April Aasheim's Blog, page 13
January 29, 2014
First Draft Done
It's official. Today I finished the first draft to the sequel of The Witches of Dark Root. It is 93,000 words long and I was crying at the end.
Now to put it away for several weeks and then take it out again, to begin the arduous process of the second draft. The first draft is creative but tough, the second draft, at least for me, is brutal.
At least for the next few weeks I can work on other things now that my head isn't tied into the book. Updating my blog is high up on my list.
For those of you who keep asking: The Magick of Dark Root probably won't be available until at least May. If I put it out now I doubt you could read it :)
Thanks for all the support!
April
Now to put it away for several weeks and then take it out again, to begin the arduous process of the second draft. The first draft is creative but tough, the second draft, at least for me, is brutal.
At least for the next few weeks I can work on other things now that my head isn't tied into the book. Updating my blog is high up on my list.
For those of you who keep asking: The Magick of Dark Root probably won't be available until at least May. If I put it out now I doubt you could read it :)
Thanks for all the support!
April
January 22, 2014
Quotes From Hubby
Things my husband has said to me this week:
What's a hashtag and where can I get me some of them?
I'm not bald. Bald is when your hair falls out. I shave my head. I'm bare.
Where do we keep the lunchmeat?
We have conversations all the time. You talk to me with the expectation that I will listen. That's a conversation.
How do you cook a hotdog?
What's a hashtag and where can I get me some of them?
I'm not bald. Bald is when your hair falls out. I shave my head. I'm bare.
Where do we keep the lunchmeat?
We have conversations all the time. You talk to me with the expectation that I will listen. That's a conversation.
How do you cook a hotdog?
January 10, 2014
Fat Cat
My cat weighs 11.5 pounds. I'm not sure if that's good or not. Hes about 10 months old and steadily gaining. Of course, when you're a cat, one pound makes a difference between svelt and obese. Kinda like my five foot frame. Maybe I need to put us both on a diet.
January 5, 2014
My New Year's Manifesto
Life is short. Don't waste it trying to prove your worth to others. How you feel about yourself is the only thing that matters.
Love wildly, with abandon, and without expecting anything in return.
Cry at sad movies and cheer inappropriately at the ends of really great ones.
Read poetry in the rain. Revel in the words of those who came before you.
Dance to your favorite songs, even if the music is playing only in your head.
Share your wisdom but accept that every person has to find their own path and their own way. Nothing teaches like experience.
Do something silly at least once a day. Twice on Saturdays.
Wear bright colors on the days you don't want to be seen.
Ask someone about their story. You'd be surprised what you may learn.
See the world through the eyes of a child. Innocence is our only salvation.
Eat chocolate before dinner.
Do something that's not on your to-do list. Better yet, crumple up your to-do list. Make a to-be list instead.
Speak honestly but kindly.
Treat yourself with compassion. There is only one you.
And you are a light in the world.
Love wildly, with abandon, and without expecting anything in return.
Cry at sad movies and cheer inappropriately at the ends of really great ones.
Read poetry in the rain. Revel in the words of those who came before you.
Dance to your favorite songs, even if the music is playing only in your head.
Share your wisdom but accept that every person has to find their own path and their own way. Nothing teaches like experience.
Do something silly at least once a day. Twice on Saturdays.
Wear bright colors on the days you don't want to be seen.
Ask someone about their story. You'd be surprised what you may learn.
See the world through the eyes of a child. Innocence is our only salvation.
Eat chocolate before dinner.
Do something that's not on your to-do list. Better yet, crumple up your to-do list. Make a to-be list instead.
Speak honestly but kindly.
Treat yourself with compassion. There is only one you.
And you are a light in the world.
January 3, 2014
My Favorite All Time Reads
Just compiling a list of my all time favorite reads as I start my new year. I'm hoping that by next year I will have even more books that will have such lasting effects as these have had on me.
On the Road: So I only read this last spring but I have a feeling this one will stay with me a long time. The narrators passion and exuberance for life and adventure make him a sympathetic character, even when he's doing things that shouldn't evoke sympathy. This book stands the test of time.
Gone with the Wind: I first read this book when I was 16, then again at 24. Now a full-fledged adult (complete with cellulite and a mortgage) I tried reading it again to see if it was really 'all that'. And yes, it was. Mitchell is a marvelous writer who makes an unlikable character likable and transports you back into another era. I realize there's content we may not find politically correct nowadays, but I'm a firm believer in not censoring something or pretending it didn't exist. It is only through reminders of how things used to be that we make any progress at all.
Wuthering Heights: More unlikable characters but I was rooting for Heathcliff and Cathy the entire book. They are reckless, careless, and terribly in love but, because of Catherine's pride, are kept apart. It is only in death that they are able to be together. Over the top? Yes. But deliciously so.
Fingerprints of the Gods: Before there was Ancient Aliens on TV there were books like Graham Hancock's Fingerprints of the Gods. This book makes the case that at one time there was an advanced human society walking the earth destroyed by a massive flood. Atlantis anyone? This book changed the way I looked at everything. Looking forward to the sequel.
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland: I read this when I was 14 and though I couldn't get all the political humor, I knew, even then, that it was a work of art. Jabberwocky is still my second favorite poem (right behind The Raven) and I can still flip through the book and find a passage that is relevant and interesting. This is a book with layers that both children and adults can appreciate.
Fried Green Tomatoes at Whistlestop Café: The book that turned me into a lover (and a writer) of women's fiction. Fannie Flagg has a way of weaving humor and drama into all of her books and in my opinion this is her very best work. A story that's both humorous and poignant, a story that still plays through my mind.
