TITLE: War of the Worlds Mashup
GENRE: Fantasy
In this mashup of The War of the Worlds, Ashley narrates after her pixie friend Violet just met a pixie artilleryman.
“He gave quite an impression.” I pressed my advantage as we sat in the drawing room. “How do you make him?”
Violet put on the most impassive demeanor, as if we were discussing a neighbor’s fern collection. “Strong. Dutiful.”
“So’s his horse.” I leaned my elbow on the arm of the sofa, familiar. “You can say it, Violet: He’s a pixie, you’re a pixie. He’s unmarried, you’re unmarried.”
“You wish me to form some deep impression of him, though I barely know the man.” She fanned herself.
“Feeling a bit heated, are we?”
“It’s this jacket, is all.”
“Yes, you had us wear this ‘practical’ manner of clothing again, though it still smells of perspiration. But don’t get me off topic! Don’t even try. You had us dress this way, after bathing! In case we have to traipse out again to see what’s left of the Martians after your precious Cutter is done with them.”
“He’s not my precious anything. We just talked for a bit.”
I brought my legs up onto the sofa so I could shift into a more aggressive lean. “Yes, and you said all that gush about Jake, when we had barely talked, so let me torture you for a turn.”
“There’s no point. Yes, I enjoyed talking to him, and ‘course I ran up and brushed him off after they sent him alone into the dangerous Common. But he’s in the military. After they’re done here, he’ll go off to wherever they station him next.”
Miss Snark's First Victim
Showing posts with label Talkin Heads. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Talkin Heads. Show all posts
Monday, January 28, 2013
Talkin' Heads #49
TITLE: Big Cat Country
GENRE: Mystery
A week after discovering the body of a co-worker at the big cat sanctuary where she volunteers, Madeline answers a knock at her door.
“I’m Artie Tremble, North State Insurance,” he said, handing me a card and grinning like a giddy possum.
“I have insurance,” I said, returning the card.
“I’m not selling, I’m investigating Wyatt Drinkwater’s death. We have to tie up loose ends before paying his life insurance benefit—may I come in?”
I poured lemonade as Artie settled into the sofa, still grinning. “This is exciting, my first claims investigation,” he said. “I’ve been stuck in a cubicle for months, doing database searches and ordering death certificates.” He opened a binder. “Now, did the body have any unusual marks? Scars or tattoos?”
“His throat was torn open, if that counts,” I said.
“Sure does. Attacked by an escaped tiger? Bingo, accidental death.”
“That cat didn’t escape. The pen’s fence was cut. We can’t figure out what Wyatt was doing, whether he was drunk, or trying to steal …”
Artie’s glass stopped half-way to his mouth. “Steal? As in, theft?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so. Shouldn’t you talk to the police? I’m just throwing out wild ideas.”
Artie started writing that particular wild idea in his notebook.
“Does it matter? Wyatt’s still dead.”
“Accidental death pays double. Dying while committing a crime? Pays nothing. It’s the difference between a million bucks and zip-a-dee-doo-dah.” He stopped writing and looked up. “Um, the million dollars? That’s theoretical, of course. Not saying it’s what his policy is worth.”
GENRE: Mystery
A week after discovering the body of a co-worker at the big cat sanctuary where she volunteers, Madeline answers a knock at her door.
“I’m Artie Tremble, North State Insurance,” he said, handing me a card and grinning like a giddy possum.
“I have insurance,” I said, returning the card.
“I’m not selling, I’m investigating Wyatt Drinkwater’s death. We have to tie up loose ends before paying his life insurance benefit—may I come in?”
I poured lemonade as Artie settled into the sofa, still grinning. “This is exciting, my first claims investigation,” he said. “I’ve been stuck in a cubicle for months, doing database searches and ordering death certificates.” He opened a binder. “Now, did the body have any unusual marks? Scars or tattoos?”
“His throat was torn open, if that counts,” I said.
“Sure does. Attacked by an escaped tiger? Bingo, accidental death.”
“That cat didn’t escape. The pen’s fence was cut. We can’t figure out what Wyatt was doing, whether he was drunk, or trying to steal …”
Artie’s glass stopped half-way to his mouth. “Steal? As in, theft?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so. Shouldn’t you talk to the police? I’m just throwing out wild ideas.”
Artie started writing that particular wild idea in his notebook.
“Does it matter? Wyatt’s still dead.”
“Accidental death pays double. Dying while committing a crime? Pays nothing. It’s the difference between a million bucks and zip-a-dee-doo-dah.” He stopped writing and looked up. “Um, the million dollars? That’s theoretical, of course. Not saying it’s what his policy is worth.”
Talkin' Heads #48
TITLE: Dear Oprah
GENRE: Upmarket fiction
Jessi has sent her mother a letter recounting abuse from her childhood. Her sister calls to confront her about it and her mother's claims that she will sue Jessi for visitation with the grandkids.
“Hi Jasmine, wassup!” I said beaming
“Hey,” she responded sounding kind of dry.
“Okay, what’s wrong? Is there something wrong with your car, did something happen at your apartment?” I asked with a little panic in my voice.
“Why did you send mom that letter?” Jasmine asked.
“I thought it was time for me to stop being scared and to realize how I was feeling,” I said trying to add strength to my wavering voice.
“Well, she is barely talking to anybody and she missed church today - and she never misses anything at church!” Jasmine said. “Was it really necessary after all these years to write that?”
“She was threatening to take me to court for visitation,” I nearly shouted. “Am I supposed to continually let her bully me and get her way, for the sake of keeping the peace? I'm sorry if that's what you do but I refuse to keep quiet any longer - especially when I'm being threatened.”
“Dang, Jessi you know she wasn't gonna sue you!” Jasmine shouted back.
“Um yes she was, her lawyer called me!” I said. “Look, we had it bad and many would argue that I got it a heck of a lot worse than you. I am not cowering in a corner anymore. I'm tired of being afraid. I'm tired of being bullied. Maybe you need to feel some of the sadness she inflicted.”
Jasmine was silent before sighing and hanging up.
GENRE: Upmarket fiction
Jessi has sent her mother a letter recounting abuse from her childhood. Her sister calls to confront her about it and her mother's claims that she will sue Jessi for visitation with the grandkids.
“Hi Jasmine, wassup!” I said beaming
“Hey,” she responded sounding kind of dry.
“Okay, what’s wrong? Is there something wrong with your car, did something happen at your apartment?” I asked with a little panic in my voice.
“Why did you send mom that letter?” Jasmine asked.
“I thought it was time for me to stop being scared and to realize how I was feeling,” I said trying to add strength to my wavering voice.
