watches me and with a shift of his feet, he’s standing. A move toward me makes me tremble. I brace myself against the reddened-bricks. My eyes dart to the left side but there’s only another building, another brick wall. A nook carved prison just big enough for a small goth girl. I keep my gaze on his face as he scrutinizes me.
“Hold still.”
He reaches out a hand to my hair. I freeze and close my eyes, anticipating the first touch of his long fingers. I shiver breathless as he swipes at the top of my hair. A finger flicks at my cheek.
“Got it,” he says. I open my eyes blurry with visions and he shows me a tiny insect. “This critter was in your hair.” He puts the bug in the grass and it skitters away grateful for a stay of execution.
“You didn't kill it.” Relief washes over me as if I’ve found the hope I so desperately seek.
He steps back and leans against the wall again.“Why should I? It’s not its fault your hair got in its way---.” He smiles. “I’m Rowan.”
He expects me to say my name but I remain silent. When you know a person’s name, you have power over them.
I like the idea of power because I have none. The bottom dropped out of my soul, not all at once but in dribs and drabs. When it finally emptied, it filled again. Not with light or hope or joy but with darkness, horror, and an evil so unspeakable even I dared not say its name to myself. Sometimes I can feel it inside me, begging to be let out, reveling in its glory as I give into it. But I can’t continue to let it take over. It means to consume me and where will I be then? It takes energy to keep it at bay and sometimes, like now, I want so much to let it loose, to give into its baseness but I won’t let it win.
Not anymore.
He leans one foot on the wall. If I reach out I can touch him and my hand aches with longing. One touch. One touch and I’ll be lost. The urge nearly brings me to my knees. I gasp and recoil from the thought. His gaze is kind on mine.
“You okay?”
I bite down on my lower lip to try and keep it inside. I have to get out of here or I won’t be responsible for my actions. He has no idea he’s the rabbit and I’m the wolf in this scenario.This can’t be happening again. I promised. This time will be different, I won’t give in. He turns toward me, blocking me in. I reach out a hand wanting to feel his skin against my palm. Needing to feel it. But before I connect, the door opens. We tip our heads to the side like dogs listening for their master’s voice. A youngish teacher with black-framed glasses too big for her face peers at us from around the corner of the building.
“I thought I saw someone come out here. Back inside, both of you. The bell for first hour already rang.” Her nasal, high-pitched voice grates on my nerves.
The rain plasters her hair to her head. Her curls droop like her expression. Little does she know she’s my savior. Breathing a sigh, I nod.
Rowan shrugs. He takes his time extracting himself from his position against the building. In a leisurely stride he walks to the door. I rush past him to stand in the hallway, breathing hard to focus on calming down.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Leun
Name: Garrett Vander Leun
Genre: YA - Urban Fantasy
Title: MONSTER TOWN
Henry had thought about killing his dad before. Hell, he'd wished it on candles.
He picked out a fistful of foam from the hole in his seat and watched his dad through the windshield. Fidgeting and adjusting all the goofy shit he wore on their drive to school.
A pink gardening hat with a brim big enough to blot out twenty suns.
Yellow plastic kitchen gloves, cinched around his wrists with hair ties.
Orange snowboarding goggles, wrenched down so tight that his pasty face screamed pink mercy all around the edges. And then there was the fucking shirt. A vintage, loosey-goosey Hawaiian shirt just because. Because he liked the way the breeze tickled his pits, just like he liked the way his leather sandals let his toes sing, just like every little thing he did seemed calculated to piss Henry off.
Henry's eyes shifted over to a green, wooden gardening stake on the work table in the garage. He smiled. What would it take, two seconds to climb out and grab it? Five more to plunge it through his dad's vegetarian, vampire heart? Blood would spurt all over the grease-stained carpet strips, his dad would drop and the wonders of his weakness would do the rest. Henry would straddle him while he gurgled, too, watch his bloodshot eyes bug out with confusion.
It's my sixteenth birthday, Henry would scream. Remember?!
It was also Henry's release day.
