The Dragon Keeper – Prologue

*This is an excerpt from the book I am currently working on.  I don’t usually share early, but I thought I would anyway.  Besides, it goes along with this prologue trend I have been on lately. 🙂

“Aubrey!  It’s time to come down for lunch!”

The little girl sighed as she heard her mother’s voice drift up the stairs to her.  She regretfully stepped down from the window seat, where she had been the damsel in distress for the past twenty minutes.  Even though her Ken doll had not come to save her yet, she wasn’t really ready to stop.   She picked her way to the door.  The dress-up trunk had spewed dresses, scarves, tiaras, and costume jewelry onto the floor, amongst books and toys.  “Coming, Mama,” she replied, but probably not loud enough for her mother to hear.

She slunk down the stairs and to the kitchen.  She could smell her mother’s homemade soup and hoped there would be plenty of buttered bread to go with it.  The honey butter would be even better.

“Honey, why are you still wearing your princess dress?” her mother asked as she entered the room.  “You know we are going to leave right after lunch to go shopping.”

“I know,” Aubrey replied as she sat down at the table.  “I just wasn’t ready to stop playing yet.  The dragon hadn’t even had a chance to lock the castle door yet.”  She looked down at her lap, admiring the pink satin as it draped itself around the chair.

“You will have plenty of time when we get back.  And maybe you could use some of your birthday money to buy a new book?  Or whatever else we might find.  It’s been awhile since we’ve gone downtown, and it’s not like we are just going for a boring old grocery trip.  You should be excited.”  Her mother placed a bowl of soup in front of her, along with two fat buttered rolls.  “Just be sure you hurry up and change after lunch, okay?”

“Oh, thank you, Mama!  I sure will!”  She dug hastily into the fresh rolls.

The sound of crunching gravel drifted in through the open kitchen window, and her mother turned from the stove to look out the door.  “It’s your dad,” she said.

“Papa!”  Aubrey was out of her seat and out the door before her mother could tell her to sit down and eat.  She raced to her father as he climbed out of his sedan.  “What are you doing home?”

Her father wrapped his arms around her, princess dress and all, and carried her towards the house.  “Well, hello to you, too!  I had things fairly well wrapped up at the office, and I thought I would take off so I could come shopping with you two!”

“Really, Jim?”  Her mother asked from the open doorway.  “That would be wonderful!  I can’t remember the last time you were off work for anything fun.”

“Daddy, will you take us to the toystore?” Aubrey asked.  Her father set her back down in front of her soup.  “Katie says there’s a whole new display of nothing but magic tricks and I really want to see it!”

He smiled at her over the steaming bowl of soup Mama had just set down in front of him.  “I’m sure we could do that.  You think you could be the next great magician?”

“Just watch my lunch magically disappear!” she announced as she slurped her soup.

“You really do have to change clothes, Aubrey,” her mother announced when she had finished.  The satisfied smile that the buttered rolls had brought to Aubrey’s face were quickly replaced with a small frown.

“Oh, just let her wear it,” her father said.  “It’d be fun to go shopping with a princess.”

“The dragon is going to get you, Mama!” Aubrey cried from the backseat.  She made the little plastic dragon in her hand stomp around the headrest of her mother’s seat.

“No, no!  Not a dragon in my hair!”  Mama waved her arms and shook her head.  “I need a knight in shining armor!”

Her father plucked a silver pen out of the cup holder.  “I’ll save you!”  He poked at the dragon with the pen.  “Feel the wrath of my sword, dragon!”

Aubrey giggled as her dragon flew back to his place next to her in the backseat.  “He might not be so easy to defeat next time, Daddy!  He might breathe fire!  Or, or learn magic.  Yeah!  Dragon magic!”

“Did you hear that, honey?” her father asked.  “That’s going to be one powerful little dragon.”

“Sounds like I might have to get myself a helmet,” her mother replied.  “Oh, there’s the turn for the mall.”

