Awakening

Master Class 2013-Motherhood and Desperation


The Master Class is back in session!  It was my honor to choose this week's prompt.  I went a different direction than my usual "weird and twisted"   Any feed back is welcome!  And now...

Professor Stephanie says "I asked Renee to open any book of her choosing, open it to page 152, and give me the second line of the last paragraph.  She chose T.H. White’s The Once and Future King. Your line for this week, to be used anywhere in your story is:

“Desperation had given him authority.”

Wake the muse and get to work. Time is a-wasting. All assignments are now due by 9:00 pm EST on TUESDAYS. The new Master Class will go live every Wednesday (and to keep you on your toes, I’ll leave the time open. (: )

I expect to see a link up to YOUR story by Tuesday, April 16th, 9 PM EST.

The link up is live. Ready? Set? Write!!"

Joe huddled in the corner of the bench, his hands wrapped around the greasy brown bag that wrapped around the bottle.  His once olive green jacket, now faded to grime streaked gray, was stiff with old sweat.  Dirty nails tapped to a silent melody playing for him alone.  He stared vacantly at the traffic mauled street as lunch hour pedestrians hurried by, intent on seeing anything but him. 

Whether it was the squeal of several sets of brakes harmonizing with the rip of metal, or the orange that rolled jauntily across the sidewalk to his feet, Joe's attention suddenly focused on the scene in front of him.  

an elderly woman frantically tried to free herself from her car, that now straddled the curb. The middle aged executive slumped over the steering wheel of the BMW embedded in her sedan's rear quarter panel. the young Latina lay on the sidewalk, her groceries scattered around her.  The toddler with her recovered from his shock and began to scream in confusion and fear.

The people of lunch hour stood watching, uncertain what to do.  Their mouths pursed in O's of concern, eyes darting from one to the other.

Joe leaned forward, waiting, watching.  He tucked his bag in the corner of his bench.  As the toddler stumbled in widening circles around his fallen mama, Joe stood.  

To the passers-by, he simply materialized from the air.  With a voice so unused it sounded like the grinding of gears, he pleaded for someone to call 911.

They looked at him, then each other, and waited.  His desperation gave him authority.  Joe grabbed the shoulder of a khaki clad young man, his thumbs sliding across the touch screen that was his world. "Do you know how to make an actual call on that thing?  Call 911!"

The boy looked up, only then seeing the chaos.  "Holy shit!  Holy shit!" he pressed the keys and put the phone to his ear.

"Good boy!  Tell them holy shit there's been an accident with injuries"  Joe moved to the mother on the sidewalk, she moaned and tried to get up. "No, don't move, wait for the paramedics." he soothed.

"Bebe!" was all she said.  Joe located the boy and brought him to his mother, "He's okay, don't move."  He reached for the hand of a girl with bright blue hair, "You!  Come sit with her, talk to her! Hold the boy next to her!  Don't let her get up."

Regaining his feet he leaned into the window of the sedan. "Help is on the way.  Are you alright?"  

"I can't get out!"  she cried.

"They'll get you out...are you hurt?" She shook her head, "Then wait for help, you'll be alright."

The man in the BMW was beyond help.  The cars still on the street vied for lane space to get around the wreckage.  Horns blared and voices cursed.  Joe yelled at two large men, "Help direct the traffic, get the looky-loos moving before they cause another accident!"  The men moved into the street, working together, they restarted the flow.

Joe heard the sirens close in.  He stopped once more at the BMW,  shook his head, then glanced at the sedan.  The boy of smart-phone and khakis was holding the old woman's hand, keeping her occupied.

On the sidewalk, a man in nurse's scrubs was talking to the woman on the ground in Spanish.   The blue haired girl continued to cuddle the toddler, who was enamored of her nose ring and several necklaces.

Lunch forgotten, the pedestrians became minor heroes.  They'd have pride in remembering their quick responses.  

As the emergency vehicles arrived, Joe backed to the bench.  He picked up the orange and put it in his pocket.  Sliding onto the seat, he retrieved his bagged bottle and melted back into the corner.  His grubby fingers began tapping the rhythm. Summoning the melody that would block the sirens and loud voices, that would return to him his invisibility.   

