Dragon Attacks and Breakfast Meetings

It’s not a good morning up here in Casa Burg.  Last night was electrolysis, and it didn’t go well.  It went badly.  Actually it went sort of horribly as I sorta lost it after ninety minute and had a five minutes combination panic and crying attack.  I couldn’t go on at that point, and the nice woman who shoots electricity into my face did what she could to comfort me.  Even so, I spent about half the trip home crying, and I never really felt up the rest of the night.

So remember, people:  being hormonal + emotionally raw for a few weeks + having electricity shot into your face + hearing the wrong song played at the wrong time, which is what really set me off = Massive Crying Jag.  It was one of the hardest things I’ve went through.  And I’m going back again next Wednesday, because I love having the most sensitive part of my face feeling like it’s on fire.

Dramatic recreation of how I felt.  No actual dragons used in the real thing.

Dramatic recreation of how I felt. No actual dragons were used in the real thing.

And even through all that, I wrote.  One thousand and nine words wrote, and that’s an exact count.  I would have stopped short of that count, but I had to finish up something least I be reminded that I left a particular scene hanging.  I wouldn’t want to do that.

It’s the first day of school at Salem, Reacquaintance Day as the returning students call that, and we know who’s back for seconds.  A few days ago we saw Annie getting ready, wearing her flats and a skirt because it was going to be hot.  But where is Kerry?  And how does he look?  Well . . .

 

(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)

“Good morning, Sweetie.”

Kerry jumped up from the sofa in the Mezzanine Commons and met her at the stairs. Annie couldn’t keep her grin from showing the second she saw him, because, just like her, she was dressed in a way she’d never seen before. Yes, he had on his tennis shoes and a tee shirt—this one had some kind of stone angel screaming at an unseen person—but he was also wearing shorts. They weren’t very short—like her skirt, they reached to just above his knees—but it was seeing Kerry’s legs like this

Kerry in long shorts.  Just imagine that . . .

 

She bounced up to him. “How are you, my love?” She gave him a quick kiss. “I’m surprised you’re here before me.”

“Ah, I was up early.” He stepped onto the stairs and walked to the ground floor with Annie to his left. “I guess I was too excited to sleep in late.”

“Even after getting to bed late?” Annie glanced out from eyes hooded by her brow as she gave Kerry a slight grin.

“Even with not getting to bed until after one.” He took her hand as they reached the ground floor and they began walking across the commons towards one of the tower exits. “Then again, that’s like normal sleep time for the Midnight Madness, right?”

“Yes.” She opened the inner tower door, and did the same when they reached the entrance to the outside. “And we were also up late every night in Berlin—”

“Getting accustomed to the times here.” Kerry breathed in the warm morning air saturating the Pentagram Garden. The sun was warm, the sky clear, the wind brisk. “So unlike last year.”

“I know.” Annie remembered there first day walking to the Dining Hall, the weather cool and cloudy. But nothing like the night before when I was professing my life while he kept me warm. “Come on, let’s get to breakfast.” She tightened her grip upon her love’s hand. “You know what I want—”

 

Yes, what does Annie want besides more face sucking time with here Soul Mate?  I think she wants food . . .

 

Things were set up as before: the A Levels were set up in the front of the hall, at assigned tables, while the remainder of the students sat at tables behind them. The food was laid out along the west wall buffet-style: today was a day for obfuscation, so no one would find their breakfast appearing before them. However . . .

A woman in a blue jumpsuit approached them. “Annie; Kerry. So nice to see you again.”

“Good morning, Una. Nice to see you again, Una.” Annie turned and gave the head of the kitchen, Una Grandinm, a huge smile.

Kerry placed his hand in front of him and laced his fingers together. “How you doing, Una?”

“Doing well, Kerry.” She indicated the buffet table to their left. “You’ll find everything you need today laid out—”

“Is it still possible to get special orders?” Annie was almost bouncing up and down on her toes.

Una tapped her finger against the corner of her mouth. “What would you like?”

“Printsessi: two, please.”