Her father smoothly piloted the car off the highway and around the ramp.  Aubrey watched intently out the window as the mall came into view.  Not exactly a castle, but exciting nonetheless.  “Can I bring my dragon in with me?”

“Does it fit in your purse?” Daddy asked.

She opened her sequined purse and pushed the dragon down inside next to her lip gloss and her mother’s old wallet that she had given Aubrey to use.  The sides of the purse bulged a little bit, but it worked.  “Yep!  I’m ready to go!”

Even though the mall hadn’t changed much since their last trip, Aubrey was fascinated by everything there was to see.  The crowd pressed around her as she studied the bright signs over each of the stores.  The escalators stretched away from her like giant undulating snakes.  Huge fountains spurted water into glittering arcs.

“I’m going to make a wish!” she exclaimed.  Detaching herself from her mother’s hand, she dug in her purse for some pennies.  The little plastic dragon stared up at her from the satin-lined depths.  “Mama, I found a nickel.  Do you think I would get five wishes if I used it?”

But as she looked up to her mother for the answer, Aubrey heard a sound so loud that it drowned out all other noises in the mall.  Flame and bits of merchandise exploded into the air from a kiosk only a few yards away from them.  Mama turned away from the fiasco and threw herself on top of Aubrey, just as the second explosion sounded.

Aubrey heard the whoosh of water around her as they crashed headlong into the fountain.  Somehow she managed to free her arms from her mother’s strong grasp as they fell, and caught herself before her head hit the bottom of the shallow pool.

“Mama!  Mama, what’s going on?”  She shook her mother’s arm, but she didn’t answer.  Blood trickled from the back of Mama’s head, down her cheek and into the water.  Her eyes were open in a look of surprised terror, but she didn’t blink as Aubrey squirmed out from underneath her.

She had lost her purse, but the little plastic dragon floated just a few feet away and she scooped him up.  Aubrey stood up in the fountain.  The crowd was swiftly dispersing, clamoring to get away from the fiery kiosk.  She searched desperately for her father, but she couldn’t see him.  “Daddy?”  She stood there, the bloody water up to her knees, watching the last few people stream toward the exit, clutching the little dragon to her chest.  She stood there for what seemed like hours, as the water ran off her dress and into fountain, and the water turned pink around her and her mother’s body.

She was knocked out of her stupor when a security guard swooped her out of the fountain and carried her out of the mall.

Aubrey didn’t remember much of the rest of that day.  People had asked her questions, looked her over, and asked more questions, but she wasn’t sure what she had said.  She knew there was a hospital involved, and maybe a police station before she was delivered to the steps of a large dismal house downtown that said ‘Littlewood Foster Home for Girls’ over the door.

A heavyset woman with a lined but not unkind face, who said she was Ms. Clavens, led her up the stairs and down a dim hallway.  The bedroom she left her in was clean but barren, with only a few beds and dressers.

“What about my dress-up trunk?” Aubrey asked, speaking voluntarily for the first time since the incident.  “And my books?”

“You can’t have all of that here.  Supper is in an hour.”

Aubrey set her dragon down on the bed that the woman had said was hers.  She ran a finger disdainfully over the scratchy blanket, but pulled it away from the pillow and climbed in.  She lay next to her dragon, in a foster home, in her ruined princess dress.

Time at the orphanage was indeterminate.  The daily routine was the same whether it was Sunday or Wednesday.  The girls rose promptly out of bed at 6:30 for breakfast, and were sent off for their chores as soon as they set their spoons down.  This quickly brought them to lunch, then studies, then baths and bedtime.  There were no bedtime stories, only a headcount before the lights went out.

And so it was that Aubrey had no idea how long she had been there when Ms. Clavens summoned her to the office.  As she crept up to the cracked office door, she could hear Ms. Clavens talking to someone.

