Friday Forays in Fiction: The Influence of Reading on Our Stories -- and a snippet

Thomas Covenant Trilogies

Several months ago I started reading Donaldson's Thomas Covenant series.  The first two trilogies are re-reads but I've not yet read the final quartet.  This rereading of the first six books had two purposes--to prepare to read the final four and to facilitate the rewrite of my story Blow Me a Candy Kiss, because I'd given one of my characters an obsession with it.

The first time I read it was the year the first one came out, the year I married.  I introduce Ed to it and he became as enthralled if not more than I and over the next decade or so that story colored all of our communication.  We found shorthand ways of saying what we were trying to say via everything from themes to metaphors to scenes.

Remember that Star Trek Next Generation episode where Captain Picard was kidnapped by an alien captain who isolated the two of them on a planet with a dangerous entity that would take cooperation to defeat and proceeded to use the situation as a way to teach Picard their very alien language?  That language was entirely based on knowledge of the stories of their culture.  Nearly the entire vocabulary consisted of phrases of this order: [Name of character] at [name of place].  Well that's how Ed and I once used the Thomas Covenant story.

Since I discovered that the story problem in Candy Kiss was the damaged communication between husband and wife, Iris and Greg, and because some of the themes in the story, especially those represented by Greg, are the same as those in Thomas Covenant, I decided it fitting to incorporate it into my story.  It gives me a lever with which to move them out of the rut they had dug for themselves.

I thought I'd share a snippet of the the current structural rewrite of the opening scene, incorporating advice from my beta reader and Hooked by Les Edgerton and showcase  how Donaldson's story is influencing my rewrite.

If you would like to compare the original 1990 version of the opening and/or see how the story ends:  part 1; part 2; part 3; part 4; part 5;

Blow Me a Candy Kiss [the beginning]

by Joy Renee

Turning the last page, Iris let the book fall closed on her lap where it settled the weight of despair on her thighs.  The lengthy expose of the foster care system by an investigative journalist had just quashed her latest (last?) hope of creating a family with Greg.

An indignation propelled surge of words swell in her throat, threatening to flood out of her mouth in a helpless harangue. How can an agency created for the best interests of the child actively discourage their foster parents from getting attached to the kids or allowing the kids to get attached to them? 

By policy no less! Love, they were told, was not their job.

What?  Are they trying to create a generation of sociopaths?

She desperately needs to talk to Greg about this and about where do they go from here--overseas adoption? open adoption? surrogacy? in vitro?  But the cost of any of them was prohibitive.

Besides, the fact of their childlessness was a topic they had talked to death long ago and buried under a tombstone marked TABOO.  

Yet it remains, a black hole to which all other subjects gravitate and  distort, leaving naught between us but the vacuum of my womb. She looked across the chasm separating them knowing Greg's face was hidden behind this weekend's fat novel.

After a brief glimpse of him laid back in his recliner with his book propped on his chest, she quickly looks away for fear the welling tears blurring her vision for the last fifty pages would slide free just as he happened to glance over the top of his book while turning a page.

Then he'd ask what was wrong or (guessing) not.  Which would feel worse?  Not something I want to find out.  

Either way, it's better to save the tears and rants for when she's alone.  For above all she couldn't bear to see his silent agony whenever he saw the sadness or anger overwhelming her--that look of pain and defeat in his eyes as his shoulders slump, his hands hang empty and impotent at his side and his eyes find anywhere to gaze but at her.

As she waited for her tears to dry and to be sure she had them well banked, she stared unblinking out the window beside her solitary seat in the loveseat-rocker--once one of their favorite weekend hangouts--watching the tops of the trees along the creek bordering their backyard converse with the sky.

Even the trees can shoot the breeze with the sky, while Greg and I can barely discuss anything besides the weather, aches and pains, or what's for dinner anymore.

Eying the whiplashed treetops again she noted that the predominant gusts seemed to be coming from the west.  She couldn't see the horizon in any direction so could not tell if there were clouds moving in on their summer-blue, heat-shimmered sky but the sensation of weight pressing down on the top of her head and pushing out from behind her eyes seemed more intense than what could be accounted for by the summer colds she and Greg were nursing on the only day of the week they both had off.

Sunday's and summer-colds.  Two things we can still share. Iris crooked her mouth in a grimace of irony.  All is not lost yet. 

"Hope it's not raining at the coast.  The girls were so excited about playing in the surf." 

As was she!  They were supposed to be camping at the coast with their parents and sisters this weekend but when they'd woke up Friday morning feeling miserable the others had gone on without them to soak up surf and sun, leaving Greg and Iris at home to soak up tissues and time. 

Greg did not respond as he'd started snorting and coughing just as she started speaking. Casting furtive glances toward him she sighed.  Not worth repeating.  What could he say anyway?

Staring at the cover of his hardback copy of Donaldson's The Wounded Land which blocked her view of his face she fumbled for something she could say that would prompt him to close the book on his finger or let it lay open across his chest so she could see his face.  How is it possible to miss so intensely a face that's in the same room with you?

What she really needed was to lay her head on his chest and listen to his heart beat as he talked about this story that had so enthralled him since his teens he'd reread the series from the beginning every time a new one was about to come out and from the beginning to the end of the second trilogy every two or three years since.  

Sharing in his enthusiasm for The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant had been an integral part of their courtship in their late teens. Reading the first trilogy through together the year after her high school graduation, they'd carried on impassioned discussions about the relationship between Thomas' two worlds and between them and our world.

They'd shared many such rousing discussions on numerous topics in the early years.  But not only had it been years since the last one, she couldn't remember when she last saw Greg roused about anything.  His reticence had gone beyond stoicism into implacable guardedness. 

He’s Colossus of the Fall, she thought, flashing on that iconic image from Donaldson’s Land.  Nothing represented his stance toward his world better than that monumental clenched fist of rock raised against a vast sky on the edge of Landsdrop, a ward against enemies of the land.  

Once this trait of Greg’s had given her comfort, a sense of protection against threat inside the circle of his ward. But of late she felt exiled from that circle.  When did I become an enemy to be guarded against? She wondered with a surge of adrenaline spiked surprise.

As she watched him find the corner of the page with his right index finger, she smiled at the memory of Greg's reaction to his professor's response to his essay analyzing the metaphors in Donaldson's series carrying the themes of shame, grief, regret, guilt and redemption.  She'd said that, though she hadn't read any of the books, she could not imagine such serious themes being so trivialized by wrapping them in the frivolous fantasy venue.  He was over-the-top outraged.

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Friday Forays in Fiction: Time for NaNo Thinking Cap

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I've finally settled on which story to work with this year.  It is the first novel in a fantasy trilogy that I starting mapping out in the early 80s.  By the end of that decade I had a fat paper file and multiplying digital files of notes and rough drafts, character sketches and scene lists, maps and calendars, glossary and timelines, history and lore.  All of it was lost in a move.  Except one hard copy scene in my portfolio of pages I'd deemed worthy of the paper and ink.

When typing all of my hard copy drafts into new digital files in 2004 I expanded that one scene into several that approaches 3K and if I decide to go with cliff hanger chapter endings as is so popular in the genre it is probably a full first chapter for Book 1 and is titled The Mourning Mother.

I'm going to have to recreate all the world building from memory or completely from scratch as so much of it is so vague in my memory by now.  Even though I've gravitated to the literary genre since then this story still haunts me.

I was probably not a mature enough writer at the time to do it right but I think I am now.

One of the benefits of choosing this story to work on is that it is completely free of the FOS storyworld and there is no way I can hook it in by using FOS characters.  Unless I give it to Holly from Spring Fever as the fantasy series she was known for and wrote under a pseudonym to keep her academic literary poetry writing separate from her pop fic.  But even that won't tangle up the time lines which makes it so hard to work on any one story without vetting it with all the others.