“I should have known.” Una turned to Kerry. “Would you like to order something as well?”

He glanced at Annie. “I’d like two printsessi as well, please.”

“Ah—” A wide grin appeared across Una’s face. “Developing a taste for Bulgarian fare, are we?”

“Well, you never know—” Kerry slid his arm around Annie’s shoulders and gave her a hug. “I might be eating it a lot in the future.”

 

The dish Annie and Kerry are talking about are the second one on this list, with their favorite Midnight Madness dish, banitsas, right below that.  They go over to the table they were at the day before–a couple of rows behind where they sat the year before–and comment on their situation:

 

Annie saw about half the instructors were already seated at the tables flanking the podium. “I’m excited.”

Kerry stopped lightly drumming his fingers against the edge of the table. “I am, too.” He leaned in towards Annie. “Now I know why all the kids from last year were looking at us so strangely.”

“Because they knew we were completely unaware of what was coming.”

“Well—” He touched Annie’s right arm. “At least one did.”

She shook her head. “My parents told me nothing about the school. While I knew what it was like to live in a magical environment, I was just as unaware of what was coming here as you.”

“And now we’re the experts—”

“Hello, Kerry.”

 

Now who is interrupting the excitement these two are feeling?  Any guesses?  Any?

 

Emma stood at the other side of the table, rocking back and forth on her heels as her eyes darted from Kerry to Annie and back. “How, how you doing?”

“I’m okay.” He smiled as he sat up slowly, keeping his eyes focused on his American friend. “We didn’t see you yesterday.”

“Yeah—” Emma looked towards Annie, who’d remained silent. “How you doing, Annie?”

“I’m well, Emma.” Annie let her head tilt slightly to the right. “Where were you yesterday?”

“Spent most of the time in the coven tower.” Emma leaned against the back of a chair, but made no move yet to sit. “They didn’t let us, um, you know—” She lowered her voice. “Adjust on the plane.” She looked behind her, then continued speaking in a normal tone. “So we had to do that when we got here. Ended up sleeping until almost eighteen, and ended up sitting with Nadine and a few others.” She let her voice drop again, as if sharing a secret. “I didn’t see you there.”

“We ate earlier—” Kerry smiled at Annie. “Then we went for a walk to the Observatory before going back to the tower.”

“We wanted to get inside before the A Levels were place.” Annie’s grin almost matched the conspiratorial tone Emma was effecting. “We came back on his Espinoza.”

“Ah.” Emma understood that Annie didn’t want to say out loud that they flew back on Kerry’s broom.

Yeah, keep that info to yourselves if you can.  At least Annie is being a good, um, host–

 

“No: these.” She picked up a fork, then remembered their guest. “Would you like to join us, Emma? I’m sure the kitchen can make you a plate.”

“Um—” She stepped back from the table, shaking her head. “I’m gonna go sit with some of the girls from the cover.” Emma caught herself before walking away and addressed Kerry. “Are you going down to the Flight School in the afternoon? Nadine said Professor Salomon will let us try out the Class 2’s”

“I don’t know.” Kerry hadn’t figured out his afternoon yet, because he didn’t know what Annie and he would do after breakfast. “I might: it just depends.”

“Oh, okay.” Emma nodded a couple of times. “I’ll catch you guys later.” She hurried off across the room, sitting with a group of girls about four rows over.

 

Like Emma wants to sit there all uncomfortable and stuff while they eat strange food from somewhere in Eastern Europe, though Emma did her best to entice Kerry away with talk of new flying equipment.  Honey, his girlfriend can buy him one if it wants to try it out–come to think of it, so could he . . .

So, a couple of thousand words over a couple of days, and the novel stands at just under thirty-seven thousand words:

Considering everything I've been though this last weekend, not too bad.

Considering everything I’ve been though this last weekend, not too bad.

I should finish this tonight, and maybe get my kids on the Road to Memory.  What will they find there?

Well, someone who’ll probably read their tea leaves . . .

The Sadness, the Songs, and Everything

The first chapter of the new novel, Chapter One, is a done deal.  Almost seventy-eight hundred words in five days–

I have proof right here.

