Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Jot 5


I wrote this forever ago and at the time I had an idea for the rest of it. But it's been so long now that I can't remember what I had in mind. And now I realize this section needs some work, but that's for later.

My parents rushed to my side, worry smeared across their faces. My mother reached me first, clasping my bloody hand.
“You are going to be alright, sweetie. You’re going to be fine.” She seemed to be trying to convince herself rather than to calm my fears. The paramedics wheeled me away, tearing my mother from my grasp. We slammed through the swinging doors that separated the emergency room from the main entrance. The doors bounced back and forth, revealing my parents in flashes.
No body could have warned me of the eminent danger. I would not have believed them. I had not put myself at any obvious risk and yet here I was, being wheeled through the bleached hallway of the hospital. The white walls were blinding, deterring any effort to keep my eyes open, an idea encouraged by the prods of the doctors and nurses that had rushed to my side.
“Where do you hurt?” a gray-haired doctor at my gurney asked.
I licked my lips, preparing to answer. I tasted blood. “Everywhere but especially my leg.”
“Which leg?”
I concentrated on his question. My eyebrows furrowed. Which was which? “Uh, left, I think.”
“You think?” The doctor gave a young nurse next to him a worried glance.
We stopped in the emergency room but the color of the walls was not any less disturbing. Though they were not bright white, they were a split-pea green. A vomit green. A dead and rotting corpse green.
My bloody clothes were cut off of my body, IV needles stuck into my arm. A nurse put a mask over my mouth and nose. “Just relax and breath deeply, honey.” I did and the pain soon vanished along with my consciousness.
The second my eyes opened again, pain shot through my body like a bullet, striking every nerve. I groaned noisily.
“Oh, Roger! She’s awake!”
“Mom? Mom, it hurts so bad.” I clenched my teeth.
“Nurse! Nurse! She’s awake! We need some more morphine!”
A chubby nurse in floral scrubs bumbled into the room, a cheery smile on her face. “Well, hello there!” She tottered to my bedside and pushed a small red button on my heart monitor. My heartbeats were quick and uneven but soon steadied as the drugs did their job.
“Mom, what happened?”
My mother frowned. “We were hopping you could tell us, honey. A man walking down Norton Rd. found you lying on the sidewalk covered in blood. He called 911. The doctors found many deep gashes on your arms and chest. They even found a bullet in your right leg! A bullet!”
Oh, so it was my right leg, I thought.
My mother continued with her anxious tirade. “What on earth were you doing?”
I closed my eyes, thinking hard. Nothing came. “I don’t know, Mom. I can’t remember.”

Monday, August 29, 2011

Good Cause! - Not writing related...Good Cause!

1 in 4 kids in Idaho are in a food insecure households. We are in the final week of the Halt the Hunger campaign and are only $54K out from the goal of $600K. That’s only 1,080 people donating $50. Scentsy will match every donation! Any little bit helps. We can get there together!! Donate at http://www.halththehunger.com/

Monday, August 22, 2011

And yet another blog update...


I have another blog, but I think I'm going to combine them into one. They're kind of turning into the same thing and it seems pointless to have two now. The posts from that one will be put on this one.

Jot 4

I wrote this one a long time ago. I haven't touched it since. I have an idea of where I want it to go. Just having trouble getting it there. Hmmm...

JOT 4


She ran. She ran as fast as she could, hearing the soles of her shoes smack on the black pavement. Her breath quickened as she forced herself to keep moving, her lips drying. Suddenly, she fell to the ground, her face smashing into the dirt below her and getting in between her parted lips. She had missed the step up into the grassy park across the street and was now lying on the ground, exhausted. She lifted her head and looked behind her. He was still chasing, screaming her name. She pulled herself to her feet, grabbing the bark of a tree next to her to lean on, her body throbbing, bark digging into her nails. She felt it should have been dark and raining; it was more appropriate for the situation. But instead, as she ran, the bright sun beat down on her back. She kept running. He was gaining.