“Well, she is barely talking to anybody and she missed church today - and she never misses anything at church!” Jasmine said. “Was it really necessary after all these years to write that?”
“She was threatening to take me to court for visitation,” I nearly shouted. “Am I supposed to continually let her bully me and get her way, for the sake of keeping the peace? I'm sorry if that's what you do but I refuse to keep quiet any longer - especially when I'm being threatened.”
“Dang, Jessi you know she wasn't gonna sue you!” Jasmine shouted back.
“Um yes she was, her lawyer called me!” I said. “Look, we had it bad and many would argue that I got it a heck of a lot worse than you. I am not cowering in a corner anymore. I'm tired of being afraid. I'm tired of being bullied. Maybe you need to feel some of the sadness she inflicted.”
Jasmine was silent before sighing and hanging up.
Talkin' Heads #47
TITLE: The Amaterasu Project
GENRE: YA Science Fiction
Jaewon meets his best friend, Young, outside his school. They’re both standing in front of a newspaper kiosk. Note to readers: “Hyung” and “Oppa” mean “older brother” in Korean.
“Hyung,” Young says as I reach him, “This magazine says modern women are going to fortune tellers to predict their loves lives and that they really believe in this crap. It says fortune tellers advise women never to marry the fourth man they date, saying it will only bring bad luck, while marrying the eighth man is ideal.”
“Just be the eighth then.”
“No. You don’t understand. If you were Sunhee’s third boyfriend and she’s dated two guys after you, then that means she still has to date two more guys before I’m the eighth.”
“Your middle school education has really done wonders for you.”
“I CAN’T STAND TO WATCH HER DATE TWO MORE GUYS.”
“Young, it’s a magazine. It’s not even a women’s magazine. It’s a MEN’S STYLE magazine. Calm down.”
I feel a whoosh of air and then someone grabs me from behind, her arms circling around my waist. “Oppa!” Sunhee squeals. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Sunhee- ah,” I say, twisting around so I’m facing her. “Do you believe in the fortunes of fortune-tellers?”
She blinks and then smiles broadly. “Oh for sure.”
GENRE: YA Science Fiction
Jaewon meets his best friend, Young, outside his school. They’re both standing in front of a newspaper kiosk. Note to readers: “Hyung” and “Oppa” mean “older brother” in Korean.
“Hyung,” Young says as I reach him, “This magazine says modern women are going to fortune tellers to predict their loves lives and that they really believe in this crap. It says fortune tellers advise women never to marry the fourth man they date, saying it will only bring bad luck, while marrying the eighth man is ideal.”
“Just be the eighth then.”
“No. You don’t understand. If you were Sunhee’s third boyfriend and she’s dated two guys after you, then that means she still has to date two more guys before I’m the eighth.”
“Your middle school education has really done wonders for you.”
“I CAN’T STAND TO WATCH HER DATE TWO MORE GUYS.”
“Young, it’s a magazine. It’s not even a women’s magazine. It’s a MEN’S STYLE magazine. Calm down.”
I feel a whoosh of air and then someone grabs me from behind, her arms circling around my waist. “Oppa!” Sunhee squeals. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Sunhee- ah,” I say, twisting around so I’m facing her. “Do you believe in the fortunes of fortune-tellers?”
She blinks and then smiles broadly. “Oh for sure.”
Talkin' Heads #46
TITLE: Where There Is Dark
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Devastated by her father's murder, Jazzlyn hunts down the rebels she holds responsible for his death, but when the same group takes her boyfriend hostage, she must serve those she planned to destroy or risk letting another person she loves die.
I raise an eyebrow and point at Tristan—gaged, restrained, and lying in the dirt. "Really? Then how do you explain that?"
"I said we’re not here to hurt you. His fate rests on your shoulders, not mine."
The threat twists my stomach into knots. She wants something from me. The question is what, and how far will she go to get it?
“Do you know who we are, Jazzlyn?” She draws out each syllable of my name in a breathy hiss as she snakes her way behind me.
“Of course I do.”
From over my shoulder, so close I feel her breath on my neck, she says," And what do you think you know?"
I turn on my heel and stare straight into her eyes, which are a deceivingly warm shade of brown. “That you’re cowards. You steal our food and supplies, and you…” kill anyone who gets in your way.
“And we need your help,” she says, as if finishing my sentence.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to control the impulse to clamp my hands around her throat and squeeze until her eyes glaze over. "I’ll die before helping you."
Anger flares in her eyes and they darken to black. "If death is what it takes to convince you, so be it.” She turns to Rrok . "Maybe you can convince Jazzlyn that I don’t make empty threats."
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Devastated by her father's murder, Jazzlyn hunts down the rebels she holds responsible for his death, but when the same group takes her boyfriend hostage, she must serve those she planned to destroy or risk letting another person she loves die.
I raise an eyebrow and point at Tristan—gaged, restrained, and lying in the dirt. "Really? Then how do you explain that?"
"I said we’re not here to hurt you. His fate rests on your shoulders, not mine."
The threat twists my stomach into knots. She wants something from me. The question is what, and how far will she go to get it?
“Do you know who we are, Jazzlyn?” She draws out each syllable of my name in a breathy hiss as she snakes her way behind me.
“Of course I do.”
From over my shoulder, so close I feel her breath on my neck, she says," And what do you think you know?"
I turn on my heel and stare straight into her eyes, which are a deceivingly warm shade of brown. “That you’re cowards. You steal our food and supplies, and you…” kill anyone who gets in your way.
“And we need your help,” she says, as if finishing my sentence.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to control the impulse to clamp my hands around her throat and squeeze until her eyes glaze over. "I’ll die before helping you."
Anger flares in her eyes and they darken to black. "If death is what it takes to convince you, so be it.” She turns to Rrok . "Maybe you can convince Jazzlyn that I don’t make empty threats."
Talkin' Heads #45
TITLE: 1000 Sleepless Nights
GENRE: YA Contemporary
Sawyer is a female Navy corpsman in Afghanistan. A Marine from her unit developed a rash while on a recon mission but can’t tell anyone where he’s been so lies that he was with a woman and may have caught something.
Tahk cupped his hands around his essential parts. “Something’s wrong.”
“You bet there’s something wrong. You’re standing in front of me without pants on. There are doctors here. Male doctors.” I found a spot on the ceiling that suddenly become very interesting.
“I don’t want anyone to know. This is so bad. I got a girl back home.” His voice sounded desperate.
“I don’t want to know!” I leveled my stare at Tahk, realizing what he was implying. “What exactly do you think your problem is?”
