I'm not gonna fib. Wednesday's post wasn't so simple. But as involved as the finished product was, I really enjoyed myself through the process of our story, and I thank the participants. You're all pretty cool.
Today, though, I'm taking the easy road. Sharla Scroggs, at a little salty..., gave me a blogger award this week (thank you!), and it included a fun meme. Here's my version. And it's harder than you think for a wordy writer to be so concise!
Your Cell Phone? small
Your Hair? curly
Your Mother? devoted
Your Father? heart
Your Favorite Food? edible
Your Dream Last Night? forgotten
Your Favorite Drink? caffeinated
Your Dream/Goal? books
What Room Are You In? mine
Your Hobby? decorating
Your Fear? spiders
Where Do You See Yourself In Six Years? grown
Where Were You Last Night? Wal-Mart
Something That You Aren't? athletic
Muffins? chocolate-chip
Wish List Item? chair
Where Did You Grow Up? Kansas City
Last Thing You Did? pottied
What Are You Wearing? casual
Your TV? off
Your Pets? pooch
Friends? fantastic
Your Life? blessed
Your Mood? so-so
Missing Someone? spouse
Vehicle? Jeep
Something You Aren't Wearing? hat
Your Favorite Store? antiques
Your Favorite Color? blues
When Was The Last Time You Laughed? recently
Last Time You Cried? waterlogged
Your Best Friend? awesome
Facebook? duh!
Favorite Place To Eat? out
Favorite Character you've written about? Sherman
What are your one-word answers? Go
Friday, January 29, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
A Rose by Any Other Name, written by us
See end of story for contributors' names and links. Minor edits, such as to POV and tenses, were made for overall cohesion. Otherwise, this story appears as submitted by our participating individuals. For details on who wrote which excerpt, see last Friday's post and its comments.
A Rose by Any Other Name
Small. That's only a start to describing the café, like an abandoned shoe box, ugly exterior, dilapidated corners. Still, my choices were slim, and my stomach hungered, so I sluiced through a puddle and parked at the lot edge. Told myself, Some of these places are gold mines, food so good, you forget where you're eating it. Maybe this was one such place.
`
I shoved off regret as I pushed through the inferior door, pushed through the urge to turn and go. A woman spied me then, too soon, before I could second-guess for good. No matter I couldn't tell her place--server? another diner?--as she flumped to a table with a bowl of beans. My presence had been detected, and I couldn't leave.
`
Had I been here before? Why did it look familiar? And why were heads turning my way?
`
I found a booth and took my seat. My back could never be against the door. I needed to watch.
`
The women behind the counter whispered as they stared at me. I read the menu, made my choices, and slid the plastic sleeved paper to the edge of the table. The permed and tattooed one rounded her station and walked to the booth. She had drawn the short straw.
`
"Long time no see," she said, cracking her gum. Her smudged name-tag said 'Cammie.'
`
I looked from side to side. "I'm sorry," I said. "I've never been here before."
`
Cammie raised her eyebrows. "Don't worry, Rose. We won't tell anyone you're here."
`
"My name isn't Rose," I said, being careful not to say what my name was. This place was not a hidden gem. It was a creepy, dirty diner, just like it looked. My lunch would probably be inedible.
`
"OK, your name isn't Rose and you don't want coffee with extra milk and two sugars, grilled cheese with tomato and a piece of Ella's peach pie."
`
How did she know?
`
"I'd better go."
`
I tried to edge past the ample woman.
`
"Stay Rose. What's the rush? He isn't here you know."
`
"Um, you have me mistaken with someone else."
`
Again I tried to leave.
`
Who was this Rose? And why did they think I was her? Did she truly resemble me?
`
The pit in my stomach grew larger, the hunger pains aching. I looked out the window hoping to find someone normal would stop by this little place. The woman didn't seem at all displeased at selecting the short straw, then again this Rose person didn't seem to be welcome here. I desperately wanted to leave, but as I inched to slid out of the booth, the woman stood right in my path.
`
"We are all friends, here! Stay a while, and get acquainted, Rose," the woman said.
`
"No, I'm not Rose. For the last time, I'm not Rose!"
`
The woman smile with a teasing smirk, "Ok, so you're not Rose. Who would you like to be?"
`
At that moment, a tall, elegant man walked in, nodded at the girls behind the till and slid into a far booth. I couldn't help but stare at his beautiful, and somehow recognizable, face. He caught my eye...and smiled.
`
"Rose, you're here...I thought..." He shook his head then got up from the booth to approach me.
`
"Uh...do I know you? What the hell is going on here?"
`
He stood over me, amusement playing across his face. His brown eyes twinkled, as if they held a secret. His warm hand rested on mine. I should have tucked my hand in my lap, but I couldn't.
`
For one brief moment, I wished I really were Rose.
`
He motioned for me to scoot over so he could sit beside me. At first I didn’t want to. He was, after all, a stranger even though he didn’t see it that way.
`
“You may sit across from me, but I am serious when I say that I am most certainly NOT Rose.”
`
The gentleman sat and scooted across his seat until he was directly in front of me. Then he leaned in close to stare at my face. At first I thought he was going to kiss me and I pulled back from him, but he didn’t. Instead his eyes reflected confusion and eventually he sat back against his seat.
`
“No way.” He shook his head. “This is too strange to be a coincidence.” Then he stared at me again before adding, “Has the thought ever occurred to you that, maybe, you might have a twin sister?”
`
My heart immediately jumped into my throat. I often had dreams of a sister. One who looked exactly like me, but they were just dreams. I was an only child, or at least, I thought I was.
`
My mind can't process this possibility right now. I can feel the anxiety grabbing hold of every inch of me as my heart is like a locomotive in my chest. This is not the time for a discovery or a reunion. It has only been 4 months since George's accident. I sleepwalk through my days.
`
"Miss, are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?"
`
"I'm not sure how I feel right now."
`
"Let me tell you about Rose." I looked up and knew that I had to hear the story. No hiding now.
`
My earlier hunger was replaced with nausea, but my mouth was suddenly dry. Cammie darted a glance at me as she passed and as I held out a hand, she flinched to avoid it. I pulled it back.
`
Um, I just wanted some iced tea, please?"
`
Cammie nodded and sent a concerned look to the man sitting with me before she headed off to get my tea. What on earth had I walked into? And what the hell had Rose done to these people to elicit such a reaction? I looked into the man's eyes.
