As you may know, this November I participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writers Month). It is a challenge to anyone who is interested to write a novel of about 175 pages (or 50,000) words in thirty days. A previous winner (basically someone who completes the challenge) wrote the novel "Water for Elephants", which was later turned into a massive Hollywood film. So, I was tempted. Each day I wrote and posted it here for anyone to see. Five, ten, fifteen pages a day. Granted, it wasn't my best writing, or perhaps not even particularly good writing, but the fact of the matter was, I was doing it. Then I finished.
175 pages of typos and hell.
"Hmm," I thought, "now what?"
Over the past week, I have decided that after some serious editing and re-writes, it may be a decent novel, so I have decided to try to take it as far as possible. What if? Right?
So, I will be removing the NaNoWriMo posts and begin the gargantuan challenge of editing, drafting, submitting, and probably quitting writing a few hundred times.
I got a nice rejection letter from the New Yorker the other day for one of my shorts. I will have it framed.
Edit: I left the first chapter. What the hell, right?
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
A Dragon (NaNoWriMo pages 1-8)
1.
My father stood in the driveway with a revolver under his chin. He had bought it from a pot dealer a few towns over and was screaming at our house. At my sister and I. At my mother.
“Let me in the fucking house Jean! Let me in the fucking house or I’ll blow my fucking face all over the side of this goddamned house!”
My mother was crying and zipping up my sisters jacket. It was November and dark out. The plan was that my sister (Rose) and I were going to slip out through the basement and the garage door and go to the neighbors house to call for help. We didn’t have a phone line.
I watched from the window through the blinds. My father stood staunch under the street lamp, never taking the gun from under his chin.
“James! James I can see you! Let me in the house! Don’t listen to your mother! Let me in my fucking house!” I didn’t think he would do anything crazy. He was my father. I had seen him in worse situations. My mother, on the other hand, was convinced.
“Is Dad going to die?” My sister asked.
“No,” I said. “He isn’t. It’s an act.”
“What?”
“You know, like a show. He’s pretending, is all.”
“Why?” She asked.
“He just wants us to let him in.”
“Why can’t we let him in?”
“It doesn’t matter. You know why. Be quiet.”
Her eyes were already glossed over, and now they began to leak.
“James, don’t be mean to your sister,” My mother said, adjusting Rose‘s hat. “She’s frightened.”
“No, I’m not,” She said, only tearing up, not crying.
“I hope he does kill himself,” I said.
My mother turned to me. “Stop that. Don’t say that. You love your father.” She kissed my sister on the forehead, and turned back to me. “Now, as quiet as you can, take your sister downstairs. Open the garage door, but keep the lights off, and quietly, please quietly, go to Helen’s. Tell her what is happening, have her call 9-1-1. Can you do that James?”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing towards the window, where my father was counting down loudly from fifty. “I’ve got it. Why aren’t you coming?”
“I need to be here.” Her face was red. Her eyes were puffed.. “Just in case.”
Rose gripped her little hand around mine as we moved silently through the unlit basement, toward the garage. The light from the street lamp shone in dimly through the small rectangle of a window near the ceiling, and grazed the boxes of unpacked who knows what from the move the month before.
“I love you,” She said.
“I love you too. Be quiet.”
We were ghosts. We were the sullen creatures under the stairs. We moved with weight and strength and fear. We moved as one.
When we got to garage, I began to panic. Would he hear me pulling it open? What if he really had lost his mind? What if he shot at us? What if he killed me? Or Rose? What if we leave and he kills Mom? I stared into the darkness for a moment. This could be it. David and Goliath, or it could not. I could die. He could kill me. What could I do to protect my family? Was calling the cops all that could be done? Can I defend them? I don’t think so, he’s a mountain of a man. A dragon. Who the fuck am I? Twelve years of nothing. Nothing at all.
I felt around the back of the garage door for the handle, and found it. Slowly but firmly I lifted only a little. It creaked and I froze.
“Shh,” Rose said.
“I know.”
I lifted a little more.
“Slide under and wait for me,” I said.
“I don‘t want to go first.” Rose said.
“Don’t be scared. I’ll protect you.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Okay.”
I could see Rose look up at me in what little light crept in under the door. She got down on her stomach and slid under. “I’m out.”
“Do you see him?” I whispered.
“No. I hear him over there.”
