A Fairy Tale: The Lake of the Lovely

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived on an island in the center of the Lake of the Lovely. This princess lived alone, away from her family at the castle because she had a very important job - to protect her people from drinking from the lake. She worked hard day and night to watch the fisherman and the playing children and the joggers and the hikers and any other people whose activities lured them near the lake. However, many people did not appreciate her work or like her at all.

Everyone knew that the waters of the Lake of the Lovely held a magical secret. Far and wide, it was said that anyone who drinks from the lake becomes more beautiful than ever before during the next full cycle of sleep. Many believed that the princess was evil and worked to guard them from the waters so that she, herself, could remain the most beautiful girl in the kingdom.

One day, a pretty girl named Lucinda came out of the woods and stood by the edge of the Lake of the Lovely. She wanted to become more beautiful so that she could attract the attention of a boy that she liked. She talked and flirted with him frequently, but he was interested in someone else. Lucinda thought she was alone when she kneeled beside the lake until the princess appeared beside her.

"Please do not drink the water, Lucinda. It will not make you happy." Lucinda believed that she would marry the boy if he could see how beautiful she was to become.

"Don't be greedy, Princess. You can't keep all this lake to yourself," said Lucinda. The princess was sad because no one understood her. For the first time in her life, she said, "Okay, Lucinda. I will give you one opportunity to drink from the Lake of the Lovely, but you must listen to me first. There is something that you must know. There are two kinds of beauty - the kind that people see on the outside, the face of it all - and the kind that people must get to know on the inside, the heart of the matter. When a person drinks from the Lake of the Lovely, her outer beauty is transformed to match her inner beauty."

The fair Lucinda did not think twice about the princess's words. She dipped her head into the water and took a great gulp. She then ran home as fast as she could to ensure she would be tired. She jumped straight into bed and slept all night long.

In the morning, Lucinda's mother came to wake her for school but was surprised to find a broken mirror and an angry, homely girl who faintly resembled her daughter.

Reflection

Sitting at Granna's antique vanity, Jayme admired the tiny, hand-painted roses at the top of the mirror. Her eyes drifted down to her own reflection. Her hair lay just below her shoulders. Remembering the family picture in the hall taken before the divorce when her hair had hung just below her chin, Jayme whispered, "Has it been so long?"

With a sigh, she borrowed a clip to pin up her growing mane. Then, she carried herself to her room and knelt by the bed. Beneath her bed, Jayme reached beyond the bed skirt to retrieve a box, the contents of which she had been determined to leave packed until the time that her parents would grow to love each other again and move the family back to their home.

"It's time to unpack."

On the edge

Standing there at the edge of the continent, her toes touching the sea for the first time in her life, a few strands of shiny gray glistened in the sun as it reached her wind tossed brown hair. "I still ain't satisfied," she said. "I can't see what's on the other side."

Talk About It

Last night, my friend and I were discussing our writing. She has been working on a memoir piece for quite some time and is considering it from more of a psychological perspective; whereas, my central piece is fictional, and I am in the process of developing my characters, their conflicts, and the central plot that brings them all together. Throughout the conversation, she asked me many questions about the characters, their backgrounds, their motivations, and their conflicts. In doing so, she forced me to consider details and possibilities that I either had not thought of at all just yet or that I had not taken the time to think through on my own. Opening up to a friend and sharing my writing process with her helped me to rethink where I am with the story and where I want to go with it. Feedback is important, and writers do not have to go it alone. Talking about it can help put writing into perspective and bring about great insight for future practice.

(3.18) All for the Best

Sitting on the back porch swing, Donna lifted the glass of lukewarm water to her lips. Even without the ice, it was refreshing to her on this hot, summer night after a long day's work. The girls and Granna were already sleeping, and Donna was winding down for the night. Kicking off her shoes, she lifted her bare feet onto the swing and smoothed her soft, cotton skirt over her knees. On nights like this, under a blanket of stars, Donna could let her mind roam free. Sometimes into the future, but tonight into the past.

She would never forget the day she told the girls. She feared their empty eyes would never fill with joy or hope again.

"There is something I need to tell you." Why couldn't he have been there? Why couldn't he face them?

There they were, sitting on the patio after dinner. It had been Lizzie's turn to do the dishes that night. She had the blue and white dish towel in her hands.

"Your father and I... Daddy and I... have been talking, and we have decided that we need to take some time apart. It would be healthy for all of us."

"Where are you going?" asked Lizzie.

"Nowhere. I will always be with you. Daddy is going on a trip for work, and we are going to stay together while he is away."

