Fairy Tale Friday

The following story is a response to Chuck Wendig's flash fiction challenge. Hope you enjoy Hansel and Gretel's visit to 1930's Oklahoma!

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Their daddy wasn’t an evil man. No, his affliction was much worse.

He was weak.

All their lives they’d been surrounded by weakness. At least that’s what Ham said and if there was one person Gertie could count on, it was her brother.

Their mama’s body was weak and it gave out. Ham said that their daddy’s weakness was of the spirit. Gertie wasn’t sure what that meant, but apparently it had something to do with taking them up into the Wichita Mountains and leaving them there.

Gertie looked up at Ham as their daddy disappeared around the mountain’s bend under the guise of finding brush for a fire. “He did it again.”

Ham dropped a hand to her shoulder. “We knew he would.”

It wasn’t the first time their daddy tried to lose them. Just a month earlier, they’d gone through the same thing.

Their daddy and stepmama didn’t realize that empty bellies kept the children awake. So, they heard their stepmama say there wasn’t enough food for her with them around and they would have to go. Gertie didn’t understand this. No one had enough food anymore. What made their stepmama so special that she should?

Sure, their daddy hemmed and hawed, but they knew he’d say yes. And he did. He forgot something, though. No one was a better tracker than Ham. Gertie’s brother left little clues along the trail and they’d easily made it down the mountain the next day.

Their stepmama yelled at them for getting lost and worrying her. For their misbehaving, she sent them to bed without supper.

Now, they were alone in the mountains again.

Ham took Gertie’s hand. “Come on. We can sleep under that ledge. Head back down in the morning.”

He’d left all the necessary signs to ensure them of the path back to the dried out farm. Their stepmama might be trying to kill them, but it was the only home they had.

Gertie curled up next to Ham, keeping a tight hold on his hand. With this assurance, she fell quickly asleep under the darkening sky.

She woke the next morning to a harrowing wail. Looking up, she screamed.

A black blizzard.

Ham was already moving, gathering her in close. He tied bandanas around their mouths before covering them fully with the blanket. The blowing dust raged, trying to rip their meager shelter away, but Ham held strong.

The storm lasted for what felt like forever and then it was gone. They quickly realized that with it went all of Ham’s clues. When they reached the bottom of the mountain, nothing looked the same.

So, they walked. And walked.

Finally, across the plains, they saw something. A grand riot of colors raised up from the ground. As they slowly drew closer, they realized it was a circus tent. Between them and the canvas was a wooden trailer with a small horse. Faded paint proclaimed, “The Amazing Cornelia Will Reveal Your Future.”

On the ledge of the trailer, Gertie saw two small pies. Without hesitation, the starving children set to eating them. When they were about halfway through, they heard a noise.

Standing to the side of the trailer was a surprisingly plump old woman, the whole of her eyes milky white. “Is someone eating my pies?”

Ham spoke quickly. “We’re awful sorry, ma’am. My sister and I have been walking a long while and we were hungry.”

“Children?” The old woman opened the door to the trailer. “You'd best get inside. It isn’t safe around here. Circus children keep disappearing. Sleep here tonight and I’ll help you get away in the morning.”

Ham took Gertie’s hand and thanked the woman. Inside the trailer were many boxes covered in blankets. Ham and Gertie climbed atop one and fell quickly asleep.

Gertie knew something wasn’t right the second she woke up. She reached for Ham’s hand and hit bars. Sitting up, she found herself inside a covered cage. Scattered around her were bones. Bunches and bunches of bones.

The blanket was pulled back suddenly. The old woman’s hand reached in and grabbed the girl’s arm. Gertie screamed and heard Ham yelling for her.

The old woman frowned. “Why you’re thinner than a rose petal, honey. But I’ll make due. Won’t be like the rest of them. Moving from place to place. Slowly starving to death.”

She dropped the blanket back down. Ham’s muffled yells were silenced with a thump. Gertie found the sharpest bone she could. Like her brother, she had a skill. She was blessed with a talent for locks. How else would she and Ham have ever gotten into their stepmama’s food cabinet?

Quietly, her small hands worked. With a soft pop, the lock gave. Very delicately, she lifted up the corner of the blanket. She crawled over to a small window. The old lady was outside, building a fire.

Gertie quickly found Ham. His temple was bloodied, but his lungs rose and fell. Still, he was in no condition to help.

Gertie’s legs shook as she made her way to the trailer door. She wanted to vomit, but ignored the weakness. She wouldn’t let Ham down.

She pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through and climbed up into the small seat where the horse’s reins rested. As soon as the leather touched her hands, Gertie slapped the animal into action.

The old woman’s head snapped up at the sound of hooves. Gertie watched as she staggered away from the noise. The old lady’s foot caught and she went pitching straight into the fire she’d been preparing for the children. Her bellows filled the air, but Gertie didn’t look back, riding hard to the colorful tent in the distance.

What with all the bones, it didn’t take much convincing for the circus folk to believe Gertie’s tale. They welcomed the children in and left the old woman’s body to the coyotes.

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Hope you all have a Friday the 13th filled with whatever luck you're looking for!

Groundhogs: Casting Shadows Everywhere

Some distressing news was brought to my attention this morning. It appears we have lost the woodchucks, also known as groundhogs, to the Squirrel Menace.

Apparently these dastardly creatures are behind the recent theft of flags from the graves of Civil War veterans in New York.

This is a very disturbing development to say the least. Back in February, I mentioned my desire to avoid a battle on this front. Sadly, I no longer believe we have that option. If they are in league with the Menace, as it appears, we have no choice but to mount a defense against whatever their future plans may be.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by this betrayal. After all, woodchucks are part of a large group of ground squirrels. Still, I guess my hopeful heart was looking for this to be a Vulcan/Romulan situation, where despite common ancestry with the Menace the groundhogs were in alliance with us.

Alas, this is not to be.

I had originally believed that the conflict began in DC in the early 1940s, when an adopted squirrel was forced to suffer horrifying atrocities. However, the woodchucks’ choice to go after Civil War graves may prove that this struggle reaches further back in history. I plan to investigate this further, so that we may better understand what first cause the schism that we are now forced to deal with.

As I continue to delve into this harrowing past, I urge you to be cautious. I have no doubt that these allies to the Menace will chuck all the wood that a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood in our direction.

Be safe.

Clock's ticking....

You ever have one of those days where there just don’t seem to be enough hours to accomplish everything that needs to get done? Where it seems like the time gods are playing silly pranks and making the seconds speed by faster than they normally do?

You’re frustrated and crabby. You’ve hit that point where you’re thinking about just trading it all in. Quitting all the things and starting anew. Maybe you’ll open up a diner in Hawaii. Or become an independently-wealthy-socialite-nighttime-caped-crusader. Found a wizarding school for mystical platypuses! In that moment the world of possibilities opens wide.

Then you remember that you need some start-up capital for these awesome endeavors. And you’re working now, so it only makes sense to stay where you are for the time being until you have the means for your well thought out long term plans. But how are you going to accomplish what needs to be done when you just don’t have enough time? Hmmm….maybe you’ll just chuck it all….just walk from one side of the country to the other.

This vicious cycle continues on and on. And do you know what happens as your mind continues to spin out in every direction?

You take care of all the things you need to get done.

Because there is enough time. Not for everything, true, but for everything important. As of Friday, I am two months out of grad school. If you’d asked me four months ago if I was going to get everything done before graduation, I probably would have punched you in the tooth, laughed maniacally until the sound turned into a scream of desperation and run down the street, waving my arms in the air.

In short, I just didn’t think I had enough time.

I wailed. I gnashed my teeth. I’m pretty sure that Roomie was one complaint away from putting her “roommate alteration” plan into effect. And I wouldn't have blamed her.

But I continued to tear out clumps of my hair as I gremlined through the apartment, with my arms wrapped around my notes on Civil War theater troupes, muttering about “my precious.” And every day I went to work, attended my classes, handed in my papers on time, posted on the blog and continued working on my writing.

Sure, I had to let go of a few things. Like sleep. Or eating things that didn’t come out of a Kraft Macaroni and Cheese box. I’m still catching up on the TV and fun-time reading I had to postpone. But everything that I deemed important got done. And the rest didn’t really need to.

On any given day, we do have enough time. The trick is just to decide what’s essential enough to fill it with.

*And if you sometimes need a reminder of this, the way I do, I suggest checking out this story.

I've got a great personality...

Some days you wake up in the morning and are just ready to go. Rain or shine, you are in the zone. Nothing can stop you. Basically, you’re Milty on his porch, riding that stationary bike. The world is yours for the taking.

And other days, you just want to sit at your computer and take personality tests. You look to things like the Myers-Briggs test or the even more reputable “What Animal Are You?” quiz to give you some guidance on where to go with your life.