Henry's dad would convulse, reaching out with his skinny little arms to apologize as he died. And Henry would take a step back. Fuck you, Anton, he'd say. You're just a shitty monster dad and I've never been anything but your disappointing human son.
Henry made eye contact with his dad through the windshield of their car and saluted him with a turn of his middle finger.
Anton yanked the door open. "You know what?"
Henry never would. His dad always let the empty threat dangle; the Administration's biggest rule applied to him the same way it did to all the monsters allowed to live inside the town's four giant walls: don't fuck with humans.
Naturally the kids at school had found a loophole - if Henry got himself caught up in an accident, nobody from outside gave it a second look. Assholes, every last one of them.
The car screamed when his dad turned the engine over, belts and things he'd promised to repair for years. You could hear it coming from blocks away, a sound like someone playing basketball with a typewriter. But his dad was going to fix it eventually. He just needed to get out from under his work at the library, and his secret meetings at the hardware store and the sunrise, rooftop yoga. His dad would fix their van just as soon as he was done obsessing over himself.
Anton held his breath when he backed out, waiting to see what bit of skin he'd forgot to cover when the sunlight rolled over the car.
"Your forearms, Anton."
"Ah-ya-ya!" The exposed flesh crackled like bacon as soon as the sun hit.
"Jesus!" Henry grabbed the cuffs of his dad's long-sleeve t-shirt and pulled them out from under the short-sleeved Hawaiian one. The whole car smelled like rotten lunch meat.
"We're good - I'm good - everything's good." The car pummeled the neighbor's bushes and laid waist to most of their lawn before everything was finally good. He steered the van out on the open road and choo-choo'ed his pain through the back of his teeth. "You realize it makes me nauseous when you say his name, right?"
"Who? Jesus Christ?"
His dad moaned.
"You realize Arbo tries to kick my ass every time you destroy their yard, right?" Their neighbors were plant elementals; they felt every green, growing thing in town like it was their own skin.
"So tell him it was an accident, Henry - they'll understand!"
Henry shook his head. Not even the monsters understood his dad.
He'd disbanded his gang of vampires before Henry was born and gone vegetarian shortly after that. Henry came along right about the time the war between monsters and humans broke and his dad was the only supermonster to sit it out. Henry had never even seen him sprout a single fang or batwing. And he'd begged him, too. Anton said it made his jaw sore and cramped up his arms. Between that and all the Cat Stevens music, Anton was basically a human, too.
Anton pushed the cassette tape in. True to form, Peace Train came blaring down the tracks. Henry gave it about two seconds before he popped it back out.
"Don't start - it's my week, Henry."
"And it's my birthday, Asshole."
His dad's face went paler than pale. Henry could see the veins running up along his temples.
"You're leaving today."
Henry nodded. Bullseye, you bastard.
Anton's rubber gloves squeaked along the wheel. He couldn't get a grip on what he needed to say; it was just as well for Henry - he wasn't done rubbing his dad's face in it.
The whole shitty town was made out of hand-me-down human relics and anything Henry owned was well-used or mostly-broken. In all his time poking through Jukebox, he'd only found four records that did anything for him.
BLACK FLAG's Damaged.
DAMNED's Damned, Damned, Damned.
MINOR THREAT's Out of Step.
He'd found the fourth one hidden inside of the MINOR THREAT record. An anti-monster band. WOODY STEAKS' The Last Drop. Henry's dad still didn't know he had it; he played it during the day with headphones on while his dad slept.
Glenn flipped the cassette over - he'd recorded all the best songs on the backside - and shoved it in. And turned it up.
The speakers shook with the sound of BLACK FLAG. The guitars sounded like they were thrown down a staircase and recorded in someone's butt. Henry loved it. He looked out the window, strumming the zipper pull on his backpack like a guitar pick.
His dad slumped beside him.
That's right, Man. This is I-don't-have-to-listen-to-you-anymore music. Henry's neighborhood rolled past like a sad and tattered rainbow. Yellow is the color of the weeds in the ghouls' yards, because they're too dead to care. Black is the color of the oil stains splattered in the driveways of the ghosts, because they're too immaterial to scrub it. Brown is the color of the burnt and brittle dirt in the centaur paddocks, because those proud little ponies would never be made to run behind a fence.