"You're getting a divorce, aren't you?" shouted Courtney with anger in her eyes. "He is leaving us!"

"Courtney, it isn't like that. We need some space. Sometimes couples just need space... and time... to think as individuals. Daddy works hard, and he needs to take this promotion because he deserves it. Let's support him in this. In the meantime, we'll take care of ourselves and be just fine."

Donna remembered the tear-stained faces of Jayme and Lizzie as they were comforted by Courtney on the day that their father left for his flight. They had decided not to go with him to the airport that day.

Shaking her head as she lifted the glass one more time, Donna reminded herself, Everything is as it should be. All for the best. All for the girls. At last, something also for me.

(3.17) One-Minute Writer: Aging

It had been one week since Donna McGhee and her daughters moved in with Granna. Every night since the move-in, Granna took great pride in escorting her youngest granddaughter, Lizzie, to bed. As Granna tucked the soft, yellow sheets under Lizzie's chin, Lizzie looked up at her, asking, "Granna, what's it like to be old?"

"Well, I have a beautiful family of children and grandchildren, and I have many, many memories and stories to tell about. The only disadvantage is that sometimes my memory deceives me now, or that I may not have much time left to share my stories. But, the beauty of it is that when I tell you and your sisters my stories, I know you'll remember them and share them forever."

"Being old isn't so bad, is it Granna?"

"No, it isn't so bad, Lizzie."

(3.16) What Makes You Happy

"Where are you going?"

"I can't stay for dinner," he said as he lifted his coat from the wooden rack by the door.  

"The lab can wait."

"These grad students don't know what they're doing.  If I don't finalize these reports by Monday, we'll lose the grant money!"

"She's there right now, isn't she?  If she spends so much time shadowing you, she should be able to finish for herself by now."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Do what makes you happy."

Donna tossed the twisted dishrag onto the gray, marble countertop.  She had been wrenching the cloth in her hands as she spoke.

"Eat your chicken, Lizzie," she said as she turned the corner into the dining room.  

The kitchen door opened and closed.  The screen door smacked the frame with a metalic clack.

(3.15) The Empty House

    The Empty House

 

"Daddy!" screeched Lizzie excitedly as she read the number on the caller ID. Jayme ran to the ringing phone on the wall and pulled the receiver to her ear.

    "Hello?"

    ---

    "Just great, Dad. School has been really tough and was boring today, but that's okay because Courtney came, and we got out early, and…"

    ---
    "Well, no, Dad. She just left."

    ---

    "Well, she didn't exactly run off, I don't think. She was with a friend, and he was on a schedule."

    ---

    "She's here, and Mom's here, and Granna's here." Catching the reference to herself, Lizzie shouted, "I'm here!" She then pulled the phone from her sister and began to tell her father about her day, from eating a homemade breakfast of Granna's finest buttermilk biscuits to the excitement of skipping out on the not-so-homemade elementary school lunch. As she listened to Lizzie ramble her day's details to their father, Donald McGhee, Jayme pulled out a wooden, kitchen chair, took a seat, and watched Granna's bird feeder sway softly in the breeze outside the window.

    The bird feeder hung from a tree branch because it was more difficult for the squirrels to ravish it that way, but they still snuck down to get their fill from time to time. Granna also had a beautiful, blue bird house that was attached to the side of the same tree. Donald, her son, had helped her hang it two years ago. Jayme remembered watching her father with his hammer and nails hanging from his belt as he had climbed the ladder to reach just the right spot on the tree. It was perfect. However, although it was spring already, no birds had moved in this year. Many random birds would fly in throughout the day to peck at the food, but none of them brought their families to live in the empty house.

(3.14) The Mothers McGhee

The Mothers McGhee

 

Elizabeth McGhee greeted her granddaughters at the front door of her home, welcoming them each inside with a warm smile and a hug before they entered the living room.

    "Go on out to the back patio, girls. Find a seat, and I'll bring out some tea!"

    "Thanks, Granna," replied Courtney, as she followed her sisters out the back door. Before she took her seat at the picnic table, a voice from behind her said, "Come here, girl!"

    "Mom!" exclaimed Courtney. "I wasn't sure if you would make it or not." Donna McGhee walked around to the back of Granna's house, suspecting that the girls and Granna would be celebrating there.

    "I wouldn't miss your first visit back! You know that. Employers are understanding of these things." As the girls settled around the picnic table with their mother, Granna brought out her signature summertime sweet tea. The weather wasn't quite warm enough just yet, but according to Granna, this was "as good an occasion as any summer" to drink her sweet tea. In fact, this was cause for celebration.