Where the Heart Is. Maybe its because I was a teen parent myself who also grew up in 'homes on wheels', but I could really sympathize with Novalee. She proved that your past didn't dictate your future and that as long as you had love you had hope. I reread this book many times when I was seeking reassurance and validation in my own life. It also strengthened my love of
women's fiction.
The Princess Bride (The Good Parts). The story was good and I read the book shortly after seeing it in the theatre with my dad (five times) but what really got to me about the book was the narrators voice. He was real and raw and his words still echo through my head "who says life is fair?" It was a contrast between the beauty of the fairy tale and the stark reality of a real, not quite what we hoped for, sort of life. Lifes not a fairy tale but we can still look to them to pull us through. That's what fairy tales are for.
Clan of the Cave Bear (and its sequels). I was thrilled when I moved to Oregon and learned that Jean Auel is a native. I loved her books and they opened my eyes to a world of human ingenuity and determination. In the later books I think they gave Ayla credit for far too many things, but her character and her world was still so interesting. I even named my half-wolf dog Ayla in honor of how much I loved these books.
What Dreams May Come. Yep, Im a weirdo, as for the next month after finishing this story I actually wanted to die and visit this picture of heaven that the author created. I wasn't afraid of death, at least not then. Beautiful book with an important message: we go on.
On the Road: So I only read this last spring but I have a feeling this one will stay with me a long time. The narrators passion and exuberance for life and adventure make him a sympathetic character, even when he's doing things that shouldn't evoke sympathy. This book stands the test of time.
Gone with the Wind: I first read this book when I was 16, then again at 24. Now a full-fledged adult (complete with cellulite and a mortgage) I tried reading it again to see if it was really 'all that'. And yes, it was. Mitchell is a marvelous writer who makes an unlikable character likable and transports you back into another era. I realize there's content we may not find politically correct nowadays, but I'm a firm believer in not censoring something or pretending it didn't exist. It is only through reminders of how things used to be that we make any progress at all.
Wuthering Heights: More unlikable characters but I was rooting for Heathcliff and Cathy the entire book. They are reckless, careless, and terribly in love but, because of Catherine's pride, are kept apart. It is only in death that they are able to be together. Over the top? Yes. But deliciously so.
Fingerprints of the Gods: Before there was Ancient Aliens on TV there were books like Graham Hancock's Fingerprints of the Gods. This book makes the case that at one time there was an advanced human society walking the earth destroyed by a massive flood. Atlantis anyone? This book changed the way I looked at everything. Looking forward to the sequel.
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland: I read this when I was 14 and though I couldn't get all the political humor, I knew, even then, that it was a work of art. Jabberwocky is still my second favorite poem (right behind The Raven) and I can still flip through the book and find a passage that is relevant and interesting. This is a book with layers that both children and adults can appreciate.
Fried Green Tomatoes at Whistlestop Café: The book that turned me into a lover (and a writer) of women's fiction. Fannie Flagg has a way of weaving humor and drama into all of her books and in my opinion this is her very best work. A story that's both humorous and poignant, a story that still plays through my mind.
Where the Heart Is. Maybe its because I was a teen parent myself who also grew up in 'homes on wheels', but I could really sympathize with Novalee. She proved that your past didn't dictate your future and that as long as you had love you had hope. I reread this book many times when I was seeking reassurance and validation in my own life. It also strengthened my love of
women's fiction.
The Princess Bride (The Good Parts). The story was good and I read the book shortly after seeing it in the theatre with my dad (five times) but what really got to me about the book was the narrators voice. He was real and raw and his words still echo through my head "who says life is fair?" It was a contrast between the beauty of the fairy tale and the stark reality of a real, not quite what we hoped for, sort of life. Lifes not a fairy tale but we can still look to them to pull us through. That's what fairy tales are for.
Clan of the Cave Bear (and its sequels). I was thrilled when I moved to Oregon and learned that Jean Auel is a native. I loved her books and they opened my eyes to a world of human ingenuity and determination. In the later books I think they gave Ayla credit for far too many things, but her character and her world was still so interesting. I even named my half-wolf dog Ayla in honor of how much I loved these books.
What Dreams May Come. Yep, Im a weirdo, as for the next month after finishing this story I actually wanted to die and visit this picture of heaven that the author created. I wasn't afraid of death, at least not then. Beautiful book with an important message: we go on.
January 2, 2014
A Man Who Looked Like Jesus
While standing in the checkout line on Christmas Eve with my mother we spy a Time Magazine. On its cover is a giant picture of Jesus.
Mother wanders over to the picture and begins to trace the lines of his hair with her fingers. In a very loud voice she says, "do you know who this looks like?"
At this, the entire line turns in her direction.
"Jesus?" I answer.
"Well, yes, but..."
"Every rock star from the 70's?"
"Oh, them too, but..."
"But?"
There is snickering from the crowd as my mother attempts to sort this out in her brain.
"A famous pool player I used to date. Back when you were a baby."
I hold my tongue. My mom dated a lot of people 'back when I was a baby'. So eager was she to regain her figure and her dating life that I've been told I was weaned while still in the uterus.
"Yes," she says, spurred on by the entire line of last minute shoppers who were her captive audience by now. "How do you think I learned to hustle pool?"
"I have no idea."
"He put ball bearings in his pool stick to help with balance," mother said, demonstrating as she held an imaginary stick over the conveyor belt, lining it up against three cans of corn. "No one could whoop me when I had his stick in my hands."
