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19 July 2011 @ 11:35 pm

Also guys I have been writing like crazy today! Well over a thousand words, I guess I have my groove back? Thank goodness.

BUT it is not microfiction, nor anything finished enough to post here. SO INSTEAD I am going to be posting a ton of short pieces I wrote for my last creative writing workshop. Be warned, they are super unpolished, but I think they are neat! I will post one a day for the next few days! Enjoy, everybody!

15 July 2011 @ 03:00 pm
I'm keeping my word--

Thirty-three hours remain.

Enjoy your reading.

15 July 2011 @ 01:24 am
“How long have you been a camper?”
Molly sits back, leaning against the steps, freckled face smiling in thought. “Four years now. Hard to believe I’m leaving.” She’s seventeen, so this is her last year as a camper.
“And how long have you been reading Harry Potter?”
“My mom started reading them to me when I was five.” She’s leaving camp early, to head to the midnight premiere of the last movie.
“Then today, two of the biggest parts of your childhood are coming to a close.”
She swallows, and I see she’s fighting tears.
I smile comfortably at her, and she replies in kind. “They’re not really ending, though,” I tell her. “Today just marks the last page of this chapter. You’re bringing everything you’ve learned—here, and from Harry—with you into the rest of your life. It’s time to open the next chapter, and move forward into your tomorrows.”
Her smile is an honest one, now, full of hope.
“When you drive out that gate in a few hours, remember that you’re not leaving this place behind. You’re bringing it with you into the rest of the world.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, and hugs me. “Thank you.”
14 July 2011 @ 12:28 am
It started with Clymer and I talking about how much we love Mumford & Sons. We broke out into an off-key chorus of The Cave. He mentioned he could play it on bass, and the idea began to crystallize. Him on bass, me on vocals…
Eli’s guitar and ukulele quickly became the center of the song—Eli picked it up on guitar almost immediately, and it sounded beautiful. Michaela came in to teach him the song, but we realized we needed her on the uke, so she stayed.
Clymer convinced Joey to be rhythm guitar, which he was more than happy to do. Despite having never heard the song before, he sounded great.
Michael came in on backup vocals because he wanted something to do.
We were still missing something, though—we didn’t have a banjo for the instrumental sections, nor a trumpet for the ending.
But then we brought in Nathan, on his saxophone, and the band was complete.
We rehearsed during every bit of free time. We experimented and figured out the right arrangement.
Then we got up in front of the entire camp at the talent show tonight, and rocked our hearts out.
And it was beautiful.
12 July 2011 @ 12:43 am
“Loading water!” Kevin calls, then pours a cup of water down the long black tube.
“Water!” Mark replies, confirming.
“Loading balloon!” The black water balloon slides in with a satisfying sound, plopping into the collected water in the tube.
I grab the near end, and sight carefully down the length of it.
Mark looks on appraisingly. He squints. “A little higher. Maybe a bit more to the left.” I comply, following his directions.
Satisfied, I yank the valve up. There’s a muffled blast, a whisp of curling white steam, and the water-filled balloon sails high into the air. All assembled watch with rapt attention as the balloon comes back down.
For a moment it seems like it’s headed for its target. Then the wind nudges it, and the balloon splashes harmlessly into the tall grass next to the freshly built wood-and-mattresses castle.
Allan, director and overseer of AstroCamp, pokes his head up from behind the wooden ramparts. He laughs, having survived this barrage. He created the Ballistics class years ago, so of course he’s on site for the first testing of the new finale.
“Getting closer,” Mark says approvingly. “Let’s soak him this time!”
“Loading water!”
11 July 2011 @ 12:45 am
Today was the mid-session chill day. In theory there was to be a big hike up to Tahquitz Peak, but no one signed up, so it was cancelled for the first time in years (much to my sadness).
Throughout the day counselors run chill electives, and screen movies, for the kids to generally wander between. I as usual was signed up to teach my storytelling workshop, in which I teach kids how to tell stories, and get them to tell me their own.
But someone the eight kids maximum memo slipped past Schutte, and I wound up with twenty-six kids signed up.