    In the 7 months since Courtney left for college, Donna and Granna had been adjusting to their new lifestyle. Having just moved in with Granna 2 weeks before Courtney's big move, Donna had only just begun to acclimate to the changes. Although she knew they moved in to help Granna as she was encountering more and more physical challenges as her age progressed, there were many times that Donna wondered if somehow Granna were actually caring for her instead. At any rate, she appreciated Granna's morning and afterschool help with the girls.

    Having sent Courtney, her oldest daughter, away to college to build a strong future for herself, Donna was working hard to find her own perfect job and support her girls. Until the separation, Donna had always stayed at home with her children while Donald worked at the university. Often she thought, Remember, no time has been wasted. I spent most of the happiest years of my life with him. I have my girls. However, in the back of her mind, the pressures of finding a choice career were there. Donald would contribute financially, but his contrite efforts were unwanted. For now, she would follow her mantra that she always shared with her daughters, "Do your best." Do your best, Donna. That's as much as anyone can do.

    Donna and the rest of the inhabitants of Granna's household enjoyed having lunch with Courtney that spring afternoon, but it seemed to end all too soon.

    "Don't stay away so long this time, baby," said Granna.

    "We'll be up in a couple of weeks. Are you sure you don't want me to drive you back to the school? Why doesn't your friend come pick you up here? I would like to meet him," said Donna as she passed Courtney's handbag to her. Courtney replied, "No, don't worry about it. You'll meet him sometime, I guess. He just isn't from this area, he knows the drop-off spot at the school, and I don't want him to get lost."

    "It is only a couple of blocks away."

    "I know, Mom. He's also on a tight time schedule today, and I don't want to make him late for his interview this evening." Courtney said her goodbyes and walked the stretch back to the school building, collecting her thoughts along the way.

(Inspiration 3.13) Experimenting with Conflict-driven Plot

I continue to develop episodes about the McGhee family, but still I have yet to determine a clear plot for my novel.  So, in my notebook, I've started a list for each main character.  The list begins with Jayme McGhee, and I've developed a mini-plot outline for her including the major conclicts in her life that will move her plot thread throughout the book.  Two questions I asked myself are these: Ultimately, what are Jayme's problems and what will she accomplish by the end of the novel?  After developing this rough sketches of plot threads for each major character, I will try my best to weave them together.  Hopefully, the final product will be a unified, seamless novel with a successful plot.

(Inspiration 3.12) The Sisters McGhee

 

The Sisters McGhee

 

Her powder-pink stiletto clicking on the sidewalk, she leaned back in to peck the driver on the cheek before lifting her left foot out of the car, adjusting her patterned, silk skirt, and slipping her wrist beneath the strap of her new, Genna de Rossi handbag.

"Be back here at 3:00," he said as she stepped out of the car, holding one hand on the door. Almost as quickly as she slammed the door, the car was halfway down the block.

It had been 7 months since her last visit. Sliding her rose-tinted sunglasses above her face and into her hair, she remembered the hot, summer sun that had burned the August sky. The sky now appeared to be a frozen, winter white. Her father's house was empty.

Now, here facing the tall, brick building, she fastened her thin hair into a low, loose, pony tail and made her way to the entrance. A sign on the door was labeled: Visitors to Daniel Boone Middle School, please check in at the main office. A thin, eager smile crept across her face as Courtney McGhee opened the large, glass door.

 

­œ

 

The morning sun spread its rays through the open window and lit up the old, black chalkboard as Ms. Boring announced the morning journal topic of the day: 

 

"If I were a superhero, my superpower would be..."

 

The 13-year-old's bright, blue eyes slowly spanned the chalk-written phrase... She never knew exactly what to write about for these things, but after all, Ms. Boring explained time after time that these journals were merely practice in creative writing.

    "Expand your mind!  Tap into your creativity!  Writing takes practice... Practice, practice, practice!"

    Okay, she thought, pushing her long, blonde hair behind her shoulders. Think, think.  Super powers?  Plain-Jane, Jayme. What super power could I ever have?  

    Jayme McGhee sat in the back corner of the classroom, cloaked in the shadow of Ms. Boring's tall bookcase. As she contemplated her journal topic, Jayme stared out from her shadow and through the window on the opposite side of the classroom. After coming back to school in January, she had been watching the tall, winter-bare oak outside the window slowly evolve into a luscious, green tree. The flourishing tree had also become the springtime home to families of birds and squirrels.