At that the crowd behind us burst into laughter and mother repeated, "its true."
"That's nice," I say as the checker calls us to pay for our goods.
"Maybe I should buy the magazine," mother continues, looking at it wistfully and mentally calculating whether or not she can afford the 8.99 asking price. It's a steep price for a senior living on a fixed income.
"Its a lot of money," I say, always the voice of reason.
"Yes," she agrees. "But every time I look at Jesus I can think about my pool hustling days and my old boyfriends. It might be worth it."
"And that," I said, grabbing my bags, "is what Christmas is really all about."
Mother wanders over to the picture and begins to trace the lines of his hair with her fingers. In a very loud voice she says, "do you know who this looks like?"
At this, the entire line turns in her direction."Jesus?" I answer.
"Well, yes, but..."
"Every rock star from the 70's?"
"Oh, them too, but..."
"But?"
There is snickering from the crowd as my mother attempts to sort this out in her brain.
"A famous pool player I used to date. Back when you were a baby."
I hold my tongue. My mom dated a lot of people 'back when I was a baby'. So eager was she to regain her figure and her dating life that I've been told I was weaned while still in the uterus.
"Yes," she says, spurred on by the entire line of last minute shoppers who were her captive audience by now. "How do you think I learned to hustle pool?"
"I have no idea."
"He put ball bearings in his pool stick to help with balance," mother said, demonstrating as she held an imaginary stick over the conveyor belt, lining it up against three cans of corn. "No one could whoop me when I had his stick in my hands."
At that the crowd behind us burst into laughter and mother repeated, "its true."
"That's nice," I say as the checker calls us to pay for our goods.
"Maybe I should buy the magazine," mother continues, looking at it wistfully and mentally calculating whether or not she can afford the 8.99 asking price. It's a steep price for a senior living on a fixed income.
"Its a lot of money," I say, always the voice of reason.
"Yes," she agrees. "But every time I look at Jesus I can think about my pool hustling days and my old boyfriends. It might be worth it."
"And that," I said, grabbing my bags, "is what Christmas is really all about."
December 28, 2013
December 4, 2013
Mrs Claus Has Had Enough
(This came about as a challenge to write a 500 word humorous Christmas Story)
Goody Clause and the Christmas Purpose
Tippy, tippy, tap. Little elven feet exploded on tabletops, whirling and twirling to the rhythm of a tambourine. Weekend dads posed with their kids as reporters clicked cameras. The North Pole was busy this time of year. Mrs. Clause – Goody to her friends - smiled for a quick shot and then excused herself to ‘bake cookies’. Inside the office, Goody kicked off her shoes and slid out of her Spanx. She surveyed the room. Even in this sanctuary toys were stacked ceiling high. She reached for a cookie, thought better of it, and turned away. Even her Spanx needed Spanx. A growling noise caught her attention and she turned to see her husband sleeping in his favorite chair, a concerned wrinkle across his brow. “Poor dear,” she said, covering him and kissing his cheek. With only two weeks till Christmas he had been putting in long hours, and it was beginning to show. Goody sighed, remembering simpler times. Dolls for girls. Trains for boys. Coal for the naughty. Nowadays everyone wanted dolls that peed and trains that moved. And Elves didn’t make batteries. Santa had to outsource that job to China. And kids today…one toy wasn’t enough…they had lists! And now with the population tipping at seven billion… Goody furrowed her brow. She wasn’t good at mat, but she knew there were not enough elves in the Arctic to accommodate that load. “That’s it,” she said, flopping into the computer chair. “I wash my hands of this. Santa’s exhausted and I’m fat. We’re moving to Belize.” Goody flipped on her husband’s computer and fantasized about her new life. She had spent the last 200 years baking, smiling, and feeding reindeer. Maybe now she could work out, play Bunco, and watch Oprah. She could find her purpose. She was googling ‘things to do in Belize’ when an odd blinking light appeared in the corner of her monitor. Alarmed that she had broken something, she almost roused Santa. Then she noticed it was a message. A magic, coded message! Dear Santa, I no u r buzy but can I plz have a doll for xmas. I need some1 to luv me. Mary Dryer Goody shook her head as an image of Mary Dryer popped into her memory. A dark-haired beauty with large eyes. A child who wanted just one doll for Christmas. Goody groaned as Google summoned up pictures of a Belizean beach. “Well, darn it,” she said, rolling the chair to the doll shelf across the room. She searched until she found the perfect one: a cuddly darling that didn’t pee. “You will be well loved,” she said, giving the doll a kiss and sending it to the sleigh. Goody watched as 100 linking lights filled the monitor. Santa yawned. “Good nap. Anything interesting happen while I was out?” “Yes. You got yourself a new assistant.” “I did? Who?” Goody stood, dusting crumbs from her gown. “Why, me of course. I just found my purpose.”