Henry whispered the words. "Thirsty and miserable, always wanting more…"
There had been times in recent years where Henry had thought about turning his neck to the side and begging his dad to bleed him dry. Do them both a favor.
Sure some monsters took until sixteen to turn, but everyone knew Henry was human. It was all over but the shouting; one last, formal monster-test after school would prove it. He'd be free to see the world beyond the walls by the time the sun went down.
He kept a notebook under his mattress that he'd filled with all the things he wanted to see and do when he got out: eat something with gluten in it, go to Disneyland, watch a hockey games, get weird in the snow, lay on the beach, see a movie in a movie theater, get sick on candy, make out with girls - find his mother.
Genre: YA - Urban Fantasy
Title: MONSTER TOWN
Henry had thought about killing his dad before. Hell, he'd wished it on candles.
He picked out a fistful of foam from the hole in his seat and watched his dad through the windshield. Fidgeting and adjusting all the goofy shit he wore on their drive to school.
A pink gardening hat with a brim big enough to blot out twenty suns.
Yellow plastic kitchen gloves, cinched around his wrists with hair ties.
Orange snowboarding goggles, wrenched down so tight that his pasty face screamed pink mercy all around the edges. And then there was the fucking shirt. A vintage, loosey-goosey Hawaiian shirt just because. Because he liked the way the breeze tickled his pits, just like he liked the way his leather sandals let his toes sing, just like every little thing he did seemed calculated to piss Henry off.
Henry's eyes shifted over to a green, wooden gardening stake on the work table in the garage. He smiled. What would it take, two seconds to climb out and grab it? Five more to plunge it through his dad's vegetarian, vampire heart? Blood would spurt all over the grease-stained carpet strips, his dad would drop and the wonders of his weakness would do the rest. Henry would straddle him while he gurgled, too, watch his bloodshot eyes bug out with confusion.
It's my sixteenth birthday, Henry would scream. Remember?!
It was also Henry's release day.
Henry's dad would convulse, reaching out with his skinny little arms to apologize as he died. And Henry would take a step back. Fuck you, Anton, he'd say. You're just a shitty monster dad and I've never been anything but your disappointing human son.
Henry made eye contact with his dad through the windshield of their car and saluted him with a turn of his middle finger.
Anton yanked the door open. "You know what?"
Henry never would. His dad always let the empty threat dangle; the Administration's biggest rule applied to him the same way it did to all the monsters allowed to live inside the town's four giant walls: don't fuck with humans.
Naturally the kids at school had found a loophole - if Henry got himself caught up in an accident, nobody from outside gave it a second look. Assholes, every last one of them.
The car screamed when his dad turned the engine over, belts and things he'd promised to repair for years. You could hear it coming from blocks away, a sound like someone playing basketball with a typewriter. But his dad was going to fix it eventually. He just needed to get out from under his work at the library, and his secret meetings at the hardware store and the sunrise, rooftop yoga. His dad would fix their van just as soon as he was done obsessing over himself.
Anton held his breath when he backed out, waiting to see what bit of skin he'd forgot to cover when the sunlight rolled over the car.
"Your forearms, Anton."
"Ah-ya-ya!" The exposed flesh crackled like bacon as soon as the sun hit.
"Jesus!" Henry grabbed the cuffs of his dad's long-sleeve t-shirt and pulled them out from under the short-sleeved Hawaiian one. The whole car smelled like rotten lunch meat.
"We're good - I'm good - everything's good." The car pummeled the neighbor's bushes and laid waist to most of their lawn before everything was finally good. He steered the van out on the open road and choo-choo'ed his pain through the back of his teeth. "You realize it makes me nauseous when you say his name, right?"
"Who? Jesus Christ?"
His dad moaned.
"You realize Arbo tries to kick my ass every time you destroy their yard, right?" Their neighbors were plant elementals; they felt every green, growing thing in town like it was their own skin.
"So tell him it was an accident, Henry - they'll understand!"
