The plight of the big sister.

The other night I had a nightmare where my two younger brothers and I were attacked by zombies--I am truly a geek at heart--and they panic.

We have a plan of action for if when if this happens, so I know my dream was unrealistic in this last aspect.  But none the less, before I woke up they both had managed to get themselves trapped and I was forced to decide which one to save.

I had only just turned two when the eldest of my two brothers was born.  So for as long as I can remember I have been a big sister.  When the second one came along I was still only four, but I had long since figuered out it was my job to protect them.  To make sure that they learned the things they needed to know and so on and so on...

Dreams like the one I had the other night are something I've been dealing with for a long time.  And while I'm no shrink I do know that their meaning is pretty clear.  For no matter how old--twenty-two and nearly twenty--or how much bigger and stronger they are, they will always be my little brothers.  And it will always be job to protect them.  Whether it's from phsyco exes or from hoardes of brain munchers trying to break into our secret bunker!

Ryndara Chapter One

I have decided to completly rewrite my YA novel RYNDARA, so here's a look at the brand new first chapter.  Let me know what you think!

I lay awake in my cold bed, disturbed by every little creak and noise.  My twin brother, Aridan is out hunting for the food we will need to survive the winter, leaving our small house uncomfortably empty.  And although I would never admit it to him, I hate being left here alone.  In truth, if we didn’t need someone to watch over our farm I would never let him go off into the neighboring woods without me.