“I don’t know, Doogs.” Despite his dark complexion a touch of red had crept into his cheeks.
“But what do you think?” I insisted.
“It was only one time. You know it’s been so long and that’s what she’s here for. It’s her job.” Tahk emphasized the word job as if it would erase his infidelity.
“Dammit Tahk! You think you caught something from a prostitute?”
“Jesus Doogs when you say it like that it sounds really bad.”
“It is really bad you idiot! You could get sent home for this. I can’t treat you for a venereal disease, we’re in the middle of nowhere fricken Afghanistan. There isn’t a Rite Aid on the corner. Seriously Tahk, how many times have you been deployed? And now. Now is the time to be unfaithful. With a lady every Marine within ten miles of this COP has slept with. Aren’t you suppose to live by a higher creed?”
GENRE: YA Contemporary
Sawyer is a female Navy corpsman in Afghanistan. A Marine from her unit developed a rash while on a recon mission but can’t tell anyone where he’s been so lies that he was with a woman and may have caught something.
Tahk cupped his hands around his essential parts. “Something’s wrong.”
“You bet there’s something wrong. You’re standing in front of me without pants on. There are doctors here. Male doctors.” I found a spot on the ceiling that suddenly become very interesting.
“I don’t want anyone to know. This is so bad. I got a girl back home.” His voice sounded desperate.
“I don’t want to know!” I leveled my stare at Tahk, realizing what he was implying. “What exactly do you think your problem is?”
“I don’t know, Doogs.” Despite his dark complexion a touch of red had crept into his cheeks.
“But what do you think?” I insisted.
“It was only one time. You know it’s been so long and that’s what she’s here for. It’s her job.” Tahk emphasized the word job as if it would erase his infidelity.
“Dammit Tahk! You think you caught something from a prostitute?”
“Jesus Doogs when you say it like that it sounds really bad.”
“It is really bad you idiot! You could get sent home for this. I can’t treat you for a venereal disease, we’re in the middle of nowhere fricken Afghanistan. There isn’t a Rite Aid on the corner. Seriously Tahk, how many times have you been deployed? And now. Now is the time to be unfaithful. With a lady every Marine within ten miles of this COP has slept with. Aren’t you suppose to live by a higher creed?”
Talkin' Heads #44
TITLE: The Chef's Apprentice
GENRE: Fantasy, late MG
Ottili is approaching Polycure Castle, where she's supposed to get her unruly magic under control. She's just met Arnit, who works at the castle. (He scans her face for physical signs of magic.)
“Are you an apprentice?” Ottili asked the boy.
“Not yet,” he said, reddening a little.
“Don’t have your magic yet?”
He frowned and said nothing.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. What’s your name?”
“Arnit.”
“Nice to meet you Arnit. I’m Ottili.”
“I know. Nice to meet you Ottili.”
“Are there other apprentices?”
“A few.”
“Oh.”
Ottili looked out the window.
“I’m not one of them, you know.”
Arnit looked at her sharply.
“What are you then?”
“I’ve dunno. My mother sent me here because my magic makes her embarrassed.” She could feel Arnit looking at her forehead.
“It’s on my neck,” she said helpfully.
He nodded.
“Actually, there’s only one other apprentice. She’s Gala.”
“Oh.” Ottili wondered if this was a bad sign. She hoped they weren’t expecting much of her.
“Is it true that you use magic to help the harvest?”
“I told you, I don’t have me magic.”
“Well, I meant you as in, you know, you people.”
“You people.” Arnit shook his head and looked out the window. “Yes, that’s right,” he said a little curtly. “We’re the bread basket, aren’t we. Not sure we’d manage it without magic.”
The coach rounded a corner and pulled through two tall stone gates.
Arnit flicked his head toward the window.
“We’re here. Better be ready to show your stuff, then.”
“I—what?”
“Wolf. He’d be expecting you to get to work right away.”
“That’s not what I was told,” Ottili said, although in truth Vesna hadn’t actually told her anything.
GENRE: Fantasy, late MG
Ottili is approaching Polycure Castle, where she's supposed to get her unruly magic under control. She's just met Arnit, who works at the castle. (He scans her face for physical signs of magic.)
“Are you an apprentice?” Ottili asked the boy.
“Not yet,” he said, reddening a little.
“Don’t have your magic yet?”
He frowned and said nothing.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. What’s your name?”
“Arnit.”
“Nice to meet you Arnit. I’m Ottili.”
“I know. Nice to meet you Ottili.”
“Are there other apprentices?”
“A few.”
“Oh.”
Ottili looked out the window.
“I’m not one of them, you know.”
Arnit looked at her sharply.
“What are you then?”
“I’ve dunno. My mother sent me here because my magic makes her embarrassed.” She could feel Arnit looking at her forehead.
“It’s on my neck,” she said helpfully.
He nodded.
“Actually, there’s only one other apprentice. She’s Gala.”
“Oh.” Ottili wondered if this was a bad sign. She hoped they weren’t expecting much of her.
“Is it true that you use magic to help the harvest?”
“I told you, I don’t have me magic.”
“Well, I meant you as in, you know, you people.”
“You people.” Arnit shook his head and looked out the window. “Yes, that’s right,” he said a little curtly. “We’re the bread basket, aren’t we. Not sure we’d manage it without magic.”
The coach rounded a corner and pulled through two tall stone gates.
Arnit flicked his head toward the window.
“We’re here. Better be ready to show your stuff, then.”
“I—what?”
“Wolf. He’d be expecting you to get to work right away.”
“That’s not what I was told,” Ottili said, although in truth Vesna hadn’t actually told her anything.
Talkin' Heads #43
TITLE: Chestnut Maiden
GENRE: YA Fantasy Adventure
The hero, escorting a disguised princess, doubles back to make sure they weren't followed. He nearly stumbles upon a couple of villains hunched over a small campfire and eavesdrops.
“’Tis none of our business, lad. Just do as ye’re told and follow the donkey tracks.”
“A wild goose chase, it is. Nothin’ up here but scrawny sheep and scrawnier shepherds,” the younger man whined.
“Sheep’s what’s fillin’ your belly, so’s ye better shut yer gob.”
“Hey, I’m just sayin’. It’s stupid to waste ourselves up here. The other men who’s got the lowlands are the ones who’ll be getting’ the reward.”
“That ferryman thought our girl had come up here.”
“Aye, because she had fine boots and didn’t say nothin’? More like she didn’t notice his fine mustache. Soothes his pride to send us after her.”
“I’m gettin’ weary of your chat, Ricco. The master wants that girl.”
Scorch it. They were hunting for Anna. He’d known it, in his gut.
