Saturday, March 21. 2009
James (Part 3 of 3) Posted by Daboo
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The next morning Linda woke to her father's ranting shouts from the front yard. She hurried down the white spiral staircase to the front door, which was standing wide open. A steaming coffee mug was sitting next to the newspaper on the front step, where her father had abandoned it. He was in the driveway, circling the yellow porsche, screaming.
Linda opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, when she saw: all four of the tires were slashed, the car sunk low down on them as if exhausted. She took a few steps and then stopped, her eyes following the deep gouges in the car's body, made by something strong and heavy. “A crowbar!” screamed her father, pointing to the offending object, which was lying on the grass a few feet away from the car. Aghast, she crept closer. The headlights were smashed, the upholstery ripped to shreds. Unconsciously, Linda began mouthing a prayer. She walked down the steps and circled the car, then stopped as she came in sight of the garage. There, in violently red spray paint, were scrawled the words, “I LOVE YOU.” Continue reading "James (Part 3 of 3)" Wednesday, March 18. 2009
James (Part 2 of 3) Posted by Daboo
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When they brought him to the new house, he was relieved to see that there weren't any children's toys in the front yard. Maybe there wouldn't be any younger siblings to babysit at this house. He walked in and was met with a rushing hug from a tall, ginger-haired woman who smelled like rosemary. “James,” she said, “It's so nice to have you here. It's just you and me right now, no other emergency placements—for now,” she raised an eyebrow at the caseworker, who shrugged and laughed. “You're welcome, welcome, welcome,” said the ginger-haired woman to James.
“I can't predict 'em, Wendy,” the caseworker said. “We had a sibling group of seven on the list last week, but their mom's sister took them in last minute.” “Well, for now we'll be cozy just the two of us. I'm single,” she explained to James' quizzical expression, “and my last couple of placements were allowed to go home to their parents about three weeks ago.” “Oh,” said James. “You'll like it here, you'll see,” said Wendy. “I've heard good things about you and I know that we can be a happy little family.” “Oh,” said James. _____ He did like it at this new, pretty house. All the wood was a red-golden color, and matched Linda's hair. She was always cooking, delicious smells meeting him when he came home from school. She was busy most of the time; she ran an editing business part time from her home computer, and was always running out to the copy store. “I'm gonna buy a new ink cartridge any day now,” she said every time she hurried out the door. “Remind me tonight.” The days blurred together into a comforting routine. School, homework, dinner, video games or TV. James found himself actually moving his clothes from the black garbage bags to the drawers in his new bedroom. This lasted for several months, until one Monday he came home and Wendy was more cheerful than usual. Too cheerful. Fake cheerful, thought James. “Got a call from your caseworker today,” she said breezily as she unpacked groceries. “They've got a placement for you that they think could be permanent. Isn't that great?” He didn't respond, so she went on, “the dad is a really good guy, works construction. You could pick up some great skills if he'll take you on some jobs, huh?” When he still didn't respond, she put down the carton of eggs she was unpacking and locked her warm hazel eyes onto him. “It's gonna be okay, James,” she said sincerely. “You're a good, sweet kid, and you deserve to find a place where they appreciate that.” “Why can't I stay here with you?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. She sighed. “I'm a temporary stop for you, kiddo,” she said. “I care about you a lot, and I want you to be in a home with a mom and a dad. It was great having you here, and I am truly going to miss you.” “You care about me?” His voice was soft. She came around the counter and put her hands on his shoulders. “I care about you,” she said. “I want you to go to the best possible home. I know you'll be great.” He shook his head, unable to speak. “You're a good kid, James,” she said sincerely, locking her eyes onto his. “Don't forget that, okay?” He nodded solemnly, unblinking. “Okay,” he said. When he got to his new foster home, they showed him a back bedroom with no carpet, just cracked cement. The stained mattress was old and saggy, and nobody had bothered to put sheets onto it yet. He tossed his garbage bags onto the bed and looked around, a cold sensation prickling around the back of his neck. “Hey, kid,” said his new foster father gruffly. “Sheets are in the hall closet. Chore chart's on the fridge. Dinner's at six. You okay?” “Yeah,” said James dully. “I'm good.” Continue reading "James (Part 2 of 3)" Monday, March 16. 2009