    A head full of short, black hair bobbed in front of Jayme's window view. The hair could only belong to Kyle Foxx. Jayme sat up in her desk and watched Kyle consider his own superpowers. Her eyes combed through every feature of his face, which was now practically glowing by the sunlight. Jayme watched as Jessica Madison leaned over to the edge of her seat, discreetly passing a note to Kyle.

    Jessica's short, blonde hair was different than Jayme's hair. Jayme's hair was dark, caramel blonde. Sitting in the shadow of the bookcase, she twirled a lock of her own hair around her fingers, comparing it to the bright, lemony, blonde hair of Jessica, which seemed to attract the warm sun. As Kyle looked up from the secret message and flashed a quick, brilliant smile to Jessica, Jayme, her chin resting on her loosely clinched fist, released a quiet sigh, secretly wishing that she herself could have been passing the note, a note, any note, to Kyle at that very moment. Regardless of proximity, there was something else that Jessica possessed that Jayme did not – that extra something that meant during lunch time, Kyle would sit at Jessica's table – not at Jayme's table. In fact, Jayme wasn't so sure that she even had "a table." Struggling to understand this social phenomenon, Jayme thought, How does she do it? How does she attract guys like Kyle? Suddenly, it came to her!

    She began to write:

 

If I were a superhero, my super power would be the power of attraction!

~ Plain-Jane Jayme

 

Whatever it was that attracted so many friends – and boys – to Jessica, Jayme wanted that, too. She imagined the possibilities of such a power….

 

­œ

    "I watched the clock all morning. I thought you guys would never get here!" shouted Lizzie cheerfully at Courtney and Jayme as they strolled out the doors of John Battle Elementary School.

    "She had to check me out first ya know," said Jayme, putting her hand on Lizzie's shoulder. Smiling, Courtney held Lizzie's hand as she asked, "What's new in the 5^th grade?"

    "This kid laughed at me in Art today, and I counted to ten like Jayme said. Lucky for him 'cuz I was pretty mad."

    "What did he say exactly?" inquired Courtney.

    "He made fun of my title," replied Lizzie. Jayme interjected, "Explain! Details, details… Remember, we weren't there. What were you doing in Art today?"

    "Oh, Ms. Davis asked us to paint watercolor pictures, so I painted the pond. You know, the one behind Granna's house!"

    "What a great idea!"

    "Thanks, Courtney! And I picked the greatest title, too. Ms. Davis said to pick a title that represents our picture the best, and my title for my pond was Granna. And then, Arthur Morin laughed at me, and he said my picture didn't look anything like a grandma."

    "Did you explain it to him?"

    "Heck, no! You guys came in finally, and here I am!" smiled Lizzie as if her sisters had saved the day.

    Putting her arm around Jayme, who was shaking her head at Lizzie's story, Courtney looked from Jayme to Lizzie as she said, "Hey, let's go see Granna and grab a bite to eat. I think Mom might even meet us for lunch today."

    "If she gets off work," said Jayme. Stopping to kick off her pink heels and put them in her bag, Courtney said, "She'll get away. Gosh, I've missed you all! Let's go."

    

(Inspiration 3.11) Scripted Sundays: A Love Note

My Dearest Donna,

 

You have always been my best friend, and I love you with all my heart. You have been a dear wife and partner; you are an amazing mother to our children. 

 

I’m sorry, Donna, that our interests have diverged.  I’m sorry that I haven’t been the husband that you deserve for far too long than I can say.  I do not blame you for staying.  Our children will be better for it.  Please forgive me for hurting you and our girls. 

 

Although there is great distance between us now, I will hold you in my heart forever.  Our memories are dear to me, and our future, although very different than we planned, will be bright as it ever could be.  I love you always.

 

Sincerely,

 

Don

The Road Not Taken (Robert Frost)

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;        

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,        

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.        

 

 I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference. 

(Inspiration 3.10.1) Hummingbird

Suddenly, a shrill scream pierced the air.  Jayme instantly ran out of the house, knowing that the sound came from the enchanted woods of Lizzie and Granna.  It was Lizzie.  Jayme, bounding through the trees and bushes as fast as she could, had no idea what could possibly have caused Lizzie to expel such a scream.