“… We keep goin’ ‘til we get to Montargento. We look high. We look low. We cross the mountain a dozen times if need be. If that girl is anywhere between here and the city, we bag her and deliver the wench. Ye want out? Leave right now. Go back, ye softy. Join those fat merchants and doughy lowlanders.”
“Hey, no need to wave that knife around. I’s just sayin’. No harm in talk, ye know.”
“I’m tired of hearing it. Zitto, else we’ll take your third and split it between the two of us.”
Third? Zino hadn’t heard a third man’s voice.
GENRE: YA Fantasy Adventure
The hero, escorting a disguised princess, doubles back to make sure they weren't followed. He nearly stumbles upon a couple of villains hunched over a small campfire and eavesdrops.
“’Tis none of our business, lad. Just do as ye’re told and follow the donkey tracks.”
“A wild goose chase, it is. Nothin’ up here but scrawny sheep and scrawnier shepherds,” the younger man whined.
“Sheep’s what’s fillin’ your belly, so’s ye better shut yer gob.”
“Hey, I’m just sayin’. It’s stupid to waste ourselves up here. The other men who’s got the lowlands are the ones who’ll be getting’ the reward.”
“That ferryman thought our girl had come up here.”
“Aye, because she had fine boots and didn’t say nothin’? More like she didn’t notice his fine mustache. Soothes his pride to send us after her.”
“I’m gettin’ weary of your chat, Ricco. The master wants that girl.”
Scorch it. They were hunting for Anna. He’d known it, in his gut.
“… We keep goin’ ‘til we get to Montargento. We look high. We look low. We cross the mountain a dozen times if need be. If that girl is anywhere between here and the city, we bag her and deliver the wench. Ye want out? Leave right now. Go back, ye softy. Join those fat merchants and doughy lowlanders.”
“Hey, no need to wave that knife around. I’s just sayin’. No harm in talk, ye know.”
“I’m tired of hearing it. Zitto, else we’ll take your third and split it between the two of us.”
Third? Zino hadn’t heard a third man’s voice.
Talkin' Heads #42
TITLE: The Complete Guide to Being Evil
GENRE: Fantasy
Kalara answers the door with a cleaver in one hand due to it being the middle of the night, and she wasn't expecting company. It had slipped her mind that earlier that day, she'd called for a devil.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Kalara asked.
“Oh, I'm not here because of my leg. You called for a devil?”
She grabbed his shirt and yanked him inside, slamming the door shut. “Why would you say that out there? What do you think my neighbors would think of me?”
“Sorry. Didn't mean to let them know you were a mage.”
“What makes you think they would get 'mage' from that? They'd probably assume I asked for a stripper in a devil costume! Do you know how embarrassing that is?”
“Oh.”
“You don't look like a devil. Why is your leg bleeding?”
“Could you, you know, put that...” He cleared his throat.
“Knife away. Speaking really isn't that hard.” She gestured with her free hand for him to follow her into the kitchen, where she slid the cleaver in its place. “My name is Kalara.”
“I'm Evander. I'm not really a devil yet. I'm a devil's son.” Kalara groaned. “I was just taking a test, judging my aptitude for devilry. My task was to sneak into an old man's apartment a few floors up from here and influence his dreams. His canine gave evidence he was superior at home protection as opposed to my sneaking prowess.”
Kalara couldn't help but laugh.
GENRE: Fantasy
Kalara answers the door with a cleaver in one hand due to it being the middle of the night, and she wasn't expecting company. It had slipped her mind that earlier that day, she'd called for a devil.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Kalara asked.
“Oh, I'm not here because of my leg. You called for a devil?”
She grabbed his shirt and yanked him inside, slamming the door shut. “Why would you say that out there? What do you think my neighbors would think of me?”
“Sorry. Didn't mean to let them know you were a mage.”
“What makes you think they would get 'mage' from that? They'd probably assume I asked for a stripper in a devil costume! Do you know how embarrassing that is?”
“Oh.”
“You don't look like a devil. Why is your leg bleeding?”
“Could you, you know, put that...” He cleared his throat.
“Knife away. Speaking really isn't that hard.” She gestured with her free hand for him to follow her into the kitchen, where she slid the cleaver in its place. “My name is Kalara.”
“I'm Evander. I'm not really a devil yet. I'm a devil's son.” Kalara groaned. “I was just taking a test, judging my aptitude for devilry. My task was to sneak into an old man's apartment a few floors up from here and influence his dreams. His canine gave evidence he was superior at home protection as opposed to my sneaking prowess.”
Kalara couldn't help but laugh.
Talkin' Heads #41
TITLE: Letter to Elizabeth
GENRE: YA Historical Fiction
It’s Gallipoli, 1915, and Lloyd owes Johnny for saving his life. All Johnny wanted in return was for Lloyd to write a letter to his girlfriend Elizabeth...but that wasn’t going too well.
“Since when did you become a writer?”
I looked him straight in the face. “Since I was five.”
He seemed surprised for a second. “Which was... what? Three minutes ago?”
My glare was icy.
“Forgive me for exaggerating.”
“What are you going to say after ‘Dear Lizzie?’”
“'Dear Lizzie. It’s like I’ve been shot in the head every time I think about home, and you, and—'”
“You’re joking, right? Shot in the head? You want to give the girl a heart attack?”
“I said it’s like.”
I choked. “And she’s really going to notice ‘It’s like’ if she can see ‘I’ve been shot in the head.’”
He returned my glare. “Alright, smarty.”
GENRE: YA Historical Fiction
It’s Gallipoli, 1915, and Lloyd owes Johnny for saving his life. All Johnny wanted in return was for Lloyd to write a letter to his girlfriend Elizabeth...but that wasn’t going too well.
“Since when did you become a writer?”
I looked him straight in the face. “Since I was five.”
He seemed surprised for a second. “Which was... what? Three minutes ago?”
My glare was icy.
“Forgive me for exaggerating.”
“What are you going to say after ‘Dear Lizzie?’”
“'Dear Lizzie. It’s like I’ve been shot in the head every time I think about home, and you, and—'”
“You’re joking, right? Shot in the head? You want to give the girl a heart attack?”
“I said it’s like.”
I choked. “And she’s really going to notice ‘It’s like’ if she can see ‘I’ve been shot in the head.’”
He returned my glare. “Alright, smarty.”
Talkin' Heads #40
TITLE: The Guardian Lineage
GENRE: YA / Urban Fantasy
Magus Stockton has just reinstated Mike Prior into Magical Sparring class, a day after Mike injured a fellow classmate.
