Faith's Story- Another Blast from My Writing Past

Greetings, faithful readers!

I wasn't going to post this.

I was planning to post, but I've got a roster of what I'm going to post each Friday and I was planning to skip this story. Because it's rather embarrassing.

But, I promised to post things I was proud of when I wrote them and I was more proud of this story than I can say. Which is weird since it only made it to a little over 4,500 words.

But yeah. Looking back now it's very cliche and not very well-written. But I loved this story and the characters- especially Iris Messenger.

So, here you go. All I've got written of Faith (yeah, it's long... sorry...):

Chapter One

Mr. and Mrs. Gare arrived with their ward Theodore Maximilian Rothwell-Parker III the day after the funeral. Faith and Mr. Sauve, the mansion’s caretaker, were just sitting down the lunch when Mrs. Pierce announced them.

“What shall I do with them?” she asked.

Mr. Sauve looked at the plate in front of him, heaped with food- turkey sandwiches, potato salad, coleslaw, crisp, green garden salad, and fresh fruit- and sighed. “Show them into the parlor, Mrs. Pierce,” he said, getting up. “Faith, you can go on with lunch.”

Faith looked up from her plate, her green eyes brimming with tears. “Yes, sir,” she sniffed and looked back at her food. Mr. Sauve watched as she slowly picked up her fork and used it to push her food around for a moment. Then she raised it to her mouth and took a small bite. She sniffed again. He left her like that, going across the hall to the parlor.

He had never met the Gares or their young charge before but he took an immediate dislike to them.

Mrs. Gare was a rather plump woman probably in her late forties. She wore a tight, revealing dress, too much makeup and tended to bat her eyelashes. She spoke in flirtatious tones.

“It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sauve,” she said. Bat. Bat.

Her husband, Mr. Gare was a tall, silent man. His nose resembled a bird’s beak and his ears stuck out on the side of his head in a funny way, putting Mr. Sauve in mind of a first grade art project gone wrong. He wore a scowl and only grunted a greeting when introduced.

Lastly, there was Theodore Maximilian Rothwell-Parker III, the Gares’ ward and Jay Rothwell-Parker’s heir. He was a boy of twelve, a little on the stout and pudgy side, with blue eyes and golden hair. When he spoke his voice squeaked.

“Hello,” he said good-naturedly.

“If you don’t mind,” Mrs. Gare said once the introductions were made, “we’ve had a very long trip and would be most appreciative of a small repast.”

“Of course,” Mr. Sauve said.

“And if it’s not too much trouble would you have a maid make us up some rooms?”

“Of course.”

After instructing Mrs. Pierce to see to the rooms, Mr. Sauve led the group to the dining room. Faith wasn’t there so after looking longing at his plate for a moment he left the others and went to find her. He looked in all the usual places- the library, her bedroom, the kitchen, the schoolroom, the back veranda, the gazebo, the garden shed, the summer kitchen, the stables, the rose garden, the rock garden, the Italian statue garden, the goldfish pond, her favorite tree on the edge of the estate- before he finally thought to look in the attic. He found her sleeping in an old armchair in the far corner. He decided not to disturb her, she was going through a lot and needed the rest, but determined to talk to her later about finding the will. He descended the stairs slowly, not just because he was getting on in years but because his heart was heavy. He felt as if Faith was carrying the weight of the world and he couldn’t help carrying it with her.

Jay Rothwell-Parker brought Faith home with him when he returned from a business trip in Boston. No one knew who she was or why he had brought her; Jay was never one to give many details. His answers remained vague so everyone eventually stopped asking. Faith was only five at the time and the staff at the Rothwell-Parker mansion realized that it didn’t matter who she was. She was like every other child in that she needed to be loved.

She called her new guardian Uncle Jay but everyone was pretty sure she was no relation to the man. As far as was known he had no relatives except for a young cousin, Mr. Theodore Maximilian Rothwell-Parker III and his whereabouts remained unknown for a long time. When his parents died in an accident, young Theodore simply vanished from the face of the earth. Rumors naturally flew around, some stating that he too had perished in the accident, other that he was hiding from a murderous relative who sought to kill him for his fortune. Eventually everyone lost interest, though, and the matter was dropped shortly after.

Jay had never, to anyone’s knowledge, written a will. Mr. Sauve tried to discuss it with his employer before but Jay never liked to talk about death. “It will come when it comes,” he liked to say.

Come it did, on a day that dawned just as beautiful as the rest. Faith often looked back on that day and said it was as if the sky knew what was going to happen and was mocking it. The sky might have known but Jay certainly didn’t. He didn’t know something was wrong with his brakes or he would have driven the carriage. He didn’t know there was a parade in town that day or he would have gone another way. And he certainly didn’t know his car would hit one of the floats and kill him or he would have stayed home.

But he didn’t stay home, and he didn’t drive the carriage, and he didn’t find another way to go, and he did die, leaving Faith feeling betrayed. He had taken her in, loved her, caused her to love him, and then left abandoned her. As his closest relative, everything went to Theodore Rothwell-Parker III, who to everyone’s surprise was very much alive, and Faith was left with nothing but fading memories. She didn’t want his fortune, on the contrary she couldn’t care less about it, but Jay could have at least taken the few minutes to write a will that specified who her new guardian was to be. He didn’t and she felt hurt, lost, alone, unloved, uncared about, and abandoned, like a stray kitten no one knows what to do with. In short, he broke her heart.

Chapter Two

Faith met the mansion’s new residences at supper that night and, like Mr. Sauve, she took and immediate dislike to the Gares. The feeling appeared to be mutual.

“You staying long, honey?” Mrs. Gare asked as they sat down to eat.

“Yup,” Faith said. “Mr. Sauve’s my new guardian.”

Mrs. Gare looked at the mansion’s caretaker. “Are you sure your income is sufficient enough to support two people?”

“Quite sure,” Mr. Sauve replied cheerfully.

“I think it will be nice to have someone my own age around,” Theodore put in.

“Now, Theodore,” Mrs. Gare admonished, “we really can’t have you playing with the servants’ children. What will people say?” Mr. Gare grunted in agreement.

“Mr. Sauve’s hardly a servant,” Theodore argued. “And Faith was my cousin’s ward. That practically makes her a relative.” Mr. Sauve decided that maybe the young heir wasn’t so bad after all.

“Well, I don’t like the idea,” Mrs. Gare said, “but there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.” She looked at Faith sternly, “You’ll have to move your things out of the family’s quarters. I’m afraid you just can’t stay there.”

“I know,” Faith said. “I’m packing now so I’ll be moved into Mr. Sauve’s apartment by next week.”

“Why so long?”

“I have to go through a lot of my own things, besides having a lot of things that didn’t really belong to me. They belonged to the family and Uncle Jay loaned them to me so I have to put those things away.”

“I don’t think I much like the idea of you poking around our home by yourself,” Mrs. Gare told her. “I’ll just have to help you.”

Faith’s eyes grew wide. It was bad enough getting kicked out of her room. But to have to Mrs. Gare looking over her shoulder every moment while she worked was too much. Theodore came to her rescue.

“Can’t I help her instead, Mrs. Gare?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, Theodore,” his guardian said.

“Please,” he begged.

“Theodore-”

“It will keep me out from underfoot while you get us settled,” he pointed out.

Mrs. Gare thought about it for a moment. “All right, Theodore,” she said finally. “But be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Theodore smiled at Faith. “When do we start?”

Faith thought. “After breakfast?”

“All right, after breakfast.”