Next week I will share that first chapter in its entirety in Friday Forays.  I once shared it in snippets for Friday Snippets a few years ago: Friday Snippets 23 and Friday Snippets 24 and Friday Snippets 25 but I think I've cleaned it up and expanded it some since then and I can see a few places to fix even now.

This chapter of course won't be included in my NaNo word count.

SERIES TITLE: THE WARD'S PREVAILING

BOOK 1: THE WAILING WOMB
BOOK 2: THE TRAVAILING WOEFUL
BOOK 3: THE AVAILING WORD

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Friday Snippet 50

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

I can't believe I'm actually posting a snippet (almost) on time. When the company left at six this evening I returned to our room to lay down with a headache and fell asleep. I was wakened by the neighborhood fireworks noise just before nine. The pops, sizzles and booms were continuous for nearly two hours and frequent until midnight. If it hadn't been so noisy I might have been tempted to post a quick Happy 4th and go back to sleep. But I decided to spend an hour with Crystal first. I told myself that, if after an hour, I was still staring at white space, I would allow myself the 'Happy 4th' option but I had to try first. And I took the 'shell' option off the table. If I couldn't post a snippet before I slept, then I would have to skip it altogether for the second week in a row. But first I had to TRY.

An hour later I had the first two paragraphs and knew where I was headed. It took me another two hours to reach the point I decided to break off this time. The action is about to pick up, a new character walk on stage and so forth. It's a natural breaking point. In fact it is probably the natural end of the scene that began in part thirteen when Crystal entered this room to meet Garrison as Brook returned to finish cleaning the room Crystal had awoke in less than an hour before.

So you might want to try reading parts thirteen through fifteen before reading this snippet. At the very least, if you missed the description of the mural in part fifteen two weeks ago, you really need it to understand the opening paragraphs of this snippet. It is only a couple of paragraphs. The four snippets together are about 1800 words.

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You can catch up or review via the links to the first fifteen parts available below.

The entire thing is closing in on 13K. So much for it being a short story. Based on the scenes yet to be written which I know about, I estimate I'm 1/3 to 1/2 way there. That won't be long enough for a novel either. sigh.

But then I hadn't planned on it being a novel. I have enough novels in progress in this story world!

One of them is even set in this same motel. And someone you've already encountered in this story is a POV character in it. You learned her name when Crystal did in part twelve: Brook the housekeeper. She was the protagonist of my first NaNo novel, Majoring in Marine Biology.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve; part thirteen; part fourteen; part fifteen;)

Crystal could not help but laugh aloud at the sight. Forgetting for a moment that she was trying to move slow and low in order to reassure Garrison, she lurched to her feet to move closer to the mural reaching out towards it involuntarily. Whether she wanted to embrace it or be embraced by it, to enter it like an alternate universe, take the infant in her arms or climb upon the dolphin's back with him reaching for the rim of the rainbow, she was never sure. But the impact of that mural on her was such that she would ever after mark the events of her life as before or after encountering it. Before there had been dark fear and despair. After there had been bright hope and joy. Before she had felt herself sinking into a chaotic and lightless sea teaming with monstrous and vicious creatures of ill will. After she felt borne up into cosmic beauty among spirits of angelic benevolence. And from that moment on each day seemed to her like a ride upon the back of a leaping dolphin into the embrace of a rainbow.

Crystal touched the cool tracks of tears on her cheeks quickly evaporating into the currents of air generated by the fan above her head. There was no time to wonder at their source and meaning though as Garrison spoke again and she turned to see him kneeling in the center of the crib pointing at the mural behind her. "Be." he said and laughed and then reached his arms out. She wasn't sure if he was reaching for the baby in the mural or her but she walked toward him and he didn't duck and hide. He kept his arms raised until she lifted him up. When he said "Be." again she walked toward the mural with him.

Standing next to it, they were directly under the arched belly of the dolphin. The baby Garrison was reaching for was too high for him to touch but he patted the dolphin's grin saying, "Daw." And then he pointed to the bottle of apple juice she had left on the floor where she had been kneeling. "Ju. Ju." he said emphatically.

She retrieved the bottle and handed it to him and then circled the couch to the changing station Brook had described. When she set him down next to the diaper bag he swiveled himself and lay down without loosing a beat of the vigorous sucking of juice. By the time she was attaching the second tape on the dry diaper there was very little left. He tossed it on the floor as he rolled onto his belly and then scooted himself over the edge feet first. As soon as his feet touched the floor he plopped onto his bottom and started crawling toward the shekels of light below the drapes. When he reached them he lifted the edge of the drape over his head and let it fall down his back. She heard his hands plop and squeak on the window as he said, "Go. Go. Go."

Crystal went to the nearest edge of the drapes and peeked out. There was a small patio just outside the sliding glass doors and just beyond a small asphalt parking lot was an expanse of sand separating them from the foamy edge of a gentle surf. It looked perfect for wading in, for building sand castles beside but the shimmer she could see hovering over the parking lot warned against any attempt to cross it barefoot. Even if she had her sandals though, she was less than eager to risk an encounter with Michael and Gabrielle.

"It's too hot outside Garrison. How about we go see what's in the fridge?"

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Friday Snippet 49

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

Update 6/25/08: Snippet pasted in. It's soooo late. It's soooo short. And it's all description. I'm struggling with the action I have planned for this scene. I have a lot of trouble with transitions. I'm also having a tug-o-war with that part of myself that is itching to start editing and rewriting. But that wasn't the deal I made with my muse when I began this project. This whole exercise is an attempt to see if I can keep the harpies at bay until I get a completed draft of a story. The idea is to stay playful and to resist the temptation to start reworking it and second and third guessing every move. But I expected this to be a short story--under 10K and it is already several K past that and still less than half way to the climax I envisioned and the threads are tangled, stretched, and threatening to snap.

Anyway. I'm going to try to squeeze out another half K of words by Friday evening. If I don't manage that then I'm not going to post a snippet at all. I can't have the shell gambit hanging over me during the Read-a-thon and its aftermath.

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This is a shell again. How surprised are we? I'll paste the snippet in sometime this weekend. At least that is the current plan and I've only been later than Sunday night twice in fourteen weeks. My excuses aren't that good this week. I got caught up in two obsessions. Reading fiction and playing the Weekly Geeks Scavenger Hunt which is over as of tomorrow. Yesterday, I fully intended to spend today working on my snippet though. And was foiled by the temps going up unexpectedly. That is one serious drawback of laptops. The heat coming off the keyboard on warm days. If only I could take it outside. But I can't read the screen in daylight. So I've been taking books outside with me and since Tuesday have read the last hundred pages of The Historian, the two Nancy Yi Fan novels and the August Wilson play, The Piano Lesson.

I went outside after dinner this evening and didn't come in until after midnight. I was reading at first but had to stop when it started sprinkling. But couldn't bear to go in. Ed and I then started a conversation about nine-thirty that lasted until nearly one. And since I've been sleeping nights all week that pretty much wraps up my day. Tomorrow is my 'home alone' day as long as the dirt track races don't get rained out. I do need to do some laundry but other than that and breaks to fix my own meals I'll have from 2:30PM thru 10:30PM to designate how I see fit. I will work on the snippet for part of that if I have to use pencil and paper and then type it in after midnight or the cool of Sunday morning.

Meanwhile....

You can catch up or review via the links to the first fourteen parts available below.

The entire thing is closing in on 12K. So much for it being a short story. Based on the scenes yet to be written which I know about, I estimate I'm 1/3 to 1/2 way there. That won't be long enough for a novel either. sigh.

But then I hadn't planned on it being a novel. I have enough novels in progress in this story world!