            On top of the uneasiness I feel, something has been gnawing at the pit of my stomach all day.  I know that Aridan will be coming home soon.  Even though I’m not certain how I know this, I do know that it’s too soon.  Of course I’ll be happy to see him safe and at home but he has never cut a hunt short before.  So I can’t help but to worry that something terrible has happened.
            A crack of thunder sounds in the distance, rattling the windows.  I’ve come to the conclusion now that I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.  So I put my feet down on a floor that feels cold even though I’ve doubled up on socks.  I start to head towards the kitchen, but before I can reach the doorway I begin to shiver.  So pull the blankets from my bed around my shoulders.
            I toss another log on the fire and then wait for the cinders to settle back down before reaching out to warm my hands.  As I’m standing there the storm continues to pound down on the roof.  Soon the cold air will turn the rain into snow.  And this year—more than any other—I fear we may starve because of it.
            The fury I feel with our father for leaving us swells up as I think of our unstable future.  Aridan is always quick to point out that our mother actually went away first.  But he left us here alone, somehow expecting his fourteen year-olds to fend for ourselves.  For the first year he was gone we expected him to return, over the last two years however I’ve lost hope.
            Thunder draws me suddenly from my ponderings and my fear for my brother’s safety returns.  Even with the worsening weather I have half a mind to get after him.  But if nothing is actually wrong all I’ll really accomplish is soaking myself.  I need something to distract myself, so I begin putting away the meager amount of food we’ve canned.
            When the hail begins to fall a few minutes later I abandon my task.  Carefully setting a couple jars of carrots on the counter, I move to stare from the window that overlooks the forest.  With each strike of lightning I silently pray that I will see Aridan bounding towards me.  I glance up at the moon to check the time, but it—of course—is hidden by dark clouds.  When I look back down I see that for once my prayers have been answered.
            His distant silhouette is small against the giant trees behind him, but I still know it is Aridan.  Lightning strikes again, illuminating the landscape for less than a second, but it is enough for me to notice that his hands are empty.  My heart sinks and my brain begins to panic, even though I remain frozen at my post.  Tomorrow—I decide—we will have to try something different.
            The sky lights up again and I notice that Aridan is now running through the field that we used to plant potatoes this year.  I don’t see anything chasing him but I spring into action anyway.  Within mere seconds I have shed my blankets, grabbed my bow and a quiver of arrows and am bolting through the door.  I run as quickly as my legs will carry me, and even though I still see no threat I worry I won’t reach Aridan in time.
            Our eyes lock, and he says something but the storm drowns him out.  I have an arrow notched, ready to strike but still nothing emerges from the tree line. 
“What are you doing Abidence?” he screams over the howling winds, pointing to my weapon.
“I thought you were being chased by a wolf or something.”
“I wish.”
“What?  Why would you—“ I start to ask, but he cuts me off.
 “Let’s go inside!” he states, grabbing my hand and leading me back towards the house.
Confused, I follow him back towards the house, unable to resist looking over my shoulder a few times.
            “What is going on Aridan?” I demand as he locks the door behind us.
“I was stalking a buck this morning and I stumbled across a group of soldiers.”
“Soldiers?  From where?”
“I’m not sure.  But I overheard a couple of them talking.  They said that they’re carrying some box to a man named Prateus.”
“Prateus?  Why does that name sound familiar?”
“I don’t know, but I recognized it too.”
“So what made you run away?”
“At first I just tried to sneak away.  But there was one I hadn’t noticed who spotted me and called the others to come after me.”
“So they’re on their way here?”
“I’m pretty sure I lost them a few miles back, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to stay out there right now.”
“That was probably a good idea,” I assure him, “You look tired.”
“Gee, thanks.  You look great too.”
“I just meant that you should get some sleep.” I sigh, trying not to let him see how worried I am.
“I know, you too.”
“I will, I just…”
“What is it?”
“I’m trying to figure out what we’re going to eat all winter.”
“Oh…  I’m pretty sure I found where that buck I was tracking is bedding down.  So I’ll just go back and see if I can find him again.”
“Did he see you there?”
“Yeah, but—“
“Then you know he won’t go back there.”
“Maybe not, but it looked like there was a small herd sleeping there.  So something’s bound to be close.”
“Really?”
“Yes Abidence.  You’re really scared aren’t you?” he asks, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
“Yeah, when I saw you coming back empty handed I really started to panic.” I admit, willing myself not to release the tears I feel welling up behind my eyes.
“I’m sorry.  Let’s get some sleep and worry about this in the morning.  Okay?”
“Yeah, but the bedrooms are already freezing.”
“Well I guess we’ll sleep out here then.  Let’s get out of these wet clothes and then I’ll pull the beds out here.”
“Sounds good to me.”
            Together we follow his plan and are ready for bed in a matter of minutes.  With my house no longer sounding as though it were alive, I am finally able to sleep.  The storm draws me from my slumber a few times, but other than that the night is uneventful.
            When the morning comes I remain wrapped in the warmth of my blankets for quite some time.  Only when I hear Aridan’s stomach growling do I force myself to get up.  I quietly build the fire back up and then set to making breakfast.  Eventually the sizzling of frying eggs wakes Aridan from his deep slumber.
            Sitting up, he stretches as his belly again demands to be filled.
“Well, good morning to you too!”
“Hmm…  Hey” he says groggily.
“If I didn’t know better I’d think you hadn’t eaten in a week.”
“It’s been awhile.” He mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.
“Why?” I ask, spooning blackberry preserves onto two plates.
“I just forgot I guess, what with everything that was going on.”
“I guess I understand that.  The water is a little icy, but it’s here if you want to wash up real quick.”
“Ugh…” he sighs, slowly pushing his blankets back. “I don’t really want to get up at all.”