I lifted a little higher, and got down on my back. The door was heavier like that. Harder to lift. I pictured it slipping from my hands and crushing me, breaking my nose, or wrist, or ribs underneath it. I would cry, or whimper, and he would hear me. Rose would call for help. He would hear her. She was braver than I.
I stuck my foot under the door to keep it propped. It hurt and bent my toes, but I kept moving.
I could hear my father yelling on the other side of the house. “Nineteen! Eighteen!”
I got out from under the door, eased it down, and stood up. I took Roses hand, and keeping my eyes and ears tuned to the other side of the house, silently wished my mother as much luck as I could, and slipped Rose off into the night.
2.
Helen lived only a few houses down from us on the same street. I couldn’t hear my father anymore. I wondered if he had finished counting, and what that would mean. I hadn’t heard a gunshot, but I didn’t know what one sounded like either. I imagined I would know one if I had heard one. I knocked.
“Is she home?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know. I just knocked.”
“Oh.”
We waited on the porch. The night was clear and the air was thin and sharp in my lungs.
A light came on in the window.
“Hello? Who is it?” Helen said through the door.
“It’s James and Rose. My mom told us to come here.”
The door cracked open, and Helen, a stout middle aged woman, peered out. “What are you two doing over here? Is everything all right?”
Rose gripped my hand.
“My mom told us to tell you you need to call 9-1-1. My dad has a gun.”
“Oh my god! Kids, get inside!” She opened the door wide, and shuffled us in. “Is your mother okay? Where is your mother? Oh my god! Where is the g.d. phone?!”
She sat us on the couch and pulled the shades closed. “You two just sit here. I need to find the g.d. phone.” She shuffled off into the other room.
For the first time in about an hour there was quiet. There was a feeling of relative safety. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother.
Rose leaned her head on my shoulder. “James?”
“Yeah?”
“Is mom okay?”
“Yes, Rose. Mom is okay. You know Mom. She’ll always be okay. You know that.”
“I know.”
“James?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Dad okay?”
“I don’t know, Rose.”
“Okay.”
We sat on the couch, and stared at the blank television, at our black reflections. Mom was okay. She had to be. I knew Mom. She’s always okay. I knew that. I knew that.
”Found it! Christ!” Helen said from the other room. I could hear the tones of her dialing, and then, “Hello. I need Police or an ambulance or something. Please quick. Yes it’s an emergency! My name is Helen Thomas. I live at fourteen Maple… but wait, no, that’s not the emergency! My neighbor! Her kids are here. They say their father has a gun! I don’t know if the mom is okay. I haven’t heard from her. She doesn’t have a phone. Yes. Twenty six Maple Street. Halcyon. Yes. Red house. Okay. I will. Yes. The kids are with me. They’re safe. Yes. Okay.”
She looked in on us. “Everything’s fine kids. They’re sending help. You have nothing to worry about.”
We could only look at her.
“I’ll make some food,” she said. She went into the kitchen and occasionally she would mumble something into the phone. I couldn’t hear it.
I found the remote on the coffee table and turned on the television. I couldn’t think. My brain was all just chaos. Static and noise. Panic, rushing blood, and adrenaline. A feeling I was going to have to get used to.
I started flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch. I found music videos.
“I want cartoons,” Rose said.
“Okay.” I changed the channel to cartoons and leaned back on the couch. Rose leaned back on me and laughed once in a while at something on screen. It was all just colors and sound to me.
Mom is always okay.
After a little while Helen came back in with two bowls of macaroni and cheese. Rose and I took off our jackets, sat on the floor and ate.
A knock came on the door.
Helen moved slowly toward it. “Who is it?”
“Sheriff ma’am.”
She peeked out through the window, red pulsing lights filled the room, then went ahead and opened the door. “Good evening officer.”
“Good evening ma’am.” He looked in and saw us. “Can we speak in private?”
“Of course.”
The Sheriff and Helen went outside and shut the door. I tried to put my ear to the window and listen, but all I could hear was muffles. I looked through and saw Helen nodding.
“Can you hear them?” Rose asked.
“No.”
The Sheriff left, his lights no longer flashing. Helen came in and looked at us.
“You kids are going to stay here with me tonight.”
“Is my mom okay?” I asked.
“Your mom is fine. Everything is fine. She just had to go with the Sheriff to help them figure everything out, and then she’ll be picking you two up in the morning.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” Rose said.
