Family Tragedy

has unfortunately struck. I may not be on for a few days.  Fret not, I am still writing by hand, I just won't be able to update my word count or post excerpts, most likely for a few days.  I will write when I can, and will try to post an extra long excerpt once I have more time at my computer.

NaNoWriMo: Day 15

The official halfway mark of the month is upon us, and my word count  has reached 27, 920.  The bulk of the plot has happened.  I've gotten to the point where I'm writing all of the transitions between major scenes.  This writing is beyond boring.  The little details of day to day life are so tedious to write.  It makes me wish I had tackled a fantasy novel instead so that at least I could have my main character use magic to wash the dishes.  That being said, I'm still wonderfully on track to get this thing done by the end of the month.  We're also getting close to then end of chapter one with my daily excerpts here.  Enjoy this one. It's the last of chapter one :)

     We fall back into silence. I do not trust myself to make any more small talk. If I stay quiet, at least I know I will not mistakenly mention the house again, or worse, my grandfather. My grandmother has lost a lot tonight, and I do not want to force her to talk about anything she is not ready to discuss yet. Thoughts of how much she has lost tonight occupy us both until I pull into my driveway.

      My house is nothing fancy, but it I love it. There is a small eat-in kitchen, and the living room is through an open archway in the far wall. When you are standing under the kitchen archway, there is a door in the far wall of the living room that leads out to a set of concrete steps down into the front yard. To your left, there is a short hallway. The bathroom is the first door on the left. The second door is a closet that holds my linens and a bunch of other things that I do not have a better place to store. The only door on the right is my guest bedroom. The door at the end of the hall leads to my bedroom. I am happy to see that it is shut. Tired as she is, if Gram saw the state of my bedroom, she would give me a lecture on cleanliness for sure. I show my grandmother to the guest room. There is a brass daybed against the right wall. I have a small desk pushed into the left corner on the far wall. During the day, the sunlight from the window on that wall sheds natural light on the desk top and makes it a great space to write. There is a small closet set into the left wall and a set of drawers directly to the right of the door.

      “The dresser is empty.” I say, and point to the chest of drawers as if she may not be able to spot it on her own. “The closet is also empty. Since you'll be staying here for a bit, feel free to decorate the room however you want. If you want to rearrange the furniture or anything, just let me know, and I'll help you move it.”

       “I'm not going to rearrange your furniture. It's fine where it is. As for the closet and dresser, I don't have anything to put in them. What you see is what I've got.” She says. She grabs one side of her bathrobe in each hand and holds her arms out by her sides.

      “I'm sorry, Gram. I forgot that you don't have any other clothes. I'll take you over to Wal-Mart first thing in the morning to pick out some new things. Let me grab you a clean nightgown.”

     Being more comfortable in a tank top and pair of shorts, I do not usually wear nightgowns when I sleep. I wade through the mess on my bedroom floor to my dresser. The nightgowns are in the bottom drawer, and may be the only clothing I own that is actually in its place. The majority of my wardrobe is currently on the floor of my room or in a laundry basket on top of the dryer. I pick out a white cotton gown and close the dresser drawer.

      My grandmother is sitting in the center of the daybed when I walk back to the guest room. Her legs are too short to reach the floor, so her soot-covered black slippers hang a few inches from the hardwood floor. The fake fur of the slippers is matted, and I think the fuzz may have melted in a few places.

      “Here you go, Gram.” I say as I pass her the nightgown.

      “Thanks, Jody.”

      “Is there anything else I can get you, Gram? You sure you don't want that tea?”

      “No, honey. I'm just going to take a bath and then get to bed.”

      “Ok. The bathroom is just across the hall. There are towels in the hall closet. There should be an extra toothbrush under the bathroom sink. Help yourself to anything else in the house.”

      This time she just nods. She slides down off of the bed and shuffles out into the hallway. She closes the bathroom door behind her, and I hear the water begin to fill the tub. I can smell the smoke in my own clothes and hair, but I am too tired to wait until Gram is done to hop in the shower. I peel the smoky clothes off and toss them in the pile by the bedroom door. I pull my hair back into a loose braid to keep its smokiness away from my face. I crawl into bed, and I think I fall asleep before my head even reaches the pillow.

NaNoWriMo: Day 14

Finally passed the half-way mark.  Think my house guest may be a little miffed since I shut myself away for a few hours this afternoon to get some writing done, but I'm sure he'll get over it :)  Novel word count is now 26, 037.  Worked out some scene and dialogue transitions today that really needed some work.  I'm really happy with the changes I made.  Things seem to be flowing more naturally.  I feel like dialogue is my weak point, so I'm constantly revising it to make my characters sounds more natural. That being said, here is today's sneak peek.

