Belated EEK! Put Some Pages Up For Criteek!

A post by Mary Fan

Hey y'all! So I've been in a helluva writing slump (actually, a helluva life slump) for several months
now, so when my turn came to do an EEK last month, I had literally nothing. Since then, the life slump has kept slumping, but at least I managed to beat a few thousand words out of me (the motivation/productivity seems to be returning in abrupt waves).

So here, for your consideration, are a few pages from my new project... that disastrous ball of insanity I have no business writing but can't stop writing anyway. It's a YA magical realism about six modern-day teens from different backgrounds whose lives bump into each other in unexpected ways.... Here's one of them, an aspiring opera singer named Rae (this is actually the start of Chapter 3, her first POV chapter)

Rae could always tell that the latest diet plan her mom stuck her on was working when her boobs started shrinking. Judging from the number of times she’d had to pull up her bra straps while carrying boxes into her third-floor dorm, it was. She considered letting this one—no carbs, no trans fats, and pretty much no meat—keep going long enough for the rest of her to shrink too. But she knew better. The moment her parents went home—leaving her alone and free at camp—she’d go back to eating like a normal person. It was the eternal tug-of-war of being sixteen—both in age and dress size. Part of her wanted to listen to her mom and believe that skinny was the answer to all her problems, and part of her was like, Fuck it, I’m me, and you can deal with it.

So far, the fuck it side was winning.

She reached across the narrow twin bed—less than half the size of what she had at home, but whatever—tucked her purple sheet over the corner. Straightening, she felt her bra strap slip off—again.

The tiny, single room was stifling in the June heat, and the building was so old, there was no AC. Still, she breathed more easily here than she ever had anywhere else. Fireflies danced around her as they always did, though in the daylight, many mistook them for the gross kind of bugs. If only they’d stick around long enough to see how magical they could be.

“You sure about this, sweetie?” Mom looked like she was literally about to clutch the string of pearls above her sweater set. “Home’s only ten minutes away, and—”

“Moooooom!” Rae dragged her voice out. “I’m living on campus, and that’s that! So deal with it, okay?” She’d been dreaming of attending the Silver Star Creek Summer Arts Festival since she was in kindergarten, and living on the Rexford University campus was part of the experience. She wasn’t about to let Mom take that from her.

A whole summer of nothing but music and fellow young artists and independence—it was like a dream come true. And Rae was certain that hers were about to. The festival—which brought together aspiring young performers from across the country for two months of intensive training with world-class mentors—was breeding ground for future fame, and talent scouts knew that. They flocked to the end-of-summer showcase that exhibited the best of the best, and lots of greats had gotten their start here. Rae was the kind of operatic soprano that could make audiences gasp and weep, even though, as a teen, she’d barely begun to develop her talent. Imagine what’ll happen when my voice matures.

Surely, the scouts would notice too, and she’d get invited to all sorts of conservatories and young artist programs around the world. This was the start she’d always hoped for, that she’d been working for since she’d started taking voice lessons at age three. She’d been watching other opera singers triumph on stage for as long as she could remember.

She’d always known that someday, it would be her turn.

“Remember, we’re just a phone call away.” Mom placed a hand on Rae’s shoulder. “You got the list I sent you, right?”

Rae made a face. Mom’s lists were always full of nitpicky crap, like what Rae should and shouldn’t eat or what hours she could be out without an adult chaperone and other Mom-ish stuff.

“Relax, honey.” From the doorway, Dad chuckled. “She’s sixteen, not six.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got an audition this afternoon, so I don’t have time for your fussing.” Rae crossed her arms. “Go home so I can practice.”

“Wait, you have an audition already?” Mom frowned. “I thought the program didn’t begin until Monday.”

“Not for the festival.” Rae rolled her eyes. “Arthur Theater, remember? They’re staging a new opera about World War Two, and they have open auditions for the chorus.” The community theater specialized in undiscovered talent—both on and off stage. Growing up in an artsy town like Rexford, she’d always been surrounded by fresh ideas on the cusp of becoming something great. Now that she was old enough, she could finally take part.

This time, it was Dad who frowned. “Wait, you want to do an opera and the camp? Are you sure you can handle both?”