James Posted by Daboo
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*Author's note: My story will be published in three installments. This is part 1 of 3.*
His earliest memory was not being taken away from his parents, although he had been five years old at the time. He heard all about it later, from the casual conversations that the caseworkers had with his foster parents, but he had no memory of it himself. They described the ropes his mother had used to tie the door shut, the bucket she had left for him to urinate into. But he didn't care. He didn't remember any of that. No, the first memory he had was when they took him away from Steve. Steve was a round, soft, balding man who had once been blonde but was now mostly gray. “James,” Steve had said, gently but firmly holding James' shoulders in his big meaty hands. “Your mom and I love you very much, and we care about you very much. But you are going to live with a new family now, okay?” Steve's watery blue eyes had skipped upward toward the caseworker, standing somewhere behind James. James heard a baby cry, and knew that Marjorie was trying to feed both the twins at the same time. He remembered the day before, when he had used all the baby bottles to catch grasshoppers in the backyard. Marjorie had cried. “It just goes to show you,” she had sobbed into Steve's shoulder, “I can't watch all of them at once! I can't!” He had been proud of his grasshopper menagerie, but nobody was proud of him. Both Marjorie and Steve hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the night. He had heard Steve's soft voice from behind their bedroom door. “Maybe it is for the best then,” he had sighed heavily, the sound of air escaping a balloon. And now this. The caseworker was here, and Marjorie had used this morning while James was at school to pack all of his clothes into two black plastic garbage bags. His toys and stuffed animals and books she had left in his room. “We'll use them for the boys when they get older,” she had explained to Steve. Those garbage bags full of clothes were now in the caseworker's car, and James was here, looking into Steve's blue eyes and struggling to understand. “I'm sorry about the grasshoppers,” he offered. Steve smiled briefly, more a wince than anything else. “You're not in trouble, James. It's just time for you to go to a family that has time for you,” he said. Behind him, the caseworker sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “We love you and care about you,” said Steve. “And you need to always remember that you are a sweet little guy and you deserve a good life.” “I'm a sweet little guy,” echoed James, making the caseworker chuckle under her breath. “Yes you are,” said Steve, attempting joviality. “And you'll be fine.” Continue reading "James" Sunday, November 2. 2008
The Importance of an Evil Laugh Posted by Daboo
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MG and I saw Mr. Lasko in Rogers Memorial Theatre's production of Jekyll and Hyde tonight. This has always been one of my three favorite Broadway shows of all time, along with Les Miserables (the triumph of the human spirit plus great music. How could you possibly go wrong?) and Phantom of the Opera (not so much with the inspiring, but very much with the nice music. And I love a good villain protagonist.) Which ties in nicely to why I love Jekyll and Hyde...I mean, most of you know that I'm kind of weird, so it will come as no surprise that I really, really like when evil guys sing. I guess I just really like evil guys. Prince Arthas, Inu Yasha, and Knives are just a few examples. Let's just ignore the fact that these particular examples also happen to be cartoons. It's late and I'm tired, and I'm positive I also like some non-cartoon evil guys. MG and Wren can help me think of more, I'm sure. But it's not the cartoonness that makes them cool. It's the evil. Stop looking at me like that.