*April Aasheim maintains an active blog and is the writer of The Witches of Dark Root
Goody Clause and the Christmas Purpose
Tippy, tippy, tap. Little elven feet exploded on tabletops, whirling and twirling to the rhythm of a tambourine. Weekend dads posed with their kids as reporters clicked cameras. The North Pole was busy this time of year. Mrs. Clause – Goody to her friends - smiled for a quick shot and then excused herself to ‘bake cookies’. Inside the office, Goody kicked off her shoes and slid out of her Spanx. She surveyed the room. Even in this sanctuary toys were stacked ceiling high. She reached for a cookie, thought better of it, and turned away. Even her Spanx needed Spanx. A growling noise caught her attention and she turned to see her husband sleeping in his favorite chair, a concerned wrinkle across his brow. “Poor dear,” she said, covering him and kissing his cheek. With only two weeks till Christmas he had been putting in long hours, and it was beginning to show. Goody sighed, remembering simpler times. Dolls for girls. Trains for boys. Coal for the naughty. Nowadays everyone wanted dolls that peed and trains that moved. And Elves didn’t make batteries. Santa had to outsource that job to China. And kids today…one toy wasn’t enough…they had lists! And now with the population tipping at seven billion… Goody furrowed her brow. She wasn’t good at mat, but she knew there were not enough elves in the Arctic to accommodate that load. “That’s it,” she said, flopping into the computer chair. “I wash my hands of this. Santa’s exhausted and I’m fat. We’re moving to Belize.” Goody flipped on her husband’s computer and fantasized about her new life. She had spent the last 200 years baking, smiling, and feeding reindeer. Maybe now she could work out, play Bunco, and watch Oprah. She could find her purpose. She was googling ‘things to do in Belize’ when an odd blinking light appeared in the corner of her monitor. Alarmed that she had broken something, she almost roused Santa. Then she noticed it was a message. A magic, coded message! Dear Santa, I no u r buzy but can I plz have a doll for xmas. I need some1 to luv me. Mary Dryer Goody shook her head as an image of Mary Dryer popped into her memory. A dark-haired beauty with large eyes. A child who wanted just one doll for Christmas. Goody groaned as Google summoned up pictures of a Belizean beach. “Well, darn it,” she said, rolling the chair to the doll shelf across the room. She searched until she found the perfect one: a cuddly darling that didn’t pee. “You will be well loved,” she said, giving the doll a kiss and sending it to the sleigh. Goody watched as 100 linking lights filled the monitor. Santa yawned. “Good nap. Anything interesting happen while I was out?” “Yes. You got yourself a new assistant.” “I did? Who?” Goody stood, dusting crumbs from her gown. “Why, me of course. I just found my purpose.”
*April Aasheim maintains an active blog and is the writer of The Witches of Dark Root
November 20, 2013
Spring Gets News
The Universe is a Very Big Place will be on sale all week at Amazon as an ebook (.99 - 1.99) I will be posting excerpts throughout the week.
1997
“Come on, come on.” Spring tapped the little white stick against her knees, willing it to change color. “I don’t think that’s gonna help,” Jason said. He was standing with his back pressed against the door of their stall, looking down at her. She should have stood too. It seemed like a standing occasion. But after she had peed on the stick her knees refused to make the trip upward. They had just ceased to work. “If you keep messing with that stick you might skew the results.”Spring shot him a look. “Since when do you use words like skew?” Jason released his brown hair from the rubber band at the nape of his neck, only to gather it back up into a small pony tail and secure it again. He had done this at least a dozen times while they had waited for the results. “It’s one syllable. Don’t be shocked.”Spring looked at the stick again. The little pink cross in the window had darkened, almost to a crimson red. She was not only pregnant. She was really, really pregnant. She thrust the stick at Jason and fell forward, cradling her knees. “Oh god!” Jason went to pat her head but she pulled away. “Please just stop.”He said nothing as he squatted down beside. She could feel him listening to her, waiting for the sobs to subside. He had no problem fighting her, but he was at a loss when she cried. She took a deep breath to calm herself, a trick Lanie had taught her when she younger. She had suffered anxiety from crowds then, a job hazard for any carnie. “Breathe in, breath out,” Lanie had instructed her. “Find your center. C’mon girl. Stop breathing like you just run a fucking marathon. Slowly. In. out. Release.” Once she had calmed he reached for her hair, letting the baby fine strands of yellow-white ribbon slide through his fingers. She didn’t let many people touch her hair, but she let him. “I suppose,” she said, looking up at him with red, tear-stained eyes, “that purchasing a condom from a rusted machine in the lobby of Ed’s Guns and Exotic Animal Shoppe was probably not our wisest move.” She sobbed and laughed at the same time and felt a long line of snot fall from her nose. Jason grabbed a wad of toilet paper and caught it.“You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here.”Spring felt the wail in her throat and fought it. She was angry right now, and she was afraid she would say something she regretted. “I just got accepted into Arizona State,” she said, drying her eyes on the back of her hand. “After three years of struggling to get through Community College so that I could leave this… life behind, things were starting to change for me. Now what?”
