Oh, the Mystery of it All!

For writers group this month, we were asked to write a mystery. We were also asked to keep it brief - something that will add to the difficulty of this writers challenge. I suppose that is why we call it a "challenge!" :) Here goes...
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"Where's your brother?" my mom called out.

"I don't know," I said, my little voice wavering with worry. "We were playing hide and seek, and I still haven't found him."

I tried to think back to all of the places he liked to hide. I had checked under his bed. That was the most obvious place for him to hide. I remember looking in the bathroom, in a few lower kitchen cupboards, and behind the couch. My brother Zach was always good at hiding, but it was unusual for it to take so long to find him. We were beginning to get worried. By this point I was prepared to concede defeat. He had won; he was the grand champion hide-and-seek hider. I had gone to find my mother because by this point I knew I was not going to find him by myself.

My mother joined me in looking underneath all of our beds. We opened the cabinets again. We even looked outside. When we still found no sign of him, we began to look for clues. Surely, he had left something to help us find where he was hidden. Maybe he had eaten a snack on the way to his hiding spot and we would be able to find a trail of crumbs. Maybe he had taken off his shoes, and we would spot them along the way. Everything in the house became a possible clue to help us locate my missing, little brother.

At first the mystery was fun. It was fun to play detective and hunt for him. But after a while, I started getting really worried, and so did my mom. We abandoned only looking and we started shouting for him. He was not responding, even though I was yelling out, "You won! You can come out!" Either he was being very stubborn, or something was wrong. Just as we were about to call the police and report him missing, we found him. Where do you think he was?







In a closet, curled up and sleeping in a pile of shoes! Congratulations to my little brother (not-so-little anymore) on being a stealthy hider, and having to wait so long for me to find you that you fell asleep on the shoes!

Turning over a New Genre

For the past three years almost all of my writing has been in the young adult fantasy genre. It has been stretching for me, and I've felt my writing grow and improve as I have been writing outside of my comfort zone. Prior to Seeking Solace I had written mostly poetry and a few personal reflection pieces. The step into fantasy was a bit of a doozy, but I have found myself growing more comfortable with the imagination required of genre. I am not walking away from fantasy, and I am still working diligently on installment 2 of the Older Series, but I have a new project flitting around in my mind.

I am beginning to outline a historical work that would focus on my favorite family vacation spot from my growing up years. I do not want to give too much detail just yet as this is in the early phase of brainstorming, but I am so excited about it that I wanted to share that something new was brewing. I am undecided as to whether the book would be purely historical, more memory/memoir oriented, theological reflections on the importance of place, or maybe some strange admixture of all of these things. What I do know is that for the first time I will need to do some intensive research for the sake of historical accuracy. I will be digging through boxes of old pictures, property deeds, receipts, and interviewing people who will share (I hope!) the memories that will make this place come to life.

We'll see what develops. :)

Writing a Story from a Magazine Picture

This month's writing challenge was to choose a picture from a magazine and write a story to go with it. I had just taken all my magazines to recycling - all except two Woman's Day magazines (which we actually subscribe to because my husband enjoys the articles on organization, and he likes to point out new recipes for me to make). In those two magazines, I only found two interesting pictures for story-writing. Here's the story that emerged from this Febreze ad:

Slowly, deliberately, I raise my arm in front of me. Clutched in my hands is the only weapon that assures victory. Its bright purple nozzle brings hope that someday soon the particles of germ infestation will no longer have the upper hand. As I'm walking around the cluttered room, I hear a noise that alerts me to the beginning of the battle.

Ah - Ah - Ah - Choo! A small sneeze that contaminates a blue pillow nearby.

Instinctively, my finger pulls the trigger on my weapon. Without delay, a fragrant rush of antimicrobial solution meets the rush of bacteria on the surface of the pillow. I watch a white flag raise over the pillow and I know that victory is mine - at least in this small corner of the room.