“I know, but we’ve got to get out there and find some game before it snows.  You can sleep all you want when we get back.” I assure him, setting our breakfast on the kitchen table.
“We?”
“Yes we.  There’s no way you’re going out there alone again.”
“Fine, but I still don’t want to.”
“Do you think-” I start to ask, but decide against it before I finish the thought.
“Do I think what?”
“Nothing, never mind.”
“I know that you really just like to hear yourself talk, but I also know when something is bothering you.  So spill it.”
“No, it’s not important.” I insist, digging into my eggs.
“Whatever.  You know it’s too bad you’re such a bad shot, or you might actually be of some use today.”
“I’m better than you and you know it.”
“Yeah, sure.” He chides—his mouth full—trying to rile me up.  Although he chooses not to employ the one tactic he knows will bother me the most.
            I made Aridan twice the amount of food as I gave myself, so I finish before him.  Pushing away from the table I decide to get ready to head out.  My boots and jacket are dry because they remained in the house last night.  Aridan’s clothes however are still dripping on the floor beside the fireplace.
            I dress quickly and find Aridan still at the table.  He ignores me—and the packages in my hands—as he continues to eat.
“I know it’s not until tomorrow, but I think you should have your birthday presents today.” I state, setting them on the table in front of him.
“Wow.  Thanks.” He says, shoving the last of his food in his mouth before pushing the plate away.
            Wiping his hands on his pant legs, he carefully pulls back the simple brown paper.
“Just how did you keep these a secret?” he asks, beaming at the clothes in his hands.
“I have my methods.  Do you like them?”
“Yeah, they’re great.  Thanks.”
“I hope they fit alright.  I started making this last winter, but you’ve grown more.  So…”
“You made these by yourself?”
“Yeah.  I found some old patterns Mom had used for Dad.  I had to alter them since you’re taller than he was though.”
“I’m sure they’ll be great.  But what’s this one?”
“It’s yours too.  Open it.”
            Again he is careful with the paper, but I can tell he is more excited now.  When he pulls the top off of the old box and sees what it contains however he practically jumps out of his chair.
“Boots like these are at least ten karn Abidence.  How did you pay for them?”
“I’ve been saving up for them all year.  I just got enough last week.  Do you not like them?” I ask, afraid I’d made a mistake.
“Of course I do.  I just don’t understand how you did it is all.”
“Oh, well I didn’t take anything from the seed money so don’t worry about it.”
“I—alright.  These are amazing.  Do you want yours now too?”
“It’s up to you.”
“I think you’d like to use them today, so I’ll go get them.”
“Okay.  Why don’t you go ahead and get dressed too?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”
            Once Aridan is in his room I breathe a deep sigh of relief.  I had worried that he would press me for answers about the money I spent on him.  The last thing I want is to lie to him, but if he knew what I sold he would refuse his gifts.  And he’s been in need of new shoes since the spring.  I haven’t really had time to wonder what sorts of things Aridan has gotten me.  But as I take a seat at the kitchen table I am growing slightly impatient.  We are both quite bad at keeping secrets from each other.  So the fact that  neither of us knew what we’re getting is proof of just how stressed we’ve been this year.
“I couldn’t figure out a way to wrap these, so close your eyes,” Aridan states, peeking out from behind his bedroom door.
I do as he asks, eagerly waiting for my gift.  He moves quietly, but I am still aware of his approach.  I hear something being placed on the table in front of me and then he pats me on the shoulder.  Opening my eyes I see a small burlap sack sitting beside a beautifully carved bow and a quiver full of arrows.
“Aridan!” I exclaim, picking up the bow and turning it over in my hands.  “This is incredible, thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome.” He chuckles.
“But how did you make all of these without me seeing it?”
“Well, you’re not very bright.  So…”
“Ha!  You’re so funny.  Why do you always have to ruin a nice moment?”
“Because that’s what brothers do!  Open the bag.”
“Okay.” I say, gently setting the bow back on the table.  Pulling back the folds of the burlap I find a pair of tan mittens lined with dark brown fur.  “Oh…  Aridan how..?”
“Just put them on!”
            Again I follow his demand, letting the soft pelt warm my chilled skin.
“Look what they can do.” He says, pushing the tops of the mittens back revealing what looks to be gloves.  Only the tips of the fingers have been removed.  “I had them made so you could keep your hands warm and still be able to shoot.  Do they fit okay?”
“Yeah, they’re perfect.  What about your stuff?”
“Yep.  The boots are great, and look,” he says, pointing to his pants “you won’t even be able to see my ankles anymore.”
“Good.  Thank you so much for these.  I can’t wait to test out my bow!” I almost giggle, reaching out to give him a hug.
            I can tell by the way he hesitates to return my embrace that I have surprised him.  Once his arms are around me however he doesn’t let me go for several seconds.  I know I’ve been too distant lately, but I’m so glad to see that he isn’t upset with me for it.
“Are you ready to go now?” he asks, patting the top of my head as you would a child because he knows it will annoy me.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
            Nodding his head, he sloshes some water in the fireplace.  Extinguishing the flames with a loud hiss and leaving chunks of ice to melt in the ashes.  He pulls on his coat—which I’m certain is still damp—and then follows me onto the back porch.  I run over to the barn, and fork a little hay into the horses stalls.  When I turn around I see Aridan staring up at the sky.
            The sun as just begun to peek out to our right, but above our heads the stars are still quite bright.  I watch him for several moments, wondering what he is thinking about.  When I come to the conclusion that I still cannot read minds I move to join him.  He smiles distractedly as I reach his side, and I think he is about to say something.  But instead he just starts to walk towards the forest.
            The trek to where he’d found the buck yesterday is to be a long one, but I find relief in the chilly air.  Out here, in the wild, I feel free from the worries of running a farm.  Free to be myself.  When we were younger, Aridan and I had spent countless nights sleeping under the stars and dreaming about what adventures our lives might hold.  With our parents gone I can’t help but to feel that our hopes of escaping this place have been crushed.