“You can still go. This isn’t the 50’s.Girls go to school pregnant all the time. Even on TV.”"I don’t want to go pregnant!” She started crying again and she tucked her face into her skirt, smearing mascara across the hem. He didn’t get it. “I wanted to go…hot.”Jason laughed. “Hot’s what got you into this mess, my dear. You’re too hot for your own good.”Spring snorted and took the tissue Jason offered her. He knew her too well. They had been friends for years, but a few drinks and a slow night slinging cotton candy last fall had changed it all. Now they were bound together, one way or another. As Lanie would say, their fate strings had gotten all jumbled up.“I got a crazy idea,” he said, pulling her up by the arms. He was a good six inches taller than her and smelled like French fries and Old Spice. “Why don’t we get married? We’ve been practically living together in my van for the last six months. Why not make it official?” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Just think…you, me, the little Bambino, touring the country side together. If he’s musically inclined we could start a family band. Be like the Partridges. Only not so gay.” I could, she thought, nuzzling into him. He was safe and warm and familiar. She remembered the day her mother had picked him up on the side of the road nine six earlier. “Hitch hiking to Santa Cruz” he had said, off to pursue his music career. He never made it to Santa Cruz. Once he learned how much money could be made hustling kids out of their allowance to see The Half Monkey Lady, he had settled in. That was the way it was here. The Carnival was one big roach motel. You check in, you eat a bunch of crap, and you stay until you die. Very few people escaped. They had intentions of leaving, but one by one The Carnival took them all. Heart disease. Obesity. Drugs. Equipment failure. Dead by fifty, most of them. There was no fading gracefully into old age here. You just stopped. If it didn’t take them entirely it took some of their best parts. Just two months ago a young man had given up a limb to a roller coaster. He had climbed the steel mountain to fix a dangling bolt, when the car ran over his arm. They say he may have saved some people with his bravery. But the papers never heard of it. Bad for business. Now he’s quietly employed as the ticket taker at the back of the lot. “What do you say?” Jason pulled her in tighter. “I bet I’m damned good at changing diapers.”She took a deep breath. Though she cared about Jason, he had nothing more to offer her than his body, his guitar, and the eternal belief that someday he would roadie for Phish. “It wouldn’t work.” She whispered. “We’re too different. And besides…”Jason released her from his arms and narrowed his eyes, ready to battle. “And besides what? Oh, never mind, I know. I’m not good enough for you.” He pushed through the stall door and into the empty bathroom. “Afraid you will end up like your mother?”Spring lowered her eyes. Yes, she was afraid of that, and why not? It was a legitimate fear. But there was more to it. She followed him into the bathroom. “We just aren’t right for each other Jason.”“Oh, I see.” Jason fell forward over the standalone sink, slamming his hands into the mirror. “We were right for each other a few weeks ago weren’t we? And even a few nights ago. But not for the long haul. No, Spring reserves that spot for someone more worthy. Am I right?” “Stop it. That’s not fair.”“Isn’t it? Don’t think I don’t know about that little fairy tale you believe in. You get one love in this lifetime and that’s it right? Don’t waste it on the Ferris wheel guy.” Spring felt her knees give and her stomach roil. She moved back into the stall and fought the nausea. It seemed too early for morning sickness. “Jason, please. There are many reasons we aren’t right for each other. You’re my best friend but…”“No, I get it. What could I possibly offer you?” He turned the water on and shut it off again. “I hope for your sake that fairy tales come true. Or you’re in for a long, lonely life.” Spring heard him pull a paper towel from the chute, wipe his hands, and toss it into the waste bin. “When you decide what you want to do let me know. I will be there for the baby if decide to keep it. And I hope you do keep it.” Spring listened as Jason stomped across the bathroom and out the door. **
From The Universe is a Very Big Place. On sale Nov 20-26 through Amazon.
1997
“Come on, come on.” Spring tapped the little white stick against her knees, willing it to change color. “I don’t think that’s gonna help,” Jason said. He was standing with his back pressed against the door of their stall, looking down at her. She should have stood too. It seemed like a standing occasion. But after she had peed on the stick her knees refused to make the trip upward. They had just ceased to work. “If you keep messing with that stick you might skew the results.”Spring shot him a look. “Since when do you use words like skew?” Jason released his brown hair from the rubber band at the nape of his neck, only to gather it back up into a small pony tail and secure it again. He had done this at least a dozen times while they had waited for the results. “It’s one syllable. Don’t be shocked.”Spring looked at the stick again. The little pink cross in the window had darkened, almost to a crimson red. She was not only pregnant. She was really, really pregnant. She thrust the stick at Jason and fell forward, cradling her knees. “Oh god!” Jason went to pat her head but she pulled away. “Please just stop.”He said nothing as he squatted down beside. She could feel him listening to her, waiting for the sobs to subside. He had no problem fighting her, but he was at a loss when she cried. She took a deep breath to calm herself, a trick Lanie had taught her when she younger. She had suffered anxiety from crowds then, a job hazard for any carnie. “Breathe in, breath out,” Lanie had instructed her. “Find your center. C’mon girl. Stop breathing like you just run a fucking marathon. Slowly. In. out. Release.” Once she had calmed he reached for her hair, letting the baby fine strands of yellow-white ribbon slide through his fingers. She didn’t let many people touch her hair, but she let him. “I suppose,” she said, looking up at him with red, tear-stained eyes, “that purchasing a condom from a rusted machine in the lobby of Ed’s Guns and Exotic Animal Shoppe was probably not our wisest move.” She sobbed and laughed at the same time and felt a long line of snot fall from her nose. Jason grabbed a wad of toilet paper and caught it.“You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here.”Spring felt the wail in her throat and fought it. She was angry right now, and she was afraid she would say something she regretted. “I just got accepted into Arizona State,” she said, drying her eyes on the back of her hand. “After three years of struggling to get through Community College so that I could leave this… life behind, things were starting to change for me. Now what?”