Novel Segment

I decided to post part of my zombie novel that I wrote in November. It's still a first draft, so please be gentle. This is one of my two favorite scenes from the first draft, I chose this one from early in the novel. I would welcome any constructive criticism. I hope you enjoy it.

Day 4
 

I was wrong about not having anyone to curl up with at night. The Girl couldn’t sleep, so she came and got into bed with me. I think we may all be sleeping in the same room for a while, all of us are too wigged out to sleep alone. The cat and the dog are even staying close to each other at night, before all this the cat avoided the dog like the plague. I wish I could say that we kept the pets strictly because we love them too much to get rid of them in this crazy situation. Don’t get me wrong, we love our animals. But there were practical reasons for keeping as well, despite the risks that having to care for them adds. They give us a place to focus our attention besides the world outside. The cat and dog can both help keep pest animals under control as the world becomes less sanitary. The dog’s excellent sense of smell can help us find food or animals to eat.

Today was the day that we became unlucky enough to know for sure that the undead had reached our neighborhood. We’ve heard looters and desperate people outside looking for supplies or simply destroying things out of frustration. We get very quiet and wait them out, the noise they make is very human and doesn’t really sound different than the street noise that we are use to or the noise that the dumpsters make when being picked up by the garbage trucks early in the morning. The only reason it sounds strange now, is that everything is normally so quiet since everyone was ordered to stay inside. This noise was, well, different. At first we didn’t notice it; then we thought we were hearing things because we aren’t use to such quiet in the city limits. It was a raspy, shuffling noise. Then we heard a rather quiet rattling, like a stack of pots that were bumped slightly and resettled without failing over. Again we hear the shuffling, and some more rattling. We decide to peek out very, very carefully. My heart is pounding in my chest, the sound of the blood in my ears almost drowns out the noise from outside. The Girl is staying with the dog in case he tries to bound into the window to get a better look, or starts barking. Even though he’s a beagle, we’ve never had an issue with him barking or howling, but we are taking no chances that he will attract the attention of other survivors or the undead.

As we look out the corners of the window together, we have to fight not to gasp or call out in alarm. Though we can’t see its skin, and in any other situation it would be mistaken for a drunk homeless person, we know that we have just seen our first undead in person. This is confirmed when The Girl comes up behind us, and quietly tugs on our shirts to get our attention. I am so proud of her caution, but am sad that her normally positive and perky self is buried beneath all this worry and sadness in her eyes. The dog has sensed the undead corpse outside as well, and instead of barking as we feared he might, he has dropped on all fours and is having a bought of submissive peeing. This means we don’t have to worry, at least for now, that he will bark crazily when one is near and draw more to us.

Once we got over our shock at the reality being so close to home, and that the corpse had moved on, we logged into our social networks and posted the news. It seems so silly, even looking back just a few hours ago. Hell, I felt silly right after I did it. I don’t know if it was a case of old habits dying hard, a need to be “normal” again, or a need to tell someone outside this apartment. Other than checking on family, none of us had even thought of being online. Part of me wishes we hadn’t gotten online. The Girl gets online as well, she needs to talk to someone other than her aged parents about this. She notices a friend of hers from The Cities has her webcam open. She glances as us, afraid and hopeful all at once, asking us silently if she should open it. 

The husband and I exchange looks just as confused as hers and slowly, cautiously nod our heads. It is her friend Becca, she is in her room sobbing uncontrollably and trying to talk. In the background we can see her bedroom door vibrating, she has blocked the door with her dresser and bed. We can hear what sounds like several people banging on the door. The Girl tries sending her a chat message, but we aren’t sure if she sees it. I am watching The Girl and Becca become more and more agitated and scared. 

“Mom, Dad, should I turn on my web cam? Should I let her know I’m here?”

I don’t know what to say. Will it be better or worse for Becca to know that someone hears her pleas, but can do nothing for her? We know what’s on the other side of that door.

