The time had come to live again

This week's Red Writing Hood Prompt asked us to write about a season of change. I decided to revisit my prior short fiction piece, The Runaway. I gave you the end before; here is a bit more to her story:

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The aches pulsing through her back were nothing compared to the lightning stabbing her brain.

What happened? Where am I?

She surveyed the small dark room. The furnishings were old and small. The thin and scratchy linens lay rumpled on the bed. An old clock ticked and tocked on the wall. As the moments passed, the fog within her brain cleared.

The priest. My bags.

He was kind. He listened. He picked her up, literally, from the depths of filth. He awakened her fighting spirit. He helped her to grasp her self-worth that had been long gone for all those months.

She had agreed to follow him, simply for the promise of a warm shower and clean clothes. She trudged through the open doorway and let out a gasp as a smiling, chubby woman made a beeline towards her.

“Welcome! We are so glad to have you here!”

What have I done?

The gentle clergyman remained by her side and placed a hand on her shoulder as she signed her name with a trembling hand. Her body was screaming to run, far and fast, back to the street. Only the slight pressure of human contact kept her moving forward.

He is right. I need this. I don’t want to die.

Once the ink was placed to paper, the chipper woman nimbly snatched her tattered bag.

“We have to keep your belongings, hon. Any substances we find will be destroyed.”

No! Okay. No! But I need them!

She shook her head and forced aside the greedy pleadings inside. She remained silent, eyes cast downward, and simply nodded.

Shower. Sleep. Eventually… home.

The time had come to live again.

Remorse - and forgiveness?

This week's Red Wrtiting Hood prompt (via the Red Dress Club) asked us to revisit a former post and give it an overhaul:

"Go back in the archives and pick a fiction or nonfiction piece. Perhaps something you posted on your blog, or an old Red Dress Club prompt? Find something that you're proud of, but something you haven't read for awhile. Do a complete overhaul. Change the point of view. Write it from a different perspective. Try dialogue. Make it a narrative. Play with tense or organizational structure. You know, kill those babies. Oh, and by the way? Trim it down to 400 words or less."

I revised my first blog fiction piece, titled "Runaway". It's a story of remorse and the hope for forgiveness. The original can be found HERE.

RUNAWAY (take two)

The sun emerges above the horizon; her aching body begins to wake. Her ears heed the cacophony of sounds: humming car engines, squeaking brakes, rubber tires hugging the bridge deck above. A groan from her own lips, as she wills her miserable body to a sitting position. Grimy blankets are tossed aside. She is thankful for the greening of the trees and the hearty sprouts of wild daffodils. Never again will she take for granted the warmth of spring. Struggling to run her fingers through her matted hair, she reflects on the path ahead. How slowly will the hours pass? Will her abused sneakers survive the - hopefully final - journey? Her stomach gurgles… will she get to eat?

Perhaps today will bring the miracle she so desperately needs.

She is taking a risk, bringing only what fits in her battered backpack and leaving the rest. Come tonight, if she is forgiven, she will wash away the evidence of a life gone wrong.

“I hope this nightmare ends today,” she mutters as her feet met the sidewalk for the nineteenth day in a row. She whispers to the sky, “Come on God, give me a break. I screwed up, I get it. I’m clean now. You know how much I need this.”
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Mama says

Trying my hand at fiction again for The Red Dress Club! This post is pure fiction. It is not about me, my past, or anyone I know. Nor does it represent pageant enthusiasts as a whole.
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I don’t like that sound. That hissing sound from too many spray cans in one place. I don’t like the smell. Fumes, Mama calls them. Just fumes. Nothing to worry about.

I cannot remember a time without the fumes.

Fake tan. Hairspray. Body glitter. Even more hairspray.

I am a five-year-old beauty queen.

Despite being six months away from Kindergarten, I am already considered a pro. My Hello Kitty bedroom is full of ribbons and trophies. I was two years old for my first pageant. My walk is sassy and confident. My smile is white, bright, and big. My hair? Even bigger. Mama has a passion for hairspray.

Mama has a passion for pageants. She is always pushing. Practice more. Stand up straighter. Don’t squint.

I never asked to be a beauty queen.

Mama told me I would be a beauty queen. She always said it was something she couldn’t do. She always said it was important. It was what I was meant to do. Because I’m pretty.