Henry shook his head. Not even the monsters understood his dad.
He'd disbanded his gang of vampires before Henry was born and gone vegetarian shortly after that. Henry came along right about the time the war between monsters and humans broke and his dad was the only supermonster to sit it out. Henry had never even seen him sprout a single fang or batwing. And he'd begged him, too. Anton said it made his jaw sore and cramped up his arms. Between that and all the Cat Stevens music, Anton was basically a human, too.
Anton pushed the cassette tape in. True to form, Peace Train came blaring down the tracks. Henry gave it about two seconds before he popped it back out.
"Don't start - it's my week, Henry."
"And it's my birthday, Asshole."
His dad's face went paler than pale. Henry could see the veins running up along his temples.
"You're leaving today."
Henry nodded. Bullseye, you bastard.
Anton's rubber gloves squeaked along the wheel. He couldn't get a grip on what he needed to say; it was just as well for Henry - he wasn't done rubbing his dad's face in it.
The whole shitty town was made out of hand-me-down human relics and anything Henry owned was well-used or mostly-broken. In all his time poking through Jukebox, he'd only found four records that did anything for him.
BLACK FLAG's Damaged.
DAMNED's Damned, Damned, Damned.
MINOR THREAT's Out of Step.
He'd found the fourth one hidden inside of the MINOR THREAT record. An anti-monster band. WOODY STEAKS' The Last Drop. Henry's dad still didn't know he had it; he played it during the day with headphones on while his dad slept.
Glenn flipped the cassette over - he'd recorded all the best songs on the backside - and shoved it in. And turned it up.
The speakers shook with the sound of BLACK FLAG. The guitars sounded like they were thrown down a staircase and recorded in someone's butt. Henry loved it. He looked out the window, strumming the zipper pull on his backpack like a guitar pick.
His dad slumped beside him.
That's right, Man. This is I-don't-have-to-listen-to-you-anymore music. Henry's neighborhood rolled past like a sad and tattered rainbow. Yellow is the color of the weeds in the ghouls' yards, because they're too dead to care. Black is the color of the oil stains splattered in the driveways of the ghosts, because they're too immaterial to scrub it. Brown is the color of the burnt and brittle dirt in the centaur paddocks, because those proud little ponies would never be made to run behind a fence.
Henry whispered the words. "Thirsty and miserable, always wanting more…"
There had been times in recent years where Henry had thought about turning his neck to the side and begging his dad to bleed him dry. Do them both a favor.
Sure some monsters took until sixteen to turn, but everyone knew Henry was human. It was all over but the shouting; one last, formal monster-test after school would prove it. He'd be free to see the world beyond the walls by the time the sun went down.
He kept a notebook under his mattress that he'd filled with all the things he wanted to see and do when he got out: eat something with gluten in it, go to Disneyland, watch a hockey games, get weird in the snow, lay on the beach, see a movie in a movie theater, get sick on candy, make out with girls - find his mother.
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Hedderly
Name: Kate Hedderly
Genre: New Adult, Romance/Fantasy
Title: A Beautiful Lie
Lena had no idea that her life was about to change when she pulled into the gravel lot of her family’s store. It was almost empty except for one vehicle, a truck. Not all that odd for a weekday but the CLOSED sign hanging on the door was odd since it was only midday. Through the big plate glass window she saw a strange man standing eye to eye with her grandfather. The man looked agitated and Lena’s grandfather, George, looked worried. Her grandfather wiped his hand across his face and she wondered why he was so upset and what could possibly have made the customer so agitated. George had always treated his customers with respect; he was such a gracious man, so patient and kind, a gentleman.
Lena watched as her mother, Nora, quickly came to George’s side and placed her hand on the strange man’s arm. It looked like her mother knew him but Lena didn’t recognize the customer and she was pretty sure she knew everyone her mother and granddad knew since she had lived in the small town her whole life and had spent most of her free time at the store. My second home, she thought.
Located on the main thoroughfare between the university and the center of the sleepy little town, her family’s business, Hanson’s Antiques, had been around for as long as Lena could remember. The front of it resembled an old general store, which given the timeworn treasures inside, seemed appropriate.