So instead it just became me telling them particularly epic Westfinder stories. I started off with Too Soon Forgotten, as Michaela was there, and I tell the story largely from her character’s perspective. She loved it. To balance that out, I then told Awakening, and to cap it off I slipped in some shenanigans from my middle school life.
They of course loved it.
Even Peter, little tiny talks-constantly hated-by-everyone-at-camp Peter, only interrupted twice.
And tonight? Five kids asked how they could sign up for Wayfinder or Westfinder.
I done good.
10 July 2011 @ 12:25 am
“Hey Books!” Hach calls from across the parking lot. “Will you marry me?”
Tonight is the Carnival, which during the two-week camps means weddings. We have a chapel open all night, ready and happy to perform as many and as awesome weddings as you like. Gay marriage? Multiple marriage? Whatever you want.
Each year, Hach tries to marry more people than anyone else at camp. She usually succeeds—it is Hach, after all.
But I stop, and look at her coolly. I’ve already had four marriage proposals from campers today, and all were far better than this. (One involved a note hidden in a Sherlock Holmes book—that one was classy.)
“I demand a dowry,” I pronounce.
She just stares at me. “A dowry.”
“Two pigs, three goats, four chickens, and a cow. All in good health, of course.”
Hach laughs. “Doesn’t that make me the father of the bride?”
“You’re just giving the dowry on behalf of your family. To me, on behalf of my family. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” She shakes her head. “I’ll pay up!”
“You better!”
Come Carnival, she still hasn’t paid up. I was hoping for at least paper cut-outs.
Thus, the wedding is off!
09 July 2011 @ 12:00 am
Last year, everyone knew Noah ran camp. Sure, he was a camper, but the other campers listened to him before they listened to the counselors—much to our chagrin.
This year, Noah’s off doing an internship at a theater company in New York.
So his little sister has stepped up to fill his place.
The problem is that Sophie is a twelve-year-old, and has the emotional maturity thereof. She tries to be the coolest kid at camp, and acts like she is, but half the girls in her group hate her due to petty drama. Worse, she acts like a counselor, and thinks she should be one. She’s constantly asking for special privileges, or to be moved up an age group, or to make the mealtime announcements herself.
She’s also latched thoroughly onto me as her counselor of choice, and comes to me every few hours for adorable romantic advice or someone to gossip with.
Then tonight she finally pushed it too far, openly defying counselor instructions repeatedly, and Zach and I had to tell her off, and remind her harshly that she’s a camper.
Now apparently she thinks I hate her.
I’ll talk to her tomorrow.
09 July 2011 @ 12:00 am
She tells me her name is Diane. She has white hair pulled up into a bun, and thick glasses that seem to fade into her tan skin at the edges. Her clothes are a hodge-podge of once-bright dresses and smocks and backpacks.
She tells me she is from Oakland. There, she works as an elementary school teacher and volunteers for various urban garden projects. Wavy Gravy is an old friend of hers. We discuss the problems and beauties of our city.
She tells me she is at the airport to meet her daughter, and go see her do some dance that is very important to their tribe. Diane flew down, but her daughter is driving in from somewhere unspecified—at least a twelve hour drive. Diane borrows my cell phone to call her daughter, as Diane’s own phone is either broken or nonexistent.
She tells me of her life, and I tell her of mine. We talk for almost an hour, about life and politics and how to eat well in the city. When Tony arrives to pick me up, we part laughing, both of us with a strong feeling that we’ll see each other again, at home.
07 July 2011 @ 05:01 pm
“Alright, I have to ask about the shades.”
He looks to be in his early twenties, with shaggy hair and glasses. He points to his Protoman shirt questioningly as he walks backwards in front of me, keeping pace.
I glance around at my fellow Homestuck cosplayers as we wander the streets of LA, then turn back to the stranger. “They could be Protoman shades too, yeah.”
“Sweet. Listen, you guys seem awesome. Where are you headed?”
“The Sheraton,” Jasminne answers. “Heading in for the night.”
The man grins. “Want to come up to our hotel and party first?”
The half-dozen of us look at each other, then shrug collectively. “I’m down,” says Jasminne. “We haven’t got anything better to do!”
I look him over. He seems friendly enough, and we do outnumber him and his friend eight to two. And hey, I showed up at this convention with no badge, nowhere to sleep, and one pre-existing friend, who’s not answering his phone.
Ready for adventure.
So who am I to ignore this opportunity?
“Alright then. Let’s go!”