To pass the time—and to keep myself from worrying so much—we search for smaller game to test my new bow on.  The ground is soggy beneath our feet, but we still manage to move quietly enough not to scare the animals away.  By the time the sun is fully risen we both have a couple various birds and squirrels hanging from our belts.  

As we near the deer’s nesting place I am in a better mood than I’ve had for weeks.  But that quickly changes when we realize someone had made camp in the small clearing.  Whoever had slept here is long gone, but so are the deer.

“I can’t believe this!” Aridan exclaims, kicking a charred log.

“Do you think it was those soldiers?”
“Maybe.  I mean they chased me back this way, but I don’t see why they would have back tracked to make camp.”
“Maybe they all didn’t come after you?”
“I suppose.  But it doesn’t really matter I guess.  There’s no way those deer will come anywhere near here again.”
“I know.  I guess will just have to keep coming out for small stuff until another one pops back out.”
“Yeah.  Let’s head back just in case these idiots are still around.”
“Okay.”

            We move slower on our way back, hoping to scare up some more game along the way.  Amazingly enough we do have some luck, and are able to take down a few more birds and a couple squirrels.  Because of though this we don’t reach our land until long after the sun has set.

 “I’m too tired to eat.” Aridan says, dropping his things on the kitchen table beside mine and then falling into bed.
“Okay.” I sigh as I build a fire, waiting for it to catch before piling logs inside the hearth.
            I too am exhausted.  So after kicking off my boots and peeling off a few layers of clothing I crawl into bed.  Aridan is already snoring softly, but for me sleep is harder to find.  Rolling to my stomach, I clutch my pillow tightly and try to quiet my mind.  Tomorrow we will go to town to sell what goods we think we can spare—which isn’t very much—and to celebrate our birthday.  But it is not excitement that keeps me awake. 

Instead I find myself dreading the rising of the sun, for I dislike seeing our neighbors and their looks of pity.  Only a handful of them had offered any assistance over the years, but the majority of them still found they had the right to tell us how to run our lives.  I know that because in a few hours we will be seventeen—the youngest legal age to wed—they will expect us to start separate lives.  Something I have no intention of doing anytime soon. 

I do wonder though if Aridan feels the same way, considering that all of the unmarried women—and half of the married ones too—seem to find him so hard to resist.  The thought of him taking a wife and starting a family bothers me, so I try to force it from my mind.  Squeezing my eyes shut, I hum the lullaby our mother would sing to soothe my nightmares quietly to myself.  When sleep finally does find me I have gone over the song several times. 

Suddenly, I find I am lost in a deep fog.  But I am aware enough to know that I am only dreaming.  All of the familiar noises of my home slowly fade away until I am left with nothing but the sound of my heart beating softly.

I hesitantly feel about in the haziness as it fades into what I imagine a castle would look like.  A set of steps has appeared before me, but the bottom is too dark for me to tell where they lead.  Walking cautiously down the winding staircase I see a woman standing alone in a narrow hallway.  Something about her is familiar—even though her face is turned away from me—so I call out to her.