Andi tapped her newly glossed nails on her jeans, drumming then quietly. She stopped and looked at the color she’d chosen. Her mother would be upset about the black, but Andi would be sure to take it off before visiting her childhood home again. She liked how it looked. Black nails didn’t necessarily mean gothic anymore. Now it was more of an edgy, maybe even slightly rebellious. Her mother would never understand, but Andi liked to pretend her grandmother did.
Nan sat across from Andi in the stuffy parlor, clicking her knitting needles together. Andi had once tried to learn how to knit from her grandmother. She had been about sixteen and quickly lost interest in the monotonous task Nan had seemed to enjoy so much. Now, as Andi watched her, she wished she had tried harder to learn. It would have made Nan so happy to pass on her love to her only granddaughter. Now, it was too late.
A slightly graying woman in white scrubs entered the room. She was smiling brightly, but Andi could see her teeth were yellowed and crooked. She looked pleasant enough, though. The woman turned to Andi. “Miss Ellsworth?”
“Yes,” Andi answered as she stood and shook hands with the woman.
“And Mrs. Baynard?” she said turning to Nan.
Andi answered for her grandmother. “Yes.”
“It is a pleasure to meet both of you. Thank you for coming. Would you like to follow me to my office where we can talk?”
“That would be great.” Andi walked over to her Nan’s chair and grabbed her arm. “Come on, Nan. We are going for a walk.” Nan stood but kept knitting. “I’ll hold this.” She took her needles and stuffed them into her purse. Nan frowned but followed Andi and their guide to the office.
The office was small, not nearly as extravagant as the parlor had been, with its intricate wallpaper and delicate lace curtains. The office’s walls were white and bare. A single desk was situated in front of the window, casting an eerie glow on the woman as she sat in the folding chair that had been pushed into the desk. Andi could hardly see her face anymore as it was completely hidden in shadow. There was one filing cabinet in the corner and two folding chairs on the opposite side of the desk. The woman motioned to them and Andi helped Nan into one and then took the other.
The woman opened a manila folder that had been on her desk and scanned its contents for a few moments. They all sat in silence.  “So, Miss Andrea Ellsworth—“
Andi cut her off. “Andi.”
She looked up and then back down. “Miss Andi Ellsworth, Mrs. Gloria Baynard is your grandmother?”
“That is correct.”
“Does she not have any closer relatives?”
“My mother is her daughter. She was unable to find time to look at places, so she asked me to.”
The woman studied Andi for a moment. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”
Andi pushed her brunette hair out of her eyes, bristling. “I am twenty-three.”
“Ah. Just making sure.” The woman read the files in the folder a bit more and then continued. “What kind of place were you hoping to place your grandmother in?”
Andi looked over at Nan sitting quietly and smiling. She hated that she had to do this. “She’s not a danger to anyone. She’s not crazy. She just can’t take care of herself. I need to find her a place where she can be loved and treated with respect. Not just given food and a place to sleep. Do you know what I mean? She’s not an animal. She’s my grandma. If I could I would take care of her myself, but it wouldn’t work out.”
The woman smiled sweetly and Andi tried not to look at her teeth. “You must love your grandmother very much.”
“Of course I do,” Andi quickly responded. What a stupid thing to say.
The woman blinked and cleared her throat. “Yes. Well, I am sure we can provide all that you’re looking for here at Clear Springs. What is the nature of her…disability?”
Andi hated these interviews, talking about her grandma like this with her sitting right there next to her. She wished she didn’t have to do this. “She hasn’t spoken in over a year. We don’t know if she can even understand what we are saying, or if she knows what is going on around her. It’s almost as if she is a toddler that hasn’t quite learned to communicate. But just give her some yarn and a knitting needle and she is happy.”
The woman jotted down a few notes in the folder, still smiling. “Does she have any serious medical conditions? For example, can she walk, eat? Does she have any diseases we should know about or something that would require medication?”
“Yes, she can walk. She has to be fed her food. She was diagnosed with diabetes a few years ago and she has arthritis in her hands. I think that is all.”
“Can she use the restroom herself?”
“If someone takes her there, yes.”
“Wonderful.” More notes. “That is all the questions I have for you. Would you like a tour of the facilities?”
They walked slowly down the hallways, Andi clinging to Nan’s arm. The halls were just as white and barren as the office. It seemed the only effort they made was in the parlor, the first room any prospective clients saw.  The woman pointed into each room and described their use. They were all white and barren. Andi wished there was a bit more color, but she had to admit Clear Springs was the nicest place she had seen. True, the only color she saw was white but at least she saw no dirt or mold in the corners like she had in others.
“Here is the kitchen, and this is the music room where we allow our patients to make as much noise as they want. The second wing is where all the patients are kept. Here is the art room and the medication room…” Andi stopped listening. They were all the same. She still felt like she was deserting her grandmother, just dumping her off in some whitewashed prison to rot in for the rest of her days. But there was nothing else she could do. She had no options.
“So, what do you think?”
“Oh. It’s…nice.” Andi said.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Yes, I do have a few.”
The woman whipped out a brochure and handed it to Andi. “All your questions will be answered in here. If, by chance, they aren’t there is a phone number on the back or feel free to come back and ask your questions. We would love to have your grandmother with us.”
Andi glanced at the picture on the front of the brochure. A little old lady was on the front, smiling and knitting. Ironic, she thought, chuckling to herself. “Alright. I’ll get back to you on my decision.”
“Thank you so much for coming in.” The woman led Andi and Nan to the front door and waved as they stepped outside, the bright sun beating on their backs.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Jot 3

This is a working progress, but it's the only one that is progressing. I have so many story starts, but this one I've been able to work on consistently without too many blocks. I'm on page 50 and it's my longest one yet! So exciting!  Now I just have to keep it up. Don't lose it! Here's a piece of my greatest achievement thus far. 50 pages and counting!