Slowing to a stop in front of the pond, Jayme put her hand against a tree to stabilize her body, and her heart was pounding.  Finally, she looked up in time to see Granna laughing and a wet Lizzie climbing out of the pond.  Lizzie, thrusting her hands in the air, screaming, "I'm going again! Banzai!"  With that, she scaled a tree, using the wooden board steps that had been nailed to the tree some years ago by Donald McGhee.  Reaching a thick, dangling rope that was attached somewhere above within the boughs of the tree, Lizzie let forth another shrill scream as she jumped out from the tree with a great swing and jumped out into the cool waters.  Jayme, her breath slowing to a normal pace, laughed and shook her head.  She and Granna watched intently as Lizzie swam to the edge again and climbed out of the pond.

"Well, Lizzie-girl, you'd better go on in now.  Draw a bath and freshen up.  It won't be but a half hour 'til your momma gets home," said Granna.  Lizzie pecked Granna on the cheek and twirled slowly clockwise as Granna wrapped her in an oversized, soft, green towel.  Then, she ran off to the house.

"What's that pretty paper?" asked Granna pointing to the violet card in Jayme's hand.  Blushing slightly, having forgotten to put the card away during the frenzy of discovering the source of Lizzie's screams, Jayme put her hands behind her back, saying," Oh nothing... Just something I had... Hey, Granna... Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, fire away!"

"Do you miss my dad?"

Closing her eyes, Granna turned to face the warm sunlight.  The question had been abrupt, but she took time to consider her response.  Her lips curled slightly into a serene smile.  She looked back to Jayme again, gazing into her blue eyes.  She replied, "Donald is my boy.  I always miss him when he is away from me.  Sometimes, I worry that he is so far away from you and your sisters - so far from Donna.  Since he has moved from me, he has been with her.  I never thought..."  Her eyes closed again as she faced the sun.  She continued, "This is what I know.  Your daddy loves your momma, and your daddy loves you.  No matter what, all parents raise their kids the best they can."  Opening her tired eyes, Granna placed a time-worn hand on Jayme's shoulder, saying, "Honey, never doubt that your momma and daddy love you, and even when the choices are tough, they make the best decisions for you that they know how."

"I love you, Granna."

"I love you, too, baby," said Granna as she slowly lifted a finger to direct Jayme's eyesight to a purple and emerald hummingbird poised in front of a blooming bush.  Except for the constant, fluid motion of its wings, the graceful bird appeared to be frozen in time, a still, graven image of beauty against the luscious green surroundings.

(Inspiration 3.10) Donna's Desk

"Jayme! Wait!" Hearing the familiar voice, Jayme turned back to find the matching face.  Sure enough, Louisa was scrambling through the crowded doorway, her notebook in hand and her book bag on her shoulder.  Jayme waited by a bench on the sidewalk, unable to anticipate what Louisa might say.

"I told my mother I would meet her at the Coffee Shoppe today after school.  It is on the corner of your road.  Do you want to come with me?" asked Louisa, adjusting the frame of her glasses.  Jayme shook her head regretfully from side to side as she said, "No, I can't.  Mom is working late, and I need to go home with Lizzie and Granna."  With a shrug of her shoulders, Louisa said, "That's okay.  We can walk together anyway.  Let's go."  The two girls began to walk, and Jayme was pleased to have company.  Her usual walk home was accompanied by Jameson and his sister, Meg.

"Where are Jameson and Meg?" Louisa inquired as they turned the first corner and crossed the crosswalk.  

"They are on vacation.  Mrs. Dosser planned a three-day weekend in the Mountains, remember?"

"Oh yeah.  Didn't they go out of town just a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah, she likes to do family stuff like that - says it makes them stronger," answered Jayme as she plucked a bud from a blooming tree overhead.

The girls continued to walk in the shade of the trees until, finally, Louisa parted to meet her mother, and Jayme walked the length of Pomegranate Avenue until she reached Granna's home. Jayme walked behind the house to locate Granna and Lizzie in the back yard.  Lizzie always arrived home from elementary school before Jayme, and if the weather was nice, Lizzie and Granna would always venture into the woods together.  Today, Jayme could see them through the trees.  They were walking toward the pond.

Jayme entered the back door and put her school bag in her bedroom.  When she made her way back down the hall, she glanced into her mother's room.  There was her desk, clean, neat, organized, and new.  Something about the desk was attractive to Jayme.  She entered the room and took a seat on her mother's cushioned stool.  Granna made the lavender cushion for Donna when the new desk was brought in to celebrate Donna's first semester of classes.

