The Pseudonym

by Jenn on July 8, 2008

“So how does it really feel to be a published author?” Dana asked, as they lounged on the grassy lake shore. The mid-day sun was warm and a soft breeze occasionally rustled the water’s surface. The sky was a perfect mixture of the kind of searing blue tones that young children use in crayon drawings and randomly-scattered, soft, thin clouds.

“I’m not a published author yet,” she laughed in response.

“O.K. Fair enough. You’re a purchased author,” was Dana’s jolly retort. “I want to know all the details about how it feels to know that your novel is going to be on the shelves of all your favorite bookstores . . . all over the country, no less . . . in just a few . . . weeks?”

“I’m not sure exactly how long it will be,” she explained. “They said it should be a few weeks, but their lawyers are pouring over every word, checking all of my research. So it depends on how long that process takes to complete.”

“Blood-sucking lawyers,” Dana snorted. “Why do they have to be involved in publishing a novel, anyway?”

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“So have you set a date yet?” I asked my mother a few weeks ago when she informed me that she was remarrying.

I had mixed feelings about her announcement. My father has been gone for nearly three years now. He was ripped away from us so suddenly and unexpectedly that from time to time, I still experience the shock and disbelief that I felt on that horrible day when I heard my mother’s barely audible voice on the phone and knew that I had to get home as quickly as possible.

He awoke early that day, as was his custom. He loved to take Sadie, our beloved springer spaniel, for a walk each morning before eating a light breakfast and heading off to work. My mother always preferred to sleep a little later each morning, so it was the sound of dishes shattering followed immediately by a loud thud that jarred her awake.

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The Wicker Chair

by Jenn on July 1, 2008

A Thousand Words weekly writing meme at http://1000wordsmeme.com“Come on in and make yourself comfortable,” he said warmly, gesturing toward the west side of the large, sunny room where a couch and two chairs separated by a small table were arranged casually in a semi-circle. “Sit wherever you’d like,” he continued as he picked up a manila folder from the desk on the far wall and sat down in the large, overstuffed chair in the middle of the room facing the other furniture.

“Thank you,” she said softly, selecting the wicker chair with the seat cushion, as he made a mental note of her choice. She had picked the most uncomfortable seat in the room. The one that would require her to sit virtually upright during their entire time together since it offered the least lumbar support and made squeaky, squishy noises when its occupant squirmed in a vain attempt to find a more suitable position. However, it was deliberately placed most directly across from and in line with his chair. By the time she returned next week, the chairs would be rearranged to facilitate his observation of whether she will pick the same chair or the chair in the same position relative to his.

“You’ve been across the street a good while,” he said. “I saw you there when I arrived for my first appointment this morning. That was more than two hours ago.” He studied her expression.

“I arrived early,” she responded, squirming in the chair in a futile effort to get comfortable.

“Did you forget what time the appointment was?” he probed.

“No,” she said declaratively, without expounding.

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Welcome to the Carnival of Family Life: Celebrate America Edition! This week, Americans observe the Fourth of July with their families. Picnics, potlucks, camp-outs, swim parties, boating adventures . . . and best of all, fireworks will remind us how lucky and blessed we are here in the “land of the free and the home of the brave!” And this week’s collection of excellent posts about family life reminds us to be thankful for our families and enjoy spending the upcoming long weekend with them.

Education

From Heather Johnson: A Question of Censorship at Fahrenheit 451: Freedom to Read.

Family Cooking & Recipes

From Mathilde Rufenacht: Fruit pie, whipped cream, and why the calories are not always where you think at Shop’NCook Blog. She explains what happened when her well-intentioned husband put whipped cream on her cake at a parents’ barbecue party.

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Hide and Seek

by Jenn on June 21, 2008

As he stepped up to the podium, he felt slightly dizzy, but his determination buoyed him. He looked out into the auditorium, thankful that the lights focused upon him and the remainder of the stage area prohibited him, at least for the most part, from clearly observing the faces of the young men and women gathered there. He was only able to recognize those seated in the front-most four or five rows. When he caught a glimpse of his son’s best friend, seated in the middle of the third row surrounded by the rest of his boy’s buddies, he quickly closed his eyes and began breathing deeply. One hand on either side of the podium to steady himself, he cleared his throat, opened his eyes, and began speaking into the microphone.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice slightly shaky. “I never, ever thought I would find myself standing here addressing you on an occasion like this. It simply never entered my mind. But when Officer Vasquez came to my house to invite me, I immediately accepted the invitation.”

“Why?” he continued. “Because I don’t want any other parent to experience what I have. I wouldn’t wish what has happened to my family on anyone else and if I can spare one family from suffering the way my family has, . . . ” His voice cracked and broke off. He took a couple more deep breaths, just as the psychologist with whom he had met earlier that morning, had instructed. The auditorium was eerily silent as the normally rambunctious audience patiently waited for him to continue speaking.