Rae didn’t dignify that with an answer; she simply lifted her brows and angled her mouth in an expression that said it all.

She’d find a way to make everything work, and nothing would stop her now.

Eek! A critique! Of a YA myster-eeeeeeeee

Okay, people, help a girl out. This book is becoming the bane of my existence. I have no idea what works, what doesn't. If my narrative voice is any good, if the characters are compelling. I know nothing.

In this scene: Troy, nearly 18, is lamenting the fact that his estranged sister, who he hasn't seen in three years, recently stood him up.

Also, this is set in 1995 -- hence the answering machine and handwritten note.

Gracias in advance.

**

Troy returned home to a note in Jerry’s handwriting and a twenty dollar bill tacked up on the fridge with a magnet.
Client dinner. Order a pizza. Invite Caitlyn over. Her parents are in Aruba.
Only Troy’s parents would encourage he hang out with the pretty blonde neighbor girl without any adult supervision. But then again, Troy’s parents knew him. Caitlyn, however, didn’t. He’d eat the pizza alone.
He ran upstairs to his bedroom, dropped his car keys on his nightstand, and shucked off his boots. The button on his answering machine blinked. Troy exhaled. It had to be Miranda. He was already bracing for her excuses.
Sorry, I forgot the time.
They changed my schedule at work and I couldn’t call you.
I overslept.
I’m in a ditch somewhere.
He pressed the button.
“Hey Troy, Coach Shipman calling. I saw you at the open meet…” Troy deleted the message.
That was it.
Nothing from Miranda. He’d give her a few more days before he swore off her forever. Like she did to him the day she left.
“Don’t worry, little bro. I'll be back one day,” Miranda had said. She rubbed the top of his head, even though he was taller than her at this point. Three years apart, they were often mistaken for twins.
Dressed in ripped jeans, a sweatshirt, and armed with a duffle bag, Miranda had one foot out her window before Troy caught her.
“You weren’t going to say goodbye?” he asked.
She glanced away, toward the street. “You know how I hate the emotional stuff. Besides, I didn’t want you ratting me out to Mom and Jerry.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” He was desperate to pull her inside the window, tie her up, make her stay. He’d been out of Hulbert a year and things hadn’t felt any better. “Can’t you just move nearby? You don’t have to live here.”
She shook her head. Dark strands of hair got caught in her mouth, but she was holding on so precariously to the window ledge, she couldn’t risk letting go to smooth back her hair. “I want to see places. I’m itchy.”
Troy quickly unclipped the cross from his neck and fastened it above the collar of her shirt. “Take it. You can always pawn it if you need the cash.”
Miranda smiled softly. “Thanks.” She looked down before swinging out her other leg and dropping to the ground, landing with a thud. It was an easy eight-foot drop.
Miranda was fearless. Reckless. Impulsive. Troy used to be like that.
“I’ll send you postcards,” she whispered up to him. Then she took off down the long driveway, disappearing into the dark.
Troy stared out the open window for awhile, ignoring the chill, adding Miranda to the list of people lost to him.
Three years later, she intruded into his life with a phone call. Made him drive up to Cohosh only to disappear again, probably halfway to Nashville or Atlanta. Maybe she was on a plane headed to Europe. But, she led him to believe she’d be there to see him.
Miranda was still reckless. 

EEK! PUT SOME PAGES UP FOR A CRITEEEEEEK: A collection of shorts

Hey, everybody!  It's time for another installment of "Eek! Put Some Pages Up For Criteek!"  In case you don't remember the deal, you can check out Jonathan's original post including the rules. 

I have this WIP where I hope to create one large story knitted together through a collection of short stories. This Eek! is from the first story, Megan. You hereby have my permission to shred/praise/toss/tout/completely rewrite the first two pages. Happy reading. And be gentle!

~Carrie

“How can you say being invisible wouldn’t be fun? How would you know?” Noah stared at her, disbelief mixing with anger.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had the superpowers conversation. As annoying as it was, she took some comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only big sister who had to relive this particular debate over and over again. Usually, she just nodded and agreed that whatever superpower Noah was fixated on for the day would be the most awesome thing in the world.