`
"Go ahead."
`
"Come on, Rose," he said. "We know each other a little to too well for games, don't you think?"
`
He did look familiar in a vague sense of the word. Something about his eyes, the way his mouth turned up slightly more on the left than then right when he spoke, but still I couldn't place him.
`
"Listen, I am not Rose. I have no idea who any of you people are. I stopped in to get a bite to eat, against my better judgment. How about we start this conversation with you telling me who you are? Or better yet, how about I find another place to eat?"
`
He laughed, "Wow, you really are good. Okay, I'll play along. But first, what do you want me to call you?"
`
I gulped. I didn't want to tell him my real name. He'll never believe it. Yet I wasn't sure either if I wanted to make one up. I wasn't the type to lie or even pretend. I was just too honest.
`
I looked over the crowd in the restaurant trying to avoid answering his question.
`
Cammie brought my iced tea with her abrasive flounce, the glass clunking on the table. I gratefully gulped several sips.
`
Be brave, I said to myself. Pull up that courage. Go ahead and answer him. Tell him who you are.
`
I took in a deep breath and said, "Well, I don't even know your name but I might as well tell you mine You'll never believe it."
`
"My name is Peony, if you must know. My mother always said that the "poor man's rose" smelled more lovely and was more beautiful."
`
The man raised an eyebrow, and said "Peony, huh? How convenient."
`
Fear gripped me as his eyes roamed over my heavily clad body. A girl could never wear too many clothes in this kind of weather.
`
"I knew I shouldn't have told you."
`
The man looked more amused. "Peony. Who are your parents? Their names?"
`
"No way, I've told you plenty, now it's your turn. Tell me more about this Rose. Is she from here, and where did she go?"
`
"Yes, she grew up here, but..."
`
I raised my head and looked into the eyes that suddenly glazed over and a frown creased his forehead. I noticed his manicured fingernails as they drummed the table.
`
I caught the flicker of gold from his wedding ring; he caught me looking and a smug smile spread across his face.
`
“Peony. Peony.” He kept repeating the name, like he was getting used to it. "Maybe it doesn't matter anymore."
`
My pulse jumped out of my skin. I reached over to grab my glass.
`
“Don’t!” Before I could take a sip, he snatched it out of my hand, spewing ice tea all down my front. “Don’t take another sip.”
`
Ignoring the sharp chill of liquid hitting my body, I shot up out of my chair. People were looking. I didn’t care. Disgust and anger had eradicated my fear.
`
This was getting ridiculous.
`
“Just who are you?” I motioned to Cammie who was now cowering behind the bar, “this place? And who in the hell is this Rose?”
`
I stood looking at him. But before he could answer, a woman walked through the front door. She was carrying a gun.
`
The woman's eyes scanned the restaurant and immediately locked on mine. I froze. A small smile flashed across her face. She approached the table and placed a hand on the man's shoulder.
`
"Eric, I'll take it from here. Rose Buckingham, you've been a hard girl to find. I need you to come with me."
`
Fear traveled down my spine. "What? No way. I'm not going anywhere with you."
`
"Rose, let's not cause a scene. We can do this my way, or the hard way. I suggest my way." The woman took hold of my arm and led me towards the door... and a waiting police car. It was then I noticed the flash of her badge inside her coat.
`
"Um... you've got the wrong girl. I'm not Rose, I'm Peony!" I started to panic and glanced back at the man still sitting at the booth. He smiled and lifted a hand in a wave.
`
"See you soon Rose..."
`
I was put in the backseat of the cop car. I looked down at my purse. I needed to get to my cell phone, but who would I call? There was no one.
`
The officer slid into the driver's seat and adjusted her mirror to look at me. "You can thank me later for getting you out of there."
`
My eyes grew wide.
`
At this point it only seemed fitting that I keep my mouth shut. My heart pounded, begging to be released from its bony cage. My breath came in short gasps and I briefly wondered if this was it. The culmination of my years ending with an ill timed visit to a diner?
`
"Preposterous," I told myself.
`
"That's what I've been thinking, too, Rose. What should we do about it?" The cop in the front held my eyes in her rear view.
`
George will know what to do, I thought.
`
Reality crashed into my head. George was dead. I would never see his smile again. I would never be able to laugh at his bad jokes or hit him when he teased me.
`
My throat felt like it would squeeze shut and never open. George would never be able to help me. I was on my own, just like before.
`
I concentrated on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. This day had gone from odd to downright bizarre.
`
"Where are you taking me? What is it you think I did?"
`
I was going to have to gather my wits and sort this out, without George.
`
I was such an idiot.
`
"Do you want to see my driver's license? That will prove I'm not Rose."
`
"Sure, but fakes are a dime a dozen around here. You know that."
`
She shook her head like I was an idiot for pretending not to know about counterfeit IDs.
`
I dug in my purse, pulled out my wallet, fumbled with the stupid clip, flipped open the small leather folder and held it out. She took it.
`
"Nice," she said. "This is a pricey wallet."
`
"Look at the license."
`
She did. She looked at it, at me, at it, at me, folded and clipped the wallet and handed it back to me.
`
"That's a really good fake," she said. "Must've cost you a bundle."
`
This was going from bad to worse. I had to think of something - and fast. I thought about running, but there were no handles on the back seat doors of the cop car. I considered giving in to the sobs choking my throat. Maybe she'd be the sympathetic type. No. That dubious eyebrow and her belief that my perfectly good ID is fake were a hand I wasn't willing to play against.
`
But there was one possible way to convince her I was telling the truth.
`
"I'm not lying and I can prove it."
`
"Funny, Rose. There's nothing in the world you can say or show me that will help you out of this scrape."
`
"I want you to look at my left hip. Just do that for me, and you'll know for sure what a mistake all this is."
`
[Janna’s conclusion begins here.]
At the nod of her head, I moved to unbutton my pants, fingers numb and fumbling.
`
“No, wait. Stop, Peony.”
`
“But… how do you know my…?” Dry, my mouth so dry. I watched her start the car, slide into gear.
`
“We have to move from this place. Let me just…” she said, leading my thoughts to endless places.
`
She cranked the wheel, forcing its turn, and I thought, it needs power steering fluid—funny, the things you notice during intense moments. Power…
`
She rolled the cruiser around the corner, out of sight from the café, where she slowed to park.
