Shannon > Recent Status Updates

This skirt, the entire dress, was so heavy, laden with jewels and a hundred li of embroidery thread.

I have an issue with authors inserting foreign words just because. Especially when it's not something that's widely known. I get it, this takes place in China. Also, I looked up li and it's roughly 500 meters, or 1640 feet. So, this skirt has 164,000 feet of embroidery? Really?

A good story with a bit of a rushed and too neat ending. I liked it though and will be reading more by this author in the future.

I remember holding Laura. Mother's telling me the story keeps the memory alive, like it is my own. Mother sat near us, helping me support this new baby's head. Someone snapped a picture of us, the three of us together.
"Isn't she beautiful?" my mother said.
"No," I said.
And Laura wasn't. Her face was red and squishy. Her hands curled up into fists. When she opened her eyes, there was no color at all.

I've seen women screaming at each other. Fighting over their husband.
Father told us all that evening those three women were beaten.
I couldn't help but wonder about the little red-headed wife. Not more than fifteen. Those other two women pulling on her, slapping at her. Because she was prettiest, I bet. And thin still. Not chubby like the others, though I could see the shape of her belly growing.

"Just because I'm younger, she's angry with me," Mother had said.
"It's jealousy," Mother Claire said. "None of us can help but feel it. Sharing a man the way we do."
"She gets nasty sometimes," Mother Sarah said.
There was quiet in the trailer for a minute. Then Mother Claire said, "Follow the Prophet, Sarah. We give up things now for a life in the hereafter that will be better."

In one month, I'm gone.
The fabric, this morning.
The date, tonight.
All the days will fly past.
Down the rutted road toward civilization we all go, me listening to their laughter, headed to the things that will help me start a new life I do not want.
I will be a seventh wife.

"We have to have her home in time for dinner with Brother Hyrum."
Oh, the date tonight. That date. Wasn't last night enough? Fear and anger, both, seem to fill me.
"Hell," Margaret says. "Helly hell hell." Then she throws her arms around my neck in a tight squeeze. I can smell her face, sort of sweet like sugar. Then she hurries into the kitchen and I keep standing where everyone has left me.

"What do we need material for?" I say.
"For a wedding dress," she says, her words clipped short.
"We'll go at lunch," Mother Victoria says. "The fabric store first. And then lunch at Applebee's. I haven't been there in a year. How does that sound?"

The mention of Applebee's reminds me that this story takes place in the present time. It's hard to remember that with how these people behave.

I clutch Mariah to me. Her crying is just gasps now. She kicks, trying to catch air. "Father," I say. "She can't breathe." I pull her cold body to mine. Slap her little back. She's like a chicken taken from the fridge.
"Father?" It feels like I can't breathe either. I give Mariah a small shake. "Mariah?"
Father pulls Mariah from my hands. Her lips are dark blue, like the sky before the sun sets.

Mother Claire covers Mariah's nose and mouth tight so there's no leak. Then she dunks Mariah in the cold water bath. All the way under. Holds her there.
Holds her there.
Mariah kicks. That baby struggles.
"Stop!" My voice is a shout. I grab at Mother Claire. Father pulls me back.
"Lift her," Uncle Hyrum says. I hate him. Right now, I hate him.

"Where is the baby from last night? Screaming like that," Uncle Hyrum says. "And in front of the Prophet. It was too much, Richard. Too much."
"She's not even a year old," Mother Sarah says.
Uncle Hyrum looks at my mother like he could slap her. "Don't speak, Sister Sarah, unless I've spoken to you first."
Mother says nothing. Looks away from my uncle.
"Get the baby, Sister Kyra."

: ( This can't be good

One late afternoon I read three Dr. Seuss books from the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels while sitting on the gritty floor of the van. It's like I'm thirsty and can't get enough to drink. I pulled Hop on Pop from the shelf and remembered Prophet Childs and the Day of Cleansing. This was the first of many cleansings, but of course, I didn't know it then. The memory floods right through me. That smell of smoke.

"Mother," I say, getting ready to tell her everything, like how hard it is to cook dinner for so many. Like how I want to play the piano. Or read. Or see Joshua. But not cook another meal.
I close my mouth to the confession. She doesn't need this information now. I'll tell her later, when her baby's here, maybe after the blessing. Maybe when I am sick with my own pregnancy.

I look at Laura, my very best friend. Look at grumpy Margaret. Feel Carolina close. Her body warm in my arms. I have a horrible thought. I see each of my sisters married to the oldest man in the Compound, Brother Nile Anderson. In my head, I can see his spotted hands, yellowed nails, and those fat blue veins that look like they might pop any second. That is what our lives are, I realize.
We are here for the men.

Mother Claire married Father when she was fourteen and he was seventeen.
Mother Victoria married Father when she was thirteen and he was nineteen.
Mother Sarah married Father when she was thirteen and he was twenty-one.
And now me. Me. Marrying my uncle who must be sixty, at least.
Saved for him?

"Beautiful family," the Prophet says. "Your older boys are honorable young men." He nods. "The older girls are ..." He stops. He's looking at Emily. Our wonderful Emily. Right then I see her the way our Prophet must. I see her wide face, her slanted eyes, her smile that's almost glowing. She looks at him with so much love I cannot understand how he cannot love her back. But I know he doesn't.

I took the novel from him and glanced at the cover. Bridge to Terabithia. I was there just a minute and I only took the one. One, I knew, would be easier to hide. But oh, how my life changed with his stopping. My life changed when I started reading. I was different with these sinful words. Who was this Katherine Paterson? Who was this Jesse and Leslie? People the writer knew? I could hardly read this book fast enough

I have this out from the library, but when I was looking to see when the next book in the series comes out I noticed that the paperback for this one was only $1.30 on Amazon. I'm pretty sure I'd rack up more late fees than that, so I just bought a copy. I will be sad when my free Prime is up though ...

Well ... that was smart.

Hmm. I had a feeling that's the direction things were going, but I was hoping I was wrong.

In case you want to take a break from all of the bad behavior, check out Meljean Brook's awesome view of author wank and then DA's disgust. Lol.

At work, my Google-fu just won me a free lunch. I was quicker than everyone else at finding something, and I work in the video game industry with a bunch of nerds. Should I be impressed ... or worried?

I really want to be #69 on the list of best reviewers of all time ... So close ...

Hehehehehe ...

McGuire deleted her blog post on here and every single comment on it. If any of my friends want to support her, I'm going to seriously have to reconsider our friendship.

He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees and one long hand clasping the other. "Have you ever heard of a condition known as synesthesia?"
Panic snaked through me, squeezing the breath from my lungs. I'd never dared to investigate why my senses were different from other people's—I'd been too afraid of what it might mean.

Really? I find that hard to believe. I google everything related to my health.

Home. Even whispered, the word spread like maple syrup over my dry tongue. I missed slipping into my father's study and curling up in the armchair while he graded essays. I missed the taste of my mother's pot roast, which always had the right shape to it even when everything else between us was wrong.
Maybe it was irrational, but I truly believed that if I could just go home, everything would be all right.