Faith was the last one out of the dining room. Mr. Sauve stopped her before she went up stairs.

“Be careful, Faith,” he warned her. “Young Theodore might be nice now but if he knows you’re looking for a will that will cause him to lose everything he’ll show different colors.”

“Okay,” Faith said.

“I want to talk to you about the will-”

“There isn’t one.”

“I think there is,” Mr. Sauve said. “Mr. Rothwell-Parker loved you and I know he would have made sure you were provided for.”

“Maybe he wanted his fortune to go to a blood relation,” faith suggested.

“You meant more to him than any blood relation ever could.”

“If you say so. What am I supposed to do?”

“Keep an eye out while you’re going through things. You never know where someone like Mr. Rothwell-Parker would think to hide his will. He always was an eccentric one.”

“It comes with being rich,” Faith said.

He put his arm around her shoulder. “Try to get some sleep tonight. You’re not looking too well.”

“I know, I’m just wasting away,” she joked.

“Seriously,” Mr. Sauve said, “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Faith said. “I can take care of myself.”

Faith took Theodore up to her room immediately after breakfast the next morning. There were papers and books covering the floor. Theodore gasped at the sight of it.

“How can you live like this?” he asked.

“Actually, I can’t,” Faith said. “I hate it but I decided to go through my papers and there were a lot more than I thought.”

Theodore stepped gingerly into the room, careful not to step on anything, and plopped down on Faith’s bed, bouncing a little. “So, what can I help you with?”

“I don’t actually need help,” Faith said as she started sorting some of the papers. “Mrs. Gare just wanted someone to keep an eye on me. I guess to make sure I don’t steal anything.”

“She told me you were looking for a will.”

Faith’s head shot up. She quickly looked back at her work. “I don’t think Uncle Jay wrote a will.”

“That’s not what Mrs. Gare said,” Theodore said. “She said rich people always write wills”

Faith laughed. “There’s no will. It’s just Mrs. Gare’s imagination.”

“Oh,” Theodore said. “Okay.” He watched her work for a while noticing her eyes were filling with tears. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “This is just an emotional time for me.”

“I’m sorry, Faith,” Theodore said. “I really don’t want to take everything away from you.”

Faith clenched her teeth and tried not to cry. “It’s got nothing to do with this house, or the money, or anything like that. I want Uncle Jay back.”

“I think I can understand how you feel. I don’t remember my parents but I miss them every day. I can imagine it must hurt infinitely more to lose someone you know and love.”

“You know, I never missed my parents,” Faith said. “I was so young when I came to live with Uncle Jay I don’t remember them. I didn’t even think about them. But ever since Uncle Jay died I’ve been thinking about them more. I find myself missing them more everyday.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“No. I don’t think anyone but Uncle Jay did.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m too emotional.”

“No, you’re not,” Theodore objected. Faith didn’t say anything and he wisely let the matter drop.

Iris Messenger came over after lunch. The Messengers lived next door to the Rothwell-Parker mansion and Iris had been Faith’s best friend for as long as they could both remember. That’s why when she arrived Iris didn’t wait in the parlor like most guests but went straight up to Faith’s room.

“Faithie,” she said as she opened the door. Faith dropped her papers and jumped to embrace her friend.

“Iris,” she cried. “I wondered when you were going to come.”

“Mama said it wasn’t polite to call the day after a funeral,” Iris explained. “I told her this wasn’t exactly a social call but she insisted I wait.”

Faith squeezed her friend tighter. “I knew you’d come.”

Iris squeezed her back. “I thought you’d need me.”

Theodore, who had been sitting on Faith’s bed watching the scene, feeling very uncomfortable, stood up. “I think I’ll go check on something,” he said, going to the door.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Theodore. Iris, this is Theodore Maximilian Rothwell-Parker III. Theodore, this is my very best friend, Iris Messenger.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Iris said.

“Thanks,” Theodore said. “Nice to meet you too. If you’ll excuse me I’ll go see about that thing.”

“What thing?” Faith asked.

Theodore blushed. “I thought you two might want to be alone. I’ll go find something else to do.”

“Oh,” Faith said, understanding. “Thanks, Theodore.”

“Who’s he?” Iris asked once he’d left.

“Uncle Jay’s heir.”

Iris scowled at the closed door. “What was he doing in here? Eyeing up your room for when it’s his house?”

“He’s not like that,” Faith said. “He’s actually very nice.”

“If you say so,” Iris said. “How are you doing?”

That did it. For the past four days Faith had been trying not to cry but the moment she heard her friend inquire about her with such concern Faith began to sob uncontrollably. Iris embraced her again. Neither girl said a word for almost an hour. They just stood there, Iris holding Faith while the girl cried her heart out, until Faith started hiccupping. Both girls started giggling. Faith sounded so funny giggling and hiccupping at the same time that it caused the girls to giggle more.

“I’m so hic glad you came,” Faith said wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I hic really needed that.”

“Anytime,” Iris said.

“Thanks hic Iris. You’re a real hic pal.”

Iris’ reply was cut off by a knock at the door.

“Entrée,” Iris called. The knocking continued. “Come in,” she tried. Theodore stuck his head in the room.

“It’s time to eat,” he said.

“Okay,” Faith said. “We’ll hic be down in a hic moment.

“Are you okay, Faith?”

“I’m hic fine.”

“Okay. What was that you called before you told me to come in?”

“Entrée,” Faith said with a laugh. “It hic means entry in French. Hic Iris was trying out her hic new vocabulary.”

“Oh,” Theodore said.

Faith laughed again. “Thanks hic for letting us know hic about the food. Hic I’ll be right down.”

Theodore nodded and left.

“I guess that’s my cue to go home,” Iris said.

“Will you hic come back and hic send the night with me?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Iris said. “You really need some help with this room.”

“I hic know. See if you can hic stay longer.”

“Okay.” Iris hugged her friend. “I’ll be back around eight.”

Faith returned the hug. “I’ll be here.”

Chapter Three

Iris did return at eight with permission to spend the next five nights with her friend. Mrs. Gare objected but Mr. Sauve gently pointed out that the Rothwell-Parker mansion didn’t belong to Theodore yet.

“There are still a few legal matters to be settled,” he said. Mrs. Gare “humphed.”

Iris smiled. “Thank you Mrs. Gare,” she said politely, the perfect lady, as always. Faith tried to hide her smile. Iris grabbed her hand. “Good night everyone,” she said.

“Yes, good night,” Faith said and the two girls retreated to Faith’s room.

Iris dropped across Faith’s bed. “Whew,” she said. “That is the sourest faced woman I’ve ever met.”

Faith joined her. “I concur.”

“And I’m the one showing off my vocabulary,” Iris said.

Faith grabbed Iris’ hand. “How’d you get your mother to let you stay?”

“Daddy said he thought it would be good for you so he pleaded my cause.”

“You have such a nice father.”

“I know,” Iris said with an exaggerated sigh. “I just don’t deserve him.”

Faith laughed. “Honestly, Faithie,” Iris said growing solemn, “how are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Faith replied determined not to cry. “You know how when you burn your finger it really hurts for a while then it suddenly stops and you can’t feel anything? It just goes numb? It’s like that except it’s not my finger it’s my heart.”

“Oh, Faithie, I’m sorry.”

“What are you supposed to do when your heart breaks?” Faith asked crying now.

“Well,” Iris said sagely, “when your heart is in a million pieces only God can put it back together correctly. He can only do that though if you give him the pieces.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t know how.”

“Just tell him it’s his. Keep telling him, over and over, until you’re finally ready for it to really be his.”