“I have to let her know I’m here, that she’s not alone.” The Girl chokes out around the lump in her throat.

I watch my baby girl take two large, calming breaths and turn on her webcam. She invites Becca to view it. We all see the light of hope ignite on Becca’s face as she reaches to open the cam. I step away under the excuse of bringing The Girl back a drink, I can’t bear to view the moment when this wonderful young woman that has stayed with us many nights realizes that we can’t rescue her.

When I return, my spouse squeezes my shoulder as I squeeze The Girl’s. The Girl has flipped the record button on, maybe part of her wants to make sure that if we get out of this certain things and people are not forgotten. Becca relays to us how her little brother became ill, and they took him to the hospital but were turned away because the hospitals were already overflowing. Her family had to bring him home and take care of him, they couldn’t break the fever and he soon died. She relays how they couldn’t get anyone to pick up the body, the noise from his room, the attack on her parents, her actions of self-defense, the attempt to nurse her parents back to health, and how those efforts failed. She finally glances back at the door, where the banging continues. Her eyes brim with tears, and the sobs begin anew. Without her saying a word, we know who is on the other side of the door. I grab my spouse’s hand behind The Girl’s back in horrified sympathy.

I have always been proud of the empathy my daughter has shown for others when they are upset or hurt. Today, she convinced me that it is her superpower. She found topic after topic to distract Becca from what was going on. They discussed embarrassing situations from school, wonderful times at slumber parties, cute boys at school, and plans for college and the future. They talked for hours, The Girl refusing to eat or drink because Becca didn’t have that choice. I am worried, not only because my daughter isn’t eating or drinking, but because I know there is only one ending to the scene before her. I also know that she has inherited the family’s stubbornness and will not abandon her friend until it is over or the power forces her to do so.

At dusk, the inevitable begins to happen. The door begins to splinter. Becca turns to see the arms of her parents reach for her in a macabre version of the thousands of hugs she has received from them throughout her entire life. The Girl gets Becca’s attention again, lets her know that we love her and we wish we could help. My husband and I add our own expressions of love. Then the creatures see her and begin to moan, it is the most horrible noise I have ever heard. We watch Becca begin to hyperventilate, and cry again.

“I love you guys! Thank you for staying with me. Stay safe.” 

Becca then reaches up towards her computer, all the while The Girl is screaming, “No, Becca! No!”, and turns her computer off.

The Girl screams and collapses. I will be eternally grateful to Becca for sparing The Girl the sight of her demise. We got The Girl in bed and made her drink some water. Then we gave her a sedative to make her sleep for a while. Now, maybe we can deal with today’s events.

My First NaNoWriMo Experience

This November I decided to take part in a great experiment: Nanowrimo, National Novel Writing Month. This event is online and creates a goal of writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Nanowrimo encourages writers to kill their inner-editor and just get the words on the page. Writing is usually very lonely business, you toil away alone in a room, Nanowrimo lets authors morally support each other, be aware that others are writing with them, and even allows for a little friendly competition. If you are an aspiring writer, I really recommend that you participate in this event.

Nanowrimo is not the experiment, in and of itself. I refer to this November as an experiment because I am not a writer. Many of you may say, that can't be right as I write a blog. Many people write, but not all people that write are writers. At least, not in my book. To me a writer is someone that has a passion for story telling, someone that wishes to make their living writing. This writing can be fiction or non-fiction, they can be a poet, a novelist, a journalist, or a freelance writer, but is must be an identifying part of their personality and character. My husband is one such individual, as are several of my other friends, to call myself a writer would be an insult to them.