Happily Ever After; Part 5

Master Class, Week 8
First the congratulations and the prompt:  This week we had two aces. Michael of Innocents and Accidents, Hints and Allegations went outside the box with the cosmos of newborn parenting in Baby Monitor, and Tina of Not Just Another Mother Blogger came through with a calculated tale of domestic abuse with The Laughter of the Cosmos.

I asked them both to open a book and give me the first line from each. Tina chose Shadow of the Night by Deborah Harkness. Michael chose Winter Journal by Paul Auster. Your lines this week are:

From Shadow of the Night:

“The past cannot be cured.”

And from Winter Journal:

“You have entered the winter of your life.”

You can use these lines in any order, however you must begin the story with one and end it with the other. Please identify the lines in the story by enclosing them in quotes, bolding, or italicizing.

And now, my excuse prologue; I'm trying something a little...well, crazy here this week.  I have been writing and linking up to several prompts every week.  I've combined prompts and I've written separate stories to the individual prompts.  This week my goal is to write one story, and split it into parts.  Each part fitting one of the prompts I use.  It's my hope that each part stands alone, yet makes one understandable tale all together.

Part one is here  Part two is here and Part three is here and Part four is here


Okay then, on to the story....


“The past cannot be cured, Meeribel.” Arlord said. “You are Princess of the Realm of Windmore. All the choices that were made, by you, by myself, or by others, have placed you here.”

“You're saying that my father’s choice to trade me for a ewe made me a princess?” Meeribel raised an eyebrow, “He only wanted me to learn to be a lady. I’m sure becoming Princess of the Realm was not part of his vision.”

“Had he not sent you to the herbwife, who introduced you to Witch Willin, do you believe you’d be Princess now?” Arlord asked.

Meeribel raised the other eyebrow, “Maybe. Perhaps if my father had made a different choice, so would your father have made a different choice. And perhaps, a different Prince would have come to the farthest reaches of the Realm of Windmore. And perhaps, that Prince would have chosen me to be Princess.”

“Perhaps,” Arlord chuckled. “And would you still think that princessing was too much work?”

“Probably,” Meeribel sighed. “It can be very tiring to always smile and be polite.”

“That is part of the duty of a princess, Meeribel.”

“Part of the duty? What else would a princess do?”

“Well, a princess could, if she had the knowledge, inspect the royal flocks. Then she could report on the disposition of those flocks.” Arlord continued, “I have no real expertise in that matter. I can only accept what is told to me by the royal shepherds.”

“We have sheep? Why did I not know we had sheep?” Meeribel exclaimed.

“You never asked if we had sheep. You have never asked anything about the running of the Realm, Meeribel.”

Meeribel looked away from Arlord, her brow furrowed. “I never thought about the running of the Realm. I suppose I thought it simply took care of itself.” She looked back at the Prince, “I think I would like to learn more about that, perhaps I could do more than smile and be polite.”

“It could be harder work,” Arlord said with a wink.

Meeribel grinned, “It could not possibly be harder than smiling for no reason all the time. How much is there to learn?”

“I expect you will still be learning, Princess, when you have entered the winter of your life.”

                                                      
                                                       The End???
                                            

Happily Ever After; Part 4

Trifextra Weekend Challenge; Week Fifty-seven

For the weekend challenge we're asking for exactly thirty-three words written in first person narrative. Have fun with it and we'll meet you back here on 3/3! - 


I'm trying something a little...well, crazy here this week.  I have been writing and linking up to several prompts every week.  I've combined prompts and I've written separate stories to the individual prompts.  This week my goal is to write one story, and split it into parts.  Each part fitting one of the prompts I use.  It's my hope that each part stands alone, yet makes one understandable tale all together.
Part one is here  Part two is here and Part three is here





I didn't realize how much a princess has to do.
Mediate disputes.
Attend parties, host dinners.  
And all the while, I'm expected to look like a princess!

I miss being a shepherd's daughter.

Happily Ever After; Part Three

100 words inspired by Linda’s pick of Elvis Costello’s Brilliant Mistake. Be sure to use the Mr. Linky below, tweet and Facebook out your link, and tell a friend or 50.