`
“What are you doing?” I couldn’t keep the flame from my voice. “I have a right to know why you’ve got me, what you’re going to do!”
`
She left the engine running but unbuckled, shifted in her seat. Oh God, what’s she doing?
`
“Peony, stay calm. I know this is a lot to handle.” She pulled her hair from its clip, freeing long and curly locks. “I’ll make you understand.” She began to pull at her eyes, and my stomach turned.
`
“What are you doing!” My hand flew to the door. There had to be a way out of this car.
`
“Shh, shh,” she said. “Just be patient.” And faux lashes peeled away. She removed a mouthpiece; teeth, cheek implants.
`
Repulsion made me weak. My head lolled, banging the window. But I jerked alert fast, wide-eyed. This woman, she wasn’t a cop, I knew it now. And I knew because—
`
“Peony?”
`
“You—”
`
“I’m Rose. I’m your sister.”
`
The man in the diner, what was it he’d said? Something about a twin? And my dreams, so many dreams for months, so real…
`
“It’s difficult, I know. Peony, I’ve only known for four months.”
`
She reached for my hand as eerie fingers moved up my spine. “Four?” I stared into the deep brown eyes. The ones just like mine.
`
“I found out before George died.”
`
I gasped, the wind knocked from me. George! What did she know about my George?
`
“Things went horribly wrong. Those people,” she said, tipping her head in the diner’s direction, “they’ve been placed.”
`
“What do you mean? Placed by who?”
`
“Let me start at the beginning, as it was told to me…” Rose said. And I listened.
`
I listened for forty-five minutes, rapt, seized by her words. Words about our parents, who’d been witnesses to a murder. Who’d had to go into hiding. Who had to put their young daughters up for adoption. Rose and Peony.
`
“Us,” she said. Her eyes searched the street, the sidewalks. “And those people in the diner, they’re with the bad guys. They want us, it’s about retribution. And about protecting a years-old secret. They already got… our parents.”
`
“They’re dead?” I swallowed around the bile in my throat. “I don’t…” Tears misted, pressure building. It was all too much. Just too much. All I’d wanted was lunch. “But how did you find out? How did you find me?”
`
“It was George. He was an undercover cop, the one brought in to protect us. He was your love. And he was my best friend. He wasn’t supposed to get so close.”
`
“And the accident?”
`
“He wasn’t supposed to get so close.”
`
The face so new to me, the face I saw myself in, blurred. My seat, the car, the world spun.
`
“And we have to go, Peony. We have to leave now.” Rose spun in her seat, tugged the belt over her lap. “They’ll get us if we don’t.”
`
“Where are we supposed to go?”
`
“Cayman Islands,” she whispered low, her eyes darting through the windows. “I’ve wired money. I’ve chartered a plane. We leave in an hour.”
`
“How can you be telling me this?” I spat. “An hour ago I was thinking about a cheeseburger. I was going to rent a movie. And go home for a nap. What you’re telling me is not okay!”
`
“You don’t have a choice, Peony. And neither do I.” She shifted into drive and took off, faster than I could think.
`
“I can’t believe this.”
`
Minutes later, as we flew the freeway, a low sound floated from the front seat. A growl, I thought. No, it was laughter. Rose was laughing, her shoulders began to shake.
`
“I guess there is something, Peony.”
`
It didn’t matter. My life had ended with George’s death. Nothing more Rose had to say would affect me.
`
“Since we’re starting over,” she said, “we’ll get to choose new names.”
***
Contributors: Journaling Woman, Amy Sue Nathan, Tabitha Bird, Jen, Mumsy, P, Michelle Gregory, JLC, septembermom, Sharla, She Writes, JOY, VirtualWordsmith, Kristi Faith, Karen, Silicon Valley Diva, Jill Maxwell, Deb Shucka, and Janna Qualman
A Rose by Any Other Name
Small. That's only a start to describing the café, like an abandoned shoe box, ugly exterior, dilapidated corners. Still, my choices were slim, and my stomach hungered, so I sluiced through a puddle and parked at the lot edge. Told myself, Some of these places are gold mines, food so good, you forget where you're eating it. Maybe this was one such place.
`
I shoved off regret as I pushed through the inferior door, pushed through the urge to turn and go. A woman spied me then, too soon, before I could second-guess for good. No matter I couldn't tell her place--server? another diner?--as she flumped to a table with a bowl of beans. My presence had been detected, and I couldn't leave.
`
Had I been here before? Why did it look familiar? And why were heads turning my way?
`
I found a booth and took my seat. My back could never be against the door. I needed to watch.
`
The women behind the counter whispered as they stared at me. I read the menu, made my choices, and slid the plastic sleeved paper to the edge of the table. The permed and tattooed one rounded her station and walked to the booth. She had drawn the short straw.
`
"Long time no see," she said, cracking her gum. Her smudged name-tag said 'Cammie.'
`
I looked from side to side. "I'm sorry," I said. "I've never been here before."
`
Cammie raised her eyebrows. "Don't worry, Rose. We won't tell anyone you're here."
`
"My name isn't Rose," I said, being careful not to say what my name was. This place was not a hidden gem. It was a creepy, dirty diner, just like it looked. My lunch would probably be inedible.
`
"OK, your name isn't Rose and you don't want coffee with extra milk and two sugars, grilled cheese with tomato and a piece of Ella's peach pie."
`
How did she know?
`
"I'd better go."
`
I tried to edge past the ample woman.
`
"Stay Rose. What's the rush? He isn't here you know."
`
"Um, you have me mistaken with someone else."
`
Again I tried to leave.
`
Who was this Rose? And why did they think I was her? Did she truly resemble me?
`
The pit in my stomach grew larger, the hunger pains aching. I looked out the window hoping to find someone normal would stop by this little place. The woman didn't seem at all displeased at selecting the short straw, then again this Rose person didn't seem to be welcome here. I desperately wanted to leave, but as I inched to slid out of the booth, the woman stood right in my path.
`
"We are all friends, here! Stay a while, and get acquainted, Rose," the woman said.
`
"No, I'm not Rose. For the last time, I'm not Rose!"
`
The woman smile with a teasing smirk, "Ok, so you're not Rose. Who would you like to be?"
`
At that moment, a tall, elegant man walked in, nodded at the girls behind the till and slid into a far booth. I couldn't help but stare at his beautiful, and somehow recognizable, face. He caught my eye...and smiled.