I joined Nanowrimo primarily to gain insight into my husband's writing world, to understand the pressures and challenges he faces when it looks as if he is doing nothing but staring blankly into space or mindlessly watching TV. I can tell you, after 30 days of writing, he is not doing nothing, neither is any other writer when they appear to be lazing about. I wanted to bond with my spouse over the writing experience and challenge myself mentally. I only vaguely had an idea of what I wished to write, this likely added to the challenge of putting 50,000 words on paper. I just had a few pieces of a story that repeatedly and randomly would pop into my head in dreams or as I lay trying to sleep. I am proud to say that despite having a long term anxiety about writing, I was able to expand on my kernels of story and complete the 50,000 word challenge. I even finished a day early, which turned out to be very fortunate as our internet crashed on the last day. I am sad to say that I wasn't able to wrap up the whole story in 50,000 words, but I completed the challenge.

Nanowrimo is well planned. 50,000 words divides up to be 1667 words a day. This is a manageable amount even for people that work full time (I should know, I work full time.). There were days when the words came easy, some days they came hard, and some days when they didn't come at all. They offer forums, fun stuff to do when you are stuck, and activities to help you overcome writers block. They also have weekly pep talks from successful authors. Neil Gaiman has written one, authors this year that offered up a pep talk included Lemony Snicket and Mercedes Lackey. Even if you are not a writer,  you might enjoy some of your favorite writers' outlooks on their craft. One of the things I like about Nanowrimo is that the donations they ask for support a Young Writer's Program that is offered to all for free. It's all about getting kids to write and interact with the written word whether on paper or the internet.

I doubt I will participate next year, I don't really have another story to tell. I did enjoy the experience this year, and learned quite a lot about myself and the art of writing. As for the story I wrote this year, I pretending it doesn't exist for a month. After that time, I will deign to reread it, then I will decide if I will work on it some more or erase it for eternity. I may post it here as a serial story, or I may not. It's fate remains in the ether.

Congratulations to all those that won Nanowrimo, especially Don and John. And to those that didn't quite make it, if writing is your passion, don't give up.

Kitten Stocking, Part 4

Haven't been able to get as much done as I'd like. There has been grading and a Halloween costume to make. In November, I'll be participating in Nanowrimo which means I'll be writing a lot. I'll have to figure out how to balance the two. This week I have to put the costume first since it's under a week until the day it will be needed.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

A Fire

A neglected fire
Fades in the dark of the cave
The embers' warmth remains hidden in the shadows
It waits to be stoked again to brightness.

The hidden light denied
Yet not gone altogether
Should the light fade past returning
The warmth will linger and give comfort.

Add more fuel to the fire
Renew the warmth and light
Light and warmth shared
The flames have previously unseen facets.

Say What?

This is a story I wrote for a writing workshop I had to attend, the years ago, to get my current teaching job. It is based on a true story.

As with most families these days, our family is always on the move. My husband and I work different schedules, so the days when we can all be together as a family are sporadic. The days that we do have together are cherished. One day, Don, A., and I were relaxing at home when Aunt Jenny, my husband's sister, came by for a rare visit. As the adults talk, three year old A. runs excitedly to her bedroom to get something she just has to share with her aunt.

"Aunt Jenny, Aunt Jenny! Play ponies with me! You can be the sister, I'll be the Mommy and the baby."

Jenny takes a pony and tries to play with A., and talk with her brother at the same time.

A., as the Mommy pony, "What's the matter baby?"

"I'm consternated, Mommy," A. says as the baby pony.

This snaps the adults out of their conversation, startled by the surety with which she uses this unfamiliar word.

"What did you say honey?" I ask A.

"Consternated," she replies.

"Do you mean constipated?" I question quizzically.

"No, consternated!" she says with the exasperated tone of one long troubled by another's ignorance.

"Is that even a real word? I've never heard it before," I say turning to Don and Jenny.

"It's a real word. I've seen it used before, but I can't remember where," my husband confirms.

"I haven't either," responds Jenny.

"What does it mean sweetie?" I inquire.

"It's when you go rrr," as she stomps her foot and shakes her fist.

Being a teacher, I run to get a dictionary and quickly flip through the pages.

"Ah, here it is! Consternation means frustration. She used it correctly! I can't believe it! Two of us have never even heard of it and she defined it correctly. honey, where did you learn this word?"