When curiosity got the better of her, she gathered her things and headed to the entrance.
“I barely managed to get through it! It’s getting weaker. It won’t hold for much longer George,” the man said. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can check my calculations again, perhaps I can strengthen it.” George shook his head and worry began to crease his face. “Did you get it? We never received word.”
“Yes, otherwise I do not believe I would be here. It had to be the power from it that allowed me through.”
The man handed Nora a small package wrapped in burlap. She laid it on the nearest table and unwrapped the covering letting it fall to the side. Inside was an ornate wooden box and her hands shook as she lifted the clasp and opened the lid. She peaked inside not allowing herself to glimpse its entire contents in the open. These were dangerous times and it truly was not her right to behold it. By chance she happened to take her eyes away from the alluring piece and looked out of the window that overlooked the parking lot and her heart jumped when she saw Lena strolling toward the front door of the store.
“Lena!” granddad said with a bit too much enthusiasm, “This is Mr. Garrett Wymond,” her granddad continued with a nervous tick to his voice.
“Hello Mr. Wymond. It’s nice to meet you.” The man just nodded his head and muttered something inaudible.
“He just brought us a very rare piece. Could you go into the storeroom and inventory the most recent delivery? You will find it in the small box sitting on my desk. I’m anxious to get it out of the box and examine it. When you‘re finished please put it in the safe.”
“Sure,” Lena answered. She could feel the intensity in the room.
“Nora. George. “ Mr. Wymond acknowledged them and nodded. He put on his brown leather cowboy hat, pulled it low over his face and turned meeting Lena’s gaze. Immediately Lena’s body went rigid, her eyes fixed on his scarred face, a pink line ran from the middle of his forehead over the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. His reddish beard was trimmed neatly and starting to gray which made him look like a lumberjack. He smiled at her but Lena saw something else on his face, pity. Lena looked down at his hands, which were balled into fists, and saw a gold ring on the index finger of his right hand, some sort of signet ring with a coat of arms and something green in the middle. Through all of this he didn’t utter a word and he swiftly turned and walked out the door.
“What was that all about?” Lena asked after a moment of composure. “Who was that? It looked like you were all arguing when I came in.”
“It was nothing Lena,” her mother answered with a hitch in her voice. “He wanted to be paid for his delivery. We were trying to explain that he would receive his payment when we examined the authenticity of the piece.”
“What did he bring, the Holy Grail?” she asked and laughed nervously.
With the slightest flutter both of their eyes met. They didn’t think Lena noticed, but she did.
“What? What am I missing?” she asked and looked back and forth from one to the other.
This time her grandfather answered, “You’re not missing anything? Why?”
“Well, when I made the comment about the Holy Grail, you two looked at each other, like you know something but don’t want to tell me.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about Lena. There was no look,” her mother replied but her tone told Lena something different.
“Uh-huh,” Lena said and looked at them skeptically. But she didn’t want to press the issue so she turned and walked quickly to the back of the store to where the office was located.
The small box was setting exactly where her grandfather said it was. Lena reached for her canvas apron with the burgundy Hanson’s Antiques emblem on the front, and fastened it quickly around her waist eager to see what was in the burlap wrapped package. Whatever was inside was the cause of the conflict, she was sure of it.
The box itself looked priceless. From her experience Lena could see that it was made of cedar. She recognized the warm amber wood and the faint scent which reminded her of the attic at her house which was also filled with small antiques and other possessions. It had an intricate coat of arms carved on the lid which was attached by two thick brass hinges. The carving was hard to make out, worn down from years of wear but it was a bit more archaic than she initially thought. What she thought was a coat of arms looked more like hieroglyphics or small plain etchings. It was certainly not something she had ever seen before. It looked more like something that belonged in a museum rather than an antique store.