JOT 3


“Ellery! Ellery!” Ellery looked up from the scarf she had been knitting for the upcoming winter to find Diego running through the house, stopping in front of her and panting. Her eyebrows furrowed as she studied his face. His eyes were wide with fear and worry. There was a large tear in the knee of the trousers, seemingly from falling as he ran from whatever it was he was running from. “Ellery,” he said again, gasping.
            “What is it, Diego? Is everything alright?” She asked, setting down her project and standing before him.
            “No. Everything is most certainly NOT alright,” he replied, still trying to catch his breath. “The harbor…”
            “What’s wrong with the harbor?”
            “You need to get to the root cellar, Ellery. Now.” Diego grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the stairs leading to the cellar.
            “Why? Diego!” Ellery pulled her arm out of his grasp and forced him to look at her. “What is wrong? What is going on? Tell me now!”
            Diego stared at her, obviously contemplating what to say. He slid his large hand down the front of his face and kept it still over his mouth. He mumbled something.
            “What?”
            Again, he mumbled. Ellery pulled his hand from his mouth and held his face between her hands. “Diego!”
            Still, he paused. “The harbor.”
            “What about the harbor?”
            “It’s…it’s being attacked.” Diego grabbed her shoulders, pulling her hands from his face. “Now, let’s get you down there. I don’t want you to get hurt. Come on.” He pulled her forward.
Attacked, Ellery thought as she stumbled forward. Who would be…then she knew. She came to a sudden halt. Diego, still clutching her arm, stopped and dropped his chin to his chest. He breathed deeply, preparing himself. Turning slowly to face her, he said, “Ellery.”
“Pirates,” she whispered.
“Ellery. Come with me. You need to come with me.”
“Pirates are attacking the harbor.”

Monday, July 18, 2011

Jot 2

Hey! Finally Jot 2! And, in a way, 1. This is the first post of the new Jot. This snippet is in the middle of what I have done so far, but is still in the beginning of the story. So you're not completely lost: Civil war; Miller and Clare are married; Berta and Eudora are their slaves; Confederate side; Miller has left to fight; Clare is by herself.
Well, here it is. Tell me what you think and where you think this should go, though I already have a bit of an idea.

JOT 2


The messenger was waiting in the parlor when she walked in. He was studying a portrait of Miller and herself they had had taken the day of their wedding. They’d only been married a year when Miller left. Both of them were still so young.
“Can I help you, sir,” Claire asked when the man did not notice her enter the room.
He jumped then straightened himself, his hat tucked under his arm. “Mornin’ ma’am.  I have a message for you fr—“
Claire cut him off. “From Miller?”
He frowned. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. From General Lee.”
“General Lee? Why would he have a message for me?” Again Claire’s fears rose to the surface after the brief moment of hope.
The messenger did not answer but simply reached into his coat pocket and handed her a small piece of parchment with a red seal, dirt caught in the dried wax.  Claire took it and, sitting on the couch, began reading.
Mrs. Quinn,”
“Ma’am.”
Claire looked up, frustrated the man had stopped her.
“If you don’t mind ma’am, I have other business to attend to.”
“Oh, yes, yes. You may go. Eudora will show you out. Eudora!”
Claire quickly looked back at the message, not bothering to offer a proper farewell.
Mrs. Quinn,
The battle rages on. We all believed this to be a quick endeavor and I apologize that it has dragged on longer than expected. Morale is high and we are determined to see this through.”
“Small talk,” Claire thought. “What is it you mean to tell me, Lee?”
Your husband, Mr. Miller Quinn, has been an important asset to our purpose here. He has fought bravely and has saved many young lives. We will forever be in his debt. The reasoning for this letter, however, is unfortunate.”
Claire sucked in her breath and held it as she read on.
“It is my displeasure to have to inform you that your husband—“
Claire quickly crushed the letter into her lap, covering it with her shaking hands. She could not bear to read further. Miller could not be—Claire covered her mouth with her hand as she began weeping quietly. 


Okay, that's all you get. For now. 
MUAH HA HA HA HA!

Jot REMASTERED: Episode II

Hmmm...I've been thinking. In my own personal opinion, this Jot is getting...well it's getting quite good. I'm happy with it so far. And sadly for you all, someone made a good point in telling me publishers won't look at something that's online for the world to see. So I think I might change what this blog is. Again. Or maybe I'll go back to the way it was, though that didn't work out like I'd wanted.

I think for now I'm going to try this: the blog is called Jot, right? So maybe if I put little snippets of things I have or am writing. Like a page or so, to give people a view of a small "Jot" of my writing. Give some feedback on that, some ideas of where I could take it based on what they see. This way I can share my work without sharing the entirety of them, and in so doing, jeopardizing my chances of my dreams coming true.

...I think this is what I'm going to do. Jot REMASTERED (again).