Today is one of those latter types. And here’s what I’ve found out:

In terms of animals, I took two different personality quizzes this morning. One told me I was a wolf, the other claimed me as a bat. At first, I couldn't understand this discrepancy. How could such highly dependable questionnaires leave me with two such differing responses? How? The question tortured me and I fell to the ground and gnashed my teeth. But then a light bulb exploded over my head, shooting out rainbows and dreams. My personality animal is Dracula. A truth that, on some level, I've long suspected.

As far as Myers-Briggs goes, the last time I took it was in high school, but an awesome article provided a link. I’m an ISFJ. The article also went on to pair personality types with literary counterparts of the same ilk.

My literary personality buddy is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Dr. Watson. According to this we share the habits of being orderly, hardworking and calm, as well as having a penchant for deductive reasoning.

Finally, my prowess as a kid detective makes sense!

As I write this, I realize something else: When I combine the results of both personality tests together, an interesting conclusion forms. Between my vampiric personality animal and my deductive qualities, there is really only one fictional place where I belong.

I just wish Angel Investigations was still open.

The Reese's Assessment

I have aliens on the brain.

This can be said of me at pretty much any time during the year. But, considering all the aliens in the news lately, how could I be thinking of anything else?

It started last week, when some friends and I discovered that National Geographic conducted a survey asking Americans who, of the presidential candidates, they thought would better handle an extraterrestrial invasion. Then, of course, came the traditional Fourth of July viewing of Independence Day. And finally, we came up on yesterday’s 65^th anniversary of the “Roswell Incident.”

Reading about all this prompted a lengthy discussion with the friends over the possibility of aliens. So, not only am I comforted by the fact that we’re finally asking politicians the important questions, but I now also have a better understanding of where my buddies stand on the existence of aliens. Of the seven of us involved in this dialogue, only one was adamant in her disbelief. The rest ranged along the spectrum, with me coming in solidly on the ‘yay’ side.

Naturally, this conversation evolved into the “friend or foe” dilemma. So, being the highly educated group we are, we turned to the most objective of sources to argue our sides – the movies. Some of the ladies were of the belief that no good could come of an alien visitation. After all, that jerk of an alien said “No peace,” didn’t he? And even in terms of the friendlier ones...sometimes their written work can be a little misleading.

While I acknowledge this possibility, I’m not quite ready to completely write off the chance of peaceful relations. Here’s how I see it, the movies that show large groups of aliens generally portray them as aggressive, but the movies that look at individual aliens show that they're more complex than that. E.T. was a great friend. Wiploc, Zeebo, and Mac were just looking for a good time. Plus....you know....Superman. That stalwart Kryptonian pretty much seals the deal on my willingness to put a little faith in those alien folk.

The problem is mob mentality. Get a giant group of aliens together, all juiced up on the adrenaline rush of intergalactic travel and yeah, there’s a good chance things are going to go sideways. But the same can be said of humans. Look at all the movies that don’t have aliens in them. Individuals can be shining examples, but broaden the focus to a huge group of people and morality and goals get a little bit murkier.

So, I say, if aliens ever decide to swing by, keep an open mind. And maybe some Reece’s Pieces on hand. And if they reject the chocolatey peanut-buttery goodness? First check to see if they have a peanut allergy. You don’t want to be starting an intergalactic incident over them not wanting to break out in hives. But if there are no allergies? Go to plan B and shoot your way out of there. Because they can’t be trusted.*

*This rule can also be applied to humans. Seriously, who doesn’t like Reece’s Pieces??

Bad Movies/Good Party Themes: High School Musical 2 Nostalgia Party

Happy first Friday of the month all! If you’re in the mood to feel both nostalgic and ridiculous, have I got a theme for you...

Let me start by saying, that while, yes, High School Musical 2 is a fairly ridiculous movie to older crowds, it’s not actually that bad for the age group at which it was aimed. And the same can be said for its prequel and sequel. If I was thirteen when these came out, I would totally be in love. And if the Roomie’s face when Troy started singing “Bet On It” was any indication, I don’t think she would employ as stringent an age limit as I on this devotion.

Point of fact, these songs will be stuck in your head for days. If not the words, then just snippets of the tunes. And yes, it will drive you mad. I say this as both a warning and an endorsement.

As far as storyline goes, this part of the series shows those crazy Wildcats working summer jobs at a ritzy country club. Between this setting and all the dance breaks of the child labor, it’s got a Kellerman’s meets the Newsboys Strike sort of vibe.

Or maybe, I’ve just got Kenny Ortega on the brain.