No one asked me.

Today is my best friend Audrey’s birthday party. She turned five on Thursday while we were at school. Our teacher, Ms. Linda, gave her a birthday hat and we all sang “Happy Birthday” during snack time. We had cupcakes for our special snack that day – pink cupcakes with sprinkles on top. My birthday was last month. Mama didn’t have time to send in a special snack, but at least I got to wear a birthday hat.

I did not have a birthday party. We had a pageant that weekend. Instead of playing with my friends and eating cake, I pranced and posed and shimmied. Mama said it was a really special weekend – such an important competition for me. She sculpted my hair into a big poof and snapped a hairbow on to hold it in place. The hairbow pulled and hurt a little. I wanted to cry, but Mama told me there was a price for beauty.

I wish I could have had a party.

It was hard to fall asleep last night. Thoughts of Audrey’s birthday party swirled through my mind. But when Mama shook me awake early this morning, she was wearing her big button proclaiming “Pageant Mom. I (heart) my daughter!”. It was good I hadn’t had breakfast yet, because my tummy did a sad little flip. That button could only mean one thing; we were going to a pageant. Mama smiled and picked at my hair. She always complains that I sleep on it funny. I cried – silently, because Mama doesn’t like the sound. How could she forget about Audrey’s party? Mama said parties are for babies, we have a good chance to win today. And why would I want to miss that?

Crying makes my eyes puffy, so I had to stop.

In the car, we listened to my song six times. Mama said I will sing better tonight after the hot tea. I think hot tea is gross.

We crossed the state border and arrived at the civic center by 11:05.

Audrey’s party started at 11:00.

I wonder if she’s having fun?

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This week's prompt:

Write a scene in which a physically beautiful character is somehow impacted by that trait.

All he could eat

Today's post is inspired by The Red Dress Club prompt: gluttony.

The post is fictional (I don't have three kids!), but if you've ever been on a cruise, you know the "Bobs" do exist!

- - -
The minivan was packed. Two large and two medium-sized suitcases proudly displayed colorized tags. The three kids, ages 3, 6, and 11, chattered happily as we merged into the flow of traffic and ventured down I-95 towards the port. We could barely contain our own excitement; we cranked up some summer tunes and smiled.

This year’s cruise? Was going to be memorable. Thanks to savvy saving and a chunk of inheritance from a dearly departed loved one, we were cruising in style. No cramped, tripping-over-luggage, fighting-for-the-tiny-capsule-shower stateroom this year; we were going to enjoy paradise from a family suite. It was going to be fabulous; we would remember our luxury trip for years to come.

Fast forward a couple years. We are still talking and laughing about that vacation. It was memorable, all right; the suite was perfect, the weather was divine. We took great pleasure in awaking each morning to a new, picturesque island view.

But the most memorable? Not exactly what we expected.

Fallen star

(This is a work of fiction for The Red Dress Club)

She was on her way to the Walk of Fame.

My childhood friend.

Actress. Singer.

Superstar.

You didn’t just watch her; you could feel her. Her presence captivated every being in the room. A fly buzzing around a warm spotlight? It too, probably stopped and fell silent.

She achieved greatness – reveled in ever-glowing Broadway lights and eventually made it in Hollywood. Yet I still felt her friendship. She maintained a private connection between us somehow, the only true confidante I had ever known. My best friend.

I was afraid when she faltered. I was shattered when she crashed.

She lashed out at paparazzi. She couldn’t sleep. She turned to negative influences in a feeble attempt to regain the comfort she used to know. This shining star? Squandered her light. My poised friend? Lost her grace.

Fiction Friday: Hop

Happy Friday!

Today is April Fool's Day. I'm not feeling clever enough to come up with an exceptional practical joke, so I decided to dedicate today's post to the other exciting thing about today.


Today is April 1st - and the release of Universal's new movie, Hop! It's an adorable work of fiction, and fits in perfectly on this Fiction Friday.

Thanks to a local preview event, I was a super cool mom and took my family to see the movie two weeks ago. To be completely honest, I thought it was going to be cheesy. A movie only kids would find entertaining. But, luckily, I was wrong! Hop was quite cute and made me laugh out loud on several occasions.