But in order to be a good villain (yes there IS such a thing!) you need a few essentials. I would say the most important thing is a good villain laugh. Seriously. I guess you can sometimes get by with an evil smile...(think Nero, Wren) or a smirk would probably do...but you're only half-rate until you can get a nice, good laugh. And Mr. Lasko had an excellent evil laugh. That's not to say that was the only good thing about the production--in fact, the whole performance was absolutely fantastic. I really liked his posture changes from Jekyll to Hyde and back, and he handled the Confrontation well, which is one of the hardest songs to pull off that I've ever seen done on a stage. All in all, it was absolutely cool and was a pleasure to watch. Mwa ha ha ha ha! Monday, September 29. 2008The Breast Restaurant in Town
Well, there's no accounting for taste...but... would you go here?
Wednesday, July 2. 2008D&D Write Up--Lissah
Fifteenth day of Flamerule
Year of Wild Magic I keep telling myself the good news, which is that all this walking is really helping keep my legs in shape. We've been to three different towns in the past tennight, and I'm about ready to soak in a nice hot bubble bath for a few hours. Unfortunately, none of my new traveling companions seem to know the first thing about relaxation, much less the sort of skin-care regimen that my poor feet require. I think I might be developing callouses on my heels! Today we arrived in Mirabar, which I've always heard has some good patrons and a decent night life, but so far all I've done is walk around the city with that lanky black-haired half-elf, Chlorine. You know, I just don't understand her. The guards look at us, and she might as well be walking past trees for all the reaction she gives them. You'd think she could run a comb through her hair once in a while. Sheesh. Anyway, we went to see Lady Frath, but she wasn't in. Apparently she's hard to see, but I think we can sneak in and talk to her later tonight. She's the noble who was an important patron of Aust Liadon, the half-bearded man we saw at the wedding. It seems to me that we're putting an awful lot of effort in finding a guy who did, after all, help us kill kobolds, but my companions seem to think he's important. And after all, he did try to kill my poor little Clarence, so I guess I'd like to see that big brute Harcrit toss him over a rooftop. Harcrit likes that sort of thing. I guess Chlorine got tired of watching me get all the attention from the guards, because she decided to go back to the inn while I went to visit Taliend. In fact, strangely, every one of my companions decided to stay behind. It's all for the best, because Taliend knows some things about me that I'd prefer remained secret. Luckily he's discreet, or I might have needed to deal with him before this. But he, like all good bards, knows when to keep silent as well as when to sing. It's a good thing my companions are easy to manipulate, because none of them have suspected anything either. Although that halfling is kind of sly...I'd better keep my eye on him. Taliend told me some interesting information about the situation. It looks like it's a wider conspiracy than we had imagined. And, unfortunately, we have some competition. Here's hoping that Harcrit, Han, and Chlorine are the very best at what they do. If not, we might just lose our chance. Sunday, May 18. 2008Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills.
You know, like nunchuck skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills.
Do you have any hidden skills? I do. I can shave a cat. If you think that's not a difficult skill...lol. Oh, and yes he was conscious. So...what are YOUR skills? Thursday, May 15. 2008D&D Write-up #1: 5/13/08
So, uh, we do this to keep everybody up to speed on what happened last week, what's happening next week, etc. I asked MG if I could do this week's session, and I did it as a journal entry. The speaker here is my character, Lissah.