I'm trying something a little...well, crazy here this week.  I have been writing and linking up to several prompts every week.  I've combined prompts and I've written separate stories to the individual prompts.  This week my goal is to write one story, and split it into parts.  Each part fitting one of the prompts I use.  It's my hope that each part stands alone, yet makes one understandable tale all together.
Part one is here  Part two is here





Meeribel had expected to be thrown from the palace, or into the dungeons. She hadn’t expected that Arlord had known all along of her deception.

“So, do you love me without the potion, then?” she asked.

“No, not particularly. Though, you are fair to look upon, and you have a pleasant disposition.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. Because even though I believed I could, I don’t love you either. And I really don't like being the princess, I made a mistake, it’s hard work. Should I leave, now?”

Arlord raised an eyebrow. “Leave? I think not. You serve the people now.”

Happily Ever After; Part Two

Write at the Merge; Week 9

The prompt: A fat, wet snow fell here this weekend, and while I knew we’re already turning our faces towards spring, I want you to draw your inspiration from a snow fall and a secret revealed.


I'm trying something a little...well, crazy here this week.  I have been writing and linking up to several prompts every week.  I've combined prompts and I've written separate stories to the individual prompts.  This week my goal is to write one story, and split it into parts.  Each part fitting one of the prompts I use.  It's my hope that each part stands alone, yet makes one understandable tale all together.
Part one is here 


Princess Meeribel leaned on the window ledge of a tower in the farthest reaches of the palace of the Realm of Windmore. The first snowfall of winter was throwing its white shroud over the castle grounds. She saw her life reflected in the bland and featureless landscape.

"Milady?" Katten, her maid puffed into the small room, “Milady, the Prince wishes your presence at dinner.”

Meeribel’s shoulders slumped, she had hoped Prince Arlord might take this one meal without her. She felt as trapped in the palace as she had slaving for the herbwife and Witch Willin in the farthest reaches of the realm not so long ago. Wearily she turned from the window, “Thank you, Katten. Please tell my husband I shall join him shortly.”

She left the tower behind, stopping briefly at her apartments to drop off the shawl she’d worn in the cooler space, freshen her hair and face. No need for the Prince to know she was unhappy.

“Milord, I apologize for my late arrival, I lost track of the hour.” Meeribel conjured a bright smile for her husband. “I hope you didn’t wait too long.”

“Ah! My Princess, not long at all.” She nearly winced at his obvious lie. The gravy had practically congealed in the bowl and the fluffy concoction of fruit salad had lost its fluff. “Come, Meeribel, sit.”

“Thank you, Husband,” she murmured as she took the seat next to him.

The serving maids heaped portions on her plate that were far too large for her poor appetite. She spent most of her meal pushing food from one side of her gold edged plate to the other. Arlord ate heartily, telling her of his day, seemingly unaware of her disinterest.

She nodded in the appropriate places, or said a word to show she listened. But, she was sure she’d be unable to remember any of the conversation.

Suddenly, Arlord was silent. She lay her fork on the table, and met his eyes. He had been watching her for some time without her knowledge.

“Milady, will you not tell me what bothers you? You smile, but it never reaches your eyes. You accompany me, but you are not with me.” Arlord pinned her with his gaze, gently demanding an answer.

Meeribel looked at her hands, then back to her husband. “Milord…my Prince. I have a confession to make.” She breathed deeply, determined to tell the truth with as steady a voice as she could muster.

Arlord waited patiently as she composed herself.

“I have deceived you, Arlord. I used a potion to make you love me so you would take me away from a life I hated. I thought I could be a good princess and a good wife. I was so very wrong. I made a terrible mistake.” She raced through the words before she lost her nerve.

Arlord looked at her for a long moment, his chin resting on his knuckles. He finally spoke, and Meeribel held her breath, awaiting her punishment. “My Princess, since you have made your confession freely, I shall offer my own confession.”

As Meeribel blinked in confusion, Arlord continued. “I admit, I made an error by accepting your cup of tea. My own witch was absent that day. She rejoined us, you'll remember, several days later. She immediately made me drink a rather nasty brew to counteract the effects of your own.”

Meeribel gasped, “but, why then..”

Arlord raised a hand to quiet her, “Since I had been proclaiming my love for you through half my realm, it seemed more prudent to just marry you than look the fool.”