But that particular morning she just couldn’t bring herself to agree. She didn’t mean to say what she did because she knew he wouldn’t understand. At eight the world still looked as though it could be anything he wanted it to be.  Despite his innocence, or maybe because of it, she found herself wanting to say more. She wanted to tell him that she did, in fact, know what it felt like to be invisible.

That as soon as she got out of the car she’d once again don her cloak of invisibility.

She wanted to warn him that while being invisible would allow him to move from place to place unnoticed, it also had consequences. After a while, he would start to question his own existence. The cloak of invisibility is heavy and he wouldn’t have the power to just remove it whenever he wanted. Others would have to remove it for him.

But she didn’t say any of those things because he wouldn’t understand. She’d already said too much and his innocent feelings had been hurt. Besides, she had reason to hope that this would be the day when someone would permanently lift her cloak of invisibility. Why dwell on the negatives?

“I’m just kidding with you, Noah. Of course being invisible would be awesome.” She tried to put as much enthusiasm into her voice as possible, but the look on Noah’s face told her he still didn’t trust her.

The car pulled to a stop at the front of the car line and she slowly got out, her mom calling to her before she could shut the door.

“Megan, are you sure you’re going to be all right until after your game tonight?”

She always asked, and while Megan appreciated it, she wished her mom wouldn’t. Every time her mom asked the question, Megan had to lie. She had to tell her that of course she’d be fine. Megan had to stay at school until after the game, and her mom couldn’t come because of work and Noah. Why tell her mom the truth—that she’d be miserable and alone—just to make her feel even guiltier than she already did?

“Yeah, of course I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tonight.”

Megan closed the door and turned toward the school. It loomed over her, and she immediately started to feel the weight of the cloak. She tried to shake it off with each step, but it wouldn’t budge.

She entered the building, a ghost walking unnoticed through the crowded halls. As she did every morning, she tried her best to connect. She looked at her classmates as she passed, trying to pull their eyes to hers. She gave them a slight smile or nod. Their eyes often linked with hers, but they didn’t connect. They looked through her, not at her.

She was the girl everyone knew, but no one noticed.

She had gotten used to it. She learned to accept it. She was able to find a way to be a ghost, existing only when someone removed the cloak for her. In some ways she liked it. No one bullied her. No one took advantage of her. No one expected things from her that she couldn’t deliver.

But she couldn’t hold on to those positives for very long. The loneliness and self-doubt eventually took over, nearly suffocating her.

This was the first day in a long time she felt the heaviness so early in the day. She always felt the burden from the moment she woke up, but she could usually endure until the final bell rang. Since she’d been given the hope of a different day, she thought it would feel lighter than normal. Instead, it felt heavier.

She held her breath as she turned the corner, even though she knew he wouldn’t be there. He was never there before her. But still—there was always the possibility, and she couldn’t seem to keep herself from hoping.

She released her breath slowly as her eyes fell on the empty space in front of his locker. She glanced around as she walked, not really looking for him, but looking just the same. The usual groups were all accounted for, talking over each other in frantic sentences to get in as much gossip as possible before the bell rang.

She moved forward, unnoticed.

Someone accidentally bumped her shoulder as he passed by, and for a moment her cloak shifted. She was rewarded with a polite and apologetic smile before she became invisible once again. She reached her locker and looked down the hall once more as she unpacked her bag, hoping to see Brett.

Instead, she saw the one person at school who she knew was genuinely happy about her existence. Emma was her savior in many ways, but Megan didn’t think she knew it. Sure she often told Emma she was an awesome best friend and that her life wouldn’t be the same without her, but she didn’t think Emma fully understood the truth of her words. Emma wouldn’t understand it if Megan told her she made her feel as though the cloak didn’t exist at all.

Eek! It's ANOTHER Criteek!

I'm going to step out of my Resident Reader role again for another Eek! Criteek! post. As you may recall, I posted the first chapter of my YA dual-narrative sci-fi-ish WIP, Revealed, back in November. Today I'm sharing chapter two. 