I have proof right here.

Which isn’t a bad start to things.  It’s not a NaNo Start, but close enough.  I only do NaNo Starts during NaNoWriMo, though getting through ten thousand worlds in the first few days isn’t that big of a deal for me–I’ve done it a couple of times before.  Not this time.

So . . . Annie’s crying.  Well, one tear’s worth of crying, but still, it’s a start.  She doesn’t do more, but in the course of events we learn that, yeah, this isn’t the first time.  What was?

 

 (All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)

“Do you know what was the hardest part of the day we returned from Salem? Going to dinner with my parents.” Annie’s eyes didn’t leave Kerry’s, and they seemed to reflect her emotions. “I sat there and was pleasant and answered questions and tried to keep a smile on my face through most of the evening, but the entire time we were together all that mattered was seeing your face as I left you in Amsterdam. I felt the pain of out separation with every step I took.”

“So did I.” Kerry pulled Annie in and held her close. “Ms. Rutherford had to clean me up before she could take me home.”

Annie brushed his cheek with her fingertips. “I’m so sorry that happened.”

“It’s not your fault, Sweetie.”

“No, but I don’t like to see you in pain.” She rested her head against him for a moment. “When we returned home that night, my mother wanted me to sleep in my room in the main hour, and I tried, but after an hour I gave up and went out to the lake house and started a fire—”

“Did you use cherry wood?” The scent of cherry wood burning in the lake house fire place as he experienced it in the vision of their wedding night remained strong within his memory.

“Yes, I did—” Her mood began to lighten a little. “I sat on the sofa and stared into the fire and thought of you at home looking up at the moon and imagining me looking back at you. I got up and went to the deck and sat and did the same; it wasn’t until I started to write that first letter to you that I realized my cheeks were wet.” Annie kissed him slowly, at first brushing his lips with hers before showing her full affection. “You’re the only one who’s ever done that to me. My parents haven’t made me cry since I was about five, but you—” She touched his chin, then ran her fingers across his chest. “I’m away from you for a few hours, and I’m crying.”

She signed and leaned into him. “Don’t tell anyone, particularly Helena. I don’t want them to know.”

“Your secret’s safe with me—” He touched his head to hers. “Forever.”

“I know.” She wrapped her arm around Kerry’s back. “I love you.”

He reached for her hand, found it, and gave it a squeeze. “I love you.” He kissed her cheek. “You know how much I’ve wanted to say that to you since we left America?”

Though she suspected the answer, she couldn’t ask because they suddenly found they were no longer alone. “There you are.”

 

Helena and Erywin:  Romance Buzzkills Since 2011.  That’s one of the problems with people being able to teleport in and out:  they just show up and there they are.  Just as long as the don’t know it at the lake house during “The Moment”, if you know what I mean.

We hear about cherry wood again, and that aroma seems to haunt Kerry a little, probably because he wants to smell it first hand.  And now we know that seeing how you’ll be away from your soul mate for months will bring a tear to the eyes of a girl who hasn’t given her parents the satisfaction of seeing her cry in seven years.  That Annie, she’s a tough one.

Still, there are still things ahead, and stuff to do . . .

 

Annie’s arm remained around Kerry as she turned to face the owner of that voice. “Hello, Helena.” She nodded to the women standing next to her. “Hello, Erywin.”

“Hello, Annie.” Erywin hung her right hand on her purse strap. “You been taking care of Kerry?”

She turned to him and smiled. “I’ve given him more attention in the last four hours than I’m certain he’s had in the last four weeks.”

Helena nodded. “I’m sure he’s not gone without” She pulled out her phone and checked the display. “I told your mother I’d have you back for dinner, and it’s almost eighteen.” She dropped the mobile in a jacket pocket. “We need to leave.”

“I know.” Annie began to step away from Kerry, then turned and hugged him passionately. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“I wish I could stay with you the rest of the summer.” Kerry didn’t want to release her: he wanted to go home with her, see her parents, visit her lake house, sit before the fire and gaze up at the loft where their vision said they would one day consummate their love . . . “It isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t.” She gazed into his eyes. “But I must.” Annie touched his lips. “Promise me you won’t cry.”