Donna loved to take pictures, and there were several pictures on her desk.  Jayme lifted each frame to view the faces inside.  She delicately touched each face in the family photo.  She gazed into the eyes of her father.  This was taken three years ago.  Courtney still had braces.  Lifting the new family photo, her eyes traced the images of her mother and Granna, who were surrounded by herself and her two sisters.  Then there was the picture of the daughters with Granna.  They were standing in the garden.  Next, her roving eyes wandered to a newer face, Carter Newman.  Donna had taken this picture as he was working on her car in the driveway.  He was "her angel" that day.  Here, he was holding onto the front of the car, his arms straight, as if he had just emerged from fidgeting under the hood.  He had shyly smiled as she snapped the picture, saying, "Here I am, Ms. Independent, and I can't even fix my own car!"

A stack of papers caught Jayme's eye.  Oh, that's right.  The divorce, shuddered Jayme.  Its final now.  The bold signatures of Donna and Donald McGhee were clearly written.  Jayme stared at the pages with a blank expression.  Her heart was empty.  

Standing to exit the room, she noticed a violet card stock corner protruding from beneath the paper stack.  Hesitantly, Jayme lifted the card from the stack.  Reading it silently to herself, she heaved a heavy sigh.  

(Inspiration 3.9) Up the Steps

Photo prompt, Up the Steps, is provided by Pictures, Poetry, and Prose.  This is my first response to a prompt by this site.

Standing in front of the puddle, looking into her own image reflected up from the waters on the uneven night pavement, Donna held her books close to her breast and sighed.  She nudged a floating leaf with the toe of her shoe.

I have not been to school in years.  What I am doing here?  This was never for me.  I stayed home for my girls.  Donna's eyes drifted up to meet the entrance of the beckoning, marble staircase.  Pencil behind ear and checking her watch, she stepped over the puddle, walked across the cement sidewalk, and placed a foot on the first step and a hand on the rail.  

"For the girls...  For me...," sighed Donna aloud to herself.

(Inpiration 3.5.2) Celebration of Life

Now, wrapped in her soft, terry cloth robe, and curling her toes within the softness of her duck slippers, Courtney's eyes shifted slowly to the round, ticking wall clock. It seemed to slow to a stop as she read the sign on the window of the white, plastic indicator. Either the clock had stopped ticking, or her heart pumped so loudly that it drowned out all sounds around her. Courtney faintly heard the beating of a second, smaller heart as she grasped her yellow cell phone to call her mother.
(http://whitneyinspired.blogspot.com/2009/03/inspiration-35-late.html)

Jayme McGhee burst through the waiting room door, exclaiming, "IT'S A GIRL!"  Everyone erupted in cheers.  Courtney had insisted upon waiting to discover the gender of her baby because, from the very beginning, her child had been a great surprise, an unanticipated blessing.  As Granna and Lizzie, hand-in-hand, followed her down the hospital corridor, Jayme could not wait to see the precious fingers and toes again and to share them with her family and friends.

(Inspiration 3.8) No Servants for Granna

Jogging down the hall for fear that 10 year old Lizzie had taken it upon herself to make breakfast again, Donna imagined Granna's kitchen bursting into flames. She cringed, remembering the singed dish towel that was collateral damage from Lizzie's last cooking scheme.

"Hey, there! Good mornin'! I know my biscuits smell good, but I didn't think you'd come runnin' in like that!" shouted Granna cheerfully. Donna, with a slightly wrinkled forehead, replied, "Oh, good morning, Granna. Just making sure that Lizzie wasn't trying to 'surprise' me with breakfast in bed again. Yes, it does smell good. Let me get that for you." Taking hold of the spatula, Donna shuffled in front of the stove to poke at the scrambled eggs. Granna reluctantly took a seat at the table, watching as Donna checked the biscuits in the oven.

"Did you set the egg timer, Granna?" asked Donna. With a sigh, Granna stood up from the table, and put her arm around Donna's waist.

"Donna, I'm thrilled to have you and the girls here with me. You know I miss ya when you're away, an' I appreciate your help. But, this is my house, an' my kitchen, an' I enjoy cookin' for my grankids. I ain't never had no servants. Matter o' fact, I like to serve up a good meal m'self." Patting her daughter-in-law on the shoulder, Granna smiled and pulled her biscuits out of the oven.

"Buttermilk biscuits!" squeeled Lizzie with glee as she sniffed her way into the kitchen and rubbed her eyes.

(Inspiration 3.7) Buttermilk Biscuits

The scent of buttermilk biscuits enveloped the house.  Granna made the best buttermilk biscuits.  Soft, fluffy whiteness.  Buttered with care, each bite was a treasure to be savoured.  

 

Jayme rolled back the white, down comforter and placed her bare feet on the cool, wood floor.  Granna's slippers were by the bed post.  Having fulfilled their purpose, they would rest there until someone, anyone, had the heart to pack them away.  

