Since a couple of people asked this question yesterday in the comments of my last post–yes, I do sleep, but not very well. Even if I take something to help me sleep, I’m usually up a couple of times during the night. Just like last night: was up at three, used the bathroom, lay in bed trying tot fall back asleep, finally did about four, then woke up at six-twenty . . . and that’s when I hit the ground, did the minimum prep getting ready, and out the door to Panera, where I’m writing this at seven-o-five.
Such is my life: blog in the morning, work during the day (if during the week) or run around doing things (if it’s the weekend), then work on writing during the evening hours. Read a little, watch a little television (which will happen every Saturday night as soon as Orphan Black returns with my beloved Clone Club), and keep thinking writing. Just like last night . . .
I was working on time lines once more, and I’m pretty much at the point where I have five novels worth of material metaploted out. I have more plotted out for my kid’s lives, yes, but this is all about their school years, and the crap they get into. No getting chased by some evil dude wanting to take over the world: nope, it’s much more. And in some cases, much worse.
Then again there are light moments I see that are fun for my kids, taking them out of the stress that is the Salem Institute of Greater Education and Learning. You can only spend so much time inside a three hundred and fifty year old edifice before you need a break–
And that comes right about . . . here.
There is a little blue line there near the middle of the display that says, “Annie Spends Yule with Kerry,” and that’s exactly what it means. This is during their D Level Yule holiday. Annie’s fifteen, Kerry fourteen, and they’ve begun to . . . let’s say assert themselves when it comes to their relationship. They can both teleport long distances, so there’s no keeping them apart at this point–after all, when the boyfriend can jaunt to his girlfriend’s lake house in a matter of a second, and she can visit him in Cardiff any time she is of a mind, what can parents do? Keep them locked in a cage? Nope, nope, nope. Doesn’t work that way, folks. Not with kids like these.
Since I’m in a good mood, I thought I’d share a scene that I’ve had in my head the last couple of days. Like I said, I’m always thinking, always dreaming, and this sort of stuff is the end result. I have nothing written down, and frankly I’ve never sketched my scenes for anyone before writing them down, but since it’s going to be a while before I get to this scene, I thought I’d let you see the sort of things I come up with when I’m letting the imagination run free.
Sit back and enjoy.
(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)
It’s Boxing Day. Kerry’s up because he knows Annie’s on GMT +2 time, so while it’s seven AM in Cardiff, he’s aware she’s probably been up since before five AM her time, and the only reason she hasn’t shown yet is because she didn’t want to disturb Kerry’s parents.
Kerry’s phone gets a message: “Coming”. He tells his parent to clear out of the front lounge; a few seconds later Annie and her parent teleport in. Both sets of parents have met by now, and this holiday was agreed upon right before the school year began. Though his parent don’t know, Kerry knows Annie was the one who teleported her family in from Bulgaria. He takes her bag while Annie’s parents are asked in for coffee, to which they agree.
That’s when Kerry asks if his parents want breakfast. His mom is like, “I can’t start that now,” and he’s like, “No, Mom: we got this.” While the parents chill in the family room overlooking the back yard, Annie and Kerry head for the kitchen.
Kerry shows Annie where everything is, but before they get started Kerry brings his tablet down from his bedroom. That’s easy to do: he uses inanimate transformation magic to make the ceiling/floor and walls permeable, then he levitates the tablet into his hands. He sticks it to the wall and pulls up a playlist, and selects And You and I by Yes.
Kerry throws open the cabinet doors as Steve Howe finishes tuning his guitar and says, “Okay”. He pulls out dishes and plates and leaves them hovering in the air. He asked Annie to dice an onion and scallions while he removes four eggs and the milk. Everything is levitating in the air: at no point does either child touch a plate or a tool. Kerry cracks the eggs into a bowl and pours in the milk, then uses a simple spell to whisk the mixture. Annie levitates an onion into a bowl and imagines it segmenting into tiny diced segments; a couple of seconds later it’s done, and she splits the skin and sends it to the bin. At nearly the same time she’s using a spell to slice the scallions into small pieces. It’s not a problem for her, as she’s known how to multitask spells for a couple of years, and has leaned how to do as many as eight difference spells in a matter of seconds.