      We ride down Route Three in silence. It is not a very long drive to get to the town of Lowville, but the silence stretches every second into an hour. We pass over Beaver Falls. My window is cracked to let fresh air into the car, and I can hear the water rushing over the rocks below the bridge. Year ago, people would dive from the side of bridge. They would free fall into the deep pool below the falls. The river was swollen then and its depths made it safe to jump from the bridge's height. Even those thrill seekers would not risk jumping from the bridge now. The water is too low to survive the fall. In places, it barely covers the rocks as it flows over them.

      Even though the autumn night is chilly, the crickets send their songs across the river. There are always more insects near the water. The air here is filled with their high-pitched chirping. As we pull further away from the bridge, their songs fade and the car lapses into silence again. Soon, I find myself talking just to break the quiet.

      "I'll put the kettle on the stove as soon as we get home and I'll make you some tea. I have that English Breakfast stuff that you like. If you want, you can take a shower while water's boiling. You'd be able to wash the smell of smoke out of your hair."

      For a few seconds, I think she is going to stay mute, and I struggle to think of something else to say.

      "I think a bath might be nice. I'd like to soak the fire out of my skin."

      "As soon as we get home, I'll show you where I keep the towels. I can lend you a clean nightgown too, if you'd like." I realize that I keep referring to my house as home. For her, it isn't. We are currently driving away from her home. To her, this is my house. It will never be home. I scold myself for my poor word choice.

      "Don't worry about making any tea, dear. I think once I'm done in the tub that I'm just going to go to bed. Don't trouble yourself."

      "Are you sure, grandma? It's not a trouble at all, and will only take a couple of minutes."

      "No, no. A towel and a nightgown will be just fine. You should think about getting some sleep yourself." I choose to ignore the implication that I look tired and run down. Mostly because I know it is the God-honest truth. I feel tired down to my bones.

      "You sure you don't want any tea? Or maybe a light snack or something?"

      "I could hardly eat a thing right now, honey."

      "Okay. We'll both head to bed, then. I'll fix breakfast in the morning. I think we'll have a long day ahead of us."

      "Why do you say that?"

       "Because we'll have to head out to the house tomorrow, you know, to see what's left." I regret the words almost as soon as I've said them. Too abrupt. They just popped right out. I've never been known for my tact. "Oh, grandma, I'm so sorry."

      "It's okay, dear. You're right. I'll have to face it one way or another. Might as well get it out of the way." She sounds drained and it seems to take a lot of effort for her to find her words. I know she is as exhausted as I am, although I am the only one of us who looks it. I do not know how she has made it through the night.

NaNoWriMo: Day 13

Still haven't hit the 25k mark.  So close I can taste it though.  Babysat my nephews last night and they were here until about one o'clock.  Have house guests coming in a few hours.  Had to cram in as much writing as I could before I have to go clean the house.  Two boys can leave quite a path of destruction in their wake.

17 more days to go.  I have managed to squeeze out my word count for today.  Dialogue sure adds a lot of pages, but doesn't really help the word count very much.  Hope you enjoy today's excerpt!

     I need to get her away from here. I know that if I do not force her, she will never leave. She will continue to watch as the house is reduced to ashes. I touch her lightly on the shoulder.

      "C'mon, grandma. Let's go back to my house."

       She is reluctant to leave, as I knew she would be. I begin to lead her over to my car, pulling her gently by the arm.

      "I'll make you some tea, grandma, and we can sit at the kitchen table and try to unwind a bit before going to bed."

      She does not even make an attempt at continuing the conversation. Instead, she begins to resist me and plants her feet firmly in the gravel. I stop pulling on her arm, fearing I may pop it out of socket if I do not let go. She looks at me and I see that her eyes are now moist, though her mouth is set in a firm line.

      "Please, just give me five more minutes. I promise, then, I'll be ready to go."

      Her voice wavers, and I can hear the anguish she is trying so hard not to show. How can I refuse such a simple request? I don't. I stand beside her for the entire five minutes. I might even throw in a few extra for good measure. This time, when I lead her to the car, she offers up no resistance.

      Once I have her settled into the passenger side of my silver Honda Civic, I climb behind the wheel. My grandmother's eyes are fixed on the passenger window, but I know she is really looking beyond the glass. I can see the house reflected in her eyes. She does not turn away until the house dips below the horizon and the darkness of the night swallows the glow of the flames.

NaNoWriMo: Day 12

Well, I didn't make my goal of 5,000 words for today.  Turns out, my eye doctor is way too efficient and I didn't really have any time to write while I was there this morning.  I did manage to get around 1400 word written today, and my total word count is still a little over a day ahead, so I am not stressing...too much.  Will have a lot of house guests this weekend, so don't know how much I'll get written, but I'm hoping I manage to stay on track.  I've got some good momentum, and I don't want to lose it!  Here's today's novel snippet!