Lena put on her gloves and gingerly opened the ornate box. It was lined with thick purple velvet and in the middle was a small pillow encased in the same soft material. Her breath caught as she registered what she saw. A small gold medallion, the size of a half dollar piece, was placed securely in the middle of its resting place. It was round with what could only be described as thin delicate spokes, like the wheel of a bike, spanning the circumference of the circle. The spokes attached to another small circle which surrounded an emerald about the size of a dime. Immediately she thought of the ring the man was wearing. Could that possibly be real? I’m no expert but the size of that rock has to be worth a fortune.
Genre: New Adult, Romance/Fantasy
Title: A Beautiful Lie
Lena had no idea that her life was about to change when she pulled into the gravel lot of her family’s store. It was almost empty except for one vehicle, a truck. Not all that odd for a weekday but the CLOSED sign hanging on the door was odd since it was only midday. Through the big plate glass window she saw a strange man standing eye to eye with her grandfather. The man looked agitated and Lena’s grandfather, George, looked worried. Her grandfather wiped his hand across his face and she wondered why he was so upset and what could possibly have made the customer so agitated. George had always treated his customers with respect; he was such a gracious man, so patient and kind, a gentleman.
Lena watched as her mother, Nora, quickly came to George’s side and placed her hand on the strange man’s arm. It looked like her mother knew him but Lena didn’t recognize the customer and she was pretty sure she knew everyone her mother and granddad knew since she had lived in the small town her whole life and had spent most of her free time at the store. My second home, she thought.
Located on the main thoroughfare between the university and the center of the sleepy little town, her family’s business, Hanson’s Antiques, had been around for as long as Lena could remember. The front of it resembled an old general store, which given the timeworn treasures inside, seemed appropriate.
When curiosity got the better of her, she gathered her things and headed to the entrance.
“I barely managed to get through it! It’s getting weaker. It won’t hold for much longer George,” the man said. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can check my calculations again, perhaps I can strengthen it.” George shook his head and worry began to crease his face. “Did you get it? We never received word.”
“Yes, otherwise I do not believe I would be here. It had to be the power from it that allowed me through.”
The man handed Nora a small package wrapped in burlap. She laid it on the nearest table and unwrapped the covering letting it fall to the side. Inside was an ornate wooden box and her hands shook as she lifted the clasp and opened the lid. She peaked inside not allowing herself to glimpse its entire contents in the open. These were dangerous times and it truly was not her right to behold it. By chance she happened to take her eyes away from the alluring piece and looked out of the window that overlooked the parking lot and her heart jumped when she saw Lena strolling toward the front door of the store.
“Lena!” granddad said with a bit too much enthusiasm, “This is Mr. Garrett Wymond,” her granddad continued with a nervous tick to his voice.
“Hello Mr. Wymond. It’s nice to meet you.” The man just nodded his head and muttered something inaudible.
“He just brought us a very rare piece. Could you go into the storeroom and inventory the most recent delivery? You will find it in the small box sitting on my desk. I’m anxious to get it out of the box and examine it. When you‘re finished please put it in the safe.”
“Sure,” Lena answered. She could feel the intensity in the room.
“Nora. George. “ Mr. Wymond acknowledged them and nodded. He put on his brown leather cowboy hat, pulled it low over his face and turned meeting Lena’s gaze. Immediately Lena’s body went rigid, her eyes fixed on his scarred face, a pink line ran from the middle of his forehead over the bridge of his nose to his left cheek. His reddish beard was trimmed neatly and starting to gray which made him look like a lumberjack. He smiled at her but Lena saw something else on his face, pity. Lena looked down at his hands, which were balled into fists, and saw a gold ring on the index finger of his right hand, some sort of signet ring with a coat of arms and something green in the middle. Through all of this he didn’t utter a word and he swiftly turned and walked out the door.
“What was that all about?” Lena asked after a moment of composure. “Who was that? It looked like you were all arguing when I came in.”
“It was nothing Lena,” her mother answered with a hitch in her voice. “He wanted to be paid for his delivery. We were trying to explain that he would receive his payment when we examined the authenticity of the piece.”
“What did he bring, the Holy Grail?” she asked and laughed nervously.
With the slightest flutter both of their eyes met. They didn’t think Lena noticed, but she did.