He nodded slowly. “I’ll have a smile on my face when you leave.”

“You better.” She walked slowly towards Helena, turning around two-thirds of the way there to address her soul mate as she walked backwards. “Seven weeks, yes?”

“Seven weeks.” He pulled one strap of his backpack—which he’d been carrying since leaving the bench—over his right shoulder. “Pogrizhete se, prekrasnata mi srodna dusha.”

Annie laughed as she took her place at Helena’s right side. “You’ve been working on your Bulgarian.”

Kerry shrugged. “What else am I gonna do this summer?” He forced a smile. “See? Smiling. Just like I promised.”

“Just as you promised.” She reached for Helena’s hand, but stopped short. She kissed the right index and middle finger of her right hand, then held them out in Kerry’s direction. “Obicham te, Kerry.”

He did the same with his left hand and fingers. “I love you, Annie.”

She smiled and managed a small wave before they jaunted out.

 

Those kids, laying the lips on each other right in front of the adults.  Should be mentioned that they’re adults who’ve gotten them rooms at hotels/inns, but still . . . the kissing parts.  You have to read them.  And there has been a lot of kissing on this lunch date.

And kissing leads to–singing?  Yep, because I said I was going to work a certain song into this scene, and damned if I didn’t.  Behold!

 

A second after Annie departed Kerry’s smile vanished. He closed his eyes and started sobbing, fighting to stay on his feet. He felt as if he were back in Amsterdam, watching Annie follow her mother out of the airport. The afternoon was perfect—even the weather was unable to dampen their enthusiasm and love.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder, and Erywin was next to him, singing.

I turned around she was gone
All I had left was one little flower in my hand

But I knew
She had made me happy

Flowers in her hair
Flowers everywhere

Even with tears streaming down his cheeks, he couldn’t prevent himself from smiling. He’d heard her once before, when she was under a spell that compelled her to sing, and while others in Sorcery class had laughed and joked, Kerry could only imagine her on stage during the Ostara Performance, back when she was a student, singing to the school the way she was singing to him—

I love the flower girl
Was she reality or just a dream to me?

I love the flower girl
Her love showed me the way to find a sunny day

 

And in case you were wondering:

Always have your notes for different languages and song lyrics at hand and ready.

Always have your notes for different languages and song lyrics at hand and ready.

That’s always how I do things, by keeping my notes close at hand for just the scene.  One day I’ll need to move all my Bulgarian comments to a separate text file so I’ll have them for reference.  Not to mention a few songs I’ve used here and there, though in the last novel I only did one song, and Kerry referred to it in the scene above.  I’ve had my kids go to the Russell Square Pert a Manger in both novels, and Erywin has sung in both novels?  What else can I set up as happening every year?

But it helps to have things around, and that’s one of the reasons I like that little strip over on the right of Scrivener:  it gives me places to keep things.  Such as that word count.  I wrote in two different locations and I kept track of what my count was at each station.  I also finished up this last section during the first thirty minutes of The Americans, mostly during ads and when no one was speaking Russian, because when that happens you gotta check the subtitles.

How’d you like that song, Red?

 

Kerry sniffed a couple of times between the chuckles. “What’s that? I’ve never heard that song.”

“It’s something my mother used to sing.” Erywin slipped her hands into her jacket and hugged here purse close to her body. “It was one of her favorite songs. Whenever she was feeling down she’d sing, and that was part of her repertoire.”

“Nice.” He wiped his face clean with his hand. “You have a lovely singing voice, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you ever do Ostara?”

There was a slight pause before she answered. “Yes.”

 

Why the pause, Erywin?  I’m sure there’s a story there–well, I know there is, because I’m also Erywin.  And a song Kerry didn’t know?  Yep.  Because his mom was an egg when that one was popular, and more than likely didn’t listen to it as a kid.