“Well I just can’t tell you how thrilled I am that you decided to come to me to find the newest member of your family.  So many times the adoption agencies manage to overlook us, and we are positively full to the brim.”  Ms. Clavens gave a little laugh almost like a giggle, which Aubrey had never heard come out of her before.  “Now, then.  I think I may have just the girl for you.  You said you wanted just one child, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” came a scratchy voice.

“Alright then.  You’ll forgive me for double-checking, it’s just that I do have a couple sets of sisters that I’d really rather not split up, and seeing as how you don’t have any children of your own I thought it might be a decent fit for you.”

“Our home is really only suited for us to have one child.”

“Yes, of course.  Well, you’ll like our little Aubrey.  She’s quite shy, but I think she’s still in a bit of shock after the death of her parents, poor thing.  You remember those terrorists blowing up the mall last month?  Her parents were two of the victims.  They found the poor girl standing in a fountain next to her dead mother!  Can you believe it?  I’m glad to say she is the only orphan that we saw from that accident, thank goodness.  Plenty of our girls go through quite a bit of tragedy before they end up on my doorstep.”

“And there weren’t any other family members to take her?” asked a woman’s voice.

“The only relative the police were able to find was an aunt in Oregon, but she had health issues and said she wouldn’t be able to keep her.”

Aubrey put up a shaking hand to knock on the door.

“Come in, dear!” called Ms. Clavens.  “Aubrey this is Mr. and Mrs. Goodknight.”

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Near Life Experience – Prologue

They say you see “the light” when you have a near-death experience.  I don’t know if it’s actually something supernatural or if it’s just the paramedic shining a penlight in your eye, but either way I definitely saw lights.  In fact, the lights are about the only thing I remember from that day.  There were sounds, too, but at the time they seemed much less important.  Machines beeped, and people talked, but it all just floated past me in garbled tones.  I lay at the bottom of the stream of consciousness, staring upwards and searching for the sunlight.

There were times of blackness, too, but I remember those even less.  The only times that I was really aware of the blackness was when I was coming out of it, pushing upward desperately toward the light.  Sometimes I would get a brief glimpse of the light, dappling down as though shining through a tree branch.  Then I was shoved back down into the darkness, falling and falling and trying to fly.

Just when I thought I could not possibly push upwards anymore, that the blackness finally had me in its grip permanently, it gave up.  I found that I didn’t have to push anymore; I was simply floating to the top.  The light no longer showed itself in bits and pieces and occasional bright flashes.  Instead, it started very small, a pinpoint on the horizon.  Like watching the dawn of the sun, the light slowly brightened.  It quietly crept into all the corners.  It tiptoed a wide circle to get around and behind me.  It silently wrapped its arms around me and pulled me gently and steadily further away from the darkness.

I opened my eyes.

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A Special Child – Prologue

A sparkle floated through the air, riding the currents of the wind.  Its path might have been as random as that of dandelion fluff, or perhaps not.  It floated over rivers and lakes, past valleys and mountains, and slowly, slowly, began to descend.

The sparkle may have been a fleck of shiny paint, or glitter from a child’s grand masterpiece.  Or it may have been leftover magic from a wizard’s enchantment, cast to bring his withering garden back to life.

The breeze stalled, sending the sparkle down between the trees and the bushes, over the grass and the flowers.  Gently, gently, it pushed the sparkle in through the open window where it settled comfortably in the cake batter.

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Top Ten Odd and Random Facts About Me

So you know a little bit about me.  You know that I am a writer, but what else?  I’m no David Letterman, but here’s my top ten:

 

10.  I love Halloween, but scary movies give me nightmares. 

 

9.  One of my ancestors served under General John A Logan.

 

8.  I’m allergic to peanuts. (No Reese’s cups for me.)

 

7.  A horse may have saved my life once.

 

6.  I love to watch the stars come out.

 

5.  My favorite movie is The Phantom of the Opera.  (This is one of the few Gerard Butler movies I actually enjoy.)

 

4.  My phobias include water and people.  (Oh, to have the life of an inland hermit!)

 

3.  My favorite animal is a dragon.  (Since Seth says I can’t have one, I have cats instead.)

 

2.  My boyfriend is the sweetest, most awesomest guy ever.  (Even though he won’t let me have a dragon.)

 

1.  I caught a hummingbird out of midair and held it in my hand.

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Garden’s End

When the vines have given up their last

Fruits of earth are memories past

Brown and brittle are stem and leaf

Their green long stolen by autumn’s thief

When twig and weed are all that remain

To show the end of summer’s reign

A frost the sun can no longer defend

And this is surely garden’s end.