“Two things happened yesterday," Stockton said. "First, you deliberately disobeyed my instructions to attack when the bell rang, instead waiting for your opponent to produce a shield. Second, you nearly decapitated a fellow student. Which of those reasons was the basis for your suspension?”
"Because... I hurt her?"
Stockton shook his head. “If you think that I care whether or not Ms. Frost sprains a wrist, you are quite mistaken. Much worse has happened to Guardians in the past. A little toughening would do you people some good.”
Stockton blew out a frustrated breath. “You don’t understand, do you.”
Mike wavered, then decided to take the high road.
“Nope.”
The Magus eyed Mike, seemingly deciding whether he wanted to share this piece of information with him. Finally he said, “I want my students to get hurt.”
“Excuse me?” Mike blurted out.
“You heard right. I want my students to get hurt. I want my students to feel like they’re on the battlefield.
“The whole reason we have a Sparring class is so that if you’re confronted with a fight – and I don’t mean four kids in the dining room trying to steal your lunch money, I mean a fight like you were in last night, in the forest – so if you’re in a fight, you don’t wet yourself. If you’ve seen combat already, if you’ve learned what it means to procure spells on a dime, if you’ve felt what it means to get hit with a magical weapon, then you may survive.
"Without that, you might as well be a gargoyle at high noon.”
GENRE: YA / Urban Fantasy
Magus Stockton has just reinstated Mike Prior into Magical Sparring class, a day after Mike injured a fellow classmate.
“Two things happened yesterday," Stockton said. "First, you deliberately disobeyed my instructions to attack when the bell rang, instead waiting for your opponent to produce a shield. Second, you nearly decapitated a fellow student. Which of those reasons was the basis for your suspension?”
"Because... I hurt her?"
Stockton shook his head. “If you think that I care whether or not Ms. Frost sprains a wrist, you are quite mistaken. Much worse has happened to Guardians in the past. A little toughening would do you people some good.”
Stockton blew out a frustrated breath. “You don’t understand, do you.”
Mike wavered, then decided to take the high road.
“Nope.”
The Magus eyed Mike, seemingly deciding whether he wanted to share this piece of information with him. Finally he said, “I want my students to get hurt.”
“Excuse me?” Mike blurted out.
“You heard right. I want my students to get hurt. I want my students to feel like they’re on the battlefield.
“The whole reason we have a Sparring class is so that if you’re confronted with a fight – and I don’t mean four kids in the dining room trying to steal your lunch money, I mean a fight like you were in last night, in the forest – so if you’re in a fight, you don’t wet yourself. If you’ve seen combat already, if you’ve learned what it means to procure spells on a dime, if you’ve felt what it means to get hit with a magical weapon, then you may survive.
"Without that, you might as well be a gargoyle at high noon.”
Talkin' Heads #39
TITLE: November
GENRE: Literary
Amelia, a widow, recently returned from a solo trip through Europe, is struggling to reconnect with her college-age son and to sort out her feelings for Henry, an old flame who wants a second chance.
She jiggled the hook, dialed “0” and gave the operator a Minnesota number.
“How’s the weather?” she said, when Henry picked up.
“Partly cloudy and sixty degrees, believe it or not.” He chuckled. “How is it there?”
Amelia peered at the thermometer on the garage. “Sunny and seventy-two.”
“Just another day in paradise.” The hiss on the line sounded like a slow breath. She felt him waiting for her to state her business.
“It doesn’t look like Thanksgiving will work.”
“No?” He didn’t sound surprised.
“It’s a bad time for Josh, with school.”
“What about Christmas?”
“I don’t know.” Suddenly every cell in her body screamed for a whiskey and soda. “I’ll have to talk to Josh,” she said, pulling a ginger ale from the refrigerator. “He might want to come home and see his friends.”
“Joshua is a grown man.” Henry’s voice had a sharp edge. “You don’t have to plan your life around him.”
“I know, but I’ve been away so long. I missed his birthday.”
The line crackled. “Look, Amelia,” Henry said. “If the answer is no, maybe you’d better come out and say it. Neither of us is getting any younger.”
“It’s not.” She leaned her forehead against the cupboard. “It’s just… how would you feel if I asked you to leave your job and your home and your family?”
“I'm not asking you to do that. All I want is a few days. If it’s like I think, we’ll figure the rest out.”
GENRE: Literary
Amelia, a widow, recently returned from a solo trip through Europe, is struggling to reconnect with her college-age son and to sort out her feelings for Henry, an old flame who wants a second chance.
She jiggled the hook, dialed “0” and gave the operator a Minnesota number.
“How’s the weather?” she said, when Henry picked up.
“Partly cloudy and sixty degrees, believe it or not.” He chuckled. “How is it there?”
Amelia peered at the thermometer on the garage. “Sunny and seventy-two.”
“Just another day in paradise.” The hiss on the line sounded like a slow breath. She felt him waiting for her to state her business.
“It doesn’t look like Thanksgiving will work.”
“No?” He didn’t sound surprised.
“It’s a bad time for Josh, with school.”
“What about Christmas?”
“I don’t know.” Suddenly every cell in her body screamed for a whiskey and soda. “I’ll have to talk to Josh,” she said, pulling a ginger ale from the refrigerator. “He might want to come home and see his friends.”
“Joshua is a grown man.” Henry’s voice had a sharp edge. “You don’t have to plan your life around him.”
“I know, but I’ve been away so long. I missed his birthday.”
The line crackled. “Look, Amelia,” Henry said. “If the answer is no, maybe you’d better come out and say it. Neither of us is getting any younger.”
“It’s not.” She leaned her forehead against the cupboard. “It’s just… how would you feel if I asked you to leave your job and your home and your family?”
“I'm not asking you to do that. All I want is a few days. If it’s like I think, we’ll figure the rest out.”
Talkin' Heads #38
TITLE: Waiting for Paint to Dry
GENRE: Upmarket Women's Fiction
Then Greg opens his mouth.
“So, Matty,” he starts. “Claire says you’re onboard and we couldn’t be happier.”
“Onboard about what?” I say with a mouthful.
Claire readjusts herself in her seat. “The move. To Germany. Remember?”
“Ha!” I laugh and chase what I’ve got in my mouth with the rest of my beer. “I’ll miss you guys.. But I don’t know if I really want to be moving half way around the world with you.”
“Matty,” Greg says, pure confidence. “Claire and I have discussed this a great deal and we believe this would be the perfect opportunity for you, since you don’t have anywhere to live and don’t have a job.”
“True,” I say. “But what would I do there? Be the kid’s Nanny while Claire gallivants around with your co-workers’ wives?” I look at Claire. “No offense meant.”