Now that he’s crying, Kerry wants to know–

 

He decided not to pursue any more questions there: he sensed it was something Erywin didn’t want to discuss. “Does it ever get better?”

Erywin shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “What?”

“The pain.”

She shook her head. “No. You get better at managing it, but the actual pain never gets better.” Erywin looked off into the distance, concentrating on something. “If it’s any consolation, the pain doesn’t get worse. Usually.”

“Yeah.” He slipped the other strap of his backpack over his shoulder and adjusted it into place. “I’ll learn.”

“You will.” Erywin moved so she was standing in front of Kerry. “Do you like ice cream?”

He laughed. “I’m twelve; of course I like ice cream.”

“There’s a little shop in Brighton that has the most incredible confections.” She cocked her head to one side. “Care to give one a try?”

“And ruin my appetite for the wonderful take away we’ll probably have tonight?” Kerry wondered what sort of meal Annie was going to sit down to later in the evening . . .

“In that case, we can share a parfait.” Erywin gave Kerry’s arm a squeeze. “How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m glad.” She punched the location into her phone app before holding out her hand. “Let’s go.”

He stared at her hand. “Don’t we have to wait for Helena?”

“No. We discussed this before coming here, and she’ll meet us there.”

“Oh.”

“We considered taking you both, but then thought—” She lowered her hand. “You would probably rather have the time alone.”

“Thanks.” He sighed loudly as he looked around the still-empty park. “This was the best four-and-a-half hours of the summer.”

She reached for him once more. “Don’t worry: we’ll take you both next time.”

Kerry took the outstretched hand. “Will there be a next time?”

Erywin winked. “You know it.”

 

Ice Cream!  Everyone likes ice cream, especially twelve-year-old boys.  I love that line, actually:  was quite proud to think it up, and it seems the sort of smart ass thing Kerry would say to someone with whom he’s comfortable as a friend.

Where they matching making?  Don’t need to do that with kids who’ve seen their wedding night.  More like a couple of friends knew it was the mid-point of the summer, and it might be a good idea to let these two have some time together.  But there is the promise of another outing, and while I might not happen this novel, it’s something that will happen with some regularity.

One chapter down, many to go.

It’s a good start.

The Long Evening of Silent Dreams

Yesterday was pretty much one of the best I’ve had in a long time.  Had a good day on the blog, with probably my biggest days ever.  Managed to get through work and was pretty productive in the process.  Had a fairly light dinner which did wake me up in the middle of the night with gas.

I wrote almost nothing, however.

It was really a combination of emotions and my body telling me I needed a break.  The last couple of days, between my novel and blog posts, I’ve written about forty-five hundred words, and when you add that into the normal mix of, you know, working, it adds up to a lot going on, mentally speaking.  I don’t get much of a physical workout typing, but it does put the strain on the brain.

And then I looked at my over all word counts–

First I looked at Act Two and was like, okay . . .

First I looked at Act Two and was like, okay . . .

But then . . .

I looked at the whole manuscript, and was like, "Holy shit."

I looked at the whole manuscript, and was like, “Holy shit.”

Eight months now I’ve been hard at work, with a month and a half of that to do edits and rewrites.  This has really become my second job, writing this novel, and I haven’t spent this much time on a single work since–well, since my first novel which ended up taking twenty years to finish.  I do promise I’ll finish this one in a lot shorter period of time.

But now I have to start thinking like a real writer; I need to start getting things published.  I haven’t put out any new work since last May, and the thinking is starting to go like, “Maybe what I need to do is pick out a couple of things that I can get out to readers so they can look them over, offer suggestions for edits, and then find someone to do covers.  Because the shit in my “Stories to Edit” folder aren’t doing anything but collecting electronic dust there.

So my thinking is, after Act Two is in the bag I’ll pull out a couple of things and start getting them ready.  I can think of two novels that could go up, and maybe even one rather dirty little story as well–under another name, of course.  But there’s more to writing than just writing–it’s just fan fiction that doesn’t see the light of day if I don’t get it out there.  Yeah?