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Laboring on Labor Day

It’s Labor Day weekend.  For many people this means beer, barbecue, and awesome sales at the department store.  For me, it pretty much means trying to cram in way more stuff than I can possibly get done.  Mostly this involves canning and freezing.

We weren’t able to put a garden in last year, but this year we have made up for it!  My boyfriend built me a beautiful raised bed garden.  It even has an anti-rabbit fence around it, which my youngest daughter says is because the bunnies want to “go hop hop hop and eat all our vegegables”.  Tomato vines are completely swarming the east side of the garden, hosting an array of lettuce, spinach, corn, cucumbers, green beans, and various peppers.

When I was a kid, my mom did tons of home canning.  I remember we had a linen closet which had a sole purpose of storing all the beautiful jars my mom made.  While I am not up to par when compared with her, I have carried on the tradition of preserving the harvest with my attempts at canning and freezing.

Tomorrow’s hefty goals include a batch of dilly beans, relish, jalapeno relish, frozen shredded zucchini and frozen green beans.  Don’t forget I also need to run to the store for a few supplies, with three kids in tow.  Future plans are being made for salsa, tomatoes, and maybe even some jams or preserves.  While I don’t have quite the shrine to food preservation that my mom did, it’s a good start.

Wish me luck! 

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Is My Child Too Charitable?

About three months ago I cut my hair off and donated it for the second time. What seemed like a relatively small event in my life has now turned into several blog posts and a rather difficult conundrum. The first time I donated, my eldest daughter was only three years old. I’m sure she said something along the lines of, “Mommy, where did all your hair go?” But that was about it.
Now she is seven, so I explained to her that I was giving the hair to someone who was too sick to have their own hair. She had done the St. Jude’s Math-a-Thon recently, and had learned that her little sister had been born with a cancerous tumor. I guess all of that made it hit home for her, even though her sister didn’t lose her hair, because now she tells me she wants to donate her hair.
My first reaction was to be extremely proud. This is the same kid that couldn’t stand to give her old toys away because she would miss them too much. I think it is sweet and wonderful that she wants to do something like this.
But is this a decision that a seven-year-old is actually capable of making? She has beautiful light brown hair down to her waist, and chopping it off would be a significant change for her. I’m afraid she would regret her decision. She has told me several times that she would like to do this, but I am still very much on the fence about it.
Opinions?

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Hitchhiker seeks Loving Family

I picked up a hitchhiker today.  What else could I do?  She was starving, dirty and lost.  She also fits in my hand and is covered in brown and black striped fur.

I was driving home from my day job, exiting the amazing amount of road construction in Marion.  I noticed something on the shoulder of the road, and it was so small that at first I thought it was just a piece of trash.  Then I noticed the piece of trash had four legs and a tail. 

By the time I realized that the thing on the side of the road was a kitten, I had gone too far past it.  I turned around at the next light, hoping I could get back in the westbound lanes before it was too late.  As I maneuvered my car through traffic, I knew I simply could not have another cat.  I also knew I simply could not leave it there on the highway, to combat four lanes of traffic all by itself.

I’m sure the drivers behind me were not pleased that I was going about five miles under the speed limit, searching hopefully for the kitten.  When I passed it this time, it was barely visible against the weeds on the side of the road. 

As soon as I got out of the car, I could hear it meowing pitifully.  It took a few steps toward me, and had absolutely no problem being picked up.  I looked around for more kittens or a mother, but found nothing.