Here's the blurb I posted last time: 

A secret society of special abilities, the Order, becomes unbalanced when Jaycen Towle acts on his desire to use the gift he was born with to become a superhero. Cara Wallace, a gifted outsider, is sucked into Jaycen’s world when she discovers his secret and believes the Order may have answers about the parents she barely knew. But are the Order’s answers really worth the shattering they cause both Cara and Jaycen?

Without further ado, here's my chapter two (hey, that rhymes!). 

Jaycen

   “Come in,” my father’s rough voice called through the thick wood of his office door before I even had a chance to drop my fist. My heart hammered and my hand shook ever so slightly when I twisted the cold metal knob. The door closed behind me and my father, Salem Towle, looked up. “Ah, Jaycen,” he smiled. “Take a seat.” He motioned toward the padded chairs across from his mahogany desk, but continued skimming through the stack of papers in front of him. It would be an eventful summer at the bed and breakfast we used as a cover for the Order’s headquarters, so I wasn’t surprised to find him in his office at this late hour. It bothered me when he did that, though. I needed his undivided attention.

   I spoke while standing, too nervous to sit. “There’s this girl at school,” I blurted out.

   He finally looked up with a smirk, a glint to the same blue eyes I saw in the mirror every morning. “Are we due for another one of those talks?” he asked. I wasn’t in the mood. In fact, his untimely joke rubbed me the wrong way and, however briefly the thought flashed, I almost backed out of the office. My awkwardness must have been pretty obvious because his face cleared and he simply waited. The clock above his head ticked away the empty seconds. When I didn’t start again, he impatiently asked, “Well, who is she?”

   “Her name is Cara Wallace.” Just saying her name sent chills up my spine.

   He shook his head. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. What’s her Talent?”

   I reached up to rub the back of my neck nervously. Just spit it out, I urged myself. “Well, that’s the thing. You don’t know her. She’s, um…well, she’s not in the Order.” As soon as the words were out, relief washed over me at finally confiding in someone. After all, I had been observing her for the better part of a year now. But at the sharp look on my father’s face and the wrinkles that lined his forehead, I wanted to suck them back in.

   “Jaycen, there are rules against that,” he said, solemnly. Here I was telling him about my first crush and instead of clapping me on the back, he was crushing me with rules of the secret organization he held so dearly.

   I started to say, “But dad, it’s different with her. She’s different--” before he cut me off with a movement of his hand that brushed aside my words.

   His sigh was made louder by the quiet room. “Is this really worth discussing? I can’t change the rules, even for you.” While he managed the Order’s headquarters, he was right. He was not a Superior- the leaders and enforcers of our organization. And since Cara hadn’t been born into our exclusive society the way everyone was...

   “Dad, I really think there’s something there.” I paused to consider my words. “I mean, it’s weird. She doesn’t even watch where she’s going. I swear, it’s like she can tell where people are around her, but it’s only with people. She walked right into a door one day.” The memory caused a smile to tug at the corners of my lips, but I cleared my expression to mirror my father’s. He had to take me seriously with this.

   “That doesn’t mean anything, son.” He continued shuffling papers around his desk, again making me feel like I was interrupting him, even with the late time. “Maybe she’s really looking under her lashes or something.”

   My eyes rolled. “What about her facial expressions then?” He looked up, but only for a moment. “The looks she gives people…” I sighed, exasperated. How could I make him understand if I wasn’t even sure I understood myself? “Her face contorts like someone insulted her, but no one addresses her at all. She always has this look of…panicked concentration.” I hesitated. “I gave her a ride home tonight.” He didn’t need to know the context in which that ride was offered.

   My father’s head jerked up to study my face before he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. His attention was on me now. There was no turning back, but I wasn’t sure how to proceed.

   “And?” he prompted. His graying eyebrows hovered toward his hairline.

   I slipped into one of the padded chairs in front of his desk, scooting to the edge with anxiousness. “Her parents are dead. I don’t know the details, but she’s adopted. Isn’t it possible that she doesn’t know anything about the Order?” His eyes widened while mine narrowed in response. “Well, is it possible?”