I’ve also got to consider if, by the end of the year, if I want to start putting this novel out by acts.  Say, Act One out by the first of the year; then Act Two in March, and then Act Three . . . well, by next summer I should have finished Act Three.  And it would be a great way to get interest in the story releasing it that way.  I hope.

Last night was also a good night for crying.  That was another reason I couldn’t write anything:  lots of emotional distress.  Really, getting flippy is not a good way to spend the evening.  You look at something, you smile, then a minute later you’re gasping for air you’re so crying so hard.  And ten minutes later you’re back to laughing, or at least smiling over a random thought.

Tonight I’ll be back into the new scene, which I really do want to finish.  And the one after that should be short and sweet.  I need to get to my Witch House by this weekend–

Which reminds me:  I have to think of something else to write as well.

Does it never end?

The Crying Again and Again Game

Let’s start right off by saying that hormones are interesting things.  They define you in certain ways, they regulate some aspects of your body, and when they come and then go, they can pretty much drive you insane for a little while.  Particularly when they come and throw you into a Texas cage death match called “puberty”.  Oh, it’s so much fun.  Your body changes, your mind starts getting rewired, interesting “things” happen to you–

Fun, right?  We’ve all been through it . . .

Some of us liked it so much the first time we’re going through it a second time.  Why?  Because it’s fun, I just told you that!

"I'm so glad I signed up for this trip.  It's so--they stubbed their toe?  Ahhhhhh!"

“I’m so glad I signed up to go through puberty again. It’s so–my friend stubbed her toe? Whaaaa!”

That’s was me from about, oh, say, 11 AM yesterday until pretty much I went to bed–and even a little after that.  First off, I got upset because of a friend–not because she was mean to me or anything like.  No, because she was in a contest that I knew she’d poured her heart and soul into, and she didn’t so much as win, place, or show.  And I felt bad for her.  Real bad.  So bad that I started crying in the office.  It’s a good thing I have my own little office, because that way I could hide behind the door for a little bit and keep people from seeing me.  I was off and on with that gig a few times during the afternoon.

Then I was home and I was fine.  I had to run out and pick up a few things, then I stopped to eat and I figured, “Hey, a pizza buffet would be great right about now!”  Big mistake.  The pizza and pasta were good, but I had such a carb overload by the time I arrived home that I was in a semi-state of grogginess the rest of the night.  It was so bad all I could do was stare at the screen and think about writing–but write I could not.  Not a single word.

But that’s okay, because when I’m not writing I’m going over scenes in my head, reworking, refining.  So I did that.  With several different scenes.

Oh, joy.

One of the scenes has Annie about the open a magical can of whoop-ass on another student and getting stopped before any damage happens.  Why is she pissed?  Because the student put Kerry in the hospital, and if there’s one thing Annie doesn’t like it’s Kerry in the hospital, and–

Crying Jag Number One.

Okay, over that.  So then I start working on something else:  a thing the kids say to each other years down the line–you might even call it a vow.  A vow that Annie starts, that pretty much defines everything she feels for Kerry and–

Crying Jag Number Two.

Okay, something safe, then.  Kerry’s adventures in his own budding puberty, which leads to something happening to him, which then leads to visions and the telling of dreams and the two of them getting together and talking about them, and then all the emotions of those dreams coming out . . .

That was Crying Jag Number Three, and pretty much the end of the night.

So, I learned an important lesson yesterday:  pizza buffet for lunch, but not when you have writing at night.  Otherwise you won’t be working on the scene in front of you, you’ll be thinking of scenes to come, and that may not be a good thing . . .

"What do you mean the kids can't have any pudding?  Whaaaaa!"

“What do you mean the kids can’t have any pudding? Whaaaaa!”

The Zen of Artful Crying

During editing last night I was tripping through the part of my novel that I have to say contains some of my favorite passages.  Nothing major, just little scenes that get the characters into their new home after a strange situation, and allow them time to grow.  And to allow some interesting things to slip out.  Such as . . .

(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Does your doctor do a glowy-hand thing with you before talking about crazy spirits?