By this time Kerry’s parents are watching from the open doorway into the kitchen, amazed. Even the Kirilovas have never seen Annie like this and watch in silence as they see the children work. Kerry asks Annie to set up a pan and a skillet; she pulls them out from the cabinets, but she doesn’t bother setting them on the burners. She levitates them over the stove, locks them into place, and sets two tiny globes of cold fire under them, adjusting them so that only the bottoms of the utensils are affected. As they’ve cooked before at school she sets the temperature to sixty-five Celsius.
And the keyboard bridge to the song comes up and Wakeman’s mellotron swells, Kerry moves as if he’s conducting. The eggs go into the skillet, and Annie sets the onions and scallions in with them. With a wave of his hand he floats a can of beans from out of the pantry and sets them before Annie–she smiles and makes a comment about “UK breakfasts”, then upends the can over the pan and uses transformation magic to make one end of the can become insubstantial. The beans fall into the pan and begin cooking while the scrambled eggs do the same.
By this time both kids are moving around the kitchen almost like they’re dancing, with Kerry singing while he cooks. All the empty mixing bowls are off to the side, hovering in place. He says they need a package of sausages, and Annie removes them from the freezer. As she levitates them towards the stove she uses a spell to thaw them, so in the few seconds of travel they are unfrozen and ready for the skillet.
The song ends and Annie makes a remark about needing to hear something a bit more upbeat. Kerry knows her musical taste are different from hers and even enjoys a majority of her selections. She uses her far sight to see the tablet from across the kitchen, and finds a stream with something more contemporary (which will almost be now, since this is happening on December, 2014) with a good beat. As the song starts Kerry transfers the scrambled eggs to a plate and throws a spell around them, slowing the passage of time so one minute in the kitchen is only one second on the plate. That way the eggs will remain nice and hot.
The sausage go into the skillet and the package into the bin. By this time the kids are more or less dancing around the kitchen, singing and smiling. Kerry’s parents tell Annie’s parents they’ve never seen him this happy, and her parent agree that Annie seems to not only be just as happy, but in her own element with magic.
Annie asks if she should set the table: Kerry shows her where the plates and silverware are. She points to the overhead cabinet and six plates float out. She walks over to the connecting doorway between the kitchen and dining room, the plates following. She positions them on the table, then wills forks and knives from the drawer and places them next to the settings. Kerry finishes with the sausages and sets them on another plate floating next to the eggs. The beans go into a bowl, and Annie–who is now standing behind Kerry–kills the cold fire. Kerry permeates not only the wall between the kitchen and dinning rooms, but the fixtures and the server in the dining room as well; Annie takes possession of the three plates and bowls of food and majestically walks straight through the wall while Kerry places all the dirty utensils into the sink, transforms the surfaces so they are completely frictionless, then sets them for a good soak. Kerry follows Annie through the wall, then sets everything back so it’s as solid as it was.
Annie sets the food upon the server and turns to Kerry, who turns to her. The parents are standing in the archway between the family and dining rooms. Kerry thrown an arm around Annie’s shoulders; they’re both beaming. Look at the amused and amazed parents, he says, “That’s how you do breakfast . . .” He turns to Annie for a second, and then they both finish the sentence. ” . . . with witches in the kitchen.”
At this point you have to wonder if Kerry’s parents have lost control of their bowels in abject fear of what their son has become, ’cause after seeing that little display you’ve got to be down with your kid being able to make things float around the room and walk through walls like it’s no big thang, or you end up running from the house screaming, “Witch! Burn the witch!” Which would be a bad thing, ’cause The Foundation would frown on the parents of one of their star pupils outting their kid like that. He could also turn them into newts, but need worry to worry: they’ll get better.
But the best part of all of this is that Kerry is . . .
Naw. You’re gonna have to wait until I write this to discover that part.