Sixthday of Flamerule 1372 DR (Year of Wild Magic) One thing I will never get used to here is the rain. The cold is fine - I grew up listening to the wind blow in off the steppes - but mix that with water and everything turns sour. My hands are chilled, my hair is fuzzy, and I can't keep my feet dry. Of course, it doesn't help that Taliend keeps telling me to "put on some sensible shoes." What does he think I do for a living, plant corn? I need my ankles bare for my bells, or there's no food on the table that night. It's Flamerule, for Sharess' sake! Surely there should be a few tendays strung together here where the sun shines without a break. But, as my mother used to say, there's no use mourning stars that have already fallen, so I suppose I should be grateful when the sun stays out for a few days in a row, as it has now. And that's what I was thinking, squinting up into the sky and trying to concentrate on the wedding vows, when the screaming started. Continue reading "D&D Write-up #1: 5/13/08" Wednesday, May 14. 2008One Hundred Words
Okay, so I don't usually like to just re-post a link I've seen on Penny-Arcade, but these are absolutely cool, and I definitely recommend reading through them. They are little stories of 100 words. I thought they would be boring, but actually each one is quite interesting and hooked me--though they're a little frustrating in that I want to know more. I especially loved the stories about Longinus, which coordinate with another author at the Fabian Society. I think it takes a lot of creativity to be able to intrigue a reader in only 100 words--makes me jealous. :)
Tuesday, March 18. 2008Mine'd be worth about $40
I don't know about you guys, but this seems like a poorly conceived idea to me...I dunno. Maybe I'm just not adventuresome enough. I definitely think Radar should buy it so that he can move far away to Australia! XD
Thursday, January 31. 2008Another top 10 list
My students are practicing description. Specifically, we're learning about sensory words, similes, and metaphors. I asked them to describe their mothers. And let me just say, these were all written in complete seriousness. Here are my top 10 favorites (each of these is by a different child):
10: Her eyes are as blue as the water in the toilet. 9: She has dark brown hair like a little puppy sitting on her head. 8: Her hair is just like a polluted cloud. 7: When she gets mad she makes weird faces like a clown. 6: Her brown glistening eyes seem as if they are poisonous cockroaches coming after you in the dark. 5: Her eyes are as brown as a bear covered in chocolate. 4: She looks like a nice, extravagant witch. 3: She is short, like a pumpkin. 2: She looks like a frog but with whiter, less warty skin. And finally, 1: When she starts screaming she is like a more pissed-off version of you. (no offense.) oh, and I have to add an honorable mention. This was written by a boy: She cute. She even cuter than Brad Pitt. Thursday, November 22. 2007Dragomi
Our sister-in-law, who is an amazing belly dancer, started belly-dancing many years ago and taught the two of us for a while. We performed one time, and then abandoned her--and she went on to form Dragomi, a completely new take on belly-dancing. This is one of their performances. The one in the sort-of-middle is our sister-in-law. She's amazing. (by the way, she choreographed this as well as dancing in it.)
This is NSFW. DRAGOMI Monday, June 25. 2007A Birthday Party
It was early evening, and the sky had shrugged off the violent blue of the day, assuming instead a bleached, purplish color which made the evening star seem too bright and too large. Down the middle of the street, in an erratic pattern, came a young girl. Anyone observing her would find her progress strange, as she walked in unpredictable, sideways jolts, and sometimes came to a complete stop before choosing a new path. At one point she stopped, sighed loudly, and looked upward at the dimming sky, which held no sources of light except the bright star that blazed at her like a shrewd eye, and the dim remaining glow of the vanished sun. She then studied the ground for a moment, and purposefully stepped forward in a diagonal direction. There she stopped, studied the ground again, and again stepped forward in a not-quite-straight direction. In this manner she wove her way slowly forward, and the pattern that emerged was that while she never left the middle of the road, she also never stepped on any crack in the worn and battered asphalt.