`
"Rose, you're here...I thought..." He shook his head then got up from the booth to approach me.
`
"Uh...do I know you? What the hell is going on here?"
`
He stood over me, amusement playing across his face. His brown eyes twinkled, as if they held a secret. His warm hand rested on mine. I should have tucked my hand in my lap, but I couldn't.
`
For one brief moment, I wished I really were Rose.
`
He motioned for me to scoot over so he could sit beside me. At first I didn’t want to. He was, after all, a stranger even though he didn’t see it that way.
`
“You may sit across from me, but I am serious when I say that I am most certainly NOT Rose.”
`
The gentleman sat and scooted across his seat until he was directly in front of me. Then he leaned in close to stare at my face. At first I thought he was going to kiss me and I pulled back from him, but he didn’t. Instead his eyes reflected confusion and eventually he sat back against his seat.
`
“No way.” He shook his head. “This is too strange to be a coincidence.” Then he stared at me again before adding, “Has the thought ever occurred to you that, maybe, you might have a twin sister?”
`
My heart immediately jumped into my throat. I often had dreams of a sister. One who looked exactly like me, but they were just dreams. I was an only child, or at least, I thought I was.
`
My mind can't process this possibility right now. I can feel the anxiety grabbing hold of every inch of me as my heart is like a locomotive in my chest. This is not the time for a discovery or a reunion. It has only been 4 months since George's accident. I sleepwalk through my days.
`
"Miss, are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?"
`
"I'm not sure how I feel right now."
`
"Let me tell you about Rose." I looked up and knew that I had to hear the story. No hiding now.
`
My earlier hunger was replaced with nausea, but my mouth was suddenly dry. Cammie darted a glance at me as she passed and as I held out a hand, she flinched to avoid it. I pulled it back.
`
Um, I just wanted some iced tea, please?"
`
Cammie nodded and sent a concerned look to the man sitting with me before she headed off to get my tea. What on earth had I walked into? And what the hell had Rose done to these people to elicit such a reaction? I looked into the man's eyes.
`
"Go ahead."
`
"Come on, Rose," he said. "We know each other a little to too well for games, don't you think?"
`
He did look familiar in a vague sense of the word. Something about his eyes, the way his mouth turned up slightly more on the left than then right when he spoke, but still I couldn't place him.
`
"Listen, I am not Rose. I have no idea who any of you people are. I stopped in to get a bite to eat, against my better judgment. How about we start this conversation with you telling me who you are? Or better yet, how about I find another place to eat?"
`
He laughed, "Wow, you really are good. Okay, I'll play along. But first, what do you want me to call you?"
`
I gulped. I didn't want to tell him my real name. He'll never believe it. Yet I wasn't sure either if I wanted to make one up. I wasn't the type to lie or even pretend. I was just too honest.
`
I looked over the crowd in the restaurant trying to avoid answering his question.
`
Cammie brought my iced tea with her abrasive flounce, the glass clunking on the table. I gratefully gulped several sips.
`
Be brave, I said to myself. Pull up that courage. Go ahead and answer him. Tell him who you are.
`
I took in a deep breath and said, "Well, I don't even know your name but I might as well tell you mine You'll never believe it."
`
"My name is Peony, if you must know. My mother always said that the "poor man's rose" smelled more lovely and was more beautiful."
`
The man raised an eyebrow, and said "Peony, huh? How convenient."
`
Fear gripped me as his eyes roamed over my heavily clad body. A girl could never wear too many clothes in this kind of weather.
`
"I knew I shouldn't have told you."
`
The man looked more amused. "Peony. Who are your parents? Their names?"
`
"No way, I've told you plenty, now it's your turn. Tell me more about this Rose. Is she from here, and where did she go?"
`
"Yes, she grew up here, but..."
`
I raised my head and looked into the eyes that suddenly glazed over and a frown creased his forehead. I noticed his manicured fingernails as they drummed the table.
`
I caught the flicker of gold from his wedding ring; he caught me looking and a smug smile spread across his face.
`
“Peony. Peony.” He kept repeating the name, like he was getting used to it. "Maybe it doesn't matter anymore."
`
My pulse jumped out of my skin. I reached over to grab my glass.
`
“Don’t!” Before I could take a sip, he snatched it out of my hand, spewing ice tea all down my front. “Don’t take another sip.”
`
Ignoring the sharp chill of liquid hitting my body, I shot up out of my chair. People were looking. I didn’t care. Disgust and anger had eradicated my fear.
`
This was getting ridiculous.
`
“Just who are you?” I motioned to Cammie who was now cowering behind the bar, “this place? And who in the hell is this Rose?”
`
I stood looking at him. But before he could answer, a woman walked through the front door. She was carrying a gun.
`
The woman's eyes scanned the restaurant and immediately locked on mine. I froze. A small smile flashed across her face. She approached the table and placed a hand on the man's shoulder.
`
"Eric, I'll take it from here. Rose Buckingham, you've been a hard girl to find. I need you to come with me."
`
Fear traveled down my spine. "What? No way. I'm not going anywhere with you."
`
"Rose, let's not cause a scene. We can do this my way, or the hard way. I suggest my way." The woman took hold of my arm and led me towards the door... and a waiting police car. It was then I noticed the flash of her badge inside her coat.
`
"Um... you've got the wrong girl. I'm not Rose, I'm Peony!" I started to panic and glanced back at the man still sitting at the booth. He smiled and lifted a hand in a wave.
`
"See you soon Rose..."
`
I was put in the backseat of the cop car. I looked down at my purse. I needed to get to my cell phone, but who would I call? There was no one.
`
The officer slid into the driver's seat and adjusted her mirror to look at me. "You can thank me later for getting you out of there."
`
My eyes grew wide.
`
At this point it only seemed fitting that I keep my mouth shut. My heart pounded, begging to be released from its bony cage. My breath came in short gasps and I briefly wondered if this was it. The culmination of my years ending with an ill timed visit to a diner?
`
"Preposterous," I told myself.
`
"That's what I've been thinking, too, Rose. What should we do about it?" The cop in the front held my eyes in her rear view.
`
George will know what to do, I thought.
`
Reality crashed into my head. George was dead. I would never see his smile again. I would never be able to laugh at his bad jokes or hit him when he teased me.