“Okay,” Faith said. “God, you know how I feel about Uncle Jay’s death and you know how much it broke my heart. I want it to be whole again so please take the pieces and put them back together again. Amen. I don’t feel any different.”

“Keep it up. These things take time.”

The girls fell silent. For a long time they laid there holding hands until they both fell asleep.

The girls woke with the sun that morning and after quickly changing out of yesterday’s dresses they slipped outside. It was a beautiful May morning, just a little bit chilly but the promise of warming up hung in the air.

“Where are we headed?” Iris asked.

“I don’t care,” Faith said. “I just don’t want to be cooped up in that house anymore.”

“Well, come on then,” Iris said running off toward the shrub garden, Faith followed.

“You’re it,” she said when she caught up to Iris and tagged her. Iris ran after her and they chased each other around the estate for an hour.

“Watch out for that rock,” Faith called as she ran past the goldfish pond, jumping over the aforementioned rock. Iris didn’t register what she’d said until it was too late. She tripped and went splashing into the pond.

“Are you okay, Iris?” Faith asked as she went to the edge of the pond.

Iris laughed. “I can not believe I just did that,” she said. Faith couldn’t help joining her in laughter.

“You’d better get inside and change or those wet clothes will make you sick.”

“I think I’d rather get sick than yelled at by Mrs. Gare for tracking water all over.”

“You’re right. Wait in the garden shed and I’ll get you some dry things.”

“You mean change in the shed? How uncouth.” Iris smiled. “I like it.”

“I’ll be right back,” Faith said still laughing. She crept quietly towards the house and peeked in the dining room windows. Good. Everyone was at breakfast. She slipped through the front door. In her room she grabbed Iris a change of clothes and the towels from the wash stand. Then she darted back outside to the shed.

“Iris,” she called softly as she knocked on the door. “It’s me.”

Iris opened the door and took the things. “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she said through the closed door. “I’ve been thinking. Mr. Jay must have left a will. He had to.”

“That’s what Mr. Sauve says.”

“Are you looking for it?”

“I haven’t had a chance because I’ve been so busy cleaning my room. I’ve also got Theodore breathing down my neck every second. That makes it rather hard.”

“Yes,” Iris said. “I can see why that would produce a problem. We’ll have to be careful.”

“I agree,” Faith said. Her sharp ears picked up a sound. “Shhh. Someone’s coming.”

As if on cue, Theodore came around the corner at that moment. “Hello,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Iris is changing,” Faith said moving to stand in front of the door.

“In the tool shed?”

“She fell in the pond,” Faith explained. “What are you doing? I thought everyone was eating breakfast.”

“We just finished,” Theodore told her. “I didn’t think you were up yet so I decided to take a walk. Then I heard you guys talking.”

“Did you hear what we were saying?” Faith asked.

“You mean about the will? Yeah, I heard.”

“Oh.”

Theodore put his hand on Faith’s arm. “When Mr. and Mrs. Gare told me about the inheritance I was excited. I thought it would be easy. But that was before I met you. Faith, I can’t take your inheritance. You rightfully deserve it. I’m going to confess to Mr. Sauve today.”

“Confess what?”

Theodore took a deep breath. “I’m not Theodore Maximilian Rothwell-Parker III.”

Chapter Four

Faith didn’t say a word; she just stared at him in disbelief. Iris had finished changing and started to open door, hitting Faith, who was still standing in front of it, in the back. She’d been unable to hear what had past while she was inside. She took one look at her friend’s shocked expression and glared at Theodore.

“I think she’s in shock,” he explained.

“What did you do to her?” Iris demanded.

“Nothing. I just confessed,” he said. “I’m not really Theodore Maximilian Rothwell-Parker III.”

“You’re joking,” Iris said.

“No.”

“If you’re not Theodore Maximilian Rothwell-Parker III then who are you?” Faith asked finding her voice.

“My real name is Edward Noach,” Theodore- Edward- told them. “I’m an orphan. Mr. and Mrs. Gare aren’t Mr. and Mrs. Gare at all they’re really Mr. and Mrs. Salk. They came to me last week and asked me to pose as Theodore. They told me the real heir was dead so I didn’t see who I’d be hurting. I agreed.”

“Then why are you confessing now?” Iris asked unconvinced. “In a week you’d have had everything made.”

“Because I see now who I’d be hurting. I’d have to see Faith everyday for the rest of my life and know I’d taken what was rightfully hers. I’m sorry I deceived you. I’ll go confess to Mr. Sauve and let you get back to your search. I hope you find the will.” He turned to leave.

“Wait,” Faith called. He turned back to them. “If you’re an orphan then where would you go if you left?”

Theodore- Edward- shrugged. “Not back to that orphanage, that’s for sure.”

“Then why don’t you just stay here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Faith said, “if you confess that’ll get rid of the Gares, or whatever you said their name was, and I’ll get the inheritance. So you can just stay here.”

“Why?” Edward asked suspiciously.

“Because I like you,” Faith told him. “What do you say?”

“What are you driving at?”

“If you stick around while we look for the will then I’ll split the inheritance with you. If we find the will then I claim it and if we don’t find the will than you claim it.”

“What about the Gares?” Iris asked.

“I’ll think of something,” Faith said. “Is it a deal?”

Edward thought about it. He nodded. “Deal.” They shook on it.

“You’ll have to remain Theodore for the time being,” Faith said. “Even in private. I’d hate to slip up and call you Edward by accident in front of the adults.”

“Okay,” Edward- Theodore- said. “I can do that. When do we start looking for the will?”

Mr. Sauve noticed the difference at lunch. The three children came in together and all of them- including Faith- were laughing. The sight was bittersweet. It was good to see Faith smile but he knew that if they found the will Theodore would have to leave and Faith would once again lose someone. He was going to have to stop it before it went too far.

“My dear,” Mrs. Gare said to Faith, “you really can’t keep up this practice of skipping breakfast. It’s setting a bad example for Theodore. He’s wasting away as it is.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Faith said. She looked over at Theodore and Iris and the three exchanged smiles.

Mrs. Gare noticed. “Would one of you like to tell me what’s going on?” she asked.

It was on the tip of Faith tongue to tell her no when Iris spoke up. “It’s just that we’re impressed with your concern for poor Theodore. It’s so nice that he has someone to look after him now that his parents are gone.”

Mrs. Gare smiled. “Thank you, dear,” she said.

“Speaking of which,” Mr. Sauve said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Mrs. Gare, if you have legal documentation proving you are indeed young Theodore’s guardian?”

The look the children shared was very different than the one they had shared just moments ago. This conversation was going in the wrong direction. Once again Iris came to the rescue. Very innocently she reached for the muffin plate in front of her, spilling her water glass in the process.

“Oh,” she exclaimed jumping up. She used her napkin to mop up the mess. Theodore grabbed his napkin and helped her. Everyone was distracted and the conversation never went back to Mr. Sauve’s question.

“Faith, could I talk to you?” Mr. Sauve stopped her as the children started to leave the dining room.

“Sure,” the girl said. “You two can go on up to my room,” she told her friends.

“Faith, I feel like you’re hiding something,” Mr. Sauve said once they were alone.

Faith’s mouth dropped open. “Hiding something?” she said, clearly shocked. “W-why would I do that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Faith swallowed. “Is it something I’ve done?” she asked.

“Sort of,” the estate’s caretaker said. “You seem to be coming very close with young Theodore. I couldn’t help noticing the smile you exchanged at lunch. And then it appeared you didn’t me talking to Mrs. Gare about him.”