 

"I miss her," said Lizzie as she rolled over to face her sister.  Sliding Lizzie's wavy hair away from her eyes and behind her ear, Jayme replied, " I know.  Me too." With a kiss to her sister's forehead, Jayme felt compelled to add, "She's resting peacefully now.  No more worries.  No more pain."  In another place, in another time, with anyone else around, Jayme felt sure that she would not have said anything like that.  In fact, she wanted to cry on someone's shoulder.  But whose?  Here, with Lizzie, she would be the comforter.

 

Jayme and Lizzie shared Granna's bed on the night of the funeral.  Lizzie wanted to be closer to Granna, and Donna could not the refuse.   Jayme had volunteered to sleep with her in Granna's room.  Both girls slept better during the last night than they had for weeks past.  

With her back to Lizzie, Jayme looked out the window into the front yard.  The sheer, white curtains flowed down the sides of the window pane, adding a softness to the framed view.  The sun shone brightly, reflecting the on the hood of the red, Honda Civic in the driveway.  Suddenly, as if by flicked strings on a marionette, light danced in wild, new patterns across the top and hood of the car as the trunk popped like an apple bouncing from a tree. A show of gravity in reverse.  Seconds elapsed.  And a wide-awake Jayme shrugged.

 

"Lizzie, let's eat!"  The two sisters put on their robes and entered the kitchen.  

"Wak-ee, wak-ee!  Eggs and bac-ee!  Its about time sleepy heads," exclaimed a chipper, Donna McGhee.  Both daughters met her eyes with a grin.  It had been so long since their mother had taken time to prepare breakfast at all, especially a home-cooked meal of biscuits, gravy, eggs, and bacon.  She had been chatting with Courtney as the younger siblings filed in, taking seats around the table.

 

"Courtney, what were you getting out of your trunk this morning? I thought you unpacked already."  

"Not again!  Oh, no!  I hope it hasn't been like that all night!"

"What?" asked Jayme, confused by the alarmed reaction of her sister.  "No, I just saw your trunk open this morning, and..."

"Its okay, I just accidentally... Well this new key chain door opener... darn thing.  I must have pressed it again in my purse," replied a slightly frustrated but relieved Courtney.  After all, her last trunk-popping incident had been a costly mistake.

 

Jayme trailed Courtney out to her car as Lizzie opened the silverware drawer and began to count four sets of forks, knives, and spoons, juggling them in her small hands.

...To be continued...

Trunk scene with Jayme and Courtney.  Courtney had taken Granna to her last meeting of the Fat Lady's Club to work on her scrapbook with friends. She gave Jayme the book, asking her to hold on to it.  "Hey, we'll add to this later.  Let's eat."

Later, big discoveries first by Jayme, then she shares them with her family.

Interruption of trunk scene.  Neighbor drops by to offer condolences and is invited in for breakfast.  This is a recurring character from a local significant family or friend of Jayme.

(Inspiration 3.2.1) Jayme McGhee & the Power of Attraction

As she watched Kyle look up from the secret message and flash a quick, brilliant smile to Jessica, Jayme secretly wished that she herself could have been passing the note, a note, any note, to Kyle at that very moment.  Regardless of proximity, there was something else that Jessica had that Jayme did not - that extra something that meant during lunch time, Kyle would sit at Jessica's table - not at Jayme's table.  In fact, Jayme wasn't so sure that she even had "a table."  Struggling to understand this social phenomenon, Jayme thought, How does she do it?  How does she attract guys like Kyle?  Suddenly, it came to her!  

She began to write:

If I were a superhero, my super power would be the power of attraction!  

~Plain-Jane, Jayme

Whatever it was that attracted so many friends - and boys -  to Jessica, Jayme wanted that, too. She imagined the possibilities of such a power...

(continued)

Art class - Jayme started a cornfield landscape (more on this assignment later)... Pre-Algebra class - peer group activities (scary experience for  shy Jayme - more on this later)... 

"Tomorrow, bring in your five, fast math challenge answers, and we'll collaborate in challenge groups," energetically announced Mr. Counts as the hungry students stuffed away their pre-algebra materials and watched the final seconds tick away on the clock.

Finally! The bell! thought Jayme as she dashed out of her front row seat and out the door.  She met Louisa at her locker.  Now in eighth grade, Jayme and Louisa were "neighbors" for the third year in a row, but they only shared one class together.