Finally, she came to a stop in the center of the street. Or, more accurately, the streets. She had come to a place where the road forked in a Y-shape, and come to a stop in the exact center of the three streets that yawned away into the growing dusk. There was no traffic here, no cars driven by men eager to get home to the picture-perfect dinners prepared by their housewives, no young women with baby strollers casually walking, and no children playing. The girl tossed her blunt-cut, shoulder length blond hair back from her face and removed her backpack. Her eyes flickered uneasily toward the grassy area directly in front of her, and then darted away. She didn't let herself look too long at the gravestones there; they always looked like teeth to her, almost glowing in the fading light. From her backpack, she pulled a piece of white chalk. Bending down, she drew a quavering circle between herself and the left-hand fork of the Y-intersection. She filled it with two dots and a wobbly line, and the result was an upside-down, squashed-looking face. It seemed to peer dimly down the road. Turning, the girl then drew exactly the same thing again, but this time facing the right-hand fork. And lastly, she turned completely around and drew a third face, this one facing down the long road she had come down. Next, she carefully pulled three foot-long branches of coniferous leaves out of her pack. Each branch was speckled with bright red berries. She carefully set them down above her white faces, each branch looking like a hat. And last, she pulled from her backpack a rustly plastic bag which said "Farnsworth's Food and Drug" on the side in pink letters. Inside, dripping with blood, was a freshly cut rump roast. This she set down in the center of the three faces, so that it was in the exact center of the three roads. This done, she stood up and squared her scrawny shoulders. "At the meeting of the two worlds, this I offer, Trivia," she said into the still evening air, "Queen of Ghosts, with favor look upon me." She stood for a moment, her mouth set in a grimly satisfied line, and then she turned back the way she had come. This time the light was much dimmer, and she had a difficult time getting over to the sidewalk, where she breathed a sigh of relief. Here, the cracks were much more manageable. She started forward at a jog, her eyes on the sidewalk, and when she had gotten about 100 yards away from the crossroads she yelled, still running, "And HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" She did not notice, because she never turned around, the long and lean black shape that followed her home. Saturday, June 23. 2007Write with us! Or else!
An Open Invitation:
You are all invited to take part in an open, collaborative writing effort. The idea behind this project is to have a group story in which each writer contributes a unique storyline, but also tries to build on the ideas of the others who have already written. No one "owns" this idea, and you should NOT feel shy about introducing your own ideas, heroes, conflicts, villians, etc. This story will belong to all writers. However, we do have a basic premise we would like to start from; there are enough inhabitants of our basic world that you should have no trouble finding a faction, family, or character to start with. You can start your character connected to someone else's in some way (some collaboration on this would, of course, be necessary) or you can start your own mini-storyline with characters who don't seem to be tied in to the other storylines, and can meet/interact with other people's characters later, if you choose. You have complete freedom, so long as you stay within the basic world parameters, which are as follows: For most of the citizens of Birdwood, NE, life in their small town is normal--it's a railroad town that never really entered the information age, and which is, like many small towns, sleepily preoccupied with its local gossip and dimly existing from one day to the next. However, there is far more to Birdwood than most of the inhabitants know. Located at an extremely potent meeting of ley lines, this town is a haven for several different factions of witches. Operating without the knowledge of their own families, these witches present a smiling front to the town, but in secret they have their own triumphs, ambitions, and of course, problems. In addition, because of Birdwood's powerful energies and its fairly central location, some of its witches participate in a very old underground railroad program, moving and protecting witches whose secret has been discovered and who need to migrate to new locations. Thus there is quite a bit of new blood in town at any given point, though whether they stay long or short varies from case to case. In terms of magic, our desire is to let you be as creative as you would like, but we are going to hold to the Rule of Three for all our witch characters. This ancient rule basically states that, when using magic, whatever you do to someone else will come back upon you threefold, whether good or bad. This is a good reason to be nice to people, and also a good reason to limit your evil...however, dark witches use familiars, which are animals (any animal) whose soul has been linked to the witch's. One of the most important uses of a familiar is that when the Rule of Three comes for you, its evil can be reflected, to some extent, upon the hapless animal instead of the witch. Other real/traditional witchcraft rules such as the power of names, as well as a person's hair or belongings, to control people, can be used. If you can come up with a real aspect of witchcraft you'd like to use, you're welcome to incorporate it. We'd like to stick to "real" rules of witchcraft as much as possible, but there is some room for flexibility here. The witchcraft has to stay low-key, but there are also the standard ways in which it is exposed to society-at-large: love potions; faith healings; hexes, curses and bindings; the rule of three, as well as a strong tendency towards addiction, keep most of the casual magic users in check. And lastly, The ley line and the heavy use of magic has also drawn other magical creatures to the area, but friendly and not. So there it is. Pick a faction, pick a character, pick a conflict, and jump in! |
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