Happily Ever After Part 1

Trifecta: Week Sixty-six

I'm trying something a little...well, crazy here this week.  I have been writing and linking up to several prompts every week.  I've combined prompts and I've written separate stories to the individual prompts.  This week my goal is to write one story, and split it into parts.  Each part fitting one of the prompts I use.  It's my hope that each part stands alone, yet makes one understandable tale all together.
So?  Here goes nothin"!


Congrats to all of our winners.  Check them out if you haven't already.  And give some love to our Featured Trifectans this week, your mug may be up there next.  On to the weekly challenge.

DOCTOR (noun)

1

a : an eminent theologian declared a sound expounder of doctrine by the Roman Catholic Church —called also doctor of the church

b : a learned or authoritative teacher

c : a person who has earned one of the highest academic degrees (as a PhD) conferred by a university

d : a person awarded an honorary doctorate (as an LLD or Litt D) by a college or university

2

a : a person skilled or specializing in healing arts; especially :one (as a physician, dentist, or veterinarian) who holds an advanced degree and is licensed to practice

b : medicine man

3

a : material added (as to food) to produce a desired effect

b : a blade (as of metal) for spreading a coating or scraping a surface

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 

• Only one entry per writer.
• Trifecta is open to everyone.  Please join us.

This week's challenge is community-judged.

• For the 12 hours following the close of the challenge, voting will be enabled on links.  
• In order to vote, return to this post where stars will appear next to each link.  To vote, simply click the star that corresponds with your favorite post.
• You can vote for your top three favorite posts.
• Voting is open to everyone. Encourage your friends to vote for you, if you wish, but please don't tell them to vote on a number.  The numbering of the posts changes regularly, as authors have the ability to delete their own links at any time.
• You have 12 hours to vote.  It's not much time, so be diligent! We'll send out reminders on Twitter and Facebook.

This week's word is doctor.  

Meeribel was a shepherds daughter in the farthest reaches of the Realm of Windmore. Her father was widowed and poor, unable to raise a young girl. So, he bartered his daughter to the local herbwife for a breeding ewe.

"Ye'll larn 'ow ta be a fine ly-day 'ere," he said as he led his prize ewe away. 

Meeribel smiled shyly at her new "grandmother".  

The old woman's eyes narrowed, "Dun be asmilin' at me, ye sassy git!  I give me bes' lambie maker away fer a pair o' workin' arms.  Start workin'!"  

Meeribel's smile faded to confusion. "Is that 'ow I'll learn ta be a ly-day, Grandmother?"

"I ain't yer granny!  An' if ye wants ta be a ly-day, afta ye finish tha chores here, get up to Witch Willin's.  If'n ye dust an' sweep her porch, mayhap she'll learn ye ta be a high ly-day." She nearly doubled over with screechy laughter.

So, Meeribel began a life of servitude to a crotchety old herbwife and an equally crotchety old witch.
She did learn to speak and act like a lady.  

She also learned the use of herbs from the herbwife. And the use of spells from Witch Willin.

Which came in handy when Arlord, Prince of the Realm, wandered into the farthest reaches of Windmore in search of a wife.  

She stole the correct herbs from the herbwife.  She ripped a page from the spellbook of Witch Willin. Then she spent an entire night concocting the perfect potion.

The morning of Prince Arlord's wifeless departure, she used the potion to doctor a cup of tea for his highness.  
She smiled shyly as she offered him a farewell drink for his journey.  Sighing, Arlord accepted the brew. One more more common girl trying to catch his attention. 

******

Meeribel waved gaily at the herbwife and Witch Willin as she left the farthest reaches of Windmore.  She leaned into Arlord's embrace as she congratulated herself on her brilliance.

The Boy

Week #4

This week's book is the  Margret Atwood’s classic, The Handmaid’s Tale, whose opening sentence is:

We slept in what had once been the gymnasium.

here is my offering;




We slept in what had once been the gymnasium. I'm sixteen now, so me and Gram and some of the men is on roundup.  Roundup is where we go out to the old, hardpack trails and find other peoples looking for a safe place to stay.  Cause most places isn't safe. That's why the fedment wants everyone to live in partments under they law.

But it got night so we stayed in the gymnasium.  That's what Gram called it.  She said it was a part of schoolclass where kiddos practiced sportplay.