One of them is even set in this same motel. And someone you've already encountered in this story is a POV character in it. You learned her name when Crystal did in part twelve: Brook the housekeeper. She was the protagonist of my first NaNo novel, Majoring in Marine Biology.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve; part thirteen; part fourteen;)

With Garrison alternately humming and sucking on his thumb as he considered his next move, Crystal began looking around the room from her kneeling position to get her bearings. The portable crib was set against the back of a couch that was facing the draped window at the end of the long narrow room. The sheckles of light on the floor beneath the drapes indicated a large sliding-glass door behind them. To her right was the TV with a rocking chair in front of it. She could touch the edge of of one of its rockers and set it in motion if she reached out.

The long wall on her right was clear of furniture for most of its length except for a large cabinet next to the door she had entered. On that wall was a mural depicting an ocean scene. Although the bottom section consisted mostly of dark lines suggesting an underwater tableau, the top was filled in full of color and detail. the felt her jaw actually dropping, her lungs filling with awe, her eyes widening and for long moments refusing to blink.

On a sapphire sky under an overarching rainbow that contained more glowing colors than she could name, were a number of planetary bodies--scintillating jewels--in a surrealistic symbiosis with a plethora of marine lifeforms. A gray whale was breaching our of the center of a Galaxy. A hammerhead shark was cruising the rings of a large beclouded planet. An orca was arched inside the circle of a full moon creating the emblem of the Tao. In the far left corner a sun with a fiery halo was playing placenta for a human fetus woven of the fiery threads of the corona with one especially long and bright solar flare acting as umbilical chord.

In the center, leaping out of the ocean in a great spray of sparkling water was a dolphin and upon its back rode a laughing infant raising its arms in an attempt to grasp the rim of the rainbow. Crystal had not yet gotten a clear look at Garrison's face but she was willing to bet that was his face and this was his mother's work.

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Friday Snippet 48

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

Update: the snippet is pasted in as of Sunday morning. It is short again. I'm taking baby steps with the scene, feeling my way, as Crystal is with Garrison.

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I woke with a headache today and was unable to see or think well enough to work on the snippet. I'll do my best to get it pasted into this shell this weekend.

You can catch up or review via the links to the first thirteen parts available below.

The entire thing is closing in on 12K. So much for it being a short story. Based on the scenes yet to be written which I know about, I estimate I'm 1/3 to 1/2 way there. That won't be long enough for a novel either. sigh.

But then I hadn't planned on it being a novel. I have enough novels in progress in this story world!

One of them is even set in this same motel. And someone you've already encountered in this story is a POV character in it. You learned her name when Crystal did in part twelve: Brook the housekeeper. She was the protagonist of my first NaNo novel, Majoring in Marine Biology.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve; part thirteen;)

As Crystal approached, Garrison, who was kneeling in the center of a nest of blankets and stuffed toys, stared with wide, solemn eyes. When she had reached about three paces from the side of the crib, he pulled a blanket up over his head, holding it in place with both hands. She stopped and knelt down. "I see you don't want to see me yet." she said softly. "Do you want to see the juice Mama sent for you?"

Crystal waited in silence for Garrison to acknowledge her. There was no urgency that warranted swooping in and manhandling him into fresh diapers. Until he decided that the discomforts of his hunger, thirst or wet bottom outweighed the discomfort of not knowing her, any 'help' she attempted to force on him would be an infliction of trauma.

"Ju. Ju." Garrison's voice was so soft and muffled by the blanket he held taut over his head with clenched fists against each ear that Crystal knew he was talking more to himself than to her.

"Yes. Juice." Crystal answered him anyway. "It's apple juice, I think. And Mama said you could come out to the fridge to pick your treat after your diaper change."

It was impossible to know how much of what she said he understood. More important than the meaning of the words though, was the meaning held in her tone and in her presence. This Crystal had learned by watching Mother's way with the babies. She swallowed convulsively as her throat went tight and dry in response to a brief vision of Mother playing peek-a-boo with Winston at about this age. She mustn't let her thoughts wander there right now. Too bad there wasn't a blanket she could pull over her memories.

Instead of lowering the blanket, Garrison held it firmly in place as he lowered himself face down onto the mattress and stuck his thumb in his mouth. The vigorous sucking was audible from where Crystal still kneeled. After a minute or so of this he released the thumb and began again with the sing-song 'Mamamma, Mamamama, Mamama, Mama.' that Crystal had heard coming over the baby monitor in Brook's apron pocket. He was trying to turn back time and rewrite history she thought, smiling to herself. She knew that he could very well soothe himself back to sleep this way. She would not interfere if he did.

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Friday Snippet 47

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

Update: I'm finally pasting in a snippet though it isn't much. Not a full scene really. This will be tacked onto the end of the previous snippet or the beginning of the next one once I allow myself to start rewrites. I am still holding myself to my promise to myself not to go back and rewrite scenes and to do only minimal editing of them before I have a complete draft.

That promise is getting harder to keep. I seem to be in a bit of a plot quagmire. I'm holding too many threads in my head. But I know myself too well. If I start fiddling around with non-scene work--outlines, notes, character sketches, research, time lines etc.--I could end up with ten or fifty thousand words of notes and sketches while work on the scenes themselves dribble out or dry up completely as with the twelve plus novels already plugging the FOS pipeline.

So for now, I'm working hard at staying playful and open with Crystal's story and pressing on even when I'm not quite sure where it is going next.


Well, I'm backsliding again this week. I blew my head start last weekend. I used the extra time to do laundry, fret over my sick kitty and watch the winding up of the Democratic Primaries, including hours and hours of the rules committee deliberations on Saturday.

I spent more hours getting sappy nostalgic over 70s music which I wrote about on my Monday post. That's the day I should have been working on the snippet but I couldn't turn off the darn TV (satellite XM 70s on 7 ) and I can't write while listening to music with lyrics in English. Instrumental, Orchestral or vacals in a language that I don't comprehend--so that the voice becomes another instrument but doesn't engage the language center--actually enhances a writing environment for me.

I had high hopes and exuberance to spare Tuesday night after the speeches etc. I had ambitions for getting both the snippet and TT ready by Wednesday evening. Then I woke up with a headache and the muggy brain that usually accompanies it. I've been jousting with that ever since.

So once again I'm putting up the shell sans snippet. There is a good chance I can get the snippet ready by this time tomorrow latest (late evening Saturday) as it looks like I'll be home alone. It hasn't rained for two days and there is no rain in the forecast so the dirt track races should be on (unlike the last two weekends) and since I got all the laundry caught up as of Monday that isn't on the agenda. Merlin is eating and grooming normally again, so if I can keep my thoughts off the other fret channels... And my hands off the remote...

You can catch up or review via the links to the first eight parts available below.

The entire thing is closing in on 12K. So much for it being a short story. Based on the scenes yet to be written which I know about, I estimate I'm 1/3 to 1/2 way there. That won't be long enough for a novel either. sigh.

But then I hadn't planned on it being a novel. I have enough novels in progress in this story world!

One of them is even set in this same motel. And someone you've already encountered in this story is a POV character in it. You'll learn her name when Crystal does in this snippet. She was the protagonist of my first NaNo novel, Majoring in Marine Biology.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve;)

Crystal opened the door next to the desk as Brook slipped out the door they had entered across the room. So narrow was the room Crystal wondered if both doors could be fully opened at the same time without jamming each other. The room she entered was dim. Much dimmer than the room she had wakened in only an hour or so ago. There were only faint glimmers of light around the edges of heavy drapes at each end of the room. The sound of Garrison's babble was coming from her left and seemed very near but she couldn't see his crib or playpen.