“What do you mean?” Faith asked innocently. “Iris is the one who spilled her water and I’m sure it was an accident.”

“Are you now?”

Faith nodded. “I’m sure. And about Theodore, we’re just making the most of the situation that was forced upon us.”

“Okay, I believe you. Remember, Faith, I’m trusting you to be responsible. Don’t let me down.”

Faith swallowed hard again. “Yes, Mr. Sauve.”

Mr. Sauve nodded and Faith took it that she was dismissed. She lost no time retreating to her room.

“We have to hurry up and find that will,” Faith exclaimed as she burst into her room. “I told Mr. Sauve he could trust me and I don’t want him to think otherwise. Besides,” she bit her lip, “I think it’s probably illegal for you to claim the inheritance, Theodore, since you’re not really Theodore.”

Theodore stared at her. “Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t you know that?”

“Theodore Maximilian Rothwell-Parker III, do you mean to say you were going to involve me in criminal activity?” Faith exclaimed.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” Theodore defended himself.

“Still, you might have said something.”

“This really isn’t solving anything,” Iris said. “We need to find the will.”

“Right,” Faith said, “where do we start?”

So there you have it!! If you made it that far, congrats! I appreciate the time you took to read through it!

Let me know what you think of what I'm doing here on Fridays. Do you like reading my old writing? Or are you going to avoid Ivory Palace at all costs on Fridays this summer?

For better for for worse, next week there'll be more writing from the past. Hope you'll stop back for it.

In the meantime, there'll be another post about heroines on Monday, so be sure to stop back for that. See you all on Monday!

Is Your Heroine Beautiful Enough?

The thing that bothers me about the outcry about body image in the media is that the solution people offer will only cause more problems.

People complain because the Disney princesses are super skinny. They say it creates unrealistic expectations for girls because it makes them want to be skinny. It makes them feel like they aren’t beautiful because they’re not tiny-waisted. We need plus size princesses. Princesses with stomachs and flabby arms. Princesses who are like real girls.

And, while I appreciate the idea that girls need to be given more realistic expectations, the outcriers are very, very wrong.

They’re suggesting that skinny girls are not insecure about how they look. They’re suggesting a skinny girl never looks in a mirror and tells herself she’s ugly. She never sees an ad or watches a movie and says, “I’ll never be that pretty.”

Disney does not give us unrealistic expectations about body image because they make their princesses skinny. Disney gives us unrealistic expectations about body image because they make their princesses a body shape no girl can have.

Making princesses plus size or “realistic” sized won’t solve the problem. What we consider beautiful is all about what we’re told is beautiful. We want to be skinny because we’re hounded with skinny girls in this culture.

But, if we bombard society with girls who are, by our standards “realistic” all we’re doing is shifting the problem. You’ll probably scoff at the idea, but I promise you, give it some time and the skinny girls will struggle the same way plus size girls do now. They are constantly surrounded these days by people who are saying the way they look is unrealistic. How much longer before they begin to think they’re too skinny? How much longer before they invent surgeries to make girls fatter? Not any time soon, I’m sure. But, it could happen.

As many of you know, I’ve always loved Belle- from Beauty and the Beast. I wanted to be her when I was younger. And, I still do, in many ways. I’m either so incredibly cynical that I shut people out if I feel that they don’t deserve my love or attention or I’m so naïve that I let people walk all over me.

Belle, she’s so strong. She stands up to the Beast and doesn’t let him give her any nonsense. But she also doesn’t shut him out. She gives him a chance. She’s willing to try, after everything, before she shuts him out completely. If I could have half the character she possess, I would feel so much better about who I am.

Black Widow. Love her. After watching The Avengers I wanted to run around the house doing all sorts of crazy stunts. I’m so not flexible and it was a disaster when I tried it, but she makes me want to get into shape, so I can do the things she does.

Tris Prior, from Divergent, inspired me so much when I read that series. Reading about her, about her struggles, it makes me want to be brave, selfless, peaceful, smart, and honest. I want to be divergent. After reading that series I would find myself being reminded to do things differently. When I was scared to do something, I’d remind myself to be dauntless. When I’d start to get angry with someone, I’d ask myself if I was being selfless, if I was being peaceful. If I was tempted to hold something back, to hide how I felt, I’d remind myself to be candor.

I’m not like Tris. But, I want to be.

All of those examples, if you’ll notice, I never once said I wanted to look like the character. They never made me feel insecure about my body or who I was. But they challenged me to be a better person. To be stronger. To be different.

I want to be the girl who is willing to be different, the girl who refuses to be defined by one characteristic, but embodies many. I want to be in shape, healthy, able to stretch and move and do things that make me feel so full of life. I want to be someone who is strong, but willing to give people a chance, not naïve, not cynical, but a healthy balance of the two.

I offer you a simple solution to the body image problem- what if we created heroines so strong, so compelling, so amazing, that girls forget what she looked like and remember instead her character? What if we made girls more than a pretty face? What if we stopped telling people what the girl in our story was like? She’s not ugly, she’s not beautiful, she’s just herself. She can be skinny or fat, tall or short, have any color hair. But stop telling your readers if she’s pretty or not.

Beauty is relative. Some people like something, other people don’t. Most girl aren’t insecure about themselves because they don’t like the way they look. They’re insecure because they know the rest of the world doesn’t like the way they look.

So let’s stop telling them how they look is important. Let’s instead focus on who they are. Let’s stop making the villain ugly because it’s traditional or beautiful because it’s not. Let’s instead focus on character.

Ugly or beautiful, the thing that separates a hero from a villain is the choices they make. Why should it matter if the villain is beautiful, yet horrible or if the hero is ugly, yet brave? We almost portray it as, “She’s ugly but becomes a hero despite it.” Her looks don’t define her character. So why on earth are we making it important?

We try to tell girls “You can be a hero no matter how you look” but it comes across as “It’s okay that you’re ugly, you can still save the world.” And, all that causes girls to do is walk away, looking instead for someone who will tell them that they’re beautiful.

Girls struggle with their body image, yes. But that doesn’t mean you have to put it in every story you write. Remember, your heroine is realistic, but should also be a portrayal of something, a role model. So, if you’re trying to tell girls not to worry about their body, why do you make your hero care?

And, don’t pull the realistic card on me. Because if we’re being realistic, why doesn’t every girl in every book mention her period. Why doesn’t she struggle with that? Because nobody cares about it. Because girls accept it and live with it and it’s not an issue.

So, if you really want girls to stop struggling with how they look, then stop labeling your characters as beautiful or not beautiful. Sure, a guy can tell a girl in your story she’s beautiful. That’s fine. But everyone? No. Or, everyone telling her she isn’t beautiful? Same thing. Don’t do it.

Instead, focus on your heroine’s character. Make her someone your reader could be. Sure, I might not be able to do crazy stunts like the Black Widow, but I could if I put time and energy into it. I might not be able to be her now, but the changes she’s causing me to make in my life are good ones. She makes me want to eat right, to exercise, to be careful with my body.

Your hero should make your reader want to be a better person, not someone who looks different. Sure, Black Widow has awesome hair, but I’d rather be flexible like her than have her hair. Sure, she’s beautiful. But that’s not the focus of her character. Belle never gave me unrealistic expectations about myself because I was too busy trying to walk and read at the same time. Too busy trying to see the good in people. Tris many be all cute and small, but I’d rather have her character than her looks.

If you truly believe that girls are not defined by their body image, then stop defining your heroines that way.