`
My throat felt like it would squeeze shut and never open. George would never be able to help me. I was on my own, just like before.
`
I concentrated on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. This day had gone from odd to downright bizarre.
`
"Where are you taking me? What is it you think I did?"
`
I was going to have to gather my wits and sort this out, without George.
`
I was such an idiot.
`
"Do you want to see my driver's license? That will prove I'm not Rose."
`
"Sure, but fakes are a dime a dozen around here. You know that."
`
She shook her head like I was an idiot for pretending not to know about counterfeit IDs.
`
I dug in my purse, pulled out my wallet, fumbled with the stupid clip, flipped open the small leather folder and held it out. She took it.
`
"Nice," she said. "This is a pricey wallet."
`
"Look at the license."
`
She did. She looked at it, at me, at it, at me, folded and clipped the wallet and handed it back to me.
`
"That's a really good fake," she said. "Must've cost you a bundle."
`
This was going from bad to worse. I had to think of something - and fast. I thought about running, but there were no handles on the back seat doors of the cop car. I considered giving in to the sobs choking my throat. Maybe she'd be the sympathetic type. No. That dubious eyebrow and her belief that my perfectly good ID is fake were a hand I wasn't willing to play against.
`
But there was one possible way to convince her I was telling the truth.
`
"I'm not lying and I can prove it."
`
"Funny, Rose. There's nothing in the world you can say or show me that will help you out of this scrape."
`
"I want you to look at my left hip. Just do that for me, and you'll know for sure what a mistake all this is."
`
[Janna’s conclusion begins here.]
At the nod of her head, I moved to unbutton my pants, fingers numb and fumbling.
`
“No, wait. Stop, Peony.”
`
“But… how do you know my…?” Dry, my mouth so dry. I watched her start the car, slide into gear.
`
“We have to move from this place. Let me just…” she said, leading my thoughts to endless places.
`
She cranked the wheel, forcing its turn, and I thought, it needs power steering fluid—funny, the things you notice during intense moments. Power…
`
She rolled the cruiser around the corner, out of sight from the café, where she slowed to park.
`
“What are you doing?” I couldn’t keep the flame from my voice. “I have a right to know why you’ve got me, what you’re going to do!”
`
She left the engine running but unbuckled, shifted in her seat. Oh God, what’s she doing?
`
“Peony, stay calm. I know this is a lot to handle.” She pulled her hair from its clip, freeing long and curly locks. “I’ll make you understand.” She began to pull at her eyes, and my stomach turned.
`
“What are you doing!” My hand flew to the door. There had to be a way out of this car.
`
“Shh, shh,” she said. “Just be patient.” And faux lashes peeled away. She removed a mouthpiece; teeth, cheek implants.
`
Repulsion made me weak. My head lolled, banging the window. But I jerked alert fast, wide-eyed. This woman, she wasn’t a cop, I knew it now. And I knew because—
`
“Peony?”
`
“You—”
`
“I’m Rose. I’m your sister.”
`
The man in the diner, what was it he’d said? Something about a twin? And my dreams, so many dreams for months, so real…
`
“It’s difficult, I know. Peony, I’ve only known for four months.”
`
She reached for my hand as eerie fingers moved up my spine. “Four?” I stared into the deep brown eyes. The ones just like mine.
`
“I found out before George died.”
`
I gasped, the wind knocked from me. George! What did she know about my George?
`
“Things went horribly wrong. Those people,” she said, tipping her head in the diner’s direction, “they’ve been placed.”
`
“What do you mean? Placed by who?”
`
“Let me start at the beginning, as it was told to me…” Rose said. And I listened.
`
I listened for forty-five minutes, rapt, seized by her words. Words about our parents, who’d been witnesses to a murder. Who’d had to go into hiding. Who had to put their young daughters up for adoption. Rose and Peony.
`
“Us,” she said. Her eyes searched the street, the sidewalks. “And those people in the diner, they’re with the bad guys. They want us, it’s about retribution. And about protecting a years-old secret. They already got… our parents.”
`
“They’re dead?” I swallowed around the bile in my throat. “I don’t…” Tears misted, pressure building. It was all too much. Just too much. All I’d wanted was lunch. “But how did you find out? How did you find me?”
`
“It was George. He was an undercover cop, the one brought in to protect us. He was your love. And he was my best friend. He wasn’t supposed to get so close.”
`
“And the accident?”
`
“He wasn’t supposed to get so close.”
`
The face so new to me, the face I saw myself in, blurred. My seat, the car, the world spun.
`
“And we have to go, Peony. We have to leave now.” Rose spun in her seat, tugged the belt over her lap. “They’ll get us if we don’t.”
`
“Where are we supposed to go?”
`
“Cayman Islands,” she whispered low, her eyes darting through the windows. “I’ve wired money. I’ve chartered a plane. We leave in an hour.”
`
“How can you be telling me this?” I spat. “An hour ago I was thinking about a cheeseburger. I was going to rent a movie. And go home for a nap. What you’re telling me is not okay!”
`
“You don’t have a choice, Peony. And neither do I.” She shifted into drive and took off, faster than I could think.
`
“I can’t believe this.”
`
Minutes later, as we flew the freeway, a low sound floated from the front seat. A growl, I thought. No, it was laughter. Rose was laughing, her shoulders began to shake.
`
“I guess there is something, Peony.”
`
It didn’t matter. My life had ended with George’s death. Nothing more Rose had to say would affect me.
`
“Since we’re starting over,” she said, “we’ll get to choose new names.”
***
Contributors: Journaling Woman, Amy Sue Nathan, Tabitha Bird, Jen, Mumsy, P, Michelle Gregory, JLC, septembermom, Sharla, She Writes, JOY, VirtualWordsmith, Kristi Faith, Karen, Silicon Valley Diva, Jill Maxwell, Deb Shucka, and Janna Qualman
Monday, January 25, 2010
In Two Days
Today I simply say, come back Wednesday.
I'm writing the end of our story, and I'll post it (the whole thing) then.
Happy Monday!
I'm writing the end of our story, and I'll post it (the whole thing) then.
Happy Monday!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
A Title for Our Story
A Rose by Any Other Name
Fitting, eh?
Visit the last post (scroll down or click on Let's Write Together) to see how far our story has come. And to add more!
Thanks, everyone, this has been ridiculously fun.
Fitting, eh?