The walls around us are stone, so my voice should easily carry to her.  But she doesn’t hear me.  I call out again as I—for some reason—run towards her, just before I am able to reach her though she heads deeper down the unlit hallway.  I follow her, because I have to know where she is going.

I can see over her shoulder that the path is a dead end.  But instead of turning back she runs towards what I can know tell is a metal door.

“Wait.” I say, still trying to catch up “Who are you?”
She finally turns around, but her eyes—eyes I would know anywhere—look right through me.

            Shocked, I watch as she turns back to the door and tries in vain to force it open.  Clearly oblivious to my presence, she pounds on the massive door.  And even though she can’t see me, I am sad when I feel myself beginning to wake up.

Para-Geekery

As I was trying to decide what to write about I realized that we’ve not covered anything actually geekish, well this week that ends!

The list of geeky things that interests me is vast and quite varied, but the one that has captivated me for the longest is by far the paranormal.  From a very early age I can remember experiencing things that I just could not explain.  Sometimes these events would frighten me, but most of them just made me curious about what was causing them.

As I grew older that curiosity only increased.  My two younger brothers and I share many things –the paranormal included- but the rest of our family has thought us to be all but crazy and have given us a great deal of strife over our beliefs no matter how solid our evidence might be.

Despite that though we stuck together –and to our guns- and over the years we’ve been blessed to find others who share our interests.  Luckily groups like The Atlantic Paranormal Society (From Ghost Hunters) and others have emerged, making those of us who are more than just interested in the paranormal seem less strange.

These days one can almost always find a show on television claiming to feature true accounts of ghosts and their interaction with the living.  The trick is being able to tell which ones are based in factual evidence from those that are closer to works of fiction.  However, the more you educate yourself about the equipment used by investigators and the results they produce the easier it will be for you to tell the good shows from the bad ones.

Keep in mind that as with most other things in life if it sounds too good –or scary- to be true, it probably is.  If you have any stories or questions about a paranormal experience please post them here and I’ll do my best to help you find an answer.  Also, I would like to send a sincere thank you to the people at T.A.P.S, G.H.I and G.A.C for making it more acceptable to talk about ghosts and for all us the information they have provided over the years.

For love of the game

In this fast paced, high tech world one is never far from a recap or article about their favorite teams latest game, and while having a wealth of information at our fingertips is great it also has its downsides.  In very few places is this more evident than in sports.

As an avid sports fan I follow multiple teams, some to a higher degree than others but to only one of them am I truly devoted.  Even in my early teens I would sit mere inches from the television, refusing to go to bed until all nine innings had been completed.  While our family moved from state to state, my heart has always belonged to the Atlanta Braves.

To this day -some ten years since first discovering baseball- my pulse still quickens each hour we grow nearer to opening day.  I wait with baited breath for the season’s first pitch and then its first home run and so on and so on.  Through the sweltering southern summer months my life consists of tomahawk chopping and roster rotations. 

Perfectly good days can be ruined by a tough loss and bad days can be reversed just as easily.  In years past being a Braves fan was easy (before that you practically had to be a masochist), and while we’ve gone through a rough patch these last few seasons every March the slate get cleaned.  Yes, the game has changed and so has the way we follow it but my love for it still remains.

There are a lot of people who get paid to tell the fans what is happening in the world of professional sports and of late it seems as though picking on those of us in or near Atlanta is in vogue.  Admittedly I spend very little time reading articles not released by the clubs themselves, however I have still managed to come across several that paint Georgians as fans not deserving of the teams we have because of declining attendance (even though we rank near the middle of the pack when you look at the actual statistics). 

Now, it would be easy to blame the increase in empty seats in our arenas on the economy or the lack of recent championships from any of our teams but I think there are many other factors to consider.  As what could easily be defined as a die hard fan I am willing to admit that there are times when the decisions made by some Atlanta organizations make me want to pull my hair out or just leave me plain confused. 

Although I will always remain loyal to my Braves, for some of the more casual fans being told by so called experts that your team has little to no hope of winning can turn you off for the entire season.  Responsibility however cannot be solely be placed on the shoulders of analysts and broadcasters who spread these disheartening opinions throughout the preseason and beyond.  