I’ll talk more next week on what I think makes a strong, independent woman. About how to balance her character with realism.

I hope you’ll stop back for that.

How about you? Do you agree or disagree with this assessment? Who is your favorite heroine and how does she inspire you to change?

Return of the Archer- As Promised

***** WARNING: The post below contains spoilers to The Crimson Banner. If you 

have not read it and do not want anything spoiled for you, do not proceed*****

Greetings, faithful readers!

As promised, here is the prologue and first chapter of the unfinished sequel to The Crimson Banner.

Due to a rather upset text from my sister, I feel the need to clarify something- when I said that on Monday that this is the "unfinished (and now dead) sequel" I did not mean the sequel was dead. I meant this one is.

I am making no promises that there will ever be a sequel to The Crimson Banner. But I am also making no promises that there won't be. The characters (especially Tom and Toby) have a very special place in my heart and I would love to return to the kingdom of Knox someday. I do not know if that is truly to be in my future, but do not give up hope.

After all, anything's possible.

Now, without further ado, the beginning of Return of the Archer:

Prologue

The stars twinkled brightly as fourteen-year-old Toby Pemberton raced across the open field. Reston was leaving in the morning and he had promised to give her an astronomy lesson that night.

“Hey, Squirt,” Reston said as she approached him.

Toby glared at him. At only 4.11 she was touchy about her height. “Don’t call me that,” she said. “I’ll get taller.”

“No you won’t. Everyone knows girls stop growing at your age.”

“I’m not a girl,” Toby stated.

“Toby, you may dress like a boy and you may act like a boy but your body will still function like a girl’s. I don’t think it heard about the change in gender.”

“We did not come out here to discuss my body,” Toby said irritably.

“You act just like a girl,” Reston muttered. “Mood swings and all.” He gave Toby one of his charming smiles but she didn’t fall for it.

“All right,” he said clapping his hands together. “First, there’s Sirius, the brightest star in the sky.”

“Besides the sun.”

“Of course besides the sun. They call him ‘the Dog Star’.”

“Why?”

“I guess because he’s one of the stars that makes up Orion’s dog.”

“Who’s Orion?”

“Well,” Reston said pointing, “moving from Sirius past some of the other stars, see those three in a row? That’s Orion’s belt. Orion is the mighty hunter of the skies.”

Toby looked from Reston to the sky then back at Reston. “I can see a resemblance.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if he’s a hunter that means he must be an archer like you. I think I can see a family resemblance.”

“Sorry, Tobes,” Reston said ignoring her glare. “In the first place, all archers aren’t related. And in the second, Orion hunts with a club.”

“Well, that’s rather primitive.”

“He’s been up there a long time,” Reston pointed out. “You can’t really blame him for not being in tune with new hunting methods.”

Though it was late December it wasn’t very cold and they lay on the grass for a good three hours staring at the heavens. Finally Toby stood up.

“I’d better go,” she said. “Lord Pemberton won’t like me staying out so late.”

“He doesn’t own you, Toby.”

“Actually, he kind of does.”

Reston shook his head. “Toby, if you want to get anywhere in life you can’t let anyone have power over you. Come on, come with me, I’ll take you places you only dreamed of. You have potential, Toby, but you’re wasting it here on that man.”

“He doesn’t have power over me,” Toby said, ignoring his plea altogether. She couldn’t have gone even if she wanted to. Something held to Babancock and to her brother- invisible ties that couldn’t be broken.

“You just said he practically owns you.”

“Maybe so but he still doesn’t have power over me.”

“Oh, really?” Reston said unconvinced. “And why not?”

“Because I’ve forgiven him,” she said simply. Reston waited expectantly for more. “I mean, if I become angry and embittered then I’ll be just like him and that’s what he wants. By forgiving him I’m deciding who I want to be and therefore he has no power over me.”

Reston nodded slowly. “Let me know how that works for you.”

“It’ll work fine,” Toby said. “Just wait and see.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have time to wait and see. I have places to go and things to do. The offer’s open, Tobes, come with me and leave this all behind.”

In response, she just grinned and said, “Come back and see me sometime, okay?”

He sighed. “All right, if that’s how you want it to be. And, of course I’ll come back. You owe me a favor, remember?”

“Come and collect any time you like,” she replied. “I’ll be here.”

And, with that, she scampered off into the night.

Chapter One: Times of Trouble

Lord, give me strength, Captain Tom Rogers prayed as he made his way through Hydel’s crowded streets. It’s been a year already… she might not even remember me.

He pushed passed a group of sailors who had obviously just pulled into port and been paid. He remembered that feeling. The hopes and dreams a man carried with his pocket full of his wages.

I failed you, Faith, his heart cried. I promised you those dreams would come true and I failed you. He sighed. And now I’m going to fail Emily too.

“Hey, watch it,” a female voice said. It sounded full of a smile but he muttered an apology anyway, though he kept his eyes on the ground.

“Tom?” the voice questioned, a gentle hand touching his arm. He looked up then, into the huge green eyes of a pretty, dark-haired young woman. “Captain Tom Rogers?”

He took a step back. “Excuse me, but do I know you?”

She laughed and something about her giggle sounded familiar. “No, I don’t suppose you would remember me. Last time we saw each other I was sporting a rather singed pair of pants.”

He started to shake his head, then it hit him. “Toby?” he said in disbelief. There was no way this beautiful young woman was that annoying little girl who insisted on acting like a boy.

But she was smiling and nodding. And then she gave that annoying laugh of hers and he knew it was true.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” she said.

He nodded. “I have some business to take care of.”

A young man, about sixteen, approached them. His dark hair fell over his forehead, shading his eyes, and his clothes were ragged. Tom moved a bit to shield Toby from this street waif in the subtlest of ways.

And the boy narrowed his eyes threateningly at the captain and said, “You leave Miss Pemberton be, you hear?”

Toby smiled. “It’s all right, Duff. This is my friend, Captain Tom Rogers. Tom, this is my friend, Duff.”

Duff nodded, though he eyed the man warily, not fully convinced. “Captain.”

Tom nodded back. “Duff. Toby, if you’ll excuse me now.”

“‘Toby’?” Duff looked at her, his eyebrow raised, questioning the name.

She smiled as she began walking again, keeping step with Tom. “I’ll tell you some other time. It was good to see you, Tom. I’ll be seeing you again, I hope, before you leave?”

“Aye, I’m sure you will.” He stopped in front of a small house, nestled between two storefronts. He glanced nervously towards the door. “Well, good day to you both.”

Before either could reply, the door to the house opened and a little girl, perhaps ten, appeared in the doorway. She had long blonde- almost white- hair and bright blue eyes. Her dress was faded and she wore a stained apron over it. Her face lit up as her eyes fell on Tom.

“Daddy!” she cried and ran to throw herself against him.

His face grew red with embarrassment. “Hello, Emily.” He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “How have you been?”

“Grandma said you weren’t supposed to come for a whole month or more,” she said wrapping her arms around him. “But you came early! Why’d you come early? Who’s she?”

Toby stood staring at him in utter shock. He swallowed. “Emily, this is, Tob-  uh… Miss Pemberton. Miss Pemberton, this is my- my daughter, Emily.”

And there you have it! Be sure to stop back on Monday for the start of an exciting new series on writing tips. And then Next Friday will bring more of my writing from my teenage years.

In the meantime, let me know what your thoughts on the story above, of if you have any ideas for a series or blog post you'd like to see me write. I look forward to hearing from you!

Summer Changes Coming to Within the Ivory Palace!