   I watched as my father took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, but it did nothing to release his tension. His body held rigid and his appearance took on his actual mid-fifties age. When he leaned forward and clasped his hands on his desk, I realized I was about to fall out of the chair, hanging onto what he might say. I wanted him to tell me it was possible. I wanted him to say there was a chance I could get to know Cara.

   Finally, my father spoke, slicing the silence like a knife through butter. “Jaycen, why wouldn’t she know about the Order, if in fact she has a Talent?” His question dimmed the light inside me, but I wouldn’t let it extinguish entirely. My father continued on without a beat, knowing I wouldn’t have an answer. “And even if that was a possibility, how would you approach such a topic without revealing what you are?” Part of me wanted to see the curiosity in his eyes, but his tone said otherwise. If only he knew I’d already crossed that bridge.

   I sighed in exasperation and hung my head with my fists balled against the seat. This wasn’t what I had hoped to get out of our conversation. Saying nothing at all would have been more inspiring. And I needed some inspiration. At least something to get me thinking about anything other than how to talk to her.

   My father took my silence as an invitation to lecture me. “Son, you know the rule. And you know why that rule is in place. ‘Good order is the foundation of all great things.’ We need to protect those great things, which is why it is vital for us to blend in. You’re not going to blend in so well if you’re spending your time chasing after a girl you may very well never have a chance with. Not to mention you’re bound to secrecy. Could you really keep that secret in a relationship with a Norm? The Order won’t allow it and I stand by that.”

   I didn’t have to look up at him to see his expression. His eyes would be hard, his eyebrows straight lines above them, with lips pressed together in solidarity. I had seen it before- when I had asked to join one of the school’s clubs, try out for a sport, or get a job working for someone who wasn’t in the Order. It was ridiculous how controlled my life was by the Order when, in fact, the Order was supposed to be the one place I was free to be my true, Talented self. “That great thing is my prison,” I mumbled.

   His blue eyes narrowed, but he pretended not to hear my remark. “Son, I'm warning you. Do not get involved with her.” My eyes shot up and locked on his. He put his hands up, palms out, to silence my protest. “If you cannot be trusted to do that, I will not be able to stop the consequences. If she had confessed an ability to you, now that would be an entirely different story. But you cannot take any chance of exposing us for some little crush you’ve developed.” His gaze held mine for a moment to seal his words before returning to his paperwork. That was my dismissal.

   I almost growled as I stormed out of his office, letting the door slam behind me as I went. I had barely made it down the hallway when a voice broke the silence.

   “That was a nice trick you played,” Brian barked. Of course he was pissed at me. Using my Talent on him wasn’t something I did. Another rule I broke tonight. I should have been defending him, not working against him.

   “Don’t take it personally,” I replied, not meeting his harsh glare. I had other things--other people--on my mind and the last thing I wanted to do was listen to Brian lecture me after my dad had already done that. And if that’s the only reason he was at Headquarters this late, he was wasting his time.

   Brian laughed and took a step closer to block my way toward the door I needed. “You know the rule. Do you have any idea what you’ve done tonight?”

   My eyes rolled away from him as I tried to step around him. He shifted to stop me again and I finally met the gray daggers of his eyes. “Like I said before, it wasn’t your place. Just like it’s not your place to lecture me about it.” This time I slipped around him and our shoulders rubbed as I passed.

   His words slammed into my back. “Do you really think the Order’s going to let you go through with this?” My jaw clenched. “I heard your dad tell you to stay away from her. It doesn’t matter what you think you’ve seen in her. All the Order is going to hear is that she’s a liability, a loose end that needs to be taken care of.” My back absorbed the heat of his words. “And I will be ready to take care of it when you can’t.”

   Every muscle in my body braced for a fight. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to whip around and crush his nose, friend or not. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of sending me over the edge. Before he could act on the Order’s behalf, he’d have to tell a Superior. And he wasn’t going to risk having to explain what we were doing in the alley in the first place, not to his grandfather. Without even a backward glance, I forced my feet, one step at a time, to carry me through the door and down the stairs to my room.  

--Brianna Lebrecht 

EEK! PUT SOME PAGES UP FOR A CRITEEEEEEK: THE HEMATOPHAGES

Another quality post brought to you by Steve!

