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Wednesday, June 13, 2007Tell Me a Story While I'm Away....It's true. The Write Way Home is going dark for two weeks while my family and I enjoy a much needed vacation. I hate inactive blogs, though...don't you? So rather than let my poor blog wither away to nothing, I thought it would be fun if you'd all contribute to a "you write the next part" story in the comments box. (Well, what did you expect -- Whisper Down the Alley? I mean, I'm a writer. Stories are what I do!) Jumping with glee? Oh, good! I'll start, and then you just keep it going in the comments box until I get back on July 1. Just imagine the possibilities! Just one request: Keep it clean. Weirdness allowed. (Dave is breathing a sigh of relief.) And, oh yes, naturally it's got to have a fantasy flavor. Much easier to break rules that way. I'll be back with beach stories and, if you're incredibly lucky, a pregnant photo or two. It all depends on whether or not the photos evoke the response, "You mean there was a beached whale at Cape May? No kidding!" So, here you go. Have fun, and I'll see you when I get back! A Group Story, happily authored by the Mad Commenters at The Write Way Home: Zane knew it wasn't an ordinary "thud," the kind that signaled something boring, like a book falling off a shelf or a carelessly slammed cabinet door. He knew because he didn't just hear the thud. He felt it. It was the same "inside his head" feeling that always accompanied the unexplainable. Like the music that came from the fire in his grandmother's hearth, or the eyes embedded in the craggy bark of the trees on the western edge of the forest that only he could see. And like every other time, Zane couldn't remain still. So he quietly folded back the rough blanket and slipped from his bed, careful not to step on the sleeping cat as he made his way across the floor. |
About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
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6of my readers are feeling chatty:
Breath short, and hissing between his teeth, Zane slipped on his tartan chain-mail. Who could possibly be up at this time of night? Mornias lay fast asleep under the inverted Shmilnig Shrub, and Therniak had been away at knave training for two long weeks.
One by one, his careful steps carried him over the moss covered grimestone floor, past the posts of the sweeping pastewood archway, and into the wide expanse of the common area.
A tight ear strained for the slightest sound, but none revealed itself other than the irregular palpitations from inside himself.
"Back to sleep," Zane whispered to himself and to whatever had made the noise. It left him uneasy to turn back toward his room. One step closer to bed brought a creak up from above him. A sprinkling of dust sifted down through a crack in the shoddy ceiling.
There was someone,or something, on the roof.
Zane's pulse quickened as he spun and dashed through the common room to the shuttered window where daylight bled through the gaps. With a quick hand, he fired the wooden bolt loose and pushed the shutters open. They creaked for a split second before banging against the side of the hut.
As if in response, the 'something' up above him broke into a sprint. To Zane's amazement, the rooftop footsteps weren't running away.
They were getting closer...
Zane backed slowly away, never taking his eyes off the open window
He waited breathlessly, willing the "something" that was on the roof to show itself and break the suspense. The light footsteps creeped to the edge of the roof and stopped briefly, then a soft glow of light appeared as a tiny fairy no taller than Zane's knee descended from the roof and alighted on the sill. The light that surrounded her faded, and she opened her hands in greeting. "Forgive me for waking you," she began. Her voice had a faint musical quality and was soft like a breeze rustling the leaves through the forest trees. "I didn't want to draw attention to myself with my flying light, and needed to come across the roof of your home. I am here on a very important errand, and have come to take you with me."
"But," began Zane, "Why do you need me?"
"Because you are special, Zane. You are the one"
Zane stood speechless for a moment, staring at the little winged creature.
"What was that loud sound?"
The fairy looked sharply toward the roof then back at Zane. "Oh... that was my companion."
"Did he fall?"
"No, dear Zane, I killed him."
Zane tried hard to understand. "You killed your friend?"
"I said nothing if a friend, merely a companion," the fairy said. "His presence here was definitely not by my choice."
"Who was he?"
"We will discuss him later, first we much prepare you for the journey."
"Now wait," Zane said. "Surely you can't expect me to drop everything and leave my home, just because you said so."
"Certainly not, but his majesty does."
Zane opened his mouth to question or protest, he hadn’t yet decided which, when a treble wail wiped all coherent thought from his mind.
"Maaaaaaaaassstter Zaaaaaaaannnnneeeeee!?"
Moggie!
"Does the woman never sleep?" he hissed, more to himself than his glowing visitor, as he scanned the room frantically for some means of escape.
Mogretta was already making a ruckus in the corridor through which he’d come and the only other way back to his room would take him past the dogs. He wasn’t exactly stealthy in this tartan mail.
Perhaps he could simply slip into the shadows…
He suddenly remembered the fairy hovering behind him.
Zane wasn’t known for thinking things through before taking action, a trait that served him surprisingly well.
He didn’t think now.
He spotted a large black iron pot near the door that led into the garden; it was half full of frogfruit, to be simmered into jam for tomorrow’s tea.
With one deft move he grabbed the pot and popped it over the fairy, dropping her to the floor under its weight and dumping the fruit with such force that several burst upon the stone floor with a sickening splush.
He whirled round. Moggie was still out of sight but heaving her way steadily toward them, panting with the effort that moving her considerable bulk required. He was grateful she enjoyed her own cooking so much. If she were as lithe as she was loyal he would have had far fewer adventures in his 13 years.
Zane turned back to the pot. Light began to leak out from under the edge, glowing brighter and brighter. With a gasp he realized the pot was lifting into the air. He could hear the impossibly rapid thrum thrum thrum of the fairy’s wings against the sides.
He leapt onto the air and brought it down beneath him with a clank just as Moggie bustled under the archway and into the commons.
"Master! There ye be, and not in your bed!" she scolded in an even higher-than-normal pitch, wagging her finger at him as she advanced. "Oiy you’re going to be the death of t’poor old nurse! Ye know that tomorr…"
The word trailed off in a surprised squawk as she slipped on one of the flattened fruits. She skidded along and for a second Zane thought she would regain her balance but then her bare feet flew into the air and he was certain she bounced a time or two as she landed on her ample bottom.
"Nanny! You’re not hurt?!" He called.
"Mercy!" Moggie exclaimed, uninjured but indignant, as she rolled about trying to right herself.
Zane might have giggled at the scene any other day. At this moment, however, he was doing his best to look casual as he braced his left shoulder under the window sill, exerting as much downward pressure as he could. Still the pot clattered beneath him, he could feel pressure building.
Moggie’s exasperated voice broke his concentration,
"Well Lad, ye be takin’ enough sweet time coming to help me poor old self up."
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