She opened the door wider hoping the bright light from the office would help her find a light switch or lamp. Brook's instructions had seemed thorough, surely she would have included some for turning on the light if there were something tricky about it. Garrison had gone silent as the door opened and Crystal sensed him listening for the approach of his Mama. She didn't know whether to speak to him before he could see her. Would the sound of a stranger's voice frighten him more coming out of the dark? She knew she didn't have much time before he lost patience.

She felt the wall to the side of the door and sure enough there were two switches but, oddly, they were already in the up position and when she flipped them down nothing happened. No, not nothing after all. The room got even quieter and there was no more slight current of air on her cheeks and forehead which she had not even noticed before they vannished.

Ah. So there was likely two ceiling fans which probably had light fixtures that could be turned on and off with a chain. She flipped the switches back up and looked toward the soft whir to her right and spotted the twirling blades above a small table only a few steps away. The light from the office revealed a clear path. There were two chains hanging down. One for the fan of course. She pulled on the closest one and was rewarded with light.

Now she could see to the other end of the room where a portable crib sat under the other fan. Garrison was sitting up, his gaze fixed on her. "Hello, Garrison." she started talking as she walked slowly toward him. "I'm Crystal. Your Mama sent me."

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Friday Snippet 46

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

It's late but at least I didn't have to put up a shell sans snippet this week.

And now I have a whole weekend without it hanging over my head and I could use the time I've been using to write the late snippets to get started on next week's and maybe finally catch that tail I've been chasing around the hindquarters of the week for two months now.

Or I could catch up on everybody else's snippets!

You can catch up or review via the links to the first eight parts available below.

The entire thing is closing in on 12K. So much for it being a short story. Based on the scenes yet to be written which I know about, I estimate I'm 1/3 to 1/2 way there. That won't be long enough for a novel either. sigh.

But then I hadn't planned on it being a novel. I have enough novels in progress in this story world!

One of them is even set in this same motel. And someone you've already encountered in this story is a POV character in it. You'll learn her name when Crystal does in this snippet. She was the protagonist of my first NaNo novel, Majoring in Marine Biology.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven;)

Crystal let herself be led from the room even as she threw one last frantic glance around it. The sound of the baby burble coming from the housekeeper's pocket had as strong a grip on her as the hand that tugged her out the door and along the walkway in front of the rooms. She had to squint against the sudden bright glint of sunlight off the water of the pool in the fenced courtyard between the two arms of the horseshoe shape created by the three buildings that comprised the motel. There were two overhead walkways connecting the buildings on either side of the pool. One at each end of the pool. They were crossing under the first one almost immediately. Crystal noticed that it approximately bisected the length of the buildings providing convenient access to the pool for the upstairs guests. Between the pool and the street was a parking lot.

At the far end of the pool there was a second enclosed area with a higher and more tightly slatted fence and roofed with a trellis covered with a dense growth of a flowering vine. Most likely wisteria, Crystal thought but could not be sure while moving this fast. The woman whose apron was now saying "Mamamamamamama." pulled her along to the end of the courtyard and into a room whose entrance was under the far walkway between a soda machine and ice dispenser on one side and a large rack full of towels on the other. Next to the rack of towels were signs listing rules for the pool and jacuzzi. The jacuzzi must be inside that enclosure, Crystal realized

Inside was nearly as bright as outside though with much less glare. The large room was lit by banks of florescent lights. The far wall was lined with two rows of front loading commercial dryers all churning loads of milky-white cloth. The wall they were passing to the right was floor to ceiling shelves about half full of stacks of folded sheets and towels. The center of the room held a large flat table piled with a froth of white that seemed brilliant against the various hues of dark skin on the hands and arms of the four women busily folding the linens--two working together to fold sheets while the other two tackled the pile of towels, washcloths, and bathmats. The wall opposite the shelves was a bank of commercial front-loading washing machines full of agitated suds. The women worked in silence which did not surprise Crystal as it would be hard to converse casually over the sound of the machines.

Just before she was pulled through yet another doorway she glanced back toward the entrance and saw that wall held a row of a dozen or more regular sized coin-operated washers and dryers. The dryers atop the washers. Three men with high and tight hair cuts sat on a row of chairs bolted to the floor in front of these machines. One with headphones on leaning back with eyes closed and head bobbing; another lost in a book and the third lost in a clench with the barelegged, halter-topped woman straddling his lap. At the far end a woman was ironing creases into a pair of khaki pants on one of several ironing boards that folded down from the wall.

As soon as Crystal had cleared the doorway the woman let go of her hand and closed the door. In the sudden quiet, she spoke for the first time since they left the room where Crystal and woken into this nightmare within a nightmare no more than an hour ago. "My name is Brook." she said, holding out her right hand for Crystal to shake.

"Crystal." Brook held Crystal's eyes with her own for several beats before nodding and releasing her hand again.

"Do you know your way around babies, Crystal?"

Crystal grinned big. "I'm the oldest of five." *

Brook raised her brows high. "Well then. If they gave college degrees for baby knowhow you'd have a Master's to my Associates. And your mother would have a Doctorate." She was opening a small refrigerator next to a desk strewn with papers. As she bent to pull a bottle out, she suddenly gasped and grabbed her stomach, kneading it just below her ribs. "Now, that's enough of that little Missy." she said to her belly.

"You're after your Bachelor's I see."

"His name is Garrison. Not this one, that one." Brook smiled wryly as she first patted her stomach and then waved at the door opposite the door to the laundry room. Crystal took the bottle of amber juice from her. "He's nine months, crawling and pulling himself up. So watch him around the rocker and anything else that wouldn't support him when he tries that. It'll be better if I don't go in with you since he won't like me having to leave again. He's used to me taking him with me to where I'm working.

"There's not much time so listen quick. There's more juice bottles, yogurt, applesauce, Jello, and pudding cups in the fridge. Popsicles in the freezer compartment. After you change him, bring him out to choose his treat. Help yourself to whatever. I bet you're hungry. There's grownup's drinks in there too. Iced coffee, tea, sodas, juices etc. Now, in there," she nodded at the door behind which the baby babble was now loud enough to hear, a muffled duet with the baby monitor. "There's soda crackers and graham crackers and toasted oats. There's a diaper bag on the couch which I've set up as the changing table with a plastic sheet under the sheet so don't let him play or sleep on there. The rest will be easy to figure out for anyone whose been around babies. The baby monitor is on top of the TV so if you need me holler and I'll call you on this phone here." she pointed to the phone on the desk.

"Now, I better head on back to that room. I left it wide open and if I'm going to rescue your stuff.. Can you describe your bag and shoes and your 'friends'?"

"The bag is a purple duffel with black wheels and pull handle and straps for wearing as a backpack. The sandals are kinda like flip-flops but with bands around the heel and over the top of the ankle too so you can walk in the surf without loosing them." Crystal looked down at her hand still holding the shaming Polaroid pictures. Closing her eyes she sighed and then handed them to Brook, feeling a hot blush rise in her cheeks. "This will be quicker than describing them."

Brook took the pictures. "I know these two. They're good tippers. It'll be a shame to loose their custom."** She handed the pictures back. "Honey, you do realize they're both men?"

Crystal shook her head, eyes widened in shock.

"You can just make out the Adam's apple if you know what you're looking for. I might have been fooled if I hadn't seen these guys in person and been cleaning up after them occasionally for over a year. Two years ago, I would have been as clueless as you apparently are."

The babble over the baby monitor was becoming strident and interspersed with whines and whimpers. "You better get in there before he has a melt down."



*or seven, if I write the twins between Winston and Jade back in on a rewrite. I mentioned them in part four and then forgot to include them in the following scenes. I had plans for them later in the THEN strand and I'm not feeling content at the thought of dropping those plans so don't be surprised if they seem to drop in out of nowhere when I return to the THEN strand. I will lessen the confusion with another reminder when/if the time comes.

