I haven’t been jumping in with updates the past week, but I have been writing.  I am making good use of Kate’s post last Monday about outlining.  I know part of the reason I’ve stalled on my Little Red Riding Hood novel is that once I ran out of fairy tale, I still have lots of story left, and I have no idea where to go next.  I started outlining the ten chapters I’ve written so far. (I made it through six so far.)  My goal for this week (on Friday when I have time and space to spread out all over the living room again) is to finish outlining what I have and start brainstorming where the story goes next.

I also wrote poems for my daughter’s birthday.  I started the tradition of writing a poem for her birthday once she learned to read.  I’ve written one for her every year since.  (Confession–I skipped last year, so I wrote her two this year!)  I’ll see if she’ll let me post them later.  I used Jo Knowles’ writing warm-up to write one of them!

Meanwhile, this week I’m reconnecting with the National Writing Project through the Advanced Institute at Indiana University Southeast.  We’re celebrating successes, sharing ideas, and writing, writing, writing.  This afternoon and tomorrow we’ll work with Ralph Fletcher as we discuss and try out ideas from his book Pyrotechnics on the Page.  Yes, I am excited.  I can’t wait to try some out in my own writing and with my students next year!

During writing time yesterday, I tried Kate’s Tuesday Quick Write.  I chose the prompt from guest author Joy Preble about getting to know your characters.  What I came up with is not something that will go directly into my novel, but it definitely helped me to get to know my main character better and to hear her voice more clearly.  Here is what she had to say in response to the questions.  What do you think of her?

How do you see yourself?

 I yearn for adventure, but I have been held captive for so long by my mother’s fear. I choke on unasked—and of course unanswered—questions. Why do we move so often, each time to a village smaller and more wretched than the last? Who is my father? Who is the rest of our family? Why won’t Mother let me play with the other children? I’ve grown up lonely at times, but now I can spend hours alone. It’s a good thing because I do spend hours alone. When I was younger, Mother used to take me with her on her trips through the woods to collect herbs, but ever since we’ve lived in Kell, she has left me behind. I know every crack and stone in this cottage. I’ve named every rock along the path between our back door and the spring up the hill. I have organized and reorganized the bottles and jars and drying racks and braided bundles of dried plants. If bored enough, I’ll even sweep the dirt and dust out the door.

I’m getting restless. I loved walking the twisting trails through the forest with Mother. I’d pick flowers to braid into crowns for our head. The children in previous villages stared at me in awe. They may have had free run of the village streets, but most had never been outside the split-rail fences that surrounded each village. I had been past the fences and deep into the forest and survived. I never had the chance to tell them that we never saw anything more dangerous than poison oak. No bears ever peered out of the leafy branches to growl at us. No WolfRiders ever thundered behind us on black stallions. It was just me, Mother, and baskets spilling with fresh herbs snipped from our secret places. I’m getting restless without those trips. I look for anything to break this monotony. I want to fly away. I want to explore more than this cottage. I want to know who I am and where I came from. There must be more to life than fleeing from one poor village to another.

 How do others see you?

 Mother refuses to see that I am growing up. Or maybe she sees, but wants to stop it anyway. Why else would she keep me at home while she traipses through the woods? Mother expects me to be responsible—to dry and store the herbs and to bring them to her when she’s treating an illness or injury in the village. Sometimes she questions me: What would you do to treat a fever? What herb do you mix with oil to clean a wound? I know nearly as much as she does now, but the villagers always wait for her return. What’s the point of leaving me behind to care for the villagers when they just wait for her to get back?

I only see the other children from a distance when I accompany Mother down the main path of the village. I’m not sure what they think of her silent shadow. Since they’ve never seen me leave the village for the forest trails, they don’t look at me with awe like the children in past villages did.  

 I definitely want to go back and try the poetry prompt from Sarah Lewis Holmes later.  Maybe I can get to it today since I didn’t lug the huge binder with my novel down to New Albany with me.

I’m still taking part in the Teachers Write Virtual Writing Camp.  Today’s quick write assignment comes from guest author Margo Sorenson.  Since I want to get back into writing my novel about Little Red Riding Hood, I’m writing the option that imagines a character walking into a room and feeling uncomfortable and awkward.  There’s been a new character poking around the edges of this story.  I’m not sure who is is or what role he might play in this story, but this free write will give him a chance to introduce himself.