“You can still go. This isn’t the 50’s.Girls go to school pregnant all the time. Even on TV.”"I don’t want to go pregnant!” She started crying again and she tucked her face into her skirt, smearing mascara across the hem. He didn’t get it. “I wanted to go…hot.”Jason laughed. “Hot’s what got you into this mess, my dear. You’re too hot for your own good.”Spring snorted and took the tissue Jason offered her. He knew her too well. They had been friends for years, but a few drinks and a slow night slinging cotton candy last fall had changed it all. Now they were bound together, one way or another. As Lanie would say, their fate strings had gotten all jumbled up.“I got a crazy idea,” he said, pulling her up by the arms. He was a good six inches taller than her and smelled like French fries and Old Spice. “Why don’t we get married? We’ve been practically living together in my van for the last six months. Why not make it official?” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Just think…you, me, the little Bambino, touring the country side together. If he’s musically inclined we could start a family band. Be like the Partridges. Only not so gay.” I could, she thought, nuzzling into him. He was safe and warm and familiar. She remembered the day her mother had picked him up on the side of the road nine six earlier. “Hitch hiking to Santa Cruz” he had said, off to pursue his music career. He never made it to Santa Cruz. Once he learned how much money could be made hustling kids out of their allowance to see The Half Monkey Lady, he had settled in. That was the way it was here. The Carnival was one big roach motel. You check in, you eat a bunch of crap, and you stay until you die. Very few people escaped. They had intentions of leaving, but one by one The Carnival took them all. Heart disease. Obesity. Drugs. Equipment failure. Dead by fifty, most of them. There was no fading gracefully into old age here. You just stopped. If it didn’t take them entirely it took some of their best parts. Just two months ago a young man had given up a limb to a roller coaster. He had climbed the steel mountain to fix a dangling bolt, when the car ran over his arm. They say he may have saved some people with his bravery. But the papers never heard of it. Bad for business. Now he’s quietly employed as the ticket taker at the back of the lot. “What do you say?” Jason pulled her in tighter. “I bet I’m damned good at changing diapers.”She took a deep breath. Though she cared about Jason, he had nothing more to offer her than his body, his guitar, and the eternal belief that someday he would roadie for Phish. “It wouldn’t work.” She whispered. “We’re too different. And besides…”Jason released her from his arms and narrowed his eyes, ready to battle. “And besides what? Oh, never mind, I know. I’m not good enough for you.” He pushed through the stall door and into the empty bathroom. “Afraid you will end up like your mother?”Spring lowered her eyes. Yes, she was afraid of that, and why not? It was a legitimate fear. But there was more to it. She followed him into the bathroom. “We just aren’t right for each other Jason.”“Oh, I see.” Jason fell forward over the standalone sink, slamming his hands into the mirror. “We were right for each other a few weeks ago weren’t we? And even a few nights ago. But not for the long haul. No, Spring reserves that spot for someone more worthy. Am I right?” “Stop it. That’s not fair.”“Isn’t it? Don’t think I don’t know about that little fairy tale you believe in. You get one love in this lifetime and that’s it right? Don’t waste it on the Ferris wheel guy.” Spring felt her knees give and her stomach roil. She moved back into the stall and fought the nausea. It seemed too early for morning sickness. “Jason, please. There are many reasons we aren’t right for each other. You’re my best friend but…”“No, I get it. What could I possibly offer you?” He turned the water on and shut it off again. “I hope for your sake that fairy tales come true. Or you’re in for a long, lonely life.” Spring heard him pull a paper towel from the chute, wipe his hands, and toss it into the waste bin. “When you decide what you want to do let me know. I will be there for the baby if decide to keep it. And I hope you do keep it.” Spring listened as Jason stomped across the bathroom and out the door. **
From The Universe is a Very Big Place. On sale Nov 20-26 through Amazon.
November 18, 2013
The Witches of Dark Root (Prologue)
Prologue for The Witches of Dark Root (on sale now).
Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, Dark Root, OregonFebruary, 2005
The shop was cold and dimly lit, musty and confining.
A spider web had attached itself to the archway that separated the main room from the back and I ducked each time I passed beneath it, not bothering to sweep it down. Shelves lined every wall of Mother’s Magick shop, displaying the hundreds of candles, masks, figurines, and baubles that made Miss Sasha’s the most popular attraction in all of Dark Root.
While the oddities fascinated tourists, I hardly noticed them anymore as I went about my work. I hardly noticed anything anymore, except the clock that ticked down the minutes until I was released from my daily servitude.
“Excuse me,” said a woman who had been meandering near the book section for the last hour. “Where is your restroom?”
I responded by opening the front door.
She looked like she was going to protest but decided against it. My apathy for the shop was notorious. She would probably lodge a complaint with my mother instead.
“You need to order more peppermint,” my sister Eve said, emerging from the back room and sucking on a piece of candy. “We’ve been out for almost a week.”
“You order it,” I responded.
If she was going to eat the supplies, she could order them as well.
Eve launched into a series of reasons why I should perform the task––I was practically a boy and therefore, better at math, I had no social life and thus had far more time for work, etc. I was about to tell her that it wouldn’t bother me if we ran out of everything, that the whole place could implode for all I cared, when a crystal figurine on a low shelf caught my eye. It was an owl, an ugly thing with eyes that bulged and a beak that hooked. I wasn’t sure who had ordered it but I was certain it would never find a buyer.
“Bet I beat you out of this town,” I said, tapping its beak.
A losing bet, I realized. It had wings. I didn’t even have a car.
I checked the clock again––five minutes ‘til closing time––and glanced around the shop. It wasn’t as clean as my mother would have wanted, but then again my mother wasn’t here.
“I say we call it done,” I said, tossing my apron on the counter.
“Maggie, come take a look.”
Eve stood by the window. Her fingers twitched as she pointed to a man I had never seen before, seated by the window in Delilah’s Deli across the street.
“Who is he?” she asked. “I don’t recognize him.”
I moved to get a better view, nudging her out of the way. “Well, he isn’t from around here.”
