That was fun.
I wanted to be a kid again today. My day job involves the expatriation of employees (very generally put), and today a couple just back from Peru came to the office with two of their children. (Every woman needs some kids in her life to stay healthy. At least this one does. It’s been too long since I’ve been around kids. Anyway…) They told how their two older children were staying with their grandparents.
And that reminded me of my long lost childhood and staying at my grandparents’ whenever my family came back to Germany in between expat terms. (Fun fact: My parents were employed at the very place I now work, some… (gulp) seventeen years ago. Not so fun fact after all.)
Gray dirt, pine needles, and tree roots.
Getting rubber boots stuck in the mud.
Dogs. Oh goodness, tons and tons of dogs.
The dusty cave under the stairs and pretending to be Scar from The Lion King and singing “Be Prepared.” That was epic.
Awful airplane food that Dad had to finish.
Rain and the shed in my grandparents’ backyard.
Being a real brat.
Visiting and meeting too many people.
Refusing to speak one word of German.
Screaming at my dad and his friend for killing the fish. Eating the fish.
Marigolds. The smell of marigolds.
When I was younger, I thought grownups couldn’t remember their childhood. I mean, I’m not too grown up; but obviously, one remembers quite a bit. And I think it’s fascinating. Every person had a childhood, and I’m actually very curious about what you remember from yours. Share in the comments or better, write your own post! I’d love to read it.
Do you ever wonder if you have what it takes?
Well, I do. I wonder that if I just finished this second draft, if I did everything to fix it up, if I edited and revised it to the best it can possibly be, would it be enough?
And well, there’s really only one way to find out –
1. Finish this second draft.
2. Do everything to fix it up.
3. Edit and revise it to the best it can possibly be.
I’m not really the “believe in your dreams” type with all that feel-good talk, etc. But I want to believe I can try. And so I will do whatever I can. Maybe I’ll never be able to make a story good enough, but I won’t know until I try. (I think I just said the same thing four different way, but you get the point then, I guess.)
What have you tried (maybe even forced yourself to) and achieved something? What are you trying right now? Let’s try together! 🙂
The hardest part about writing these updates is keeping myself from wasting time looking for a photo on Pinterest. I know last week’s was very fitting, but let’s stick with my stats this time.
I have been using this month for a rewrite of Hidden People. Some parts are easier than others. I boosted my word count with easier parts. Now I am at the point where I need to come up with solutions to the story’s problems; but I had an illumination yesterday, so I am still hopeful.
Another challenge: Keeping my characters from being obnoxious jerks that everyone will hate. I don’t know why my characters are so unlikeable.
What makes your characters likable?
I stumble against the chairs. One clatters to the ground with me.
The door swings open. Blood is already squirting everywhere.
“Someone call 911 right now!”
His voice is muffled and his figure a black blur by my side. CEO now, but he used to be a nurse. He’s not going let me die.
I don’t know if my eyes are open or not. I thrash. But I had wanted to die.
It had been two motions – reach and slit. If the conference room weren’t next to the kitchen, maybe it would have taken them longer to find me.
I wake up to my mother sitting by me. And my dad. And sister. They’ve been crying.
They had no idea.
But they can’t be surprised.
I’ve been so alone these last months. I told them I liked it. I told everyone I liked it.
Just because someone likes to be alone, doesn’t mean it’s good for them.
“Jackson, do you want to come with me?”
I turned in bed and looked at Erica, standing in the doorway, wearing a coat. I glanced out the window to see it was raining. I shook my head and turned away. Erica sighed and slammed the door when she left.
I kept my phone on the floor next to me, sitting on the living room floor, playing Call of Duty to kill time. It helped me relax, and I decided everything would be all right. It was a mistake and Erica would call. I’d tell her I was sorry for acting like a jerk, then she’d get back and we’d make up.
My phone’s screen lit up with Erica’s picture and a second later her favorite song started playing.
At last this drama was over. “Hey… Hello?”
“Jackson? Jackson, please don’t be mad. Please try to understand. This wasn’t my choice. It’s not like I wanted this to happen. Please don’t be mad at me… Jackson? Please say something.”
Give Miss Brooks time and a camera, and she’ll take a whole lot of selfies (no autocorrect, not selfless). Or she just might post a vlog.