Hey, everybody!  It's time for another installment of "Eek! Put Some Pages Up For Criteek!"  In case you don't remember the deal, you can check out Jonathan's original post including the rules.  But long story short, you hereby have my permission to shred/praise/toss/tout/completely rewrite the first two pages of my horror Work in Progress, contracted with Sinister Grin Press, THE HEMATOPHAGES. Happy reading. And be gentle!

1.

            “What is your greatest weakness as a researcher?”

            It’s a stupid question.  One that’s been asked at job interviews since time immemorial.  Briefly, the image of a protosapient Neanderthal in a pantsuit made from leopardhide comes into my mind, asking an applicant what her greatest weakness as a mammoth hunter is.

            I take a deep breath.  The air is oxygen-rich.  Richer than we keep it on Ryloft.  That’s good.  That’s to my advantage.  My pupils are dilated.  My senses are sharp.

            I refocus on the question.  The creaky old cowshit question, old as the hills.

            The purpose of this question is to turn it around and reveal a secret strength.

            “Truth be told, I’ve found that there are times when I become too obsessive about my work.  Burning the midnight oil.  Sometimes when I get too wrapped up in a research project I can end up neglecting my personal relationships, leisure time, and, yes, even hygiene.  I don’t smell too bad right now, do I?”

            Everyone chuckles.  Work humor.  The joke wouldn’t even elicit a smile with real human beings.  At the office, it brings the house down.  Something inoffensive enough to laugh at.

            The next woman on the panel clears a rather unpleasant clog of mucus from her throat to refocus our attention.  I realize I’ve forgotten every single one of their names.  I think this one is the Equal Opportunity Representative.

            “Tell me, Dr. Ambroziak, as a counterpoint, what is your greatest strength?”

            I’m not a doctor.  I should probably have corrected her.  But I didn’t. 

            Was that part of the test?  Should I have corrected her?  Were they probing for assertiveness?

            No, by the five sets of dull glassy eyes staring back at me I can tell they’re not pulling any flashy corporation nouveau tricks out of their collective sleeve on me.  They (or just the EO rep) had probably just misread my resumé.

            The purpose of this question is to show restraint, that you’re humble and a team player, and not a braggart.

            “My greatest strength?” I repeat, trailing off as though I’d never given the matter any thought.  I re-cross my legs so that they are reversed.  The panel is staring at me, sympathizing.  Make them wait much longer and I’ll seem like a dummy.  But wait just long enough to feel like I’m really digging deep.  I exhale painfully.

            “Well, if I had to pick something I suppose my greatest strength is that I’m wise enough to know my own limitations.  I know when to ask for help, whether from my supervisor or my peers.  I’m not the sort of person who’s going to get in over her head and then keep pretending like I can swim my way out of it.  Of course, you all know the story about the mice and the bucket.”

            The panelists exchanged glances with each other.

            “The mice and the…bucket?” the EO rep asked tentatively.

            “You’ve not heard?  I thought everyone that old chestnut.”  I looked from face to face.  Blank.  “Well, you see, one day two mice fell into a bucket of milk.  The first one couldn’t scrabble up over the side, so she gave up and drowned.  But the second one kept paddling and paddling and eventually she churned the milk into butter and then just walked right out.  The point is never give up and never quit trying.”

            The low murmur that followed was like a symphony of mild acclaim.  So far I’d been asked four questions, and so far I’d knocked all four out of the park.  There were five panelists and if I knew anything about interviews that meant the last one was coming.

            “Are you ready for the final question?”

            I nod.

            “What is the meaning of life?”

            I’m not taken aback.  Thank God they haven’t strayed from the script in the slightest.  This is just Corporate Interviewing 101.  Not a single one of them has put a second of thought into their questions, and every single one has an objectively “correct” answer.  I’d be surprised if they hadn’t come from a pre-made list.

            The “spoiler” question.  The purpose of this or any other spoiler is to judge whether I’m easily confused or thrown off my game.  The answer doesn’t matter.  Just answer confidently, as though they had asked you about your education or qualifications.

            Without missing a beat, I say, “The meaning of life is to persist.”