You know what? Make it easy on yourself. Just have an Ortega-themed night. Dirty Dancing, Newsies, High School Musical (1-3)….maybe throw in the float scene from Ferris….oooh, Pretty in Pink! Okay, I’m sorry, I’m getting carried away. Shag: The Movie! No, stop it. But it would be magical. That’s a different theme night! Not this one!

My sincerest apologies.

In terms of this theme, I have one word for you: yearbooks. You know what’s a fantastic way to get yourself laughing? Looking at your friends’ HS yearbooks and having them look at yours. Why? Because we were all ridiculous in some way in high school. My yearbook also had baby pics in it. When the Roomie saw mine, her horrified response was, “It’s the same exact face, but on a baby!” Ah, friend-time bonding. 

Can’t put a price on that.

Crackerjack dialogue to look forward to:

-          “But if along the way you act like someone you’re not, pretty soon that’s who you become.”

-          “My show makes the captain of the Titanic look like he won the lottery.”

-          “But you better step away from the mirror long enough to check the damage that will always be right behind you.”

-          “We’re all in this together.” (said, not sung, multiple times by multiple characters)

For a High School Musical 2 Teen Nostalgia Party of your very own, here’s what you need:

-          High School Musical 2 (2007)

-          High school garb (any such garb will do, but if you’re going for real nostalgia, I’d wear something from your own HS days. For instance, I wore my old gym t-shirt and my dance club sweatshirt tied around my waist. Because I am (and was) that cool.)

-          Yearbooks

-          HS era snacks (mine were Oatmeal Crème Pies and Cosmic Brownies)

-          Ribbons, plaques, etc. (Did you win anything in HS? Show it off! Let me tell you, there are very few people who aren’t impressed by my Junior Year Dance Participation Ribbon. And that’s just a fact.)

-          An appreciation for songs that are going to weasel their way into your head for the next week or so (I don’t dance. I know you do! Not a chance. If I can do this, then you can do that. But, I don’t dance……Uh. Sorry about that. Got lost in the head tunes for a sec.)

-          A group of musical enthusiasts and/or Zefron lovers and/or people who know that high school is a thing to laugh over.

And So It All Comes Together

The quest to decide what I will be when I grow up soldiers on, now arriving at college.

I went into school undecided (which I recommend for everyone who hasn’t maintained a consistent career goal from the time they were four), but by the end of freshman year, I had come to a decision. Ultimately I chose with my heart, majoring in history and minoring in theater. The difficulty in getting a job in either of those fields paled in comparison to my interest.

Once again, it came down to the stories. In my history classes I learned the many ways to research people and events of the past. I was afforded the opportunity to study the daily acts of ordinary heroism and villainy that the past is made up of. And in theater, I found new ways to present the story to an audience. Perhaps, most importantly to me, in both programs I continued to be presented with occasions to improve my writing.

One of my favorite internships came along in grad school and allowed me to utilize all the different things I had learned up until that point. I wrote for just under six months for a blog called The Long Recall, which sadly is no longer run. Every day we posted real time information on the Civil War, written as though it was 1861. And it was awesome.

I got to spend hours and hours going back through old newspapers and coming up with the news for the day. I had to remember how to write news instead of papers, so I rummaged through the Mary Poppins bag of my life and pulled out my old newspaperwoman hat. I wrote about everything I could find on day to day life, from the war to new fashions to animal care to entertainment (including clowns!), all the while having to find common threads so that a larger story came together as the audience read multiple posts. Every one of my former dream jobs came in handy. And all the past-me’s felt quite vindicated.

As for what I will actually be when I grow up? Not really sure yet. But I know I’ll keep writing until the very end. Everything else is just a bonus.

All right, now that I’ve blathered on for four days about what I wanted to be when I grew up, how about you? Did you know right away or were there some pit stops before your final destination?

Check back in tomorrow for this month’s Bad Movie/Good Party Theme!

A Need For Stories

And continuing this week’s look back on young career aspirations, we have reached high school.

By this point, I knew I loved writing. I wanted to write novels, all the kinds that made me stay up until the wee hours of the morning after telling my parents I was indeed going to sleep.

But, I also decided I was going to be Lois Lane, or maybe April O’Neil. A hard hitting journalist who wrote about truth, justice, the American way (Happy Independence Day, by the way!), the discovery of teen-aged mutant ninja turtles, etc.

I joined the school newspaper and wrote about whatever they needed me to write about. I enjoyed the writing aspect, of course. And I enjoyed interviewing people regarding different subjects because people, as a rule, are interesting. But I realized pretty fast I was never going to succeed in the Lane/O’Neil way of life.

Why?