If fans and professionals a like would stop pretending or expecting to know what the future holds perhaps we could return to the days where writers talked about what actually happened during the game, in the locker rooms or the front office; and in return fans might once again pack into stadiums hoping to witness the amazing plays that their less fortunate friends and families will only get to read about or watch on television.

In short, times are hard and we all need something to believe in, something to bring us all together again.  I feel that something can once again be sports as it has been so many times in the past.  We all know that booing the other team is a big part of the fun of being at the game, but tearing down their fans shouldn’t be.

Sports mean something different to all of us, and that fact is no less true in the south than it is in NYC.  We love our professional teams here as much as the next city, but college football also holds a special place in our everyday lives and if you’ve never been south of the Mason-Dixon line on a Saturday in the fall you’ll never really understand   So, let’s agree to stop pointing fingers and start trying to fix the problems (if any actually do exist that is).  Oh and of course let’s not forget…  GO BRAVES!!!

People are like crayons...

A while back I sat at my Aunt Lindas dining room table coloring with her three year old son Landen.  Despite his insistent demands to use his sister Savannahs markers I brought him a tattered and torn yellow box half filled with crayons and his favorite Micky Mouse coloring book.  We flipped through the pages until he found a picture he liked (Donald Duck playing baseball in case you're curious), and then set to creating our masterpiece.

After watching him purposely pick out the smallest crayons and then get frustrated when they slipped through his little fingers I was admittedly slightly curious about his reasoning.  So, I asked him why he didn't want to use the nicer, obviously unused ones like Spring Green or Sepia.
"Because Cheryl," he stated seriously, "Those are the ugly ones and they will make the picture all yucky!"
While the color palette of a toddler is far from extensive it's still hard to argue with his simple logic.

When it comes to crayons the wrapper matches what's on the inside so you always know what you're about to get, unfortunately people are never quite that simple.  Far too often in life we envy those who  appear to be Blues or Reds on the outside only to discover that where it matters they are actually closer to Grays.  On the same hand it's easier to dismiss those with far less attractive exteriors than it is to peel back their layers (like an onion! as Shrek would say) and see what's underneath.  After all, Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian make for a much nicer picture than Mother Teresa and Ghandi.

Life is hard on most of us and sometimes it feels like the more you try to put into the world the more it takes from you.  There will always be days when the universe feels like a toddler playing with crayons, using up those of us with the most to give leaving us broken and less than we were because it sometimes forgets to be gentle with those it likes the best. 

So, instead of feeling sorry for yourself the next time you pass a supermodel remember that people are seldom what they appear to be and that it takes every color under the rainbow to make the most stunning masterpieces no matter how much paint -or wax- you have to spill in the process!

Rejection letters; badge of honor or frustrating statistic?

After finally completing my first novel (Ryndara) on New Years Eve 2009 I spent countless hours reading books and websites dedicated to helping new authors find an agent.  Most of the sources provided very helpful insight on what to do and what not to do.  And although many of them had different opinions on a fair amount of details the message they all tried to get across was that the only way to truly fail was not to try at all.

So, after reading and re-reading (and re-re-reading) my manuscript, stressing over how to summarize its 70,000 plus words in two paragraphs I queried several agents.  Now I have never been what you would call a bold person -in fact I'm usually quite shy and hesitant to draw attention to myself- but I believed in my work so I put myself out there.

Shortly thereafter I got my first rejection letter, which amazingly enough it wasn't just a form response.  Despite the disappointment that they 'didn't feel my work was right for them at this time' I knew I had gone from hobbyist to author and I felt proud of myself.

In the time since then I had received many more rejections, and I would be lying if I said I never got discouraged by them.  Truthfully I reached a point where I wondered if I was doing the right thing by pursuing my dream, and I still have days where I think about giving up.  However, even when I decided I need to take a step back I couldn't help but to imagine new characters and plot lines.

It can be difficult to remain optimistic when faced with all of the astronomical statistics of the industry, but you never know if your next idea will be the one to put you on the publishing map so keep trying.  After all, anything worth having is worth working and sacrificing for especially if you love what you're doing!