     When they first arrived at the scene, the firemen gave us each a blanket. The fabric is cheap and itchy against the bare skin of my arms, but it does provide minimal warmth. Although the fire rages mere feet away from us, I drape one of the flame-resistant blankets around my grandmother's shoulders. I hope the small warmth it offers will give her a little bit of comfort. As soon as I let go, she snatches it off and throws it to the ground. It crackles with static as it is torn away from her bathrobe.

      "I don't need that damned thing. I'm fine." Her voice hisses like the water as it meets the heat of the house fire. I am a little annoyed with her for throwing the blanket onto the ground when she could have just handed it back to me, but I know she is upset. I let it slide. Under the circumstances, her stubbornness is not surprising. I pick the blanket up out of the gravel and shake it. A puff of dirt and a few twigs are hoisted into the air as I shake, but find their way back to the driveway after a few seconds. I roll the blanket into a ball and toss it into the backseat of my car.

      My grandmother once made beautiful quilts. She made one for each of us, and gave it to us when we graduated from high school. A slave to convention, every stitch was done by hand. She refused to acknowledge the convenience of a sewing machine. Quilts stitched by hand are something to be proud of. Machines make cheap bed covers with shoddy stitching. Her grandchildren deserve better.

The quilt she made for me is a log cabin pattern. Every rectangle is cloth with a different pattern, but they are all in the same shades of blue and green. I did not really care about it when she originally gave it to me. I mean, how much can a teenager really care about a stupid blanket? I think I tossed it in to the bottom of my closet. I packed it with the rest of my things when I went away to college. Somehow, in the years I was away from home, the blanket grew on me. I love the thing now. It is beautiful, even after years of washing it in the washer. I keep it on my bed year-round. There is absolutely no better feeling than crawling under that quilt on a frosty day in January. It traps in your body heat and, slowly, chases away the chill. My toes are always the last part of me to warm up beneath the quilt's bulk.

      The fireman's blanket suddenly seems more itchy against my skin. I take it off and throw it into the seat on top of my grandmother's. I lean against my rear door and watch her. There is not a thing in the world that could divert her eyes away from those flames. She stands, wringing her hands, in silence. I stare at her hands as she squeezes one, and then the other. Her hands were once so dexterous, but arthritis has disfigured them to the point that they are almost useless. She has not quilted in years, and I do not think she will ever try to make a quilt again. The clumsiness of her hands frustrates her too much.

NaNoWriMo: Day 11

Although I am now in the dreaded week two, my daily word count has again been met.  The novel word count is currently 20,786.  I have less than 30k to go, and have almost hit the halfway mark.  I think my personal goal tomorrow will be to reach 25k.  I have an eye doctor's appointment, and I'm hoping the waiting room time will be put to good use.

As promised, I am posting another excerpt from the novel today.  This picks up where yesterday's post left off.

     The powder blue paint bubbles and peels from the wooden siding like skin that is recovering from sunburn. It cowers in front of the flames, dripping blue rain onto the singed grass. Bit by bit, the color is devoured until the siding is a charred remnant of its former self. Pieces of it cling to the foundation it has held for more than fifty years. They glow bright orange when the wind blows against them.

      The streams of water from the firemen's hoses turn to steam as they meet the flames. The water sizzles like oil in a frying pan, but it is ineffective in dousing the flames. Not long after they turn their hoses onto the house, a figure approaches us. The bright yellow suit may be fire resistant, but I can see that the heat is even taking its toll on him. When he lifts the visor of his helmet, I can see that his face is saturated with sweat. Ash is beginning to clump in the wrinkles by his eyes and the creases in his forehead. The look on his face tells me that the fire has defeated them. It is just too strong for their hoses to quell. There is no more any of us can do except keep a vigilant watch to ensure the flames are contained within the house's shell. My grandparents' house will only be able to feed it for a few more hours at the longest. Eventually, the fire will run out of fuel and will burn down. The fireman guarantees me that they will make sure the flames are completely out before they leave. There is no reason for my grandmother and I to stay here any longer, no reason for us to witness the remaining damage that will be done.