Because I didn’t like intruding. And if there’s one thing Lois Lane and April O’Neil never minded, it was intruding. But I didn’t like the idea of invading anybody’s privacy. There was a lot of tragedy in the country during my high school years, including September 11^th, the D.C. Sniper, and a number of local scandals. While much of the news was beneficial in keeping the public in the know, what I remember most are the faces of those who were trying to pick up the pieces after something horrible had happened. Some wanted to be able to talk about things with the world, but others just wanted to be left alone. And I didn’t want to be the person whose job it was to keep asking them questions.

So one more career path was taken off the table.

But writing still remained. Like everyone else who sat watching the news at night, I couldn’t do anything to change the things that had happened. I couldn’t make those feelings of helplessness and uncertainty go away. There was the possibility, however, that if I wrote a good enough story, I could give people a break from the chaos that surrounded them, as was so beautifully discussed in this post. That’s how it had always worked for me, anyway. Nothing gave me a new perspective on the world the way a book did.

When high school ended, I happily hung up my press badge. My notebooks of stories, however, I kept filling; still searching for the characters who would be willing to share their stories with me.

One out of three isn't so bad for a seven-year-old

In second grade, our teacher had us write books and the class mothers laminated them. It was all very exciting.

The first book we wrote was an “About Me” story. In addition to talking about who we were then, we were also asked to include where we saw ourselves in the future.

By this point, I was on a different career trajectory than that of pre-school me. Clowning was out. Animals were in.

My future dreams were very specific. I was going to be a veterinarian, an author, and have hair down to my ankles. Life would be ideal.

Well, as it turns out, despite my love of animals, I have neither a natural talent for, nor an interest in, the study of medicine. Or science in general. So, it was a little difficult to further this goal.

Sure, I still worked with animals. I relocated my cat and the six kittens she had under the bed, without our prior knowledge that she was pregnant, from the guest room to my room. I assisted in training the family dog in circus performance. I learned that keeping the plastic bowl that housed the carnival-won goldfish on the radiator was detrimental to the fish’s ability to live. I got my exercise chasing our runaway dogs out of the backyards of neighbors. I changed the sheets when I woke up to find that the puppy, who I had foolishly fallen asleep next to, had wet the bed. The same puppy who had simultaneously wet and vomited on me earlier in our relationship. (He and I had words.) And I participated in the truly moving funeral of a bird my sister, some friends, and I found in the backyard.

So, no, I never saved the lives or improved the health of any animals. But I did let every dog we ever owned take up more room on the bed than I. So, that’s something, at least.

Also, tried growing out my hair. Didn’t suit me (as any picture from high school can prove. I looked like a lion).

Two dreams that didn’t quite make the cut. But second grade me didn’t completely miss the boat on future predictions. The dream of writing? That one stuck around.

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

From pretty much the moment we can formulate an answer, we are asked this question. For some people, this answer never changes – they know what they want to be from day one. And it is impressive. For the rest of us, the answer can be fairly fluid. This week I’m taking a look back at some of my earlier aspirations.

Thanks to all the school work my parents have held on to over the years, I know one thing for sure:

I had a lot of plans when I was a kid.

When I was in pre-school, the teacher handed out a sheet of paper with this timeless question written across the top and we were supposed to draw our answer.

I drew a clown.

I honestly can’t tell you what was going through my head when I made that decision. My best guess is that it had something to do with liking to make people laugh. I was also a bit of ham back then, so I wouldn’t be surprised if when asked this question my thought process was, Hmmm. What would get me the most attention? Ah, yes, the art of clowning. It was either that or, Hehe. Silly clowns. Either way, the irrefutable logic swayed me.

I believe this choice also points to a subtle desire to scare the crap out of people. ‘Cause let’s face it, clowns are a wee bit creepy. (And by “wee bit,” I mean “extremely.” It’s the whole facial cues issue.) I used to love to hide behind things and jump out at people. Thankfully, I eventually kicked that twisted little habit (for the most part. I still get the urge sometimes when I’m around my sister. But I figure, that’s only natural), which is probably why my interest in clowning waned.

This was not a dream with any longevity to it, but it did foreshadow my current approach to writing. If at the end of the day, I’ve put something on the page that can both give the reader a chuckle and the creeps, I feel successful.

By the way, my dream of being a clown totally came true, if a little earlier than I expected. At the age of eleven, I gave the performance of my life as the clown at my sister’s eighth birthday party. I am proud to say that I was both amusing and horrifying (with a slight emphasis on the latter).

So, check that dream off the list.