“What? What am I missing?” she asked and looked back and forth from one to the other.
This time her grandfather answered, “You’re not missing anything? Why?”
“Well, when I made the comment about the Holy Grail, you two looked at each other, like you know something but don’t want to tell me.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about Lena. There was no look,” her mother replied but her tone told Lena something different.
“Uh-huh,” Lena said and looked at them skeptically. But she didn’t want to press the issue so she turned and walked quickly to the back of the store to where the office was located.
The small box was setting exactly where her grandfather said it was. Lena reached for her canvas apron with the burgundy Hanson’s Antiques emblem on the front, and fastened it quickly around her waist eager to see what was in the burlap wrapped package. Whatever was inside was the cause of the conflict, she was sure of it.
The box itself looked priceless. From her experience Lena could see that it was made of cedar. She recognized the warm amber wood and the faint scent which reminded her of the attic at her house which was also filled with small antiques and other possessions. It had an intricate coat of arms carved on the lid which was attached by two thick brass hinges. The carving was hard to make out, worn down from years of wear but it was a bit more archaic than she initially thought. What she thought was a coat of arms looked more like hieroglyphics or small plain etchings. It was certainly not something she had ever seen before. It looked more like something that belonged in a museum rather than an antique store.
Lena put on her gloves and gingerly opened the ornate box. It was lined with thick purple velvet and in the middle was a small pillow encased in the same soft material. Her breath caught as she registered what she saw. A small gold medallion, the size of a half dollar piece, was placed securely in the middle of its resting place. It was round with what could only be described as thin delicate spokes, like the wheel of a bike, spanning the circumference of the circle. The spokes attached to another small circle which surrounded an emerald about the size of a dime. Immediately she thought of the ring the man was wearing. Could that possibly be real? I’m no expert but the size of that rock has to be worth a fortune.
Monday, August 4, 2014
1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Meehan
Name: Melanie Meehan
Genre: Middle Grade Fiction
Title: Solstice
As the van chugged up the driveway, Katie remembered Nana’s house as larger than it seemed right now, more welcoming, more magical. At the top of the driveway, Dad shifted into park and looked at Mom, then at Katie and Will who were wedged between boxes and bags.
“Are we ready?” Dad asked.
“I’m not getting any readier,” Mom said.
“Out!” Will yelled, pulling at the buckles on his car seat.
Katie rubbed her hand along the window to clear the fog, straining to see the sparks, glows, and secrets that lived within the gardens. She could not remember visiting Nana in the rain. Visiting Vermont was done in during the magic of snow or the glitter of sun.
“Coming out, Katie-do?” Dad asked, sliding the door open. He stood in front of her, holding a giant golf umbrella. “You haven’t been here before in Vermont’s mud season. Did you know that Vermont is one of the only places in the world with five seasons?”
Katie slid out of the van, and her flip-flopped feet landed in a puddle.
“Out,” Will yelled again.
“In a minute, buddy,” Dad said. “We have a few things to get out of the van before we set you free.”
Katie stepped out of the puddle and faced the house. Her feet felt brittle, and she wiggled the blood back into her toes. The broken gutter that she had heard Mom and Dad talk about curved away from the house and water poured through the opening toward the foundation. Katie had heard Mom and Dad whisper about the gutter, as well as potholes in the driveway, plumbing problems, and faltering kitchen appliances. Katie knew that Nana was forgetting more, Uncle David was worrying more, and Dad had been looking for jobs.
“Out, Katie,” Will called to her. He stretched out his arms to her. “Please.”
“Hold on, Will.” Katie picked a daffodil and handed it to him. Mom used to say that her life growing up in Vermont was always a few steps behind a couple paces slower than others’. Even the daffodils were behind the ones that had already crisped up and wilted in Connecticut.
“Smell, Will.” Katie leaned into the van, trying not to drip water on any of the bags or boxes.
Will held the flower to his nose and tried to inhale, but made the sound of inhaling by breathing through his mouth.
“Through your nose, silly,” Katie said. She sniffed the flower for him. “You can’t smell through your mouth.” She studied the flower. “Doesn’t really have too much smell anyway. You’re not missing much.”