Greetings, faithful readers!

I did not forget to write on Friday. I skipped it. I was feeling really awful and it was a bit of a long day.

Plus, I told you all I was going to write about work. And, every time I think about writing about work I just don’t feel like it. I don’t want to talk about work. I don’t like work.

It’s okay. I have an office job, which is nice. I’m glad I’m not running around outside all summer. But, it’s hard and boring and I feel like a machine. Every morning at 8:30 (usually a little before) I turn on and I crank out productivity until 5. Then I go home, recharge, and start all over again in the morning.

And, that’s about all you’re going to get from me. Because the rest will just be complaining. And, you all don’t want to hear me complain. I’m sure any of you who work know how it is. It’s work.

So ready for the summer to be over.

Anyway! I’ve also got exciting news. We’re going to be doing things a little different here this summer. And, depending on how it goes, I might keep part of it permanent.

First of all (this part’s just for the summer): I’m suspending Candor Fridays. I need to revamp it and I just don’t have to time or energy this summer. If you have any questions you would like me to answer, please feel free to email me. It’s not the question answering part I don’t have time/energy for.

In place of that, I’m going to do a Throwback Thursday sort of a deal. Except it’s on Fridays. Every Friday, starting this Friday, through the summer, until I’m done working, I’m going to post a first chapter or short story I wrote when I was a teen. Most of the chapters, the story is completely revamped or I’m stuck with it, but I thought it would be fun for you all to see them. Plus, at the time I wrote them, I was incredibly proud of these chapters. So now I’ll be sharing them with you, starting this Friday.

And, then, the following Monday (first week of June :O) I’ll be starting a series of posts on writing. I’ve also got a series lined up for July and am brainstorming ideas for August. If you have any ideas for things you would like to see me write about, drop me a comment or an email. I’d love to hear your feedback and ideas.

So, this summer you’re going to get both a lot of posts on writing, as well as a lot of my own. So, I hope it’s a good summer for all of you. I know I’m very excited about it.

So, I’m back to work tomorrow. But, I’ll see you all on Friday. Hope you stop back for the first chapter of Return of the Archer- an unfinished (and now dead) sequel to The Crimson Banner.

Rationality- Chapter One

Greetings, faithful readers! As some of you know- and most of you don't- I just started the job I interviewed for a few weeks back. I plan to write about it and give you an update on what's going on in my life on Friday.

But, in the meantime, my brain is exploding from all the information that's been packed into it. So, I don't have a post on writing or anything for today. But, instead of skipping out, I thought I'd post a chapter of a story I was working on a while back.

And, I've got a series of posts in the works, so I promise we'll be back to more about writing soon.

But, for now, here is Chapter One of Rationality. It's a slightly futuristic/ alternate reality story about two young adults- Aidan and Judas- and their struggles in a world where imagination and fiction are shunned as enemies of rational thought.

Hope you enjoy :D

Chapter One: Aidan

It’s easy to believe their lies until the day they take my book away.

I didn’t care about the stuffed animals or the imagination games or even Santa Claus. And, Edmund and Cailin seem happy enough when I see them at meal times from across the dining room. Even not letting me get upset about Mom and Dad means I’m not allowed to think about the pain, which is good. Because if I think about it, I’ll cry. And, crying only gives me a headache. It doesn’t solve anything.

But taking my book is the last straw.

“Give it back!” I wail, trying to wriggle free of Mrs. Matron’s firm grasp about my waist. Her bony fingers dig into my middle but I ignore the pain. “You’ve no right to take it. Give it back.”

It was Mom’s when she was a child and I have many a memory from my own childhood of her reading passages aloud. If I concentrate really hard when I’m reading I can still hear her voice in my head, forming each word as I read.

I watch Mr. Matron’s receding figure, the worn volume clutched under his arm. He disappears around the corner and with him my last tie to the life I lived before coming to this cursed place. I struggle all the harder, crying out a stream of protests.

“Pull yourself together, girl,” Mrs. Matron says, her grip tightening. “Persons of rational thought have no need for such frivolity.”

The tears are moist and hot on my cheeks, my anger welling up inside of me until it’s one huge ball of hurt and fury. I should push it back, hold it in. I know that. Causing trouble is wrong. I should make peace, avoid conflict.

But they took my book.

“I don’t care,” I scream, interrupting right in the middle of Mrs. Matron’s “persons of rational thought” speech. “If rational people are the kind of people who take a person’s book, I don’t want anything to do with them.”

Mrs. Matron gasps and loosens her hold on me. I’ve shocked her by my words, by insulting the manifest this orphanage is run by. I’ve spoken against the ideals this place strives to live up to and announced I have no intention of being the person these people are devoting their lives to make me into.

And, that’s why she’s so shocked she lets me go.

But, it’s only for a second. I start to dart away, all the while trying to determine where I’ll go, where I can hide once I get away from her. Not that hiding will do much good since I’ll have to come out for food sometime and I’m sure to be caught them.

And then she grabs me again, catching my wrist, her spindly fingers boring into it so hard I cry out from the pain.

“You are an ungrateful little brat who needs very much to learn her place,” she spats out. I notice then that her greying hair is falling out of her bun and the wrinkles of stress around her eyes look deeper than usual. She’s usually so stern, so put together, so on top of things. But now she’s not. Because of me.

Which makes me laugh because it’s funny that an eight-year-old girl can do that to a grown woman. I laugh because she’s getting so old that a child can break her stern front so easily. Because if I don’t find it funny I’ll remember why we were fighting and that will make me cry again.

I laugh because I have to.

And, that’s why I’m standing in the corner in Mrs. Matron’s office an hour later. Standing right through the evening meal.

She thinks it’s a punishment, the standing. But, it isn’t. It’s the missing out on food that’s the punishment.

But the standing isn’t bad at all. She thinks it will make me a better person. As if staring into a corner for over an hour will make me suddenly realize just how wrong I am about everything. As if it will make me want to be the person she wants me to be.

She really knows nothing about corners.

Standing here, I don’t think about how wrong I was. I don’t think about changing my attitude or my actions or any of that. I think about how wrong she is. How wrong Mr. Matron and everyone else who lives here is. I think about the injustice of it all and how I want my book back more than anything.

That thought brings the tears on again and I push them away. I need to stay angry. I need to keep hold of that and not focus on the pain.

Speaking of pain, my wrist burns from Mrs. Matron dragging me here. There’s sure to be a bruise; a deep one, if the throbbing is any indication.

I can hear her at her desk, shuffling papers, going about whatever it is orphanage runners do at their desks. She must have finished eating. Her sister brought in a tray a bit ago and the acrid smell of bacon still hangs in the air. One thing I’m grateful about this place is that they consider that accursed meat a luxury and never serve it to us kids.

She mutters something I can’t make out and I wonder if she remembers I’m here. Perhaps she’s forgotten and I’ll have to stand here all night. Which wouldn’t necessarily be bad, as it gives me more time to dwell on everything that happened today and plot how I plan to deal with it.

Even though that’s wrong. I should forgive her, make her life easier because that would be the right thing to do. It’s wrong to make trouble for people.

But, she took my book and bruised my wrist and is trying to take away even the memory of my family and the past life we had. And, I can’t let her get away with that.

A timid knock of the door. I shift to look and Mrs. Matron’s voice comes, “Eyes front, girl.”

I don’t even have a name anymore; none of us do. We’re either “boy” or “girl” depending on our gender. We are without individualism, without identity. All the same, I shift once more and return fully to my corner. Only then does she call, “Enter.”