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The May 29, 2008, Sunday Scribblings prompt: Curve ball

“Leaving?” she responded breathlessly to the curve ball fate had just pitched directly to her. “No, I’m not leaving. I’ll be back in a few moments.”

“Oh, good!” he said genially. “I was hoping we could catch up a bit.”

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“I am totally impressed that you became a doctor,” she told her former biology classmate, Georgia, “especially after having me as a lab partner! Quite an accomplishment!” she laughed.

“Actually, you inspired me,” Georgia replied.

“I did?” she asked incredulously. “How in the world did I manage that? When it came to anything science-related, I was a pitiful student.”

“You inspired me to pick better lab partners in my college courses!” Georgia teased.

Nice,” she replied sarcastically. “Really nice. Glad to be of service.” The women continued laughing as they reminisced for a few more minutes about their teachers and classmates.

“So how goes it over here?” asked her best friend, as she joined them. “What am I missing?”

“Georgia was explaining that she owes her career as a world-renowned pediatrician to me,” she said with mock pride. “I was such a horrid lab partner that I inspired her to hang with a better class of scientists. And the rest, as they say, is history!”

“You know, I can believe that.” With her hand on her hip, her friend considered Georgia’s claim with the seriousness she ordinarily devoted to the assessment of a group of potential jurors. “I have no trouble believing that at all. You sucked at science.”

“Judgment for Georgia,” she laughed as she raised her wine glass to toast the doctor and was joined by the other two women.

“Well, I’m going to take my victory and mingle a bit,” Georgia said as she hugged them both. “It was great seeing you guys.”

“So?” her best friend queried.

“So what?” she teased.

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The telephone began ringing just as she closed the door to her hotel room and started down the hallway toward the elevator. She never even considered not turning back to answer, confident that the call was either from her son or Dennis.

“Hey, Mom,” her son said cheerily before she even had a chance to say “hello.”

“Hey yourself! How are you guys?” she inquired. “Everything o.k.?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I just called to say ‘hi’ and make sure you were having fun.”

“So far, so good,” she responded, touched by the fact that her nine-year-old son clearly missed her but was trying not to let on. “What’s your dad up to?”

“He’s out in the backyard,” her son explained. “He’s doing something with the pool chemicals before the twins and their dad get here. We’re all going to swim this afternoon. Just the guys. Amy said that if you get a ‘girls’ weekend’ away, she gets part of a weekend to herself. Dad is going to bar-b-que hamburgers for dinner. You know what else?”

“What?” she asked amusedly.

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This week’s Writer’s Island prompt: Faithful

“And you got married just like that?” Amy said incredulously.

“Just like that!” she laughed. “It was an amazing day. We only had about twenty-five guests and got married, barefooted, on the beach at sundown.”

“When did you tell your families that you were pregnant?” Amy pressed.

“During the reception! Dennis proposed a toast to me and our baby.” She smiled at the memory of the way the guests gasped and the momentary silence that followed. “Within a few seconds, after everyone had a chance to absorb the announcement, they were happy and supportive. Both of our mothers burst into tears, of course.” As she spoke, her eyes never left the playground where her son was climbing up the stairs to the slide, with Amy’s twin boys right behind him. “Be careful, boys!” she called to them. “Don’t crowd each other.”

“I was so happy when the realtor told us that you had purchased the house next door. I was hoping that a nice couple with a young child would buy it so the boys would have a playmate — and I might make a friend,” Amy said genuinely. “As much as I love being a stay-at-home mom, it does get a little bit lonely sometimes.”

“I know what you mean. That’s why we wanted to buy a house and get settled into a nice community,” she responded. “When Dennis told me that our new next-door neighbors had twin boys, I knew we had decided on the right house for us!”

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The Letter (Chapter Twenty-Two)

by Jenn on April 13, 2008

This week’s Writer’s Island prompt: Flight

The florist delivered the flowers late Saturday afternoon. A beautiful bouquet of her favorites — delicate pink roses. The card said simply, “You will be picked up at noon on Sunday. Be ready. Love, D.”

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She opened the door and was greeted by a uniformed driver. “I don’t think you have the right apartment,” she said apologetically.

“Oh, I’m sure that I do,” the driver replied respectfully. “I’m here to pick you up and take you to brunch. Mr. Dennis sent me. Are you ready?”

Speechless, she hurriedly grabbed her bag and locked the apartment door before following the driver to the parking lot where a black limousine awaited them. She stopped and stared at the car and then the driver.

“Madam, if you please,” the driver said, gesturing toward the vehicle as he walked toward it and opened the door for her.

Without saying a word, she got into the car. Before closing the door, the driver explained, “There is sparkling apple cider on ice. Would you like me to pour you a glass before we depart?”

“No, thank you,” she smiled. The driver gave her a knowing smile and playful wink before closing her door and then taking his seat behind the wheel.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Ah, Mr. Dennis would like that to be a surprise. But I can tell you that we will be there within the hour,” the driver explained as he pulled out of the parking lot.

She had never ridden in a limousine before, so she leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, wondering what Dennis had in store for her . . . for them.

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