Visit the last post (scroll down or click on Let's Write Together) to see how far our story has come. And to add more!
Thanks, everyone, this has been ridiculously fun.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Let's Write Together
The idea, this somewhat superfluous idea, just came to me...
What if we wrote something together?
I'll start us off here, in this post, and each commenter leaves the next little bit. You'll have to read all the comments before your own, to know what's happened, to gauge where to go next. I know that asks a lot of your time. But if you're game...
Voice may vary, direction may change. No worry if you're not a writer; it's open to all. You can even come back more than once, as long as you allow others between your posts. Let's see how cohesive we can keep it. Or, if a whole piece wants to unfold for you, write it all and post on your own blog. I'm cool with that, too.
Wouldn't it be fun? And won't it be a great way to spark creativity?
I'll post the story we've written in its entirety next week (or links to your own, if that's what you choose). Let's say a few sentences to a paragraph or so each? Take a little room to play.
Here's our beginning:
Small. That's only a start to describing the café, like an abandoned shoe box, ugly exterior, dilapidated corners. Still, my choices were slim, and my stomach hungered, so I sluiced through a puddle and parked at the lot edge. Told myself, Some of these places are gold mines, food so good, you forget where you're eating it. Maybe this was one such place.
I shoved off regret as I pushed through the inferior door, pushed through the urge to turn and go. A woman spied me then, too soon, before I could second-guess for good. No matter I couldn't tell her place--server? another diner?--as she flumped to a table with a bowl of beans. My presence had been detected, and I couldn't leave.
What if we wrote something together?
I'll start us off here, in this post, and each commenter leaves the next little bit. You'll have to read all the comments before your own, to know what's happened, to gauge where to go next. I know that asks a lot of your time. But if you're game...
Voice may vary, direction may change. No worry if you're not a writer; it's open to all. You can even come back more than once, as long as you allow others between your posts. Let's see how cohesive we can keep it. Or, if a whole piece wants to unfold for you, write it all and post on your own blog. I'm cool with that, too.
Wouldn't it be fun? And won't it be a great way to spark creativity?
I'll post the story we've written in its entirety next week (or links to your own, if that's what you choose). Let's say a few sentences to a paragraph or so each? Take a little room to play.
Here's our beginning:
Small. That's only a start to describing the café, like an abandoned shoe box, ugly exterior, dilapidated corners. Still, my choices were slim, and my stomach hungered, so I sluiced through a puddle and parked at the lot edge. Told myself, Some of these places are gold mines, food so good, you forget where you're eating it. Maybe this was one such place.
I shoved off regret as I pushed through the inferior door, pushed through the urge to turn and go. A woman spied me then, too soon, before I could second-guess for good. No matter I couldn't tell her place--server? another diner?--as she flumped to a table with a bowl of beans. My presence had been detected, and I couldn't leave.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Still, Small (yet powerful)
I made a video post for today. Though the content is irrelevant for now, it was something I really wanted to share. I'll be honest. I thought the video was cute and charming. And I wanted you guys to see it.
Before uploading it, though, I started having second thoughts. I ramble too much. I'm a dork, there's no way to hide it. That thing I said, right there, sounded stuffy, or judgmental. I'm self-indulgent. And who's gonna want to see that?
So I prayed about it. I needed guidance, because if any of that was true, the video didn't need to be shared. I said, If that's the case, please make it clear to me...
It looked as though the video would process, no problem. I started glowing, excited, because it seemed I'd be starring on my blog again. Even after three, four hours, when the upload hadn't completed, I'd stopped looking for discernment. By then, I wanted it to work.
I canceled the upload, tried again. Then, when it still wasn't behaving, I left it uploading overnight. It would just take awhile, I figured. I'll wake in the morning, it'll have loaded and bam, video post.
Did you know I'm dense? Or stubborn. Both. Because when I woke to find the silly video was still processing, I started trouble-shooting. Maybe the internet disconnected, breaking the stream, it's locked up. Maybe the file size is too big; can I edit it down? Maybe if I stand on my left foot, whistle the call of the whippoorwill at .5 decibels, this thing will upload...
But hadn't I already gotten my sign? If I'd really been listening, I'd have known.
It makes me wonder how often I shrug off that still, small voice. How many times do I focus on what I want, instead of what I've asked for, which is His will?
Too often, probably. Too many.
I have to listen better.
This was my lesson. And instead of a video post, this is what I share.
Before uploading it, though, I started having second thoughts. I ramble too much. I'm a dork, there's no way to hide it. That thing I said, right there, sounded stuffy, or judgmental. I'm self-indulgent. And who's gonna want to see that?
So I prayed about it. I needed guidance, because if any of that was true, the video didn't need to be shared. I said, If that's the case, please make it clear to me...
It looked as though the video would process, no problem. I started glowing, excited, because it seemed I'd be starring on my blog again. Even after three, four hours, when the upload hadn't completed, I'd stopped looking for discernment. By then, I wanted it to work.
I canceled the upload, tried again. Then, when it still wasn't behaving, I left it uploading overnight. It would just take awhile, I figured. I'll wake in the morning, it'll have loaded and bam, video post.
Did you know I'm dense? Or stubborn. Both. Because when I woke to find the silly video was still processing, I started trouble-shooting. Maybe the internet disconnected, breaking the stream, it's locked up. Maybe the file size is too big; can I edit it down? Maybe if I stand on my left foot, whistle the call of the whippoorwill at .5 decibels, this thing will upload...
But hadn't I already gotten my sign? If I'd really been listening, I'd have known.
It makes me wonder how often I shrug off that still, small voice. How many times do I focus on what I want, instead of what I've asked for, which is His will?
Too often, probably. Too many.
I have to listen better.
This was my lesson. And instead of a video post, this is what I share.
Monday, January 18, 2010
How to Sound Smarter
I got the February 2010 issue of Reader's Digest last week, and there's an article that made me think of all of you.
How to Sound Smarter
Okay, yeah. While it sounds like I'm insulting you, I'd never. Not since I lurve you like I do. It was more what's in the article, "the Reader's digest version of those rules for talking and writing--the ones you missed in high school." See? Now it makes much more sense.
Some rules won't surprise you, others may make you cringe (guilty, as charged), while perhaps one or two will have you scratchin' your... whatever it is you scratch. Anyway, here are my favorites, as they appear in the article (bolding and emphasis theirs).