Does your doctor do a glowy-hand thing with you before talking about crazy spirits?  I thought not.

But there’s a line right in the middle of the above passage that I like a lot:  “Hey, Red.” Coraline’s soothing, caring tone, drew Kerry’s attention back to her. “Nothing to be ashamed of—we all need a good cry now and then.”  And that’s one truth about Kerry:  he cries.  A lot.  Oh, it hasn’t actually happened yet–well, okay, it has.  He cries in the middle of his E and A–actually has two near-meltdowns–and is crying when he returns to Isis and Annie, and there’s a moment coming up . . .

But you get the idea.  Some might say that for an eleven year old boy he cries far more than he should.  He admits at one point that he last cried just as summer was starting, and that he hadn’t since arriving at school.  And in the course of his tenure at Salem, he’ll lose it more than a few times each year.

Annie cries as well–oh, boy, does she–but people would say, “Hey, that’s all right:  she’s a girl.”  Yeah:  she’s a girl.  A girl who as the story progresses could leave your rapidly cooling body in a bloody heap in the middle of any floor of her choosing, and would do so with little to no emotional response to wasting your ass.  Probably because she didn’t like you saying, “She’s a girl.”

I used to get that a lot.  I cried a lot as a kid, and I’d get the, “You need to toughen up!  You act like a girl!”  Well . . . yeah.  Sorry to disappoint you there, parental units, but your kid is a mental and emotional mess, so the tears are gonna flow–and insulting me with gender stereotypes isn’t going to help.  It wasn’t until I was into therapy like four decades later that I came to the realization that (1) it’s okay to be in touch with your emotions and if you gotta cry, let that fly, and (2) yeah, I’m also a big girl, so deal with that.

Kerry is, quite frankly, a mess as a kid.  He’s smart.  He doesn’t care for sports save for a few things here and there.  At home he feels unwanted and unloved, and emotionally he shut down over the summer of 2011–in part because of his home life, in part because of something else.  Coming to school forces him to confront issues he’d rather forget, and those issues make him open up to the world once more.

Particularly when this happens:

Yes, when a girl tells you she's your soul mate, you must do the kissing parts, Kerry.

When a girl tells you she’s your soul mate, you must do the kissing parts, Kerry.  You can’t say no.

He’s a clumsy kid who doesn’t know what girls are like and whose first kiss doesn’t end in jubilation jumping up and down with some fist pumping.  It ends with a smile and a softly spoken “Wow,” because he’s never been to this point before, and what else is there to say but “Wow”?

I like him and I like Annie, and I enjoy the dynamic they share, because as smart and as powerful as they both are, they’re still kids who probably won’t know the best ways to handle the situations they’ll encounter.  Which means a lot of doing things that feel right, but are probably not the right thing to do.  Like, you know, putting your life in danger by flying along a race course at extremely high speed because it’s fun, and you’re just racin’.

Don’t know how much I edited last night, but it was fun.  I got the kids in their fishbowl:  now to return to the dawning realizations and clean them up.

Cleaning up the realization that your a witch is not the same as a clean up in asile five.

Cleaning up the realization that your a witch is not the same as a clean up in Aisle Five.  It’s messier.

 

 

To See the Tormented Woe

Snowmageddon III has hit, and this time The Burg is down for the count.  None of this, “Hey, three hour delay coming into work,” stuff now:  the state has shut down like that.  Mostly because it’s suppose to be like this all day. Which means I’ll be in the apartment today, and probably on a start delay tomorrow.  After that–who knows?  My guess would be more snow and wind and icy crap for weeks to come.

"How's that cold bothering you now, honey?  Maybe you need a glacier to get you in the mood?"

“How’s that cold bothering you now, honey? Maybe a glacier would get you in a better mood!”

You should let it go, Elsa.

Finished Annie’s big reveal last night, and it was a lot bigger than I’d ever anticipated it running.  Kerry’s meeting with Vicky ran fifteen hundred words:  last night’s scene between Annie and Deanna ran a little over four thousand.  But Annie has a lot more on her mind, you can bet on that.