The door creaks open and I hear the timid voice of Mr. Matron’s spinster sister. “Sister, Mr. Hawthorne would like to speak with you.”

Mrs. Matron sighs and I wonder about this Mr. Hawthorne and why the mere mention of his name causes such annoyance. I like him already. “Has he finished the tour?”

Only rich people the Matrons want money from get tours. So, this Mr. Hawthorne must be a donor, one of the people who funds this place. I don’t think I like him after all.

“And, has he said anything about…?” Mrs. Matron doesn’t finish the question but her sister must know what she’s talking about because she replies.

“Nothing. He’s been rather tightlipped the whole time.”

Another sigh. “Send him in.”

The door clicks shut and all is silent for a moment. Then is opens again and the heavy footsteps are masked by the carpet below our feet. The door shuts again. The sound of a chair scraping against the rug as Mrs. Matron presumably stands. “Mr. Hawthorne, how good of you to take the time to visit us. I trust you’re satisfied with things?”

This is the part where Mr. Hawthorne is supposed to answer the question, to tell her if things are up to his standard or not. But, the reply never comes. Instead there’s a moment of silence and then Mrs. Matron says, “Ah, don’t let her bother you. She’s learning a much needed lesson, but won’t be any trouble to our interview.”

He must have motioned to me, wanting to know. I feel my face grow hot. I am not learning a lesson here. I am plotting revenge, thank you very much.

I sense more than hear him take the few steps required to come and stand behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a shiver runs down my spine. Why can’t he just leave me alone?

“What did she do?” His voice is deep but smooth with more of a curious air than anything else.

“Oh, really, it’s nothing,” Mrs. Matron flusters. Which we all know is a lie because if it were nothing I wouldn’t be standing here. “Please, don’t let her bother you.”

Mr. Hawthorne doesn’t respond to her. Instead he says, “Turn around” and I assume he’s talking to me.

I freeze, my heart pounding. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. This could be some sort of a test where I’m supposed to stay where I am. Or, I could make Mrs. Matron mad, if I turn. But, if I stay the way I am and ignore him, I could make him mad. And, he might be a donor who’s going to give this place lots of money. If I make him mad, he might change his mind. And that would make Mrs. Matron mad.

Why can’t he just leave me alone?

“Do as you’re told, girl.”

Oh. There. I should do like Mrs. Matron says. I turn.

Mr. Hawthorne’s eye meet mine as I do and I can’t help noticing that they’re the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They seem too bright and lively for a man with such gray hair. But, they’re a bit stern too, like maybe I’ve annoyed him. So, I drop my gaze to the floor and study my shoes instead.

“Why don’t you answer the question,” he requests. “What did you do?”

I mumble a reply about disobeying the rules and being ungrateful to the Matrons for what they’re trying to teach me. Mr. Hawthorne must not like this because he makes a sound of clear annoyance. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you to look someone in the eye when you’re addressing them?”

Not since I’ve been here, no. I’ve been told to keep my head down, to follow without question. Eye contact is a sign of defiance and should be kept at a minimum, if used at all. But, if that’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll get.

I raise my gaze and meet his eyes once more. I’m going to pay for this, but I don’t care. “I’m here because the rules are unfair and I refuse to be ruled by tyrants, sir.”

Mrs. Matron gasps sharply from the other side of the room and I know instantly that I am a fool. I should have done the right thing. I should have given the answer she wanted to hear and made peace. But that would have been a lie and Mom always taught me never to lie. Ever.

I expect Mr. Hawthorne to get mad too, since this is the kind of place he wants to put money into and here I am insulting it. Only, while his jaw works something fierce, as if he’s biting something back, and his eyes flash, all he says is, “And what rules are those?”

I could probably take it all back now, if I put on a show of remorse and begged forgiveness; Mrs. Matron would probably like to see me beg. But they’ve taken too much of my mother from me already and I won’t let them take the sense of morality she tried to instill in me as well. I have to be honest.

“They took my book away. It was Mom’s favorite and all I have left to remember her by.”

It’s stupid, really. I have Edmund and Cailin, after all. They remind me of her. But, I only get to see them at meals and even then from across the room; Cailin sits with the babies since she’s only three and Edmund has to sit with the boys.

But instead of getting angry, Mr. Hawthorne turns to Mrs. Matron and says, “She’s right, that is unfair.”

Mrs. Matron sputters, her mouth opening and closing several times. I know how she feels; I very much want to do the same. “Books are discouraged, Mr. Hawthorne, because they’re the enemy of rational thought. They encourage imagination.”

She says it like it’s a bad thing. Until I came here, I didn’t even know what rational thought was. Now I can’t go a day without hearing the phrase a dozen times or more.

The man snorts. “Rational thought be hanged.”

I guess that means he isn’t going to give the Matrons lots of money and they’re probably going to blame it on me. And, take it out on me too, no doubt.

He turns back to me, his eyes less frightening now. “What’s your name?”

No adult has bothered to ask that for a very long time. Even the other kids- the ones who have been here for a long time, anyway- don’t ask. It’s been too long since someone cared enough to ask. “Aidan Allein, sir.”

He nods once, like he approves or something. “Well, Aidan, how would you like to leave here?”

I know what he’s thinking- that there’s no real question, that it’s a simple things to answer. And, it is, but not in the way he thinks. “Thank you, sir, but I’d rather stay.”

His eyes narrow and he studies me for a very long moment. Silence reigns, as even Mrs. Matron doesn’t dare to break the spell. And then finally the question comes, “And why’s that?”

I swallow, wishing once more that I could take back what I just said and ask him to please get me out of this place. But, that would be selfish and I’d never be happy like that. It was better to stay and face whatever the Matrons decided my fate to be. “I have a brother and a sister, sir. And, I can’t leave them alone.”

Mom would never forgive me. She always said it was my lot in life to look after my siblings, that I couldn’t seem to help it. And, it’s true; I’m always seeming to worry about them, always watching to make sure they’re happy and well. I can’t do that if they’re here and I’m somewhere else.

He nods, thoughtful, not angry at all that I just turned down such a wonderful offer. “And, if they were to come with you, would you leave?”

Is he really asking me this? My heart skips a beat. “Yes, sir.”

He nods once, like that settles everything. His next words come out almost bored, like he’s talking about something simple and not the lives of three children. Turning to Mrs. Matron he says, “I’ll take them.”

And there you have it! I hope you enjoyed. If you want to get more of a feel for the story, check out my Pinterest board for them. And, be sure to let me know what you think in the comments below :D

What Does Your Opening Say About Your Hero?

What’s the first thing your readers see your main character doing?

A lot of people focus on where the story needs to start, what needs to happen, what the reader needs to know. But very few people consider the first thing the readers see the hero do.

In Joss Whedon’s sci-fi/western TV series Firefly the first thing you see the main character- Captain Malcolm Reynolds- doing is fighting a war.

But he’s not fighting just any war. He’s fighting on the side of the Independence, the losing side. In fact, his side is losing the battle as the scene progresses and all the while Captain Reynolds is taking charge, throwing out orders and teasing a young soldier into not being afraid. You see him fighting with everything he’s got and you know from that first moment that he’s willing to lay down his life if need be for his cause.

The first thing you see another of the main characters- Wash- doing is playing with plastic dinosaurs. A grown man, he’s sitting at the pilot’s seat of the spaceship, happily playing with toys.

Now, that’s not to say Captain Reynolds doesn’t have any fun. There are some really awesome scenes where he says or does something that sets me off laughing. So, if the creators of the show had wanted to make him play with dinosaurs, he could have. Because I could see the captain doing that at some point.

