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Sunday, March 20, 2016

Excerpt from Rewrite of Book #1: Ms. Loveless

Ms. Loveless, school administrator, explains to Jenny, six-year-old Stefan's nanny how they have made Jenny's job easier:

Ms. Loveless points through the glass. “We have made great progress with Stefan. When we started with Stefan, he would squeal and thump books that frustrated him. Eventually he would yell, “Die!” and throw the book into the corner trashcan across the room. If a book was too basic for him, he would do the same thing. Now, we make him write a paper explaining why the book is bad and quietly place the book in the center stack. The left stack are books he has completed successfully. We never let that stack get too big. When Stefan’s imagination starts to run away, I slip a few rejected high school math texts into his reading stack on the right. It’s a cheap way to get him to write since there are lots of them laying around. He is a much more compliant child now.”

Jenny shakes with repressed anger. She realizes that she cannot intervene since she is just the nanny. To do otherwise might blow her cover.

“So you see, Jenny, we have made your job a bit easier by civilizing Stefan. We see this kind of child quite a lot from parents that indulge their children too much, though never before to the degree that Stefan exemplifies. His mother has told me that his father indulges him with science books that are too hard for a child his age in an effort to make Stefan believe he is a genius.”

“Isn’t he?”

“I see he has fooled you too. No, he actually requires an inordinate amount of help compared to what a child is entitled to. We were able to make him compliant when we pointed out how the other children were suffering because he was taking too much of the teacher’s time. Thank goodness he is an overly empathetic child.”

Friday, March 11, 2016

What's It Like to be a #Gifted Fairy

What's it like to be a gifted fairy among humans. Stefan can tell you in the rewrite of book #1.
Stefan turns back toward the light and looks up inside the shade. “I wonder how this drab, decrepit little light makes such beautiful colors?” He taps the lamp. “Make it again!” Nothing happens. “Come on. Don’t you talk?” Silence. Stefan feels his shoulder length hair with an expression of puzzlement. He holds a piece of hair near the light and a bright rainbow light shines from it.
He collapses to a sitting position on the bed with a frown and his arms crossed in frustration. “Well if that isn’t like the squirrel stealing my nuts.”

Neshalia coughs. “Let’s not use that expression, Stefan.”

“But the squirrel does. I want to magnetize his brain and stick him to the side of the building for the duration. I never get to finish my bag during recess. It’s weird that they are not afraid of me. They leave all the other children alone. Why me? Everyone always picks on me. If the sun comes out, all the mean boys come to me to pull on my hair. Now I know why. The world hates me, Neshalia. It just hates me. Why do I even exist? Why? I thought I would tell the mean boys some neat stuff about the sun. Maybe that would make them stop. But they just got even meaner. They said I was my mom’s toy and that my father programmed my brain like one of his computers. Why do they say such things?”

Monday, March 7, 2016

Excerpt from Book #1 Rewrite Rough Draft

I am rewriting Book #1 to give it more a literary novel feel to it. The more in depth characterization should fill in many of the omitted but implicit facts of the original book #1.  Below is an excerpt from the rough draft of the first chapter. As first lines go, how do you think I did? Did I hook you on the story?


Ten-year-old Tyco screams with the desperation of a child being murdered as the sun, rising on Tucson, Arizona, peers into his room like laser beams from a monster's eyes. He sits up in bed as he awakes from the nightmares about the "Lizards" torturing him, his black Mayan hair fanning into a shoulder length glistening sheet with drops of sweat embedded in it. The rubber band holding his hair into a ponytail popped during his nocturnal wrestling with the bed, and now he was sitting shirtless in silence, wearing only black boxers. No one would be coming to comfort him, as this was a nightly occurrence; his parents had grown weary of its lack of resolution. His dark brown eyes, with faint yellow rays radiating out from the pupil, glistened with newly minted tears. The yellow rays command his body to rise and seek the comfort of their kindred—he peers through the blinds at the sunrise. His street ends unceremoniously, without an ending curb, at a piece of undeveloped desert. There are no houses beyond, and Tyco is able to observe the morning rise of his desert animals, seeking their last tidbits before they must hide from the blazing sun. He suddenly feels the expected arms of his mother thread between his arms and chest, coiling around him to give him a firm hug. She kisses him on the cheek and momentarily grips the well the developed muscle of his upper left arm as if to reassure herself of his continued health. She holds the mix of emotions within her quietly, knowing that though her son is the pinnacle of health, his body will never develop further—that his body was effectively frozen in time. She reaches up and rotates the control to where the blinds are angled for the convenience of their common gaze. She looks at his face in the orange glow of the morning light and observes where his gaze terminates. She sees a girl from Tyco's former public school class sitting across the street on her front porch, reading a book; her long flowing blond hair radiates the orange morning light as if it were a comet tail.

While firmly gripping Tyco with her left arm, his mom strokes his hair with her right hand as if she is carefully polishing her prized work of art. "What they told you is true, my son. You can never have her, not even for a friend."

Tyco's body shakes from a muted cry. "She is not my possession or pet. She is wonderful. She is not dumb and crude like the other kids in the class. She knows so many wonderful things. She cares for me, doesn't treat me… doesn't treat me as some stupid…"

Tyco's mom sighs. "You will never be going back to that class again. You know why. By this time next year, your mind will be filled with so many wonders… so many your dad and I won't be able to imagine. Her mind will not be so attractive then and she will be getting ready to enter her teenhood."

Tyco turns to his mom and hugs her tightly, crying aloud. "And I will still be just a boy."

"You will always be mom and dad's cherished boy. But you well know you are not just a boy anymore."  

"I wish I had grown up in the past as a Mayan warrior. Life would be so much simpler."

Tyco's mom coughs. "I know I taught you to be a Mayan warrior. That was my insanity. I don't think it is wise to think about Mayan warriors… certainly not anymore."

Tyco hugs his mom, crying again. "You are scared of me. Mommy please don't be scared of me. I love you so much."

She hugs him tightly and rubs his back. "I will always love you my son. No matter what you may do, I will love you."

A boy's voice outside begins screaming and is answered by the angry screams of a girl. Tyco's body whirls around, staring angrily out the window. An eleven-year-old boy with red hair cut military-style circles on a bicycle in the street in front of the girl’s house. The boy was the class bully and instigator of several group altercations against Tyco.

“You cannot intervene,” says his mom. “He will not harm her. He has never had the guts to face you one on one. He is just a lost boy.”

“He is not the one that is lost.”

“You are not lost. You are loved by a mom and dad. Remember, the others love you too.”

“When they are not thinking of euthanizing me.”

“Don’t say that!” She hugs him tightly from behind again. She picks up his right hand and begins rubbing his palm with her thumb, exploring the texture of a large, raised, green patch of skin formed in the shape of a large sun symbol. 

“You think I’m freak now.”

“No, I was thinking of what you might do to that boy if you got angry.”

Tyco smiles. He mumbles, “Or hungry.”


“Oh mom. You are so gullible sometimes.” He turns around and smiles at her.