"Jayme, I'm starving!  No offense to Ms. Boring, but I thought the lunch bell would never ring,"exclaimed Louisa, who did not open her locker but stood in the hall behind Jayme, holding a firm grasp on the shoulder strap of her messenger back to alleviate the pressure of the heavy books within it.  Louisa was in Ms. Boring's advanced English class.  In fact, Louisa was in most of the advanced classes.

"How did your presentation go?" asked Jayme, remembering the frightened look on Louisa's face as she went over her speech notes before class.

"It went well, I think, but..." stammered Louisa, her bag crashing into the wall of lockers as she was jostled out of the way by a group of hungry boys.

"Hey, watch it!  What's in that thing anyway?" shouted one member of the passing herd who had apparently struck the bag in passing.  He rubbed his elbow as he clamored on his way.  Rolling her eyes, Jayme said, "Let's just go."  With that, the two girls silently paced to the cafeteria and waited in the long line to get their food.  The cafeteria food seemed less appealing than ever today.  

Sitting down beside Louisa, Jayme watched the stray peas roll around her tray and thought for a second that her potato soup was actuallybubbling up at her. 

(At this point, I will add in descriptions of Jayme's "friends" and circle of more intimate school mates.  This will be a friendly discussion among peers.  To be continued...)

Jameson, with his mouth wide-open and lips curled back for a second bite of his cornbread muffin, turned his head in response to a firm tap on the shoulder.  Jaws open and eyes wide, his pupils followed the slender fingers... sunny-brown arm... delicate collar bones... to the face of Wendy Massengil. Dropping his muffin, he stared at Wendy's glossed lips as she asked, "So, do you have Gilbert?"  Snapping his jaws shut to swallow his food, as if he had only just realized that his chin was dangling in awe, Jameson lifted a small brown bag on the table.

"Yes, he's in here."

"You stuffed him in a paper sack?!" exclaimed Wendy.  Jameson stammered, "No! I, um, didn't have much to hold him... it... in, so I packed the egg in cotton and wrapped it in a towell."

"Well, tomorrow is day 5, and then the project is over..."

(Here, Jayme will be intrigued by the conversation and begin to daydream until she is interrupted by the lunch bell - to be continued...)

"Don't worry, the egg is in tact. No cracks.  Not even a scratch.  Did you bring any... um... clothes?"  

"No.  Look, I'll just see you in class.  Bring Gilbert," snapped Wendy as she turned to face her grinning boyfriend, Kyle.

(Here, Jayme will snap out of her daydream...)

Startled by the screeching bell, Jayme reached quickly for her tray, nudging her sketchpad off the table.  Sighing as she watched it bounce to the floor, she stood and reached down to collect her anthology of designs.  However, Kyle quickly lifted the pad from the toe of his shoe.  Flipping through the private pages of color and shapes from Jayme's imagination, he said, "This is why I use stick figures.  Let the artists do the real work.  Nice!"  Jayme contemplated his smiling face as Kyle handed her the book, put his arm around Wendy's waist, and disappeared into the crowd.  

Louisa, having taken her own tray and Jayme's to the dumpster, appeared at her side.  

"Ready for science class?"

"No," chimed Jameson, although he was not going to science class with them.  "Didn't you hear?  Wendy didn't bring the clothes today!  We have to dress the egg!  Eggs are NOT babies.  Whose idea was this anyways?"  Cheerfully patting him on the back as he stared at the bulky, brown bag in front of him, Jayme said, "You'll be such a great father, Jamers.  So devoted and concerned!"  Louisa stuffed a handful of napkins into his pocket.

"Take a marker.  Color these high-fashion garments on your way to Home Economics!"  Jayme and Louisa parted from their frazzled friend and started off to their own class.

(Inspiration 3.6) This strand is growing!

In case this is your first time stopping by my blog, I'll clue you in to what's going on.  My goal is to write a novel.  When I ever-so-boldly proclaimed this goal, I wasn't sure what my topic would be, who my characters were, or even what points I might be trying to make.  However, whenever inspiration strikes, I've been jotting down notes and ideas here in my blog.  (I've also been writing in a notebook that I keep in my purse in case I'm not around my computer... I'll add these entries on here later...)  I have been numbering my new inspirations, with related posts collecting under the same numbered strand.  So far, strand #3 has taken off, and it is quite exhilarating because I'm slowly but surely "getting to know" these characters who, three weeks ago, I had never even considered.  I'm starting to wonder if I should create a new blog dedicated to these ideas...?  As I've never done this before, I'm really not sure.  

Any ideas?  All comments and advice are sincerely appreciated.