**custom is not the right word help me out here

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Friday Snippet 45

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

Update: the snippet is pasted in. It's Tuesday morning. Sigh.

You guessed it. Its just a shell yet again. I'll do my best to get the snippet pasted in tomorrow. So much for my best!

Meanwhile...

You can catch up or review via the links to the first eight parts available below.

Thanks for your patience.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten;)

Crystal's heart now pounded furiously and she couldn't catch her breath. Her vision was browning out around the edges and her teeth began to chatter. When she felt a hand on her shoulder she jumped and choked off a scream as she looked up into the concerned eyes of the housekeeper.

"Honey. Are you sick?"

Crystal slowly shook her head, whispering, "I don't know how I got here."

"Well that does sometimes happen the day after." the woman gave a meaningful glance at the wastebasket overflowing with beer and liquor bottles.

"I know." Crystal hung her head. "But never this bad before. Never this much time missing. At least a whole day. And I can't find my duffel or my sandals." She spun her head around giving the room a frantic scan. "Maybe they took them to keep me from leaving? Maybe that's why she didn't carry her own bag?"

Crystal held up the red beach bag. "This couple sat by me on the beach yesterday and shared their lunch with me. She was carrying this bag. I think the drink they gave me was drugged. My memories start flickering about the time I started drinking that soda."

"Honey, you should come with me to the office and call the cops."

Crystal shook her head and jumped up in a panic. "No!"

"You can't stay here! Not if you think these people did that."

"I know!" Crystal started yanking on the blankets that had fallen to the floor at the foot of the bed. "That's why I need to find my bag and shoes."

More than the beach sandals, even more than the windbreaker and sweats that kept off the chill of the night time breezes off the ocean, she was thinking of the photos of Winston, Jade, Jasper, Mother and baby Beryl. How could she go on without even their pictures? Though she realized that after more than six months none of them would look much like their photos anymore. Even Mother, whose picture had been taken over a year ago, before she was expecting Beryl; before the stroke that melted the right side of her face. She wondered if Beryl was saying 'Mama' yet.

Just then, as if her very thoughts had conjured it, she heard the sound of baby babble and burble. It was coming from the housekeeper who reached a hand into one of the deep pockets of her apron and pulled out a baby monitor, flashed it at Crystal before dropping it back into the pocket and reaching for Crystals free hand, the one not holding the flyer and Polaroids. She grabbed it firmly. "You're coming with me. Don't worry about your stuff we'll figure it out."

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Friday Snippet 44

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

Update: The snippet is now pasted in. The story returns to the time frame of the first three parts, the morning Crystal woke in the strange motel room. A year after the events covered in the last six parts. If you are lost, you can review or catch-up with the links below.

This is was a shell sans snippet again. This week it's the heat wave that is making it hard to get the scene written. It reached 103 F here today. I can't stand the heat coming off the keyboard as I'm typing this paragraph. We have a fan with a 6 inch diameter blade to cool our room.

I will get got the scene pasted in as soon as possible Monday night.

Meanwhile...

You can catch up or review via the links to the first eight parts available below.

Thanks for your patience.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine;)

Still holding the three Polaroids in her had as she debated whether to confiscate the two she was in and thus forfeit her chance to spend another night in this motel room, Crystal's eyes darted around the room looking for her own duffel in case she needed to make a quick getaway. She needed her beach sandals too. She bent over to look under the bed again and that is when she spotted the distinctive red beach bag with the gold buckles. The same bag carried by the young Latino woman who had sat down on the sand a yard or two from where Crystal had been eating her lunch and watching the seaguls play Chinese jump rope with the surf.

Her lunch had been half of a hamburger she had grabbed out of a waste can seconds after witnessing someone drop it in. The woman had been hard to miss with that bright scarlet bag with buckles that caught the sun and scatter shot it. The woman had laughed at the antics of the seagulls swarming around a picnicking family whose children were throwing French fries up in the air. When one child, a girl about three, had been too slow letting go of her French fry, a daring bird and swooped in and snatched it out of her hand, flapping his wings hard around her head as he perched on it, talons gripping her hair, launching itself skyward with strands of it still wound around them, the fry sticking out of its beak like a limp cigarette.

When the little girl screamed until she lost her breath, the woman with the red beach bag said, "Well, there goes another potential fan of Hitchcock's The Birds."
.
Crystal had looked around for who else she might have been speaking to but there was no one else within earshot of them. She hated that the woman had sat down so near, that she had focused her attention on the same family Crystal had been watching and was now trying to engage her in conversation. All of which made Crystal's chances of unobtrusively rescuing their lunch discards from the waste can before anyone else dumped something nasty on top of it. Families with young children often tossed out enough in one meal for Crystal to make three meals of it.

Crystal had just looked shyly down at the sand under her crossed feet and shrugged, she couldn't have made a relevant comment in any case, not having a clue what Hitchcock's The Birds was. A music group maybe? The need to think up something to say was preempted by the arrival of a man the color of fresh brewed coffee, carrying a large fast-food bag and cardboard tray holding three drinks who sat down on the beach towel beside the Latino woman. Crystal had not been able to take her eyes off the bulging muscles on his forearms and calves as he squatted down and handed off the bag of food to the woman and then lowered the tray of drinks to the sand in front of him. Divested of his burden Crystal could now see the front of his camouflage print T shirt and the words Semper FI in gold over the gold Marine Corp emblem. The same shirt she had fished out of the bed in this motel room earlier.

Suddenly Crystal was shaking uncontrollably and sinking to her knees as she remembered how he had handed one drink to his friend and taken one for himself before reaching across and setting the third one down on the sand by her knee. When she turned to him with eyes startled wide, he said, "Don't pretend you don't want that. It's a long walk to the nearest water fountain and people don't throw out as many half-drunk sodas as they do half-eaten sandwiches and those they do don't often land upright."

Crystal remembered staring at the waxed cup, mesmerized by the the drops condensing on it before her eyes and running uselessly into the sand. She had whispered a thank-you that the surf seemed to take as a refrain as she picked up the soda and filled her parched mouth with biting bubbles. When she set the half empty cup back down there was a whole, still unwrapped hamburger setting there.

As Crystal had unwrapped the hamburger with fingers trembling with as much shame and embarrassment as hunger, the man introduced himself as Michael and his friend as Gabriella. Crystal remembered having said something about archangels and someone laughing, maybe herself. But, squeezing her eyes shut as though that would squeeze out more memories, she could not remember anything of what followed with any more clarity than a fever dream.

She pulled the red beach bag from under the bed by its strap. The edge of a white sheet of paper stuck out of one of the side pockets. Crystal pulled it out and found herself staring at herself. It was a photocopy of a picture taken over a year ago. Below it read HAVE YOU SEEN CRYSTAL? REWARD! CALL 1-800-CRY-STAL.

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Friday Snippet 43

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

The snippet is pasted in. It's nearly dinner time Sunday and suddenly feel the need for a shower. I feel dirty after writing this scene. I've been avoiding it for several weeks. And thus wondering whether I'm qualified for the storytelling business: If you can't stand the heat....yadayadayada.

This is essentially the climax of the THEN thread. The back story for the story that opened a year later with Crystal waking up in a sleazy motel not remembering how she got there or who she had been with. I meant to alternate back and forth with the NOW thread and the THEN thread but I stayed with the back story all these weeks because I was avoiding some nastiness in some upcoming scenes there. Now I haven't much choice.

This discipline of putting up a scene hot off the keyboard each weekend is working a kind of miracle though. Even though it is extremely rough and full of mistakes and things I want to change my mind about, having made the commitment forces me to focus on progressing the story by stumble and by fumble though it is.