“None taken,” Claire says back, but I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.
“Look. I really appreciate it. I do. This is a really special opportunity you’re giving me. But, that’s more a job for a college student, not a woman. I love you guys. I do. But… I have a few things I need to tend to,” I say, thinking of the family I’ve pushed away and ignored for too long. Then an old idea jumps to the forefront of my mind. An idea I’ve had for years, yet have never given voice to. Even to myself. “That and...I want a family of my own.”
GENRE: Upmarket Women's Fiction
Then Greg opens his mouth.
“So, Matty,” he starts. “Claire says you’re onboard and we couldn’t be happier.”
“Onboard about what?” I say with a mouthful.
Claire readjusts herself in her seat. “The move. To Germany. Remember?”
“Ha!” I laugh and chase what I’ve got in my mouth with the rest of my beer. “I’ll miss you guys.. But I don’t know if I really want to be moving half way around the world with you.”
“Matty,” Greg says, pure confidence. “Claire and I have discussed this a great deal and we believe this would be the perfect opportunity for you, since you don’t have anywhere to live and don’t have a job.”
“True,” I say. “But what would I do there? Be the kid’s Nanny while Claire gallivants around with your co-workers’ wives?” I look at Claire. “No offense meant.”
“None taken,” Claire says back, but I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.
“Look. I really appreciate it. I do. This is a really special opportunity you’re giving me. But, that’s more a job for a college student, not a woman. I love you guys. I do. But… I have a few things I need to tend to,” I say, thinking of the family I’ve pushed away and ignored for too long. Then an old idea jumps to the forefront of my mind. An idea I’ve had for years, yet have never given voice to. Even to myself. “That and...I want a family of my own.”
Talkin' Heads #37
TITLE: Beyond The River
GENRE: Literary Fiction
Brad and Dean are on a fly-fishing trip in the wilds of Northern California. Dean has just caught up with Brad at the river's edge.
“So, where are all the fish? You have them on a stringer somewhere?” Dean asked.
“Stringers have no place in this sport.” The thought of shoving a metal rod into a trout’s mouth, running it out the gill, and pulling a nylon rope through disgusted him. Slow and terrible death.
“Really? Whenever my old man and his buddies went for perch on Lake Erie, they’d return with stringers full of fish. Mostly they’d pull up with a buzz from whatever they’d been drinking and smoking, but they always brought fish home.”
Brad looked over his shoulder and said, “A stringer with trout in a place like this will get you chewed out. It might even get your ass kicked.”
“I thought this was a genteel sport.”
“Trout fishermen don’t use them.” Brad advanced further out into the river.
“What are you supposed to do? Smash the fish’s head against a rock? Wrap it in a fern, like Hemingway? That seemed to be his preferred method. Is that acceptable?”
“No. You don’t kill the fish. You let it go.”
“And why would anyone do such a thing?”
“It’s called catch and release.”
“What’s the point of standing for hours in nut-numbing water if you aren’t going to keep what you catch?”
“You don’t even eat fish,” Brad said.
“It has nothing to do with eating them. It’s the principle of the thing. When you win, you do what you want. You get to kill it.”
GENRE: Literary Fiction
Brad and Dean are on a fly-fishing trip in the wilds of Northern California. Dean has just caught up with Brad at the river's edge.
“So, where are all the fish? You have them on a stringer somewhere?” Dean asked.
“Stringers have no place in this sport.” The thought of shoving a metal rod into a trout’s mouth, running it out the gill, and pulling a nylon rope through disgusted him. Slow and terrible death.
“Really? Whenever my old man and his buddies went for perch on Lake Erie, they’d return with stringers full of fish. Mostly they’d pull up with a buzz from whatever they’d been drinking and smoking, but they always brought fish home.”
Brad looked over his shoulder and said, “A stringer with trout in a place like this will get you chewed out. It might even get your ass kicked.”
“I thought this was a genteel sport.”
“Trout fishermen don’t use them.” Brad advanced further out into the river.
“What are you supposed to do? Smash the fish’s head against a rock? Wrap it in a fern, like Hemingway? That seemed to be his preferred method. Is that acceptable?”
“No. You don’t kill the fish. You let it go.”
“And why would anyone do such a thing?”
“It’s called catch and release.”
“What’s the point of standing for hours in nut-numbing water if you aren’t going to keep what you catch?”
“You don’t even eat fish,” Brad said.
“It has nothing to do with eating them. It’s the principle of the thing. When you win, you do what you want. You get to kill it.”
Talkin' Heads #36
TITLE: Queen of Hearts
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Marion, a sixteen year old magician hired by a reporter, has returned to the theater she worked at to help him get subjects to interview. A friend questions her about her new job.
Miriam came up behind her. "Answer me."
"Answer what?"
"What're you doing for him? Is it--" she nodded meaningfully and raised her eyebrows.
"No!"
"Then why didn't you tell him." She nodded at Franklin's back. "Who knows what he thinks now?"
"Because! It's embarrassing. Anyway, Miriam, I need your help."
She looked wary. "What?"
"I need to visit my family; I've got something for them."
"And?"
"Well, I can't go in this!" She pointed to her dress.
"They don't know about this either?"
"Of course not, do you think my mother'd let me work for a man?"
"Not if she's smart. Well, I can't help you, you're too thin."
"Not that, I'll take my black dress I wore for my act. I just need you to keep my clothes in our dressing room and cover for me."
"Fine," Miriam said, "I'll do it. Be back soon, things are going to go absolutely bonkers if they know you're gone."
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Marion, a sixteen year old magician hired by a reporter, has returned to the theater she worked at to help him get subjects to interview. A friend questions her about her new job.
Miriam came up behind her. "Answer me."
"Answer what?"
"What're you doing for him? Is it--" she nodded meaningfully and raised her eyebrows.
"No!"
"Then why didn't you tell him." She nodded at Franklin's back. "Who knows what he thinks now?"
"Because! It's embarrassing. Anyway, Miriam, I need your help."
She looked wary. "What?"
"I need to visit my family; I've got something for them."
"And?"
"Well, I can't go in this!" She pointed to her dress.
"They don't know about this either?"
"Of course not, do you think my mother'd let me work for a man?"
"Not if she's smart. Well, I can't help you, you're too thin."
"Not that, I'll take my black dress I wore for my act. I just need you to keep my clothes in our dressing room and cover for me."
"Fine," Miriam said, "I'll do it. Be back soon, things are going to go absolutely bonkers if they know you're gone."