“Okay,” Helen said. “Finish up your meals then kids, and I’ll get beds made up for you. It’s getting late, and you’ve had a long night.”
We finished up, and Helen laid out blankets and pillows on the living room floor for us. We got under our covers and she turned out the lights. “Get some sleep kids. Good night.”
“Goodnight,” Rose and I said.
I laid in the dark. Rose’s breathing eventually slowed and I stared at the light from the cable box.
Mom was always okay. I knew it.
My father stood in the driveway with a revolver under his chin. He had bought it from a pot dealer a few towns over and was screaming at our house. At my sister and I. At my mother.
“Let me in the fucking house Jean! Let me in the fucking house or I’ll blow my fucking face all over the side of this goddamned house!”
My mother was crying and zipping up my sisters jacket. It was November and dark out. The plan was that my sister (Rose) and I were going to slip out through the basement and the garage door and go to the neighbors house to call for help. We didn’t have a phone line.
I watched from the window through the blinds. My father stood staunch under the street lamp, never taking the gun from under his chin.
“James! James I can see you! Let me in the house! Don’t listen to your mother! Let me in my fucking house!” I didn’t think he would do anything crazy. He was my father. I had seen him in worse situations. My mother, on the other hand, was convinced.
“Is Dad going to die?” My sister asked.
“No,” I said. “He isn’t. It’s an act.”
“What?”
“You know, like a show. He’s pretending, is all.”
“Why?” She asked.
“He just wants us to let him in.”
“Why can’t we let him in?”
“It doesn’t matter. You know why. Be quiet.”
Her eyes were already glossed over, and now they began to leak.
“James, don’t be mean to your sister,” My mother said, adjusting Rose‘s hat. “She’s frightened.”
“No, I’m not,” She said, only tearing up, not crying.
“I hope he does kill himself,” I said.
My mother turned to me. “Stop that. Don’t say that. You love your father.” She kissed my sister on the forehead, and turned back to me. “Now, as quiet as you can, take your sister downstairs. Open the garage door, but keep the lights off, and quietly, please quietly, go to Helen’s. Tell her what is happening, have her call 9-1-1. Can you do that James?”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing towards the window, where my father was counting down loudly from fifty. “I’ve got it. Why aren’t you coming?”
“I need to be here.” Her face was red. Her eyes were puffed.. “Just in case.”
Rose gripped her little hand around mine as we moved silently through the unlit basement, toward the garage. The light from the street lamp shone in dimly through the small rectangle of a window near the ceiling, and grazed the boxes of unpacked who knows what from the move the month before.
“I love you,” She said.
“I love you too. Be quiet.”
We were ghosts. We were the sullen creatures under the stairs. We moved with weight and strength and fear. We moved as one.
When we got to garage, I began to panic. Would he hear me pulling it open? What if he really had lost his mind? What if he shot at us? What if he killed me? Or Rose? What if we leave and he kills Mom? I stared into the darkness for a moment. This could be it. David and Goliath, or it could not. I could die. He could kill me. What could I do to protect my family? Was calling the cops all that could be done? Can I defend them? I don’t think so, he’s a mountain of a man. A dragon. Who the fuck am I? Twelve years of nothing. Nothing at all.
I felt around the back of the garage door for the handle, and found it. Slowly but firmly I lifted only a little. It creaked and I froze.
“Shh,” Rose said.
“I know.”
I lifted a little more.
“Slide under and wait for me,” I said.
“I don‘t want to go first.” Rose said.
“Don’t be scared. I’ll protect you.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Okay.”
I could see Rose look up at me in what little light crept in under the door. She got down on her stomach and slid under. “I’m out.”
“Do you see him?” I whispered.
“No. I hear him over there.”
I lifted a little higher, and got down on my back. The door was heavier like that. Harder to lift. I pictured it slipping from my hands and crushing me, breaking my nose, or wrist, or ribs underneath it. I would cry, or whimper, and he would hear me. Rose would call for help. He would hear her. She was braver than I.
I stuck my foot under the door to keep it propped. It hurt and bent my toes, but I kept moving.
I could hear my father yelling on the other side of the house. “Nineteen! Eighteen!”