Mother and I sat quietly by the fire.  I yanked the needle through the rips in my skirt and glanced over at Mother.  She sat with a lap full of dried bloodroot in her lap.  She had been sorting them, but now her hands were still as she stared at the dancing flames.  I swallowed back the questions that burned my throat about the red cloak that now lay stuffed under my mattress.  If I asked, she might look to see if I had put the cloak back in the trunk as she asked.  I still hoped that she would forget about it.

I glanced up at light tapping at the door.  Who would come so late?  Eager to be done with my mending, I stood up.  Before I lifted the heavy bar that held the door shut, I called out, “Who’s there?”  After the events of last night it wouldn’t do to fling open the door too hastily.

“Please, miss, can you help me?”  

I could barely make out the words of the soft whine, but I felt the undercurrent of desperation.  I lifted the latch and cracked open the door, stopping it with my foot.  A boy stood before me.  Tufts of hair stood out in all directions on his head, and his bare toes curled in the mud.  I recognized him as one of the children from the village.  Like me, he usually hung back from the pack of children that ran together through the streets and fields.  He stared down and asked again, “Can you help me?”

I opened the door wider and motioned for him to enter.  “What do you need help with?” I asked.

He stepped inside, still looking down.  Now that he was inside I could see the frayed hems.  His wrists and ankles stuck out too far.  As if he could feel my glance, he tugged at his sleeves.  “It’s my pa,” he whispered.  “He won’t get out of bed.  He shakes and moans and grabs at things that aren’t there.  He’s never been sick before.  I don’t know what to do.”  

Behind me, mother set aside her bloodroot and rose to stand beside me.  “How long has Henry been sick?” she demanded.

“Since yesterday morning, ma’am,” he said.  He looked up at Mother and grinned shyly. “Pa always said to come to you if we ever had trouble.  I just didn’t think trouble would ever find us.”  

Today is Tuesday, my second day with the Teachers Write Virtual Writing Camp.  Today’s assignment is to free write about a specific place.  I’m using the assignment to get to know part of the setting for my Little Red Riding Hood novel, in particular, grandmother’s cottage.  Here goes!

Write for two minutes to describe a specific place:  Grandmother’s cottage

The cottage is small, just two rooms.  The main room is an open kitchen and living area.  A wood stove crouches in the back corner .  Between the wood stove and a back door lie stacks of wood.  Over the wood is a whitewashed plank shelf.  Copper pots hang from hooks above the planks.  A table and benches fill the rest of that side of the room.  Two arm chairs stand at each end of the table.    A door in the wall to the right leads to a small bedroom.  

Wow! That two minutes flew by.  Since this is not a real place I can visit, I’m going to take a few minutes to go there in my mind.  Then I’ll be back for more free-writing of one minute each.

Everything I see:

dark rafters above, armchair in corner opposite a spinning wheel, baskets underneath the shelves that wrap half the cabin in a u-shape, table with polished wood top, cloak hanging next to door

Everything I hear:

teapot whistling on the stove, tinkling of chimes from somewhere, wind muffled through thick stone walls, a warm silence lies like a blanket, soft sounds

Everything I smell:

mint, tang of bitter herbs, mix of drying leaves–like a forest after rain, earthy smell, lemon/citrus

Everything I feel:

walls are cool and smooth, table top is polished smooth–wood that feels almost like a stone washed in the river, blankets are soft, not scratchy like wool, chair has firm cushion, entering doorway feels like walking into a spider’s web–sticky strands cloak arms and face

Next is to rewrite the first paragraph using the sensory details I imagined.

Before I even have a chance to knock, the heavy oak door swings open with a soft swish.  I step through the doorway and right into  a spider web.  I don’t see the web, but the sticky strands of something cling to my face and arms.  I try to brush them off, but I feel a trace remain on my cheeks.  A teapot simmers on the wood stove crouched in the back corner, filling the air with the scent of lemon balm.  Racks of drying leaves add an earthy scent to the air, like the smell of the woods after rain.  I sniff, catching the bitter tang of horseradish. This smell of home slows my thudding heart until the door swings shut behind me.  The click of the latch mutes the trilling birds outside.  All I can hear inside is the light tinkling of chimes.