She got past all the stuff about being a selfish little girl and got into the part that really bothered her–namely, how it was that she’d seen a certain kid in her dreams for quite some time–meaning most of her so far short life–and how she’d developed an attraction for said kid because when they’re right there in your dreams, waiting for you like a cute little kitty, you don’t walk away from that, at least not willingly.

Here is the conundrum:  things like lake houses and bedrooms and getting mama’s books on sorcery, that’s not a big deal.  Parents can say no, but as Annie pointed out, she knows how to work them.  The things themselves?  They can’t say jack.  They go along for the ride.

What happens when the thing you want can say no?  What happens when you’ve geared your life around knowing someone, and believing that they are going to be happy being a part of your life–and then you realize, hey, this dude might have other thoughts, particularly since it doesn’t appear as if he’s completely on-board with the whole, “I’m in love with you,” thing.  Yeah, he’s trying, and I’m pushing, and–

What if in the end it’s a big-badda-boom?  What if there is no passing Go, no collecting two hundred dollars?  What if there is no Multipass at the end of the Salem School rainbow?

Throughout the scene there were hints that the tears were coming:  here, there, you’d see a few drips.  By the end of the scene she was crying so hard she was flinging them to the sides of the Deanna the Seer’s office.  It’s wasn’t a nice moment, but then, getting the kids to cry is my business.  I don’t always like it, but I always have a reason.

It still made me feel bad.  Any time anyone cries because they’re afraid they’ll lose love, it’s a horrible moment.  Such as it was when I finished writing, I started listening to some tunes I hadn’t heard in a while, stuff that brought a smile to my face when I was feeling down.  Like . . .

Yeah, I can see Kerry listening to this while he flies.

Undone Transformation

Well, then, interesting morning I’m having.  It’s cold, but not that cold–not the Vortex crap that’s hitting the middle of the country.  Oh, sure, it’s six degrees outside, but I can walk three-quarters of a mile in it.  Like I did yesterday.  And the day before, when there was ice on the ground and the walkway in front of the Capitol decided to do a Tonya Harding on my right knee.  Why me?  Why?  Why?

Last night was a mess.  I started out with such high hopes of getting something done–and then turned into an emotional basket case.  I suffered a complete emotional breakdown over something that occurred back in May of last year, but someone has decided to go all passive-aggressive on me and find a million ways to call me a bitch without, you know, calling me a bitch.  I had a good fifteen minute crying jag over it, which is something I haven’t had in a long time, and while it was good to get all that out of the way, it completely ruined my mood for writing.

Emotions are good for writing.  You can feel them in your words as you bring them forth, and if you’ve gotten them right you can sense the feedback as they take shape on the page.  I’ve had a couple of stories where I was crying my eyes out as I finished the last few paragraphs, because what I was writing affected me that way.

But this was an external and personal situation, and when those hammer you it can screw up your process terribly.  Normally I just shake that stuff off–normally.  Last night I couldn’t.  Or, I should say, I was starting to shake it off when I received a phone call from someone who wanted to know the whys and wherefores of a charge on an American Express card.  I’ll go so far as to say that it seems like the only time they contact me is to talk about money, or bills, or bills and money, and if there’s something I don’t need it’s that bullshit.

All this means it was nine-thirty before I could get to where I wanted to write.  I didn’t get much out–finally count was only four hundred and fifty-five words.  I tried for five hundred, but it wasn’t there.  Like all the good feelings I could have used last night, the ability to sling the story wasn’t possible.  After getting a thousand or more words a day for the last week or so, I had to admit the writing fairies were not looking out for me, because it was highly likely they were sitting in a bar somewhere close getting hammered instead of heading into the cold and helping out us poor, struggling writers.

Tonight I’ll have to try harder.  I sound like Dora the Explorer there:  “Can you say ‘try harder’?  Say it!  Say it again!  LOUDER!”  Enough.  Anyone can come up with excuses for why you couldn’t; I need to work through that and say why I could.

Hey, it’s Wednesday.  If I get through this next scene, I can do something naughty.