Talkin' Heads #35
TITLE: Kasmir
GENRE: MG Fantasy
When 12 year old Liz was telling a story to her little sister, Anna, she was sucked into her own fantasy world, bringing Anna and her older brother, Kyle, with her.
“Wait,” Kyle interrupted. “You’re telling me that you based characters in your little fantasy story on real people?”
I nodded, afraid he was making the connection.
“And you thought that I had become one of your characters?”
I shrugged noncommittally.
Realization struck. A look of fury came over Kyle’s face.
“You made me the bad guy!” he shouted.
“Not necessarily the bad guy,” I tried to sound reassuring. “There are...other bad guys too.”
Kyle was not placated. “I can’t believe this! You made up this whole fantasy world and made me your villain. And told it to Anna!”
“Well, I never actually told Anna you were the bad guy, that’s just kind of how I pictured it in my head.”
“Oh thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.” He seethed for a minute then took another look at my outfit. His eyes narrowed. “And who, exactly, are you supposed to be?”
“I’m the, uh—I’m the guard. I was the princess’s guard.”
Not quite accurate, but I had an angry teenager on my hands. Now was not the time for absolute truths. Kyle wasn’t fooled.
“You’re the hero,” he said flatly. “Great, so I’m the freakin’ bad guy and you’re the hero. What do you do, read the enemies to death?”
“No,” I huffed, “in this world I have many skills, I’m a great warrior, I -”
“Let Anna get kidnapped.”
“Well, I...I was...” tears welled up in my eyes.
“Take out your sword,” Kyle said abruptly.
GENRE: MG Fantasy
When 12 year old Liz was telling a story to her little sister, Anna, she was sucked into her own fantasy world, bringing Anna and her older brother, Kyle, with her.
“Wait,” Kyle interrupted. “You’re telling me that you based characters in your little fantasy story on real people?”
I nodded, afraid he was making the connection.
“And you thought that I had become one of your characters?”
I shrugged noncommittally.
Realization struck. A look of fury came over Kyle’s face.
“You made me the bad guy!” he shouted.
“Not necessarily the bad guy,” I tried to sound reassuring. “There are...other bad guys too.”
Kyle was not placated. “I can’t believe this! You made up this whole fantasy world and made me your villain. And told it to Anna!”
“Well, I never actually told Anna you were the bad guy, that’s just kind of how I pictured it in my head.”
“Oh thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.” He seethed for a minute then took another look at my outfit. His eyes narrowed. “And who, exactly, are you supposed to be?”
“I’m the, uh—I’m the guard. I was the princess’s guard.”
Not quite accurate, but I had an angry teenager on my hands. Now was not the time for absolute truths. Kyle wasn’t fooled.
“You’re the hero,” he said flatly. “Great, so I’m the freakin’ bad guy and you’re the hero. What do you do, read the enemies to death?”
“No,” I huffed, “in this world I have many skills, I’m a great warrior, I -”
“Let Anna get kidnapped.”
“Well, I...I was...” tears welled up in my eyes.
“Take out your sword,” Kyle said abruptly.
Talkin' Heads #34
TITLE: MYSTIC TAXI
GENRE: Alternate History Fantasy
Wanda stole something from Henry the night before, and though he planned to track her down and get it back, she surprised him by coming to him first. He can't help wondering why.
"Your neighbors don't seem like the chatty type." She hadn't stopped smiling.
The word "neighbors" sounded like "naybahs." A southern girl. Henry sighed and backed his way through the door, sweeping out his hand to welcome her in.
"Thank you," she said as she stepped inside.
The woman had guts, he gave her that, but he questioned her intelligence. He outweighed her by a good hundred pounds, though that hadn't stopped her last night. The bruise on the back of his head was gone, but not the memory of how it got there. She obviously wanted something from him and he was curious to know what it was.
"I'd offer you coffee, but I'm fresh out," he lied, inhaling the luscious scent of his morning brew.
"I prefer chicory." She gazed around her, not bothering to take off her coat, meaning she didn't intend to stay. Good. But she did unbutton it and flapped the lapels to fan herself. "You keep it mighty hot in here."
"My kind like the heat."
She nodded as if she understood. "Nice kitchen, though that's the oddest refrigerator I've ever seen."
The robotic arm on the fridge unfurled from its side, two eggs clutched in its steel-clawed hand. It angled as if to throw them like a baseball straight at the woman's head.
Henry stepped in the way and scowled at the fridge. It seemed to know more about her than he did. "What is it you want, uh…"
"Wanda. Wanda Snow."
GENRE: Alternate History Fantasy
Wanda stole something from Henry the night before, and though he planned to track her down and get it back, she surprised him by coming to him first. He can't help wondering why.
"Your neighbors don't seem like the chatty type." She hadn't stopped smiling.
The word "neighbors" sounded like "naybahs." A southern girl. Henry sighed and backed his way through the door, sweeping out his hand to welcome her in.
"Thank you," she said as she stepped inside.
The woman had guts, he gave her that, but he questioned her intelligence. He outweighed her by a good hundred pounds, though that hadn't stopped her last night. The bruise on the back of his head was gone, but not the memory of how it got there. She obviously wanted something from him and he was curious to know what it was.
"I'd offer you coffee, but I'm fresh out," he lied, inhaling the luscious scent of his morning brew.
"I prefer chicory." She gazed around her, not bothering to take off her coat, meaning she didn't intend to stay. Good. But she did unbutton it and flapped the lapels to fan herself. "You keep it mighty hot in here."
"My kind like the heat."
She nodded as if she understood. "Nice kitchen, though that's the oddest refrigerator I've ever seen."
The robotic arm on the fridge unfurled from its side, two eggs clutched in its steel-clawed hand. It angled as if to throw them like a baseball straight at the woman's head.
Henry stepped in the way and scowled at the fridge. It seemed to know more about her than he did. "What is it you want, uh…"
"Wanda. Wanda Snow."
Talkin' Heads #33
TITLE: My Sister's Dating a Serial Killer
GENRE: YA Thriller
Cammie is sure her older sister is dating a serial killer and she must stop her, although she has no hard evidence yet. They're in their bedroom discussing Cammie's theory.
I hold myself back and say, "You shouldn't let some creep back you. It gives him way too much control over you, and he's power-hungry."
"He's no such thing and don't say he is. Where is my slipper? Find my slipper."
"Very well, madam, I will find your slipper and put it on your foot and make you into a princess." I bow to her, mocking, but she's too busy putting blush on her cheeks to notice.
When my attempts at drama and humor are ignored, I open the bathroom door to wet towels and the smell of toothpaste. One pink strap glimmers up at me, half-hidden under the crumpled white throw rug by the sink. I whisk the shoe into my hand, go back into the bedroom, and plop it into her hand.