Eve clucked her tongue. Of course, he wasn’t from around here. His sophisticated clothing identified him as a city person, not a man who spent much time slinking around a small town in Central Oregon.
“He’s handsome,” she said and I silently agreed. Though it was getting dark I could still make out his thick mane of wavy brown hair and the strong line of his jaw. He was leaning forward, talking to a gaunt young man who hung on his every word.
“We have to find out what he’s doing here,” Eve said. “It’s just not natural.” Though the town festered with tourists during the fall months when we held the Haunted Dark Root Festival, it was rare to see anyone arrive after November and before May.
“Probably just passing through on his way to Salem or Portland. Blew out a tire or had to use the bathroom.”
“You have no imagination.”
Eve chattered on about how he was probably a famous Hollywood producer. She couldn’t allow anyone a normal life; she always reached for the dramatic.
But she was right. There was something special about the stranger. He had an energy that popped and sparkled.
As if he knew he was being watched, he turned in our direction. Eve ducked but I held my position, staring back. His eyes were as grey and stormy as the Oregon coastline. He knew things...secrets and mysteries.
I felt jolted awake after a long sleep.
“We should bring him over.” Eve’s dark eyes flashed as she pushed a step-stool across the floor to gather oils and vials from the top shelf. Next, she collected an assortment of herbs from bins beneath the counter. “...Candles. I need purple candles.”
Like a fly to a spider, I thought as I watched her. She was driven when she had a mission, not the same dreamy girl who stared out the window all day talking about the life she was missing out on while she ignored customers.
“We could just walk across the street and talk to him,” I said, moving away from the window.
“Just because you’re too good for magic, doesn’t mean some of us don’t respect the craft.”
“I never said I was against magic.”
“Just practicing it. We can’t all be Wilders, you know?” Eve placed her stack onto the counter and arranged the objects into neat piles.
I felt my face redden. Wilder was a slang word, used to describe a witch who had no control over her magic. The light above us flickered.
Besides,” Eve grinned, as if she had said nothing wrong. “This is far more fun. Now, where’s the book?” She scanned the room for our mother’s spell book.
I shrugged. If she wanted to lure a man here against his will that was her business, but I wasn’t going to help.
“Here it is!” She held up a small, leather-bound journal in her hands. It was a rare book, Mother claimed, filled with spells and incantations that would have been lost to time were they not carefully preserved on these pages. As a result, only Mother’s direct descendants could remove the book from her store without suffering a terrible curse.
What the curse was, nobody knew, but Miss Sasha’s magick was formidable, and no one in Dark Root wanted to risk it.
Eve went to work creating a concoction of vanilla, rose petals and thyme, hardly glancing at the open book beside her. She had probably committed her man-luring spell to heart.
“Wouldn’t it be exciting if we fell in love and he took me away from this horrible town? Now that Merry is gone, there’s nothing to keep me here.”
I felt a dagger in my heart at the mention of our older sister’s name. Merry had left three years ago to marry some guy she barely knew and nothing had been the same since.
“You really think you’re going to get out of here before me?” I asked.
“Someone’s got to take care of Mom. Besides,” Eve looked at the clock on the far wall then back to me, “I have to get out of here. I’m going to be a famous actress one day. A psychic told me.”
I snorted, peeking out the window again. The curtains to Delilah’s Deli were shut now, indicating that the cafe was closed. I glanced up and down the street, hoping to see a sign of him or his car, but the street was empty. “Even if your spell does work and you get him to wander over here, what makes you think he’s going to fall in love with you?”
“The travel spell is only part of it,” she said. “One sip of my special tea and he’ll treat me like the goddess I am.” Eve retreated into the back room, returning with a white porcelain cup and matching teapot. “You might not have dreams, Maggie, but I do. God forbid that three years from now when I’m your age, I’m still working as a sales girl in this dump.” She dropped her apron on the floor and kicked it under the counter.
Without warning the door opened, startling us both.
The stranger entered, removing his grey felt hat. He looked around the shop, taking it in. I glanced at Eve, wondering how her travel spell could have worked so quickly.
She shrugged in response.
“Well, hello there,” she said, regaining her composure “Our shop is closed but we were just making tea. You are welcome to join us.” She slinked towards the man, offering him the teacup.
The stranger blinked uncertainly, declining the tea with a wave of his hand. He strode past my sister and stood before me.
“Actually,” he said, staring at me with mystical eyes. “Maggie Maddock, I’m here for you.”
Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, Dark Root, OregonFebruary, 2005
The shop was cold and dimly lit, musty and confining.
A spider web had attached itself to the archway that separated the main room from the back and I ducked each time I passed beneath it, not bothering to sweep it down. Shelves lined every wall of Mother’s Magick shop, displaying the hundreds of candles, masks, figurines, and baubles that made Miss Sasha’s the most popular attraction in all of Dark Root.
While the oddities fascinated tourists, I hardly noticed them anymore as I went about my work. I hardly noticed anything anymore, except the clock that ticked down the minutes until I was released from my daily servitude.
“Excuse me,” said a woman who had been meandering near the book section for the last hour. “Where is your restroom?” I responded by opening the front door.
She looked like she was going to protest but decided against it. My apathy for the shop was notorious. She would probably lodge a complaint with my mother instead.
“You need to order more peppermint,” my sister Eve said, emerging from the back room and sucking on a piece of candy. “We’ve been out for almost a week.”
“You order it,” I responded.
If she was going to eat the supplies, she could order them as well.
