From the Pages of my 17 Year Old, Dwindles, Chanlen and Trudeo

I have a 17 year old daughter who loves to write. The gift of narrative and fiction flows through her like the Platte River next door. Because she is young and writing comes easy to her she trivializes her own work and figures anyone can do it. Honestly, I make more corrections than she does.

Nonetheless, she gave me permission to post a small chunk of fantasy fiction that she’s been working on. I think she’s amazing for such a young girl, then again I’m her mother, I’m bias.

Chapter One

Trudeo and I walked down the dark damp cobblestone road, it was dimly lit by the occasional lamp. I peeked down at Trudeo who walked strong next to me, his head high. I couldn’t help but smile at him; we made a good team him and I.

Trudeo was a Wolf, black as night with piercing blue eyes. He was harmless towards me but deadly to others. He was my Dwindle, which from what Trudeo explained to me is more of a guardian. Each child is given one by the Chanlen that delivers them.

Chanlen are a type of Shaman that help mothers through pregnancy making sure there are no complications. When the baby is born the Chanlen look into the babies eyes to see their future and give them the Dwindle that is best suited for the life ahead of them. Since I ended up with a huge black Wolf and others had small mice, I came to the conclusion that my future would be a horrible thing.

Trudeo and I were more connected than most humans and Dwindle’s, Trudeo could hear my thoughts. I couldn’t hear his which was annoying at times but being the silly human girl Trudeo thinks I am, he often drowns out the mumble in my mind.

“You’re going to have to find someone Celene, if you’re going to sleep in an Inn tonight. The streets are beginning to look bare,” he grumbled.

“I know Tru, I will find someone,” I said, sounding more hopeful than I felt.

An elderly man walked out of a pub a few feet ahead of us. My heart sank knowing what I had to do. He stopped to put on his black gloves and scarf and then began walking, I sighed.

“There,” Trudeo whispered.

I’ll type more in later….

Pumpkin Pies Stuck to My Thighs…

I didn’t feel fat the day before Thanksgiving, but I feel fat today. My mother told me that you have to walk 3.5 miles to burn enough calories to get rid of a helping of mashed potatoes, which leads me to wonder how much further I’d have to go to get rid of the marshmellowy sweet potatoes. If my mother is correct I will have to walk to a neighboring state just to burn off Thanksgiving dinner.

What happened to eating whatever you want and not having to think about it. Those were the days, the 40’s suck.

Soloist

How to Survive Black Friday

Avoid malls like the plague:)

Wading into The Night Birds

Now that I’ve finished Alice Sebold’s, The Almost Moon, I’ve moved on to my signed copy of Thomas Maltman’s The Night Birds. With the books heavy reliance on American and even Minnesota history, I approached with great interest and caution. While there are those who can tell great stories from history that same individual may not have gift for well crafted fiction or beautiful prose. Though I have only rounded the corner of chapter 3 it is clear that Maltman’s debut novel promises to deliver on all fronts,  and in spades.

Eyes to See Grace, Excerpt II

Grace squatted between the rows of  Russian Kale, in time the cooler fall temperatures would transform their green leaves to a deep burnished red foliage. Near each row she pushed a tall spindle into the ground registering the location  which would enable her to find them if snowfall came early.

Kale was dear to Grace, not because she was particularly fond of salads or spinach-like foods but because of its nature. Kale survives frost and sustains even beneath a blanket of snow. While some of the harsher elements destroy the more fragile species, Kale preserver’s and sweetens in adverse conditions. In many respects Grace felt akin to Kale and she had always thought the real trick was finding the capacity to be sweetened despite life’s bitter elements.

As the clouds billowed in a profusion of gray, blotting sunlight from the afternoon sky, Grace stood up and brushed at bits of debris on her gloves and jacket. On most days she wished for warm, sunny fall weather but today the somber gray sky echoed her mood. She frowned at his property slowly walking towards his newly purchased lot, she couldn’t fathom her father selling it, had it even been listed for sale? The only thing for certain was that he must have paid a considerable amount to be allowed to build so close. She tried to image where the house would be sited and wandered towards the property line as if the land itself had summonsed her.

The Almost Moon

Last weekend I finished listening to the audiobook The Almost Moon by Alice Sebold. I downloaded the book based on its reviews and because I liked the title, I read the content description later and was a bit hesitant since the main character kills her aging mother.

I expected that the story to unfold in such a way as to justify or rationalize the killing but it doesn’t. What does unfold is a family history of mental illness and the reader is left to conclude that the main character, Helen must share a streak of insanity with her mother.

Unfortunately, the book didn’t add up to the star rating that prompted me to download it. The aspect I found most interesting was the question as to whether or not Helen’s instability stemmed from her environment, genetics or both, while the book raised questions as to the root, it really did nothing to answer it.

Soloist

Talking About My Writing

In the past few months I’ve been introduced to 2 authors, the person who introduced me told them that I was also a fiction writer. On both occassions the author asked what I was working on and I regurgitated an extremely brief, lame description. The second time this happened was when I was introduced to Thomas Maltman, I think I said something feeble like, “it’s about a woman who moves back to her family’s farm.” Yeah, now there’s a page turner.

When I walked away from the conversation with Maltman I made a decision, I decided to quit relying on an off the top of my head response, good fiction just isn’t that simple. So I decided to quit selling the quality of my own work short and to arrive on a concise reply that would A) answer their question and B) do justice to the book I’m writing.

Soloist

Mythbuster’s Long Lost Relative Discovered!

Researchers recently uncovered evidence that Mythbuster Jamie Hyneman, co-star of the hit Discovery Channel show is a distant relation of fellow TV star & mustache enthusiast Sgt. Floyd Pepper, bassist from the famous band Electric Mayhem. Many have speculated as to whether or not the retired rock star may have any room for mythbusting in his future. When asked about the new family Floyd said “ma’an things ain’t been the same since Jimmy died maybe I should open some hip new doors in this crazy life”

Dr. Teeth, front man for the band was unavailable for comment.

 

This article was contributed by Guest Author Beepo-the-Geek

The Kingdom

Since I’ve shared excerpts of my own work and I still have the flu, I thought I’d take the opportunity to post some of my sons writing as well as my daughters.  He doesn’t write poetry but he was asked to quickly pen a poem in the process of filling out online contest forms. He spit this one out and it won a place in there publication. It’s the only poem of his I’ve ever read and he hasn’t written one since. Its about how scientific theories effect the possibility of a God, who knew physics could be poetic.

Kingdom

The Prophet Newton dreamed.

The Apple fell and revealed God’s Clockwork mind,

Mystery pacified by aether. And all was well in the kingdom.

Einstein turned loose the daemons; Chaos and Quanta.

Quanta looked God in the eye,

Unblinking, Chaos killed him.

 Nicholas  Scott

Copyright ©2007  

After the Party…the Flu?

I woke up with the flu this morning, a miserable flu virus, by 11 am I was wishing for death.

Soloist