I got out from under the door, eased it down, and stood up. I took Roses hand, and keeping my eyes and ears tuned to the other side of the house, silently wished my mother as much luck as I could, and slipped Rose off into the night.
2.
Helen lived only a few houses down from us on the same street. I couldn’t hear my father anymore. I wondered if he had finished counting, and what that would mean. I hadn’t heard a gunshot, but I didn’t know what one sounded like either. I imagined I would know one if I had heard one. I knocked.
“Is she home?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know. I just knocked.”
“Oh.”
We waited on the porch. The night was clear and the air was thin and sharp in my lungs.
A light came on in the window.
“Hello? Who is it?” Helen said through the door.
“It’s James and Rose. My mom told us to come here.”
The door cracked open, and Helen, a stout middle aged woman, peered out. “What are you two doing over here? Is everything all right?”
Rose gripped my hand.
“My mom told us to tell you you need to call 9-1-1. My dad has a gun.”
“Oh my god! Kids, get inside!” She opened the door wide, and shuffled us in. “Is your mother okay? Where is your mother? Oh my god! Where is the g.d. phone?!”
She sat us on the couch and pulled the shades closed. “You two just sit here. I need to find the g.d. phone.” She shuffled off into the other room.
For the first time in about an hour there was quiet. There was a feeling of relative safety. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother.
Rose leaned her head on my shoulder. “James?”
“Yeah?”
“Is mom okay?”
“Yes, Rose. Mom is okay. You know Mom. She’ll always be okay. You know that.”
“I know.”
“James?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Dad okay?”
“I don’t know, Rose.”
“Okay.”
We sat on the couch, and stared at the blank television, at our black reflections. Mom was okay. She had to be. I knew Mom. She’s always okay. I knew that. I knew that.
”Found it! Christ!” Helen said from the other room. I could hear the tones of her dialing, and then, “Hello. I need Police or an ambulance or something. Please quick. Yes it’s an emergency! My name is Helen Thomas. I live at fourteen Maple… but wait, no, that’s not the emergency! My neighbor! Her kids are here. They say their father has a gun! I don’t know if the mom is okay. I haven’t heard from her. She doesn’t have a phone. Yes. Twenty six Maple Street. Halcyon. Yes. Red house. Okay. I will. Yes. The kids are with me. They’re safe. Yes. Okay.”
She looked in on us. “Everything’s fine kids. They’re sending help. You have nothing to worry about.”
We could only look at her.
“I’ll make some food,” she said. She went into the kitchen and occasionally she would mumble something into the phone. I couldn’t hear it.
I found the remote on the coffee table and turned on the television. I couldn’t think. My brain was all just chaos. Static and noise. Panic, rushing blood, and adrenaline. A feeling I was going to have to get used to.
I started flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch. I found music videos.
“I want cartoons,” Rose said.
“Okay.” I changed the channel to cartoons and leaned back on the couch. Rose leaned back on me and laughed once in a while at something on screen. It was all just colors and sound to me.
Mom is always okay.
After a little while Helen came back in with two bowls of macaroni and cheese. Rose and I took off our jackets, sat on the floor and ate.
A knock came on the door.
Helen moved slowly toward it. “Who is it?”
“Sheriff ma’am.”
She peeked out through the window, red pulsing lights filled the room, then went ahead and opened the door. “Good evening officer.”
“Good evening ma’am.” He looked in and saw us. “Can we speak in private?”
“Of course.”
The Sheriff and Helen went outside and shut the door. I tried to put my ear to the window and listen, but all I could hear was muffles. I looked through and saw Helen nodding.
“Can you hear them?” Rose asked.
“No.”
The Sheriff left, his lights no longer flashing. Helen came in and looked at us.
“You kids are going to stay here with me tonight.”
“Is my mom okay?” I asked.
“Your mom is fine. Everything is fine. She just had to go with the Sheriff to help them figure everything out, and then she’ll be picking you two up in the morning.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” Rose said.
“Okay,” Helen said. “Finish up your meals then kids, and I’ll get beds made up for you. It’s getting late, and you’ve had a long night.”
We finished up, and Helen laid out blankets and pillows on the living room floor for us. We got under our covers and she turned out the lights. “Get some sleep kids. Good night.”
“Goodnight,” Rose and I said.
I laid in the dark. Rose’s breathing eventually slowed and I stared at the light from the cable box.
Mom was always okay. I knew it.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)