You never mean: Between you and I
You always mean: Between you and me
Why: Between you and I sounds fancy, therefore right, but don't be so quick to belittle Cookie Monster ("Me want cookies!"). In this case, me is correct because it's the object of the preposition between.
You almost never mean: I feel badly
You almost always mean: I feel bad
Why: Is your sense of touch physically impaired (almost never) or are you feeling some guilt after screwing up (almost always)?
You never mean: The reason is because
You always mean: The reason is that
Why: The reason is that the word reason implies because. Likewise, why say "the reason why" when you can say "the reason"?
You never mean: The person that
You always mean: The person who
Why: A human is a "who." Anything else (yes, including animals) is a "that."
You never mean: Could of
You always mean: Could have
Why: This error pops up because of the similar pronunciations. But remember, every sentence needs a verb: "I could have written a better cover letter."
[Janna's note: I could've written a better cover letter sounds like I could of written a better cover letter. Thus, confusion.]
You never mean: Very unique
You always mean: Unique
Why: Unique things and people are one of a kind, absolute.
You never mean: Everyone has their grammar hang-ups
You always mean: Everyone has his or her grammar hang-ups
Why: Everyone, everybody, and close cousin each are singular, so words that refer to them should also be singular. Or, since we all have our grammar hang-ups, you could just rephrase the sentence.
For more examples, see the latest issue of Reader's Digest.
So did you learn anything new?
Friday, January 15, 2010
DOOR
I wish I'd taken a picture of it.
I've thought of the crate a dozen times since I saw it in the bed of that truck. I remember its bulk; four by four by four it was. Homemade, I thought, flimsy, something someone threw together with plywood and nails.
No indication as to what was inside it, no markings, save bold, black and brushed-on letters facing the tailgate: DOOR.
It intrigued me. Still does. My mind keeps wandering back to that sight, conjuring explanation.
If I had a picture, I'd show you, and ask what would you imagine's inside the crate?
I've thought of the crate a dozen times since I saw it in the bed of that truck. I remember its bulk; four by four by four it was. Homemade, I thought, flimsy, something someone threw together with plywood and nails.
No indication as to what was inside it, no markings, save bold, black and brushed-on letters facing the tailgate: DOOR.
It intrigued me. Still does. My mind keeps wandering back to that sight, conjuring explanation.
If I had a picture, I'd show you, and ask what would you imagine's inside the crate?
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Progression, It's All I Ask For
I was loading laundry in the washer, thinking about (what else?) my writing, about where I want it to go in this new year. Initially, of course, visions of agent representation and publication bubbled up in my head, making me dizzy with want. And nerves. And fear.
But then, just as quick as I poured the detergent, I felt impressed to chillax, as my seven-year-old recently suggested. What I need to focus on became clear to me.
Just move forward.
Yeah, I could aspire to acquire an agent this calendar year. It's possible, right? And then beyond that, hope to get a book deal before the next ball drops? Forget that twelve months is rarely enough time to get the agent. It occurred to me that might not even be in the 2010 plan for me. It's possible I won't be ready. Or if I am at any point, that my agent match won't be.
Just move forward.
And you know, it really took a load of pressure off. Because I'm free to work on my craft, to read more, write more, learn all I can to get better. I can progress, see where it takes me.
That's what I want this year. As long as my writing moves forward, I'll be happy.
You?
But then, just as quick as I poured the detergent, I felt impressed to chillax, as my seven-year-old recently suggested. What I need to focus on became clear to me.
Just move forward.
Yeah, I could aspire to acquire an agent this calendar year. It's possible, right? And then beyond that, hope to get a book deal before the next ball drops? Forget that twelve months is rarely enough time to get the agent. It occurred to me that might not even be in the 2010 plan for me. It's possible I won't be ready. Or if I am at any point, that my agent match won't be.
Just move forward.
And you know, it really took a load of pressure off. Because I'm free to work on my craft, to read more, write more, learn all I can to get better. I can progress, see where it takes me.
That's what I want this year. As long as my writing moves forward, I'll be happy.
You?
Monday, January 11, 2010
Giveaway Results!
This is my 400th post! *throws confetti*
Meet Mike. "Do I look half-asleep?" he asks.
Sleepy or not, he's our Giveaway Guy. Why? Because I made him do it. I gave him his hat, wielded a camera, and here we are. (Is the hat fierce and sassy, as promised? I admit it's lacking zest, but I'll let you decide. I just couldn't get him in the fur-lined number.)
I readied thirty-two names, which went into the hat.
And for our first copy of Listening to the Page (see last post), Giveaway Guy pulls...
Alisa Hope Wagner from the beautiful site, Faith Imagined! Congrats, Alisa!
And quick, before Giveaway Guy nods off! Our second name is...
Tamika, from The Write Worship! Book two is yours to hoard away!
Congratulations winners! Please e-mail your mailing addresses to me, jannawrites (at) yahoo (dot) com, and I'll send your books this week.
`
Thanks, everyone, for playing along, I really had fun! And I think Giveaway Guy did, too...
`
`
Thank you, Mike, for your help. Mayhaps you've got cookies in your future.
Is it just me, or are there too many exclamation points in this post? It's all so dadgum exciting!
Friday, January 8, 2010
I Give You Books
I have something here beside me that I'm wanting to give away. Two somethings, actually; two new copies of the book Listening to the Page by Alan Cheuse.
`
I have to be honest, I haven't yet read my own copy, so I can't say whether it's entirely grand or something opposite. We'll have to read it together to find out.
`
But Cheuse is an esteemed author and NPR celebrity, who wrote this collection of essays about both writing and reading. It isn't a how-to, no, but rather a compilation of one writer's observations. Sounds intriguing, I think.
`
Check out his author's site, linked above. If the book (in paperback) is something you think you'd like, leave me a comment. At end of day Sunday -- let's say 7 p.m. CST -- I'll place everyone's names in a hat, something sassy and fierce, and ask my husband to draw randomly, twice.
`
Results will be announced Monday. See you then, winners' names in my pocket.
`
Have a great weekend!
`I have to be honest, I haven't yet read my own copy, so I can't say whether it's entirely grand or something opposite. We'll have to read it together to find out.
`
But Cheuse is an esteemed author and NPR celebrity, who wrote this collection of essays about both writing and reading. It isn't a how-to, no, but rather a compilation of one writer's observations. Sounds intriguing, I think.