The final draft will have the past and present threads interwoven and the breaks may not be in the places they are now. It is hard to resist going back and redoing everything from the beginning every time I see something I want or need to change. Some examples: the description of the pool area in this scene should have been included in the first THEN scene which had Crystal doing her homework beside the pool and then taking a swim. In that same scene I said Crystal had five siblings and then I forgot to write the twins who came between Jade and Winston into the story.

I want to change their father's first name. The vehicle they rode from church to home in is a van but when I had the father unlocking the passenger door behind the driver's seat to remove Winston's car seat last week, well, umm I'm not sure I've ever seen vans with passenger doors on the driver's side.

I want to give Jasper more personality and I want to introduce the mother in a scene with Crystal. Probably I need to add a scene between the dinner table scene that ended with Crystal heading upstairs with a tray for her mother and last weeks drive home from church.

That is just a few of the things I am itching to get my fingers and mind tangled up in but I'm denying myself the satisfaction until I get the bare essentials of the story laid out like the fabric of a dress that I can then cut and shape and stitch its seams.

Speaking of dresses... Last week it was established that Jade and her sleepover friend Nadira had traded outfits. Jade is still wearing Nadira's. I did some research to help me visualize better and found this incredible site. Below are links to the homepage and to the image I settled on:

Traditional Kurdish dresses.
Nadira's dress.

You can catch up or review via the links to the first eight parts available below.

Thanks for your patience.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; )

Father stood aside in front of the gate to the breezeway between the house and garage, aiming a remote key at it. As the lock clicked he nodded Jade to lead the way. Jade pushed the gate inward and at Father's nod Crystal followed after her down the narrow walkway bordered on either side with potted dessert plants, cactus, aloe, sage, chicks and hens with a scattering of other herbs. Overhead hung several large buckets containing tomato plants growing out of their bottoms; each bucket a different variety--Romano, cherry, yellow pear, beefsteak among them. This was part of Mother's kitchen garden. Since there was no place for a normal garden plot she found places to grow things in all the nooks and crannies inside and outside the house--on the decks, around the pool, in the window sills inside and in window boxes outside, in pots all over inside and outside the house.

Crystal heard the gate slam behind them and lock shut again. Father must have shut it with his foot. She watched Jade make her careful way past the prickly plant, carefully holding back the folds of filmy fabric that hung from shoulder to ankle in layers. Its pastel colors a misty rainbow embracing the still curveless body. Crystal imagined Jade must be feeling like a princess ever since putting on Nadira's dress this morning. Nadira had explained that this was a common style among her mother's people, the Kurds on the border between Iraq and Turkey. Crystal and learned this morning--overhearing Jasmine's mother introduce her brother's family to Father--that Nadira's mother had been raised in a Christian community in Erbil, Iraq. Jasmine's Uncle, whom she had never met, had gone there as a Missionary over ten years ago. He had just brought his family out because of the troubles there.

As Jade reached out for the gate at the opposite end of the breezeway its lock too clicked and she pushed it open. Both gates would swing either way so they could be pushed by the hips, elbows or feet of someone with their hands full. Crystal followed Jade out into the pool area which was essentially the entire back yard. This gate was the only entrance or exit from the back yard without going through the house itself. Several rooms had patio doors opening onto the poolside, including Father's study, the kitchen and the Family room downstairs and the Master bedroom upstairs that opened onto a large deck that overhung the area outside Father's study, providing shade from sun and those occassional fierce Southren California rain showers.

There was no lawn here inside these twelve foot fences. Except for the pool itself and a yard or two of deck surrounding it every square foot contained some kind of plant. More of Mother's 'kitchen garden'. There were two avocado and several citrus fruit trees at poolside. There were a lot of flowers too all mixed in with food plants though it was hard to draw a definitive line between food plants and 'just' flowers as Mother used many of the flower parts in various recipes. She also scattered fresh flower arrangements all over the house, took several to church every weekend and sent them to neighbors and church members on any occassion and no occasion. Nearly every guest at the Garnet home went away with a vase of flowers or cuttings from a plant they admired while there.

Unsure of what was expected of them, both girls paused a few steps beyond the gate and Father pushed past them carrying Winston's carseat to the edge of the pool and setting it down at the 5 foot marker facing the water. The still sleeping Winston sighed deeply but otherwise did not stir. Father turned then and said simply and softly, "Both of you, jump in." There was no anger in his tone but granite firmness was in every syllable.

Crystal understood immediately and knew that arguing would only make this worse. She reached for Jade's hand and tried to warn her with a squeeze and a tug to just join her quietly. But Jade stood there in rigid shock and said the very worst thing she could have said, "But that might ruin Nadira's dress!"

Father said only, "Now. Or I'll give you something more important than female frippery to fret over." and he placed the sole of one foot on the back of Winston's car seat.

Crystal jerked on Jade's hand and half drug her to the edge of the pool on the deep side of the car seat. Without pausing she jumped, pulling her wailing sister in with her.

By the time the girls surfaced, Father was standing at the shallow end of the pool, Winston's car seat at his feet beside a stack of beach towels. He tossed two bars of soap into the water. "Jasper and I will be taking the van to a car wash and then having dinner. After I leave here you are to put all of your clothes into this garbage bag and then suds and shampoo thoroughly before going inside to rinse off the chlorine. Help your brother do the same.

"Once you are dressed you will proceed to strip all three of your beds to the mattress and launder the bedding including the pillows. After the first load is in the machine you may fix lunch. Then Crystal, you will precede to steam clean the carpets in all three of your rooms."

He turned now and spoke directly to Jade, "You are to remove every item of clothing from your room and Winston's to the laundry room where you will remain to operate the machines until every item of bedding and clothing is clean, dry and put away appropriately. Crystal may advise you on correct method for sorting, machine setting etcetera but that is all.

"I expect this will take until at least this time tomorrow so I will excuse you from school. There will be no music or other form of distraction while you work." he paused. "Am I completely understood?" Crystal nodded but Jade just stared up at him with trembling chin and unblinking eyes.

"The next time someone tracks mud into my home, I will scrub them clean myself and strip their room to the bare wood, furnish it like a nun's cell, including the wardrobe." He turned on his heels and entered the house via his study door.

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Friday Snippet 42

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

OK. Finally! The snippet is pasted into the shell.

You can catch up or review via the links to the first seven parts available below.

Thanks for your patience.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; )

Crystal finished buckling Winston into his car seat and then buckled herself in beside him. Jasper had buckled himself into the front passenger seat. A rare Sunday morning privilege available only when Mother was unable to join the family. Usually Jasper and Jade would bicker over whose turn it was to sit in front but this time Jade, tho also buckled in per Father's orders, was busy chatting thru the open window with Nadira who had followed her to the car to retrieve her overnight bag.

Jasper, who had been given the keys to unlock the car and permission to insert them in the ignition in order to roll down their windows, turned on the radio and began skipping through the stations.

Father had sent them all to the car immediately following services. Crystal hoped they would not have to wait for long. This late September day was going to be another warm one and the interior of the van was already stuffy even with the windows down and sweat was popping out in her pits. The fabric of this dress did not forgive sweat stains easily. Poor Winston was getting the worst of it with the sun beating directly on him and heating up the buckles and no relief from an open window since Father had disabled its mechanism to prevent Winston from playing his favorite 'car game'. Throwing things out the window.

Crystal took a wet baby wipe out of her purse and wiped the sweat off Winston's forehead and temples. He was busy humming and chanting to the Sunday School worksheet covered in a rainbow of scribbles.

"Silence!"

Father slid into his seat and slammed his door. He shut off the radio before reaching for his seat belt. "There is help available for anyone unable to keep silent without it."