The drive home was interesting.  Forty minutes in speeding traffic with a rambunctious kitten in the car does not a pleasant ride make.  On my lap, on my shoulder, on the passenger seat, exploring the console, and even sinking its little claws onto my Broncos steering wheel cover and trying to do the driving for me.

My boyfriend and I are big fans of rescuing animals. Three out of our four current pets were rescues.  Porkchop, a pug and beagle mix that had been left at a foreclosed home, is absolutely in love with our little foster kitten!  He stood guard next to her cardboard box for at least an hour after I brought her home, cocking his ears to all her little noises.  Elwood, my most recent cat rescue and up until now the baby of the household, is terrified of this little creature that is about an eighth his size.  He has spent a good deal of the evening in my lap, assuring himself that he is still loved just as much.

This poor little kitten (whom we believe to be a girl) can’t be more than six weeks old.  I am at capacity with my pets, so I would really like to find this baby a “furever” home.  Please contact me if you are interested.  And, as Bob Barker would say, please have your pet spayed or neutered.  There are enough homeless babies out there.

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A Small Sneak Peek

I just had the most awesome time in a cemetery!  I know that sounds very strange to most of you, so let me explain.  I have been preparing to release my latest book, Life, Death and Frank.  Like any other book, it needed a cover.  Since this is, in essence, a mystery story revolving around a ghost, much of the book takes place in a cemetery, so that seemed the only logical setting for a cover photo.

I grabbed my cover designer (Sydney, of Artistic Photography by Sydney) and headed to the cemetery near my house.  We got the right shot for the cover pretty quickly, but we didn’t turn around and head back to the car after that.  The particular graveyard we went to has a very interesting mixture of both new and old headstones, dating back to the early 1900’s.  It was remarkable to read them all and imagine what these people’s lives were like and how they might have ended.

I have often taken inspiration from the names on gravestones.  Last year I attended a funeral, during which I stumbled across the name that would inspire Life, Death and Frank.  The name haunted me; I felt like I needed to do something with it.  It rolled around in my head for a couple months, until I attended another funeral.  As I gazed across the cemetery during the services, I realized I could solve the mystery of what happened to this unknown person by writing his story myself.  My novella was born!

My trip this evening has not only given me a great cover shot, but also the last name for the main character in the new book I am working on.  As I came home with half the cemetery on the bottom of my feet (flip flops were not a good idea), I couldn’t wait to sit down and let the creativity flow.  Look for Life, Death and Frank coming soon!

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A Casual Rebuttal to Confucius

They say, “Do what you love, and you will never work a day in your life.”  In researching this quote I found some conflicting information, but for the most part “they” appears to be Confucius.

I, however, am not so sure I agree.  I mean, I love to write, but there are certainly times when it feels like work.  The creative part of it is a bit of an adventure, and it’s not so bad.  But when I am sending out a manuscript submission, I can’t just write “Hey, check this out!” on a sticky note, slap it on a manuscript, and shove it in the mailbox.  When the kids are asleep and it is Time To Write, I sometimes find myself too tired to do as much as I would like.  If it wasn’t work, could I ever be too tired to do it?

In addition to writing, I have a day job in the financial sector.  I don’t really care for finance, and it most definitely feels like work.  So what’s the difference?

If you decide to Google Confucius’ quote for yourself, you will find several articles advising you not to do what you love.  They say (“they”, in this case, being business and financial experts) that you will be miserable and broke.  So should you do what you love and be miserable?  Or do what you hate and be miserable?

To me, it seems that the biggest delineation between the two is the willingness to do the work.  When I sit down to write, or send submissions, or order business cards, it is definitely work.  But I am more than happy to do it.  In fact, I am excited to do it.  Writing brings me more satisfaction and self-worth than any other job I have ever had.

So, while I concur with Confucius’ general idea, I think it should be amended a bit:

 

Do what you love, and you will want to work every day of your life.

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