I don't want to spoil any surprises, but here's a quick overview of the film:

The Story:

E.B. is the next bunny in line for the honorable position of Easter Bunny. But he doesn't want the job - E.B. has a dream to be a drummer. The current Easter Bunny, E.B.'s father, does not understand his son's reluctance to claim his birthright. On the eve of the coronation ceremony, E.B. runs away to Hollywood where he meets Fred, a jobless slacker (played by James Mardsen), who hits the Easter-Bunny-to-be with his car. E.B. convinces Fred to take him in, and wreaks havoc on Fred's already messed-up life. Meanwhile, back at Easter Island, a manipulative chick tries to stage a coup. 

My Favorites:

• The Easter Island factory -- I want one!!!
• Feeding the dogs
• The school play
• The dancing chick

(Don't worry... you'll know what I'm talking about once you see the movie!)

Go see this movie with your kids! You will have a great time. If they are anything like my child, they'll be talking about the "bunny movie" for a long time. One word of caution, however... you will most definitely have "I Want Candy" stuck in your head for hours. Maybe even days.

Visit the official Hop website, IWantCandy.com for videos, images, games, and more!

(Disclaimer: I was granted access to a free screening of the movie. There was no requirement to post or tweet about the film, and all opinions stated here are solely mine. Photo Credit: images from IWantCandy.com)

Fiction Friday: She replied!

I can't have a Fiction Friday without a dedication to one of my favorite children's authors, Judy Blume. I wrote a post back in October about my little brush with this famous icon:

OCTOBER 24th, 2010

A Favorite Email

Do you have childhood books you remember vividly?

Do you remember these?

 

My heart broke for Ramona Quimby when she misunderstood a school fad and cracked a raw, gooey egg over her head. And when she overheard her teacher calling her a "showoff" and a "nuisance". And as she fought off pestering from Yard Ape. I identified with Margaret's desire to grow up and away from her life as an "underdeveloped little kid". These girls were so... real.

Several years ago, I read a grown-up Judy Blume book titled Summer Sisters. I liked it. I visited her website to see if she had any others, and came upon her email address. A real, live email address for this writing icon. I just had  to email her - Judy Blume!

So I emailed one of my writing heroes. I told her how much I enjoyed her new book and explained that my childhood years would have been missing something if she hadn't written about Ramona, Beezus, Margaret, and Superfudge.

Guess what? She wrote me back!

Dear Julie,

Thanks so much for your warm note. I'm touched by your feelings about Summer Sisters and how well you remember my other books. Wish there were time for a longer, more thoughtful response, but I'm overwhelmed right now and trying (desperately!) to find the quiet time necessary to write. Hope you understand. Readers like you have made my career and I can never thank you enough.

Come back and visit my website again. Hope to get some new info up soon.

Love,
Judy

I've saved this email ever since. This was before Twitter, before social media, before most blogs. Actually interacting with a famous author was a very special treat for me.
 
I wonder what parts of Amelia's childhood will stick with her? She is already a bookworm, I wonder what books will forever remain a piece of her childhood? Which characters will she identify with?
 
I'd like to keep my girl little forever, but watching her grow up will be mesmerizing.

I wonder who she will be?

Fiction Friday: Laughing Stars

It has been an emotional week. A dear mom friend of mine has been strugging with a serious heart condition and a difficult pregnancy. On Monday morning, she learned that her unborn son (30 weeks) no longer had a heartbeat. They expected to meet him soon, likely inducing labor as soon as she reached 34 weeks. Instead, her little angel was delivered last night. Today, they are grieving and planning a funeral.

For today's Fiction Friday, I am turning to a book that is dear to my heart. I've read it both in the English language and in French during my school years. It is a sweet and thoughtful little story, and this excerpt makes me think of my friend. She will ache because she can't hold him in her arms, but she will see him in the stars.

Introducing Fiction Friday

Today, I'm excited - and nervous - to share a piece of my own original fiction.
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RUNAWAY

As the sun rises slowly above the horizon, she stirs. The sounds of the outside world drift to her ears. She hears the drone of car engines, the sounds of squeaking brakes, the wind blowing through a nearby patch of trees. She hears the world going by without her.

She sits up, brushes off her grimy blankets. She is not cold this morning, happy that spring is on the way. As she tries to run her fingers through her matted hair, she reflects on her day ahead. How slowly will the hours pass? Will the kindness of a stranger allow her to quiet her hungry stomach?