Crystal cast a shuddery glance at the roll of duct tape mounted under the dashboard by Father's knee. It was pre-perforated every five inches to enable him to remove a piece one handed while driving. She quickly turned Winston's face towards hers with a finger under his chin and put a hand over her mouth. It would be up to her to administer the 'help' for Winston if Father judged he needed it. Winston sighed deeply and put his own hand over his mouth.

Nadira and Jade continued their goodbyes in whispers thru the window behind Crystal. Nadira still clung to the rim of the window when Father began backing out.

As the van left the parking lot and gathered speed on the road, Crystal was relieved to see Winston's eyelids lower and the hand over his mouth flop into his lap. She could relax about him until they got home. But she couldn't relax completely. She knew that Father's silence since arriving home with the kids yesterday afternoon was reaching a crescendo. She could sense from the set of his shoulders that he had chosen an 'object lesson' for Jade and anyone else who might still need it.

Crystal felt bad that she had been unable to warn Jade. She and Nadira had been inseparable for every second of their sleep over. Crystal had thought maybe she could get Jade alone for a moment by asking Nadira to entertain Winston while she did Jade's hair. But the girl's had done each other's hair and then following effusive praise of one another's outfits had decided to switch.

Jade was still wearing Nadira's flowing long gown. Crystal imagined Father must be barely restraining himself from ripping it off her. But restraining himself was something Father did well. His 'object lessons' were always a private family affair.

"Leave him be." Father said as he turned into their driveway and saw in the rear view mirror that Crystal was reaching for Winston's buckles. As the van rolled to a stop, Crystal heard the lock on Winston's door pop. Father got out and opened Winston's door and after unbuckling the strap that held the car seat in place, hoisted it into his arms. "Jasper, lock up the van and then you are excused to your room. Girls, follow me."

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Friday Snippet 41

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

OK. Part seven is now pasted into the shell I put up Friday night as a placeholder.

You can catch up or review via the links to the first six parts available below.

Thanks for your patience.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; )

Crystal returned with the basket of cheese bread and lay it on the table accompanied by Winston's chants. "Cheese fred. Cheese fred. Cheese fred."

"OK we're all set." She said. Then making direct eye contact with the still chanting Winston she added, "As soon as it's quiet, Jasper can lead us in giving thanks." Winston immediately put both hands over his mouth but continued to bounce in his chair. Crystal sat in her own place between Winston and Jasper and reached for Winston's hand as Jasper took her other hand and reached across the table to grip fingers with Jade who took Nadira's hand.

Winston still held his mouth with his other hand and was apparently holding his breath for he was tuning a red that was nearly a match for the spaghetti sauce. She squeezed his hand and said softly, "Winston. Good job getting quiet. Now take a breath and then take Nadira's hand." she nodded across the table at Nadira was reaching shyly for the boy's hand.

He pulled his hand away from his mouth and inhaled deeply with widened eyes as though incredulous that he remained quiet. With eyes still locked on Crystal's he reached out with his free hand and allowed Nadira to take it. Crystal nodded affirmation to him and whispered, "Now close your eyes and bow your head." As he complied she said quietly, "Jasper?" squeezing her other brother's hand.

"Our Father," Jasper intoned, "Who art gracious and good. Thee Who hast made us in Your image. We thank Thee for this bounty. Bless this meal and the fellowship of those who partake together. We thank Thee most humbly for the blood of Your Son Jesus, our Lord and Savior, which covers our imperfections and cleanses our impurities so that we can stand before Thy eyes and live. We ask Thee to be with our Mother in her distress and if it be Thy Will to return her to wellbeing. We ask that Thee be with our Father as he delivers his sermon tomorrow morning and to bless his message to the hearts of the congregation as Thee bless this meal to our body's health this night. In the Blessed Name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Amen."

"Amen." chorused Crystal and Jade followed by a whispery echo from Nadira and a hearty one from Winston who immediately grasped his plate with both fists and thrust it at Crystal.

"Cheese fred!" he said.

Crystal took his plate and stood up so she could reach the serving dishes and quickly forked about a tablespoon of spaghetti noodles onto his plate, topped it with a dollop of sauce and then fished out of the salad bowel a few chunks of tomato and avocado which she knew he loved and a few token pieces of the shredded Romaine, choosing those with a generous coating of the shredded cheeses. Only then did she add one of the smallest slices of the cheese bread. "OK big guy," she said, making eye contact as she lay the plate in front of him. "You know the drill. No more cheese bread until you eat everything on this plate." He was nodding vigorously as she spoke and grabbed up the slice of cheese bread before the last edge of the plate settled on the table.

Crystal turned to Jasper who was starting to reach for the noodles. "Will you do me a favor Jasper? Dish up Father's plate and take it to him so I can take Mother's tray up and check in on her?" When Jasper nodded and reached for Father's plate instead she added a heartfelt "Thank you."

On her way out of the room she turned to the girls, "I need you two to keep an eye on Winston. Remember: No more cheese bread til he cleans his plate. If he asks for more of anything else, give him very small portions. Tiny. Smaller than I just did." she smiled at Jade's knowing grin and said to Nadira, "Jade can tell you why."

As she left the room and grabbed the tray she had prepared for Mother earlier and headed for the stairs she listened to Jade's animated explanation which was plenty loud enough to hear even as she climbed the stairs. "When you put a lot on his plate he just finger paints with it all over the plate and the table and his chair and himself. Even his hair! We have to take him straight to the tub afterwards!"

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

One comment re the Grace Jasper said. It may sound over the top to most of you and fill you with incredulity that a twelve year old could compose such a thing off the cuff like that. But I can testify that among many fundamentalist Christian sects this is fairly typical. It is much like, in tone and ornateness with all the Thees and Thous and references to God's various attributes, the prayers I heard before every meal and twice during each of the five Bible Study services I attended weekly. So it shouldn't be too unbelievable that the son of a preacher, raised from infancy to the sounds and rhythms of it, could speak this peculiar dialect of his Mother tongue as trippingly as the one he speaks with his playmates. Jasper's prayer was short compared to most I remember some of which could continue for upwards of five minutes though not at our family's table thank goodness.

There are some significant differences in Jasper's prayer to the one's I remember though as I've inserted some hints as to the unique doctrine of the Garnett's sect. One which my sect would consider bizarre and heretical.

I do hope that Jasper's prayer doesn't read as a caricature, rendering the effect as unintended satire or worse as an expression on my part of disrespect for the sincerity of those who use this method to give a sense of hallowedness to their communing with their sacred Other.

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Friday Snippet 40

Apparition of the Face of Aphrodite
by Salvador Dali
print for sale at art.com

OK part six is now inserted into the shell I posted Friday.

You can catch up or review via the links to the first five parts available below.

Thanks for your patience.

Home Is Where the Horror Is
by Joy Renee

(part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; )

By the time her father returned with the kids, Crystal had dinner all but ready. Only the last minute things were left to do. The spaghetti sauce was simmering in one pan, the water for the pasta was gently boiling in another. The cheese bread set on a baking sheet with a mountain of grated cheese covering it ready to go under the broiler. The table in the dining room was set for five--Father, Jasper, Jade and her sleep-over friend, Winston and herself.

The tray for Father to take up to Mother was also prepared with a carafe of hot ginger tea, an assortment of crackers, another carafe of hot vegetable bullion and a lemon gelatin square--not the name brand sweet treat but a homemade version flavored with real lemon juice and lemon zest and sweetened with organic honey tho this confection of Mother's own concoction was only mildly sweet. The bullion too--a vegetable broth--was one of Mother's recipes as was the spaghetti sauce and like the spaghetti sauce the bullion had been made in large vats and frozen in containers of both single serving and family meal size.