Moment by moment I am assaulted by coughs, sneezes, and discarded facial tissues. With each attack I counter, and white flags are hoisted high all over the room. I cannot say for sure how long the battle lasts, but just as I feel too weary to continue, silence envelopes the room. I have emerged victorious!

My husband looks at me blankly. I think perhaps he is surprised by what he hears. Then I smile at him and say coyly, "THAT is what I do all day!"

School Days

Our writers challenge for the month of March was to write something about "school days." Here is what I shared:

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"You have nice handwriting," the cashier says as I sign my name on a check.
"Why, thanks," is all I manage to reply, but part of me wants to tell her my story.

See, I'm the kind of person whose mind races so far ahead that my hand cannot keep up as I write. Typing at a computer is much faster, but we didn't really have computers in the classroom when I was first in school. The fifth grade homeroom had an early model computer, but it was all text-based - no windows, and students were rarely allowed to use it. All this is to say that our assignments had to be hand-written, and it was important that the words be legible.

I had always done very well in school, but I ran into a problem in fifth grade. My teacher could not read my writing when grading my assignments. Rather than give me a failing grade, he asked me to read the assignment to him. My handwriting was so poor that even I could not read it to him. My teacher - Mr. Harris - could have failed me for the assignment, but instead he took to helping me. I'll never forget what he said to me on that particular afternoon: "April, you have great potential, but you will never get anywhere if people cannot read your words."

His simple words and his care for my growth and development as a student led to handwriting classes after school. Every day, while the other kids were in detention, I re-learned how to write my letters. I had to practice writing slowly, deliberately, before I was able to write more quickly. Mr. Harris could have ignored my struggle with handwriting. He could have labeled me as a problem student or as someone with little promise in schooling, but he didn't. He took time with me and did what he could to prepare me for life. Mr. Harris didn't just teach me how to write clearly, he helped me to express myself. He didn't just help my hand catch up with my mind, he taught me to present my work to others in away that could have an impact on my world.

Gluten-Free King Cake and a New Year

For the last three years I've made a King Cake on or around Epiphany (January 6). Epiphany is the day set aside for remembering the three wisemen - magi - who brought gifts to the baby Jesus. We leave our decorations up through January 6, and I bake a King Cake for us to eat in celebration. I decided to make the cake a couple of days early this year, and this year I had the challenge of making it gluten free.

After beginning the process of forming the dough, my son asked nearly every five minutes if it was time to decorate the cake yet. He tried to persuade me that his tummy could not wait even five minutes more, but I kept reminding him that the finished product would be worth the wait. If we ate some before it was finished, it would not be as good as if we had waited until the cake was baked, cooled, and decorated. Finally, after two hours of rising, 20 minutes of rolling, filling and rising some more, and 30 minutes of baking, it was almost time to decorate the cakes. My son sat at the table expectantly. He knew that soon he would be able to sprinkle the beautiful, colored sugar over the cakes.

It did not take long to decorate the cakes once we started, and immediately after decorating the cakes and taking a couple of pictures it was time to taste what we had worked so hard to make. It was wonderful! The texture was nearly perfect and the filling had just the right hint of cinnamon. The drizzle and sugar on the top was oh-so sweet, and my son exclaimed, "Our cakes are perfect!"

If you are like me, you hate editing. Writing is the fun part. The creativity, the cathartic experience of seeing something brand new take shape. The writing is the adventure of trying a new recipe, of waiting to see what will become of our original ideas. But, if we rush it - if we call it good and bite into it before it is ready - we will wind up with a soggy story, something with little substance and nothing to hold it all together. We will miss out on the decorative frills that we can add in only after we've grown to know and love our characters so much that we know them almost as well as we know ourselves. So, let's commit to it in 2011. Let's commit to letting our stories rise and change for as long as necessary so that they will be everything they are meant to be. Let's not rush the process simply because the waiting of editing brings out our inner, impatient three-year-old.

Will you commit to it? I will try, but I think I'll need your help! :)