`
Check out his author's site, linked above. If the book (in paperback) is something you think you'd like, leave me a comment. At end of day Sunday -- let's say 7 p.m. CST -- I'll place everyone's names in a hat, something sassy and fierce, and ask my husband to draw randomly, twice.
`
Results will be announced Monday. See you then, winners' names in my pocket.
`
Have a great weekend!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Just a Clarification
There's something I need to tell you.
Not because I'm touchy. Not because I'm sore about it, because I'm not.
But someday, when I'm published, and you search the small section of Qs in the library or bookstore... when you've found Qualman and whittle it from there to the Js...
You'll need to know my first name has two Ns. Just so there's no confusion.
J-a-n-n-a
I know those of you who refer to me as Jana don't intentionally misspell it. You've probably never looked closely. And that's okay, really, because it's most important that you notice my words.
But I bet now you won't forget.
Signed,
Janna ;)
Not because I'm touchy. Not because I'm sore about it, because I'm not.
But someday, when I'm published, and you search the small section of Qs in the library or bookstore... when you've found Qualman and whittle it from there to the Js...
You'll need to know my first name has two Ns. Just so there's no confusion.
J-a-n-n-a
I know those of you who refer to me as Jana don't intentionally misspell it. You've probably never looked closely. And that's okay, really, because it's most important that you notice my words.
But I bet now you won't forget.
Signed,
Janna ;)
Monday, January 4, 2010
That Snowflake Method
If you're a novelist, chances are you've heard of The Snowflake Method, Randy Ingermanson's proven suggestion for design and creation of a novel. I'd heard of it myself, but had never done much to check it out. Until over the weekend, anyway, when the new year and writerly goals hung all around me like so much... well, snow.
I have two novels-in-progress now, would you believe? (Would you think me crazy?) There's A Gradual Goodbye, near first-draft completion, that I've shared snatches of here and there. I'd wanted to finish by Christmas, but holiday demands were so full and draining, I couldn't. But I'm close, ready to just push on through.
The newest WIP, tentatively titled Celebration, is the one for which this character wouldn't let me rest. The voice became too loud, too strong, to sate with jotted notes in my notebook, so I swallowed doubt over starting another and cannonballed in. I wrote 9 pages and 2300 words in one afternoon, so I know that was the right thing to have done.
But this leaves me with two projects, see? As if it's not overwhelming enough to have one unfinished manuscript. And with the very real need to complete both stories, with no delay, I knew I had to try something more formal than my standard wing it method. Maybe I could give outlining--even if on some very small level--a try. That's why I began some online research, and it's how I gave The Snowflake Method a real-good looksee.
I haven't committed to the complete method. I relish the creative freedom that comes with flying by the seat of my pants as I write. I fear full outlines and formal formats would hinder me. But as I read down Randy's suggestions, Step 3 highlighted seven very crucial points (follow link and scroll). These are points any writer should work through (and revisit) as they craft a novel. (Randy recommends filing the info for each character, but I've found it incredibly helpful with just my protagonist.)
1) The character's name
2) A one-sentence summary of the character's storyline
3) The character's motivation (what does he/she want abstractly?)
4) The character's goal (what does he/she want concretely?)
5) The character's conflict (what prevents him/her from reaching this goal?)
6) The character's epiphany (what will he/she learn, how will he/she change?
7) A one-paragraph summary of the character's storyline
I think spending some time addressing these key points will help me keep both my protagonists and their stories straight, and ensure I'm headed in the right direction with each. I hope for that, at the very least.
Have you tried The Snowflake Method? Tell me about your level of success.
Do you think the points listed above would be helpful to you?
What about other methods?
I have two novels-in-progress now, would you believe? (Would you think me crazy?) There's A Gradual Goodbye, near first-draft completion, that I've shared snatches of here and there. I'd wanted to finish by Christmas, but holiday demands were so full and draining, I couldn't. But I'm close, ready to just push on through.
The newest WIP, tentatively titled Celebration, is the one for which this character wouldn't let me rest. The voice became too loud, too strong, to sate with jotted notes in my notebook, so I swallowed doubt over starting another and cannonballed in. I wrote 9 pages and 2300 words in one afternoon, so I know that was the right thing to have done.
But this leaves me with two projects, see? As if it's not overwhelming enough to have one unfinished manuscript. And with the very real need to complete both stories, with no delay, I knew I had to try something more formal than my standard wing it method. Maybe I could give outlining--even if on some very small level--a try. That's why I began some online research, and it's how I gave The Snowflake Method a real-good looksee.
I haven't committed to the complete method. I relish the creative freedom that comes with flying by the seat of my pants as I write. I fear full outlines and formal formats would hinder me. But as I read down Randy's suggestions, Step 3 highlighted seven very crucial points (follow link and scroll). These are points any writer should work through (and revisit) as they craft a novel. (Randy recommends filing the info for each character, but I've found it incredibly helpful with just my protagonist.)
1) The character's name
2) A one-sentence summary of the character's storyline
3) The character's motivation (what does he/she want abstractly?)
4) The character's goal (what does he/she want concretely?)
5) The character's conflict (what prevents him/her from reaching this goal?)
6) The character's epiphany (what will he/she learn, how will he/she change?
7) A one-paragraph summary of the character's storyline
I think spending some time addressing these key points will help me keep both my protagonists and their stories straight, and ensure I'm headed in the right direction with each. I hope for that, at the very least.
Have you tried The Snowflake Method? Tell me about your level of success.
Do you think the points listed above would be helpful to you?
What about other methods?
Friday, January 1, 2010
Character, But Not the Fictional Kind
Today, New Year's Day, I'm sharing something simple. A personal goal, one that will help shape my own character through the coming months.
Every negative or judgmental thought I have, starting now, has to be countered with a positive one. This will A) help me see the good more often, and B) make me aware of my thoughts, maybe eventually weedling out most of the bad.
I'm excited to see what this does for me.
What about you? Anything you'll work on in 2010 for the benefit of your own personal character?
Every negative or judgmental thought I have, starting now, has to be countered with a positive one. This will A) help me see the good more often, and B) make me aware of my thoughts, maybe eventually weedling out most of the bad.
I'm excited to see what this does for me.
What about you? Anything you'll work on in 2010 for the benefit of your own personal character?
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