Crystal knew that the nausea and violent vomiting that plagued all of Mother's pregnancies held another level of torment for her beyond the physical distress and the loss of the simple pleasures of eating--it prevented her from engaging in her passion for food preparation, including the growing of the herbs and vegetables in the garden. It also took from her the deep satisfaction she had in serving her family and church--nourishing both bodies and souls with food prepared and offered up in loving-kindness.

When she heard the car pull into the drive, she and Winston were sitting together at the kitchen table where she was chopping tomatoes, cucumbers and avocado while Winston busily tore up large green Romaine leaves into bite sized chunks and dropped them into a big wooden bowl. As Father and the three kids trooped through the front door she was scooping her piles of diced veggies into the wooden bowl and tossing them with the lettuce with her hands. She grabbed up the remaining leaves and hurridly tore them into the bowl and tossed it all again. Then she garnished the top with a little of the mixture of three kinds of shredded cheese--cheddar, mozzarellas and Parmesan--which she'd used on the cheese bread.

"All done!" Winston said, clapping his hands as Crystal wiped the cutting board down.

"All done." she said, trapping his hands in the towel to wipe off the bits of green stuck between his fingers. "You want to help me carry the bowl into the dinning room?"

"Wishtong help!" he clapped as she lifted him down from the high chair which also needed to be moved into the dining room but she could ask Jasper to do that if it still needed doing by the time he got to the table.

She took the salad bowl and bent down to Winston's level and laid it atop his outstretched hands. Then she put her own hands under the bowl and began crab-walking towards the dinning room in Winston-sized steps. She didn't need his help carrying the salad bowl but she needed to keep tabs on him while there were so many hot or sharp items scattered about.

They were setting the bowl on the big table when she heard Father instructing Jasper and Jade to take their stuff up to their rooms and wash up for dinner.

"No dawdling." he called after the herd of feet on the stairs. "And keep quiet. Your mother is unwell."

Back in the kitchen she stood Winston on a stool in front of the sink to 'wash' a jumble of plastic containers and utensils with cold water and a sponge. This would keep him busy while she broke the long spaghetti lengths in half and submerged them in the boiling water. She was reaching for the tall jar containing the pasta lengths when Father entered the kitchen.

He glanced at the tray she'd prepared for Mother but instead of reaching for it he nodded at it as he said, "You'll have to take that up to your Mother. I find I still have a great deal of work to do on tomorrow's sermon. I'll be in my study. You can send Jasper in with a tray for me later. While you're dishing up for the kids or after you've got them fed." He saw her setting the jar of pasta down and added, "No, go ahead and get the meal on the table. Your Mother is probably not in a great deal of hurry anyway. Wait until the kids are served at least. You can eat first yourself if you wish."

She had begun breaking the spaghetti into the pot as he spoke. Now, at the sound of footsteps overhead, he was backing out of the room as he continued speaking, "You will, of course, need to supervise the girls activities as well as Winston's this evening. And again in the morning. I suspect your mother won't be up to it."

Crystal's heart was racing as she stirred the pasta into the roiling water. Something was up. Something had put Father in a barely restrained foul mood between the time he left to pick up the kids and now. There was, as her English teacher would say, a major subtext going on here. Why was Father shunning the family? And even Mother? Yes, shunning was the exact right word. Choosing to isolate himself in his study at evening meal time was not something he did casually. It was a loaded message. And Crystal had learned long ago that it was imperative to figure out the sub-text before Father lost patience with subtlty.

As soon as the pasta was all in the pan and completely submerged, Crystal moved over to the oven where the baking sheet with the two long slabs of French bread mounded with cheese was waiting. She switched on the broiler and then punched the button on the pre-set timer.

"OK big guy," she said to Winston. "Time to saddle up." She swung him down off the stool and led him to his high-chair which he climbed into. She buckled him in and then kicked the brake away from the back wheel and began rolling him into the dinning room. "You keep an eye on that salad for me. Don't let it run away." She left to the sound of his high-pitched cackle.

In the kitchen she quickly dumped the spaeghetti sauce out of the pan into a large white ceramic bowl and carried it into the table. "Now don't let these two start dancing." she said to Winston. "If they run away together all we'll have is naked noodles for dinner."

Winston crowed and hooted at the joke but as Crystal turned to leave he said, "Cheese fred."

"Oh, that's right. We still got the cheese bread. And I'm sure you would be quite fine feasting on only cheese bread leaving the naked noodles for the rest of us."

"Cheese fred. Cheese fred." Winston chanted as he bounced in his chair and slapped his palms on the table.

Just then a buzzer sounded from the kitchen. "And that's the cheese bread calling." she said.

She grabbed oven mitts and pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and set it on the kitchen table before going to check on the noodles. Finding them ready too, she picked up the pan with ovenmitted hands and dumped its contents into a colander waiting in the sink. Leaving it to drain she returned to the cheese bread with a chef knife and quickly sliced repeatedly across both slabs at once turning them into a double line of inch-wide pieces which she scooped up with a spatula and lay in a flat basket.

She knew better than to tempt Winston by leaving him alone with the 'cheese fred' so she left it on the kitchen table while she tended to the spaghetti. She heard the kids on the stairs as she picked up the colander and heard their chair legs scrape the floor as she dumped the 'naked noodles' into a red ceramic bowl. Mother always put as much thought and effort in the presentation of the food as in its preparation. Thus a red bowl for the white pasta and a white bowl for the red sauce. Mother's presentations were a work of art and most of them were one of a kind but this spaghetti dinner was one of a handful which she had distilled into a formula and carefully taught to Crystal.

As she entered the dinning room she noted that Jade and her friend sat on the near side and, reluctant to hoist the hot pasta over their heads, she walked around the table. Jade and Jasper were busily 'sword-fighting' across the table with their knives. "Stop it, you two." she said. "What if Father sees you?"

They stopped and glanced guiltily at the doorway to the front hall. "Don't worry. He's not planning to come to the table. You're to take him a tray as soon as I've prepared it but first I need to dish up for Winston."

Jade's friend was huddled face to face with Winston singing 'Itsy, bitsy spider' as she walked her fingers up his arm. Her long dark hair was a curtain hiding both their faces. "Jade? Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Jade tapped the girl's arm nearest her. "Hey, Nadira, this is my sister, Crystal. Crystal, this is Nadira, Jasmine's cousin."

And as Nadira lifted her head and held out her hand, the sub-text of Father's 'shunning' became clear. The thick black hair framed a cinnamon-dusted dark tan with features straight out of an illustrated vollume of One-thousand and One Nights.

How had Jade reached the age of twelve in this family without learning that friends with 'natural tans' had to be kept out of Father's sight? Or did she know and was purposely flaunting the unspoken rule? And Mother, who must have given permission for Jade to bring a friend home, she must not have realized that Jasmine's cousin was...was...was not as prone to sunburn as Jasmine. And for this she was suffering Father's shunning. Though she probably was unaware of anything amiss as yet.

"Pleased to meet you Nadira." Crystal managed a bright smile as she took the proffered hand. "And thank you for entertaining Winston. I can see he is quite smitten."

"Cheese fred." Winston hollered out.

"Yes Winston. I haven't forgot the cheese bread." Crystal put a hand to her hot cheek as she turned back to the kitchen, hoping fiercely that the flush that spred over it looked like nothing more than slaving over a hot stove.

Who was going to explain this to Jade before Father gave up on subtle and directed one of his creative object lessons at her aimed at shocking her into seeing things his way? Crystal cringed at the thought of having to find a gentle way to explain this to Jade. But with Mother so ill and still unaware....

Well, the mystery was solved anyway and Father was not going to move from shunning to object lesson before tomorrow after church at any rate.

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