Eve launched into a series of reasons why I should perform the task––I was practically a boy and therefore, better at math, I had no social life and thus had far more time for work, etc. I was about to tell her that it wouldn’t bother me if we ran out of everything, that the whole place could implode for all I cared, when a crystal figurine on a low shelf caught my eye. It was an owl, an ugly thing with eyes that bulged and a beak that hooked. I wasn’t sure who had ordered it but I was certain it would never find a buyer.
“Bet I beat you out of this town,” I said, tapping its beak.
A losing bet, I realized. It had wings. I didn’t even have a car.
I checked the clock again––five minutes ‘til closing time––and glanced around the shop. It wasn’t as clean as my mother would have wanted, but then again my mother wasn’t here.
“I say we call it done,” I said, tossing my apron on the counter.
“Maggie, come take a look.”
Eve stood by the window. Her fingers twitched as she pointed to a man I had never seen before, seated by the window in Delilah’s Deli across the street.
“Who is he?” she asked. “I don’t recognize him.”
I moved to get a better view, nudging her out of the way. “Well, he isn’t from around here.”
Eve clucked her tongue. Of course, he wasn’t from around here. His sophisticated clothing identified him as a city person, not a man who spent much time slinking around a small town in Central Oregon.
“He’s handsome,” she said and I silently agreed. Though it was getting dark I could still make out his thick mane of wavy brown hair and the strong line of his jaw. He was leaning forward, talking to a gaunt young man who hung on his every word.
“We have to find out what he’s doing here,” Eve said. “It’s just not natural.” Though the town festered with tourists during the fall months when we held the Haunted Dark Root Festival, it was rare to see anyone arrive after November and before May.
“Probably just passing through on his way to Salem or Portland. Blew out a tire or had to use the bathroom.”
“You have no imagination.”
Eve chattered on about how he was probably a famous Hollywood producer. She couldn’t allow anyone a normal life; she always reached for the dramatic.
But she was right. There was something special about the stranger. He had an energy that popped and sparkled.
As if he knew he was being watched, he turned in our direction. Eve ducked but I held my position, staring back. His eyes were as grey and stormy as the Oregon coastline. He knew things...secrets and mysteries.
I felt jolted awake after a long sleep.
“We should bring him over.” Eve’s dark eyes flashed as she pushed a step-stool across the floor to gather oils and vials from the top shelf. Next, she collected an assortment of herbs from bins beneath the counter. “...Candles. I need purple candles.”
Like a fly to a spider, I thought as I watched her. She was driven when she had a mission, not the same dreamy girl who stared out the window all day talking about the life she was missing out on while she ignored customers.
“We could just walk across the street and talk to him,” I said, moving away from the window.
“Just because you’re too good for magic, doesn’t mean some of us don’t respect the craft.”
“I never said I was against magic.”
“Just practicing it. We can’t all be Wilders, you know?” Eve placed her stack onto the counter and arranged the objects into neat piles.
I felt my face redden. Wilder was a slang word, used to describe a witch who had no control over her magic. The light above us flickered.
Besides,” Eve grinned, as if she had said nothing wrong. “This is far more fun. Now, where’s the book?” She scanned the room for our mother’s spell book.
I shrugged. If she wanted to lure a man here against his will that was her business, but I wasn’t going to help.
“Here it is!” She held up a small, leather-bound journal in her hands. It was a rare book, Mother claimed, filled with spells and incantations that would have been lost to time were they not carefully preserved on these pages. As a result, only Mother’s direct descendants could remove the book from her store without suffering a terrible curse.
What the curse was, nobody knew, but Miss Sasha’s magick was formidable, and no one in Dark Root wanted to risk it.
Eve went to work creating a concoction of vanilla, rose petals and thyme, hardly glancing at the open book beside her. She had probably committed her man-luring spell to heart.
“Wouldn’t it be exciting if we fell in love and he took me away from this horrible town? Now that Merry is gone, there’s nothing to keep me here.”
I felt a dagger in my heart at the mention of our older sister’s name. Merry had left three years ago to marry some guy she barely knew and nothing had been the same since.
“You really think you’re going to get out of here before me?” I asked.
“Someone’s got to take care of Mom. Besides,” Eve looked at the clock on the far wall then back to me, “I have to get out of here. I’m going to be a famous actress one day. A psychic told me.”
I snorted, peeking out the window again. The curtains to Delilah’s Deli were shut now, indicating that the cafe was closed. I glanced up and down the street, hoping to see a sign of him or his car, but the street was empty. “Even if your spell does work and you get him to wander over here, what makes you think he’s going to fall in love with you?”
“The travel spell is only part of it,” she said. “One sip of my special tea and he’ll treat me like the goddess I am.” Eve retreated into the back room, returning with a white porcelain cup and matching teapot. “You might not have dreams, Maggie, but I do. God forbid that three years from now when I’m your age, I’m still working as a sales girl in this dump.” She dropped her apron on the floor and kicked it under the counter.
Without warning the door opened, startling us both.
The stranger entered, removing his grey felt hat. He looked around the shop, taking it in. I glanced at Eve, wondering how her travel spell could have worked so quickly.
She shrugged in response.
“Well, hello there,” she said, regaining her composure “Our shop is closed but we were just making tea. You are welcome to join us.” She slinked towards the man, offering him the teacup.
The stranger blinked uncertainly, declining the tea with a wave of his hand. He strode past my sister and stood before me.
“Actually,” he said, staring at me with mystical eyes. “Maggie Maddock, I’m here for you.”