      Before he walks away, he puts a gloved hand on my grandmother's shoulder. He apologizes for their late arrival, though its doubtful the house could have been saved either way. My grandparents do not live close to town. I know he wishes there was more they could have done. I wish the same thing. I wish I knew what to say to my grandmother, or what to do to make this situation easier for her. I envy the fireman. He will not have to face my grandmother again after tonight. His last words to my grandmother assure her that it was painless. Since the fire came while he was sleeping, my grandfather never woke up. If the flames did not get him, the smoke inhalation would have. The fireman tells my grandmother she is lucky that she was able to get herself out of the house in time. My grandmother just shrugs his hand off of her shoulder. She does not thank him for the words that were meant to bring comfort. I know they failed to bring her relief. She does not take her eyes off of the burning bedroom window to watch him walk away.

NaNoWriMo

No, this is not some random gibberish.  NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, and it has overtaken my life!  From November 1 through November 30, the goal is to write 50,000 words of a novel.  If that gets your novel written from cover to cover, great, if not, then you have a solid start.

It didn't seem like a difficult goal at first.  1667 words per day doesn't sound too intimidating.  The first week was a breeze.  Character descriptions and major plot events built my word count up quickly.

The details are proving to be more difficult.  I am not yet discouraged.  My word count is just over 19,000 and I am still on track.  I just find that meeting my word quota is taking longer each day.  Procrastination is also taking root and digging in its heels.  Hence, this blog post :)

Needless to say, my crafting has taken a back seat to the novel writing fiend within me.  I hope to get back on track with my projects once November is over.  I have some great holiday craft ideas that I am itching to try out! In place of crafty how-to's, I will give you novel teasers.  A poor consolation prize, I know, but I could use any feedback you can give.  Don't worry about my feelings. I have thick skin! Brutal honesty is best.  If you think it's a writhing mass of worthless drivel, please tell me so!

Now that I've given you such confidence in my writing ability, here is an excerpt from the first chapter :)

         The heat is suffocating, so we keep our distance. The shadows of the flames flicker across our faces and our eyes are ignited as we watch the house burn. We stare as if entranced as the house sacrifices itself to the fire.

         I glance at my grandmother. Her aged cheeks are dry. The heat from the flames prevents her tears from falling. She stands silent, just as helpless as the rest of us. I cannot recall a time when I have ever considered her helpless. Yet even her well of control cannot douse the inferno before us.

         Ashes dance through the air, fiery around the edges at first, then fading as the air sucks the warmth from them. One lodges itself in my grandmother's hair. She is unaffected by its landing. I do not think she is even aware that a piece of her home is now resting in her curls. Although she was roused from sleep and forced to flee for her life, my grandmother's curls hold firm. My hand instinctively reaches up to my own hair. Wisps fly around my face like the dancing ashes. The elastic band is just barely holding the bulk of my long hair away from my face. I swat at a wayward piece of ash as it nears my face. The wind catches it and pulls it further away from me. The ash in my grandmother's hair is pale gray, only a few shades darker than the hair around it. It comforts me to see she does not look disheveled. In a small town like this, and for a granddaughter that is teetering on the edge of freaking out, appearances are everything. The burning would be even harder if its disaster was mirrored by her appearance.

         Her eyes stare at the hollow windows. The heat of the force raging inside the house shattered them long ago. I was not here when the glass shattered. The window frames were already gaping by the time I got here. The flames reach through the glassless frames, hungry for the oxygen in the open air. The darkness of the night swallows the smoke as it rises away from the remains of the emblazoned structure. My grandmother's sharp eyes take it all in, her cocoa brown irises ignited like a setting sun. Her face is radiant in the glow from the house.

Stamp Camp

My apologies for the belated posting.  Life, it seems, is selfish and wants all of my time, leaving none for this blog in the past two weeks.  I have escaped to the keyboard while life ran to store for a gallon of milk ;)

So, last Saturday, I had a dozen women over to my house for a stamp camp.  No, not postage stamps, rubber stamps.  A great little company called Stampin' Up has a myriad of cute rubber stamps that can be used for anything from scrap-booking to greeting cards.  I came up with five projects and gathered all of the materials together ahead of time.  I also pre-cut all of the card stock for each project.

Below are pictures of all of the projects we made, except for one.  My sister like the fifth card so much that she made 4 or 5 of them.  It appears she also took my sample card home.  Needless to say, the fifth card was super cute.  I think she may send it out as her Christmas card this year.

Materials for this project: 12 strips of paper cut 1 inch by 6 inches, a hole punch, ribbon.

Materials for this card: stamps, ink, Cuttlebug embossing folder, Cuttlebug or Big Shot, brad, ribbon, cardstock, glitter

Materials for this card: stamps, 1 3/4 inch hole punch, treat cups, glitter, ink, cardstock

Materials for this card: top note Big Shot die, Big Shot, bling brad, Dasher stamp, ink, cardstock

I think a good time was had by all.  I may do another stamp camp toward the end of November. If I do, the card designs will be different.  Give me a shout if you would be interested in attending!