I never had school. They stopped when I was two. Gram said a lot of things stopped when the sick came.  Gram said a lot of peoples died.  Like my dad, and big sis.  I don't remember them.

Gram is got a freespace. Fams get they own househome to live in and a little dirt to grow veges and berrifruit. Some fams share they dirt to grow beefs and porkers for food. And some grow different kinds a woolies to get they hair for making wear and covers. And we use they milks for soapbars.

Mama says they used to be mallmarkets to get all that stuff for money.  I don't understand what she means.  We trade things we make good for things other people make good.  I seen money, but it doesn't look like it's good for anything.

Gram shows new people stuff they can learn to make so they can trade for what they don't.  Sometimes partment people sneak out to trade stuff the fedment give 'em for freemade stuff. They say our foods is better tasted than what they get.

They bring tronics and metals and meds to trade. We dont make many meds. We use herbleafs. But sometimes that's not enough.

Metals get made into pretties or tools. We use the tronics to hear netspeak. That's how we know its time for roundup.   

Peoples get on the freenet and say they going to find space and what way they is going. The bad part is bandies listen too. Sometimes on roundup we find peoples robbed and dead. Sometimes we help peoples get away.

The peoples that lived will come to Gram's freespace or keep on to find they own.  We hope they get luck.  Some just go to the partments so they don't have to work dirt. 

Working dirt is hard, but I get all I need from it.  Gram showed me growing and puttinup.  And I can make my own wears and covers from woolie hair. I can cut it off the woolies and spin it. Then I can weave and knit for pieces of wear.

Sometimes I trade my makes for tools to make dirt work easy. Sometimes I trade for pretties.  Mama trades for books if she can find 'em.  She tries to show me how to see the words. Its hard, but I can know some of 'em. 

She says I need to know more so I remember how to make stuff. And learn to make new stuff. So I try hard as I can.  I seen pics of stuff I want to know how to make. Mama has lots of pics. Sometimes they make her cry. She won't say why.

One of the fams here has a girl kiddo I like. She makes pretties and she makes good wears. She can know a lot more words than me too. She helps me know some. 

I hope when I get my own househome and dirt she will like to work it with me. 

Goal

the prompt: We want to know what your goals and ambitions are for your writing, in 300 words or less. 


A long time ago, I used to make up stories. Write them down and sometimes illustrate them.

I took creative writing in high school. Even a poetry class.  I wrote. I have little journal books of crappy teen angst poems. The stories I wrote?  I don't know where they are. Long decomposed in some landfill I expect.

It all got lost.  In growing up and boys and work. Then motherhood and marriage.  Yes the mommy part came first.

The stories were still there. Locked in my head. Told and retold to the invisible passenger as I drove my intergalactic fighter or horse drawn cart to work or the grocery.

Pieces of elsetime.  Glimpses of otherwhen.

I can remember my mother telling me long ago she could see me at a typewriter, mixed drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, cranking out books.

Didn't happen.

Yet.

But I have taken a step. Sitting in front of a keyboard, coffee mug in one hand, cigarette in the other.  Learning how to pull  pieces and glimpses of elsetime and otherwhen out of my head and put them together.

Telling those stories.  Flying my magic carpet through the Internet, babbling away to You, my invisible passengers.

My Goal?

Simple.

Don't stop.

Dry Day

The sky bleached to white by heat while the wind blows furnaced air

Drawing the last moisture from leaves and crisping the lawn

As we sit in machine conjured comfort searching the heavens for clouds

Wishing for rain to pull us outside and gleefully jump in puddles

Prologue

Naddnē sat on her heels. Among the rubble of an ancient landslide. Hardy grasses trying to hold on at the high altitude, roots crumbling the broken stone into smaller broken stones. The valley below was her view. Treetops just visible above the milky haze.
The mist. The damn mist. There for almost one hundred years. Since the day she set it free. The day she broke it's bonds, and broke her bond with her people.
The day she left the valley, not by choice.

She remembered that day, and when she thought about it, her belly clenched. As if struck by a knife. Her people did not chase her away. Didn't tell her to go. They simply turned away. She didn't exist to them. This was no longer her home. They were no longer her people. Her family. Her friends.

And now. She had come back. To right her wrong. Return the mist to it's source. Return the valley to it's people.