"I don't know Mommy."

A. continues playing obliviously as the adults work through their shock at a three year old's vocabulary.

Eternally curious, I set out to discover where my daughter picked up this unusual turn of phrase. I ask her preschool teacher if they have used consternated in class, they reply that they haven't. I then ask the rest of the teachers at the school if they are familiar with the word that is causing me so much bewilderment. None have used it in front of their students and most have not heard of it before. I guess how A. learned such a large word will forever be a mystery.

Awakening

Aurora hidden in the vines,
Awaiting the one to wake her.
A kiss starts the rose to bloom,
The bud's scent speaks of love,
Yet it never fully blossoms.
Not content with scent alone,
The one searches for other flowers.

The light has fallen from the sky,
The rose withers in the dark.
A ray of light illumes the endless night,
The rose blooms for herself alone.
The first bloom is ever present and unending,
As the rose buds afresh.

I Don't Know What's Gotten into Me

I think counseling is good for me. I have gone from never writing to writing something everyday, maybe not on here but I am writing. I am looking within myself as never before, I've avoided doing this since I was a little kid.

A heart closed to all but one
Feelings spoken but not shown
The only one runs away
Sudden loss brings forth despair.

Shattered heart begins to heal
A chance to grow for me alone
Love is still there and never ceases
As I return to my better self.

Taking risks and staying strong
Learning who I am again
Opening the heart to myself and child
Realizing a capacity for many loves.

Hope that feelings that still remain
Gives life to second chances
Even if the chance should falter
Love and strength will abide.

Reseting mind set proves possible
Positive can overcome negative
The right motivation is all that's needed
The self, the child, the future.

Love can fade when taken for granted
It can diminish when in a box too cramped and hostile
It doesn't evaporate into nothingness
It searches for a sunnier and more fertile soil.

Transplant it and give it a chance to take hold again
Add other loves to enrich it and the heart
Love shared is held nearer and dearer
My heart has more dimensions than I ever knew.

I am exploring self
Discovering me
I'm beginning to like who I see
I have a strength that I did not realize.

I am ready to wander through the unexplored
I am ready to leave the pre-made road
Together or alone it will be done.

Poetry, Sophmore Attempt

My first attempt at poetry got wiped out when I deleted my first personal blog, so for most of you this is my freshman work.

Waiting for a decision.
Anticipating the future.
Anxious to hear,
Aware I shouldn't push.

Hopeful of the news to come.
Joyous at the possibilities.
Eager for it to work,
Aware of the probable complications.

Always honest in matters of heart and mind.
Making choices with thought and emotion.
Looking at all the angles,
The best choice made regardless of popularity.

A Bright Spot in the Gloom

Yesterday I was feeling really down and that maybe my husband had never loved or that I was a terrible person. My father even suggested today that he did nothing but use me for 12 years. I yelled at him and offered the following as proof that that statement was untrue, though my father ignored the idea of seeing the evidence. I think it was very bad form to say that when he was suppose to be trying to cheer me up, how will that help me feel better? How will that build my self-esteem?

Inside my mind lives a great malignant God.
His voice is a thunderous scream
And his fists pound against the insides of my thoughts
He screams.
He screams for VENGEANCE.
He screams for BLOOD.
He screams for RAGE.
He screams for HATE.
He pounds his fists and stomps his feet
and he calls for my sanity and my life.
He is loud.
He is frightening.
and he is STRONG.

BUT........

Inside my mind lives a glowing benevolent Goddess.
Her voice is a beautiful rolling tympani
And her influence washes through my thoughts like the smell of Jasmine and
Honeysuckle
She sings for my HAPPINESS.
She sings for my HEART
She sings for my TRANQUILITY
She sings for my LOVE
She sings her song and weeps for my pain
and she calls for my sanity and my life.
She is quiet.
She is steadfast.
And she is STRONGER.

He has no name
but she does.

Can you guess it?