Before I let go of her footwear, I make one last effort to convince her. "You've got to reconsider dating that guy."
"Why?" She yanks the shoe out of my hand.
I plop down onto my bed and stare at her, but not before I wrinkle my nose and scrunch my eyes. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because he loves to torment and hunt small animals and then stuff them. Then there's the fact he almost killed me yesterday."
GENRE: YA Thriller
Cammie is sure her older sister is dating a serial killer and she must stop her, although she has no hard evidence yet. They're in their bedroom discussing Cammie's theory.
I hold myself back and say, "You shouldn't let some creep back you. It gives him way too much control over you, and he's power-hungry."
"He's no such thing and don't say he is. Where is my slipper? Find my slipper."
"Very well, madam, I will find your slipper and put it on your foot and make you into a princess." I bow to her, mocking, but she's too busy putting blush on her cheeks to notice.
When my attempts at drama and humor are ignored, I open the bathroom door to wet towels and the smell of toothpaste. One pink strap glimmers up at me, half-hidden under the crumpled white throw rug by the sink. I whisk the shoe into my hand, go back into the bedroom, and plop it into her hand.
Before I let go of her footwear, I make one last effort to convince her. "You've got to reconsider dating that guy."
"Why?" She yanks the shoe out of my hand.
I plop down onto my bed and stare at her, but not before I wrinkle my nose and scrunch my eyes. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because he loves to torment and hunt small animals and then stuff them. Then there's the fact he almost killed me yesterday."
Talkin' Heads #32
TITLE: Staggerwing
GENRE: Adult Fiction
After a heartbreaking trip to Japan, WIll returns home to his mentally unstable wife Isabelle. In Japan he learned that Mariko, the young woman he believed his soulmate, with whom he envisioned a new future, considers him merely a friend.
“Three days early! You couldn’t bear to be gone from us,” Isabelle joked. “Me and my crazies.”
Will smoothed a loose curl behind her ear.
“Eleanor wasn’t too bad this time. You’ll be glad to know she got me to do a bit of yoga. I think it might be good for me, all that spiritual mumbo-jumbo.”
He nodded.
“It’s good to be back where you belong, isn’t it?”
He nodded again.
“Lovey, you’re so quiet. Are you feeling okay?” Isabelle reached high to place a dry cracked palm on his forehead. “You are a tad warm.”
“It’s just jet-lag. Such a quick back and forth. Hard on this old man’s system.”
“Go lay down then. I’ll make us some supper and get you up in an hour or so.” Isabelle’s full function mode might last a week, a month, two months.
Will pulled himself up the creaky old farmhouse steps. Walked down the drafty hallway to the bedroom. He lay atop the comforter fully clothed and stared at the ceiling.
GENRE: Adult Fiction
After a heartbreaking trip to Japan, WIll returns home to his mentally unstable wife Isabelle. In Japan he learned that Mariko, the young woman he believed his soulmate, with whom he envisioned a new future, considers him merely a friend.
“Three days early! You couldn’t bear to be gone from us,” Isabelle joked. “Me and my crazies.”
Will smoothed a loose curl behind her ear.
“Eleanor wasn’t too bad this time. You’ll be glad to know she got me to do a bit of yoga. I think it might be good for me, all that spiritual mumbo-jumbo.”
He nodded.
“It’s good to be back where you belong, isn’t it?”
He nodded again.
“Lovey, you’re so quiet. Are you feeling okay?” Isabelle reached high to place a dry cracked palm on his forehead. “You are a tad warm.”
“It’s just jet-lag. Such a quick back and forth. Hard on this old man’s system.”
“Go lay down then. I’ll make us some supper and get you up in an hour or so.” Isabelle’s full function mode might last a week, a month, two months.
Will pulled himself up the creaky old farmhouse steps. Walked down the drafty hallway to the bedroom. He lay atop the comforter fully clothed and stared at the ceiling.
Talkin' Heads #31
TITLE: Summer Lake
GENRE: YA Historical
Cass is spending the summer up at the lake with her grandmother and her boyfriend, Derek, doesn't understand why she had to go away. He doesn't trust her and is questioning her in a phone conversation ...
"I'm sure, Derek. There's no one else here to talk to. I've only been here a day, and it's all tourists up here." Aggravation seeps into my tone.
"I just don't want you doing anything I wouldn't approve of while you're up there. I don't even know why you had to go. You could have stayed with me at my place this summer." His words are clipped.
"I wanted to spend some time with my grandmother. You know that. That's all this this summer is about. Spending time with my grandmother. And trying to relax and enjoy myself a little. Is that such a crime?" I speak slowly, hoping he'll understand, even though I've said the exact words to him several times already.
"I just don't know why you had to go so far away. I need you." Great. now he's whining.
"I'll be home this weekend. I need to talk to my mom. I found a photo of my dad."
"Your dad? I thought you didn't know him."
"I don't. But I found this photograph and now I can't stop thinking about him. So, anyway, I'll be in town this weekend. I'll see you then." I need to be finished with this conversation.
A garbled voice echos in the background as someone yells "Derek!"
"I gotta go. The boys are waiting for me in the van. I'll talk to you later."
"Ok." I hold back the tears that threaten to spill.
"I love you," he whispers.
GENRE: YA Historical
Cass is spending the summer up at the lake with her grandmother and her boyfriend, Derek, doesn't understand why she had to go away. He doesn't trust her and is questioning her in a phone conversation ...
"I'm sure, Derek. There's no one else here to talk to. I've only been here a day, and it's all tourists up here." Aggravation seeps into my tone.
"I just don't want you doing anything I wouldn't approve of while you're up there. I don't even know why you had to go. You could have stayed with me at my place this summer." His words are clipped.
"I wanted to spend some time with my grandmother. You know that. That's all this this summer is about. Spending time with my grandmother. And trying to relax and enjoy myself a little. Is that such a crime?" I speak slowly, hoping he'll understand, even though I've said the exact words to him several times already.
"I just don't know why you had to go so far away. I need you." Great. now he's whining.
"I'll be home this weekend. I need to talk to my mom. I found a photo of my dad."
"Your dad? I thought you didn't know him."
"I don't. But I found this photograph and now I can't stop thinking about him. So, anyway, I'll be in town this weekend. I'll see you then." I need to be finished with this conversation.
A garbled voice echos in the background as someone yells "Derek!"
"I gotta go. The boys are waiting for me in the van. I'll talk to you later."
"Ok." I hold back the tears that threaten to spill.
"I love you," he whispers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)