But, if that had been the first thing we had seen him do, we, the viewers, would have gotten a much different impression of him. We would have seen him differently, formed a different opinion of him. We wouldn’t see him as the leader, the solider, the fighter of causes. We would have seen him as the fun, lighthearted guy who plays with dinosaurs.

Take a look back to some of your favorite stories and ask yourself what the opening scene tells you about the main character.

Why do you think Dickens chose to open Great Expectations the way he did? His starting place was crucial to the plot, yes. But is it not also an example that Pip is easily taken advantage of? Dickens could have started with Pip talking to Joe or with his sister beating on him and it would have given us an accurate description of who Pip was and what his life was like.

But, the way he began his book also told us something about Pip. Something that lasted the whole book. Even after he comes into his expectations, is Pip still not taken advantage of? By the way his money twists his mind, by his peers, by Estella, by his benefactor? Time after time we see someone, or something, take advantage of him.

And it all points back to that opening scene, when he was sitting in the graveyard and a certain convict decided to use him as a means to get a bit of food and escape his chains.

The first thing we see of Ally Carter’s hero- Kat Bishop- in Heist Society is her at a trial before the officials at the private school she’s attending. She’s been accused of something she didn’t do and they are planning to kick her out of school for it.

Ms. Carter could have started the book with Kat conning her way into the school. She could have started it after Kat got kicked out, having her get into the car and meet Hale right there at the beginning.

But she didn’t.

She started the book with Kat’s trial because it shows us so much about Kat’s character. While the officials are explaining to her what she’s accused of, her mind is reeling at the suggestion and she begins figuring out better ways to do commit the crime, thinking “If I had done it, I would have done it by [insert plan]” and she’s quite confident that she wouldn't have been caught at it. Which tells us Kat’s a planner. And, it’s believable when she becomes the mastermind of her own team later in the book.

But then, at the same time, she never tells the people she’s smarter than that, that she would have done it a different way. She keeps those thoughts to herself. Which tells us she’s also smart. It tells us she knows not what to say but, more importantly, what not to. And, it also points to a problem that arises later when she says not too much, but too little. It shows us she keeps things to herself, internalizes, plotting, planning, and overthinking inside of herself, but not sharing with the world more than she thinks they need.

The first thing you see a character doing is the most important thing. And yet, the best authors tell their reader everything they need to know without the reader realizing it.

The opening to The Fault in Our Stars (which, is a book I have not read all of, just the first little bit) begins with the main character- Hazel Grace- telling us that she’s depressed. It begins with a monologue of her explaining her illness, her depression, and what she’s being forced to do about it.

On the surface, it seems like a lot of telling. She’s depressed. She has cancer. She has to go to a support group. But, if you dig deeper, you see another layer- she’s a cynic. She’s straightforward. She may have cancer but, to an extent, she’s accepted it because we all, after all, are dying.

John Green could have opened his book anyway way he wanted to. But he chose to start with Hazel telling us something. She was talking to us, explaining her situation. But she says so much more, between the lines, with the things she says, the way she says them, how she chooses to express herself. That opening, which could be looked at as very telling, is actually showing us something. Something important.

So, writers, I ask you this- what does your opening scene say about your hero? I urge you to truly examine it. And, if doesn’t say show the readers who exactly your hero is, then I challenge you to scrap the scene and write a new one. A better one.

Because you, and your book, deserve for it to be the very best it can be.

How about you? What does your opening scene say about your hero? What does the opening scene of your favorite book say about its hero?

11 Random Fact- Stuff About Me!! :D

So, remember when I was doing the 10 Random Facts things on days when I didn’t get any Candor Fridays questions? Well, according to the Reader Survey people want more about my personal life. So, instead of random facts about me, here are 11 (because I came up with too many XD) random fact about my life recently. Hope y’all enjoy!

1. My puppy, Malachi, is 9 months today! He was born August 1^st, 2014 so today is his official 9 month birthday.

2. My Mom and I have been watching my nephew while my brother and sister-in-law are working. He’s 19 months and super adorable. Especially when he plays with Malachi :3 He’s really a good kid and I love him to pieces.

3. I am currently listening to Luke Bryan’s “Crash My Party” on repeat as I write this post.

4. I bought six Christian Fiction books on Wednesday and I’m not even remotely remorseful. If I didn’t write YA fiction, I would probably write Christian Romance. And I still might, someday when I’m an old married lady :P

5. Mom took me to the library yesterday and I was able to get the next two volumes in the manga series I’m reading. I’ve been waiting a long time for these so I’m so psyched about it! Read on of the volumes yesterday and it so way too cute. And exciting. And yeah. Really loving it :D

6. Mom and I went to see Age of Adaline on Sunday. I don’t have a ton to say about it, except that I loved it. There is a moral issue, as it’s implied Adaline is having premarital sex, and I was kind of disappointed about that. But, nothing is actually shown, and the movie is really wonderful otherwise. It’s very much a contemporary fairy tale and I totally want to see it again :D

7. I had my very first job interview on Tuesday. Interviewed at the office where my dad works for their summer help position. I think it went okay, but I’m really nervous. I just wish they would get back to me soon so I can mentally one way or the other.

8. Getting ready for Book Club on Tuesday. We’re reading Tuesdays at the Castle by Jessica Day George, which I’ve already read. So, I just need to come up with discussion questions. Book Club has eight members now, including me. Which is strange, because I can still remember when we had meetings with just me and like two or three other girls. But, it’s also good. The girls add a lot to the discussion and we have a blast chatting about books and life and all that jazz.

9. I’ve been getting really angry about social issues lately (haha, ask my mom and she’ll probably tell you it’s been the last several years XD) and have been trying to process my thoughts on them. I hope to write extensively on my thoughts about them in the future. Which will be weird, since the non-fiction writing I do has always been about writing, so this’ll be a stretch for me.

10. I helped my best friend enter this contest using her super amazing idea that I helped make even more amazing. Regardless of whether we win, we had a ton of fun and I plan to push her to do something with even if we lose. Because her idea is awesome. I can’t share it here, because it’s hers, but yeah. Take my word for it. So. Awesome. Stayed up until after midnight several nights working stuff out and we got it in right at the deadline. So much fun.

11. I’ve been very unfocused in my writing. The last several weeks I’ve jumped from story idea to story idea and haven’t written much of anything. The weather’s just so nice I want to write everything. All at the same time. So, I’m having trouble focusing. If you want to make things even more complicated stop over at my Pinterest and check out my story boards (any board with “[NB]” at the beginning) when stop back here and drop me a comment about which one you’d most like to see me write! Or, if you somehow know about a story I don’t yet have a board for, you can go ahead and mention that one…

And, not a fact, but sort of: I’m hoping to start writing more reviews in the future, so if there is any book/ movie/ or show you would like to know my thoughts on, go ahead and ask me about it. I’ll have either read/ seen it and can review it for you, or I’ll consider reading/ watching it. Not making promises that if I haven’t read/ seen it that I will, but I’ll certainly give it consideration!

I’m also playing with some blog post ideas, but I always have trouble deciding what to write about. So, if you have any ideas, go ahead and share them with me! I always love to hear from my readers and find out what they’re interested in or want to know from me.

And, there you have it! I shall hopefully get a post written for Monday. And, Candor Fridays is still a thing. So, please send me questions if you have them!! And, in the meantime, don’t forget to stop over at my Pinterest account to look around or drop me an email about something I should write about/ review.