“Out, Katie!” Will pushed against the straps, straightening his body. He pulled at the petals, placing one of them on his tongue.
“Oh dear, Will,” Nana’s voice said, from behind Katie. “Daffodils are for looking at-- not for eating.”
Will scraped the petal off his tongue and laughed.
“Nana!” Katie put her arms around Nana and hugged her. “Nice boots!”
Nana wore a pair of tall polka dotted rubber boots. She looked down at them.
“Ah, my boots,” Nana said. “I couldn’t decide between the black and white ones or the pink and purple. The pink and purple seemed much more playful, don’t you agree? You could use a pair of them.” Nana shook her head at Katie’s bare feet. “You’ll be sick in bed for your first day at Baldwin tomorrow.”
Nana didn’t wait for an answer from Katie, returning to Will and the wilting daffodil. “Are you ready to come out, young man?”
“We’re not quite ready for him, Mother,” Mom said. Mom and Dad had been making trips to the covered porch with bags and belongings from the back of the van. “We’re trying to get the van cleared out before the truck arrives. How about getting some bags?”
“I’m ready for Will, though.” Nana unclipped the carseat and Will slid out. He left the crumpled flower on the seat behind him. Nana picked up the flower and whispered to it. Katie winced as Will headed straight to a puddle. Mom and Dad exchanged a look, and Katie knew they were not happy to have Will a free man.
Nana returned the flower to its cluster, placing it gently beside the others. The other flowers drooped down, almost touching the ground and the flower.
“Supersplash!” Will yelled, jumping in the growing puddles.
Mom’s arms crossed, but Dad shook his head at her. “Let it go, Molly,” he said. “We have plenty to do.”
“He’s all yours, Mother,” Mom said to Nana, as Will sat down in one of the puddles. His blonde curls flattened against his head, while streaks of dirt twirled down his cheeks. Will would leave some ring around the tub tonight.
“Come along, Will,” Nana said. “We have bigger puddles in front of the garage, as well as mud and worms. You have mud season to experience in Vermont.”
Mom’s arms crossed tighter and her mouth opened to say something, but Dad spoke first. “Water, mud, and worms aren’t the worst problem for a little boy.” Dad put his arm around her shoulders. “Let it go,” he repeated. “We have a lot to still bring in before Paul gets here in the moving van.”
Paul, Jenna’s dad, had insisted on driving the rental truck from Vermont. “That’s what friends are for,” he had said. Katie wondered if Dad would miss Paul as much as she would miss Jenna. Probably not.
Will and Nana headed for the front of the garage. Nana was right. The puddles were deeper there. Jumping was still a novelty for Will and the splashes of water that flew up around him made jumping that much better. Katie shook her head as Nana sloshed into the puddle next to Will.
“You jump too, Nana!” Will took Nana’s hands and swung them up and down.
The two of them jumped and laughed and laughed and jumped in the puddles while Katie watched. Mom uncrossed her arms and continued to help Dad empty the van.
Sparkling, dancing droplets of water caught in Nana’s curls and Katie thought about joining in their stomping and sloshing. Just when Katie slid her feet out of her flipflops, Will sat down and began to blow bubbles in the puddle. No, she’d help with the unloading, instead.
“We’ll take all the help we can get,” Dad said to Katie. “Unless you’d rather bond with puddles and worms.”
“I’m in for unloading,” Katie said, leaving the puddle jumpers and mud explorers.
Just as Nana sat down in a puddle with Will, Mr. Borden and the truck arrived. When Dad and Mr. Borden slid open the back, Katie shook her head, wondering how this truckload of furniture and boxes would ever fit into Nan’s already cluttered house.
Katie winced, watching the furniture and boxes stack up in the space above the garage. Frames and coffee table books from the living room, good dining room china, extra linens and pillows, kitchen pots and pans were labels Mom had written with a thick black marker. Would they really see the dishes and blankets and pictures and glasses again? Mom and Dad said living with Nana would not be permanent, but they would all see how it goes, how they all got along, how bad Nana really was.
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