Magic

I’m not really one for poetry, thought there’s some I can appreciate. But my favorite poet, of all time, is Shel Silverstein. Those of you unfamiliar with his work…. *shakes head* I’m sorry. Here is one of his poems:

Magic

Sandra’s seen a leprechaun,

Eddie touched a troll,

Laurie danced with witches once,

Charlie found some goblins’ gold.

Donald heard a mermaid sing,

Susy spied an elf,

But all the magic I have known

I’ve had to make myself.

I love this one so much because it explains why I write. Not for magic specifically, but for adventure. Through writing, I get to spend my days on a beach, in Ancient Egypt, with the guy of my dreams, solving a mystery. I can travel, be anyone, do anything. I create my own adventures, my own magic. Thank you, Shel Silverstein, for your wonderfully quirky poetry that actually relates to life.

The Midnight Society

Here’s a glimpse into one of the many projects I’m working on. It’s really just a concept, not too much more than what I’ve posted. If you’ll kindly look past the grammatical errors and awkward sentences, that would be fantastic. It’s just a rough draft. But please, please, let me know if you like it and want to read more 🙂

 

“Floor-length gowns and four inch heels were not my style. But what else do you wear to a mysterious midnight gala that was by invitation only. We were almost to the antique mansion, and my best friend Phoebe and I could hear the classical music. I touched her arm.

“Are you ready for this? Because, this is super weird. Seriously, think about it. What if we get involved in some sort of criminal activity or something?”

“Lyric, this is the chance of a lifetime. I can smell the adventure. Now come on. We can only take fashionably late so far.” She grabbed my hand and dragged a stumbling me to front door.

            A guy, probably around twenty years old and wearing a sharp looking tux, was at the front door.

“Invitations.” Was the only word that man ever said to us. It wasn’t even a question. It was a demand. We handed the small cardstock squares with fancy calligraphy to him. He simply nodded politely and opened the door for us.

And that was the last time I ever saw him.

            I think it was Vivaldi wafting through the air, but I’m not positive of anything about that night. Everyone looked perfectly comfortable there, probably around fifty people. Young men in suits and women in ball gowns floated effortlessly around the room. I wondered if any of them had been invited the way Phoebe and I were.

            I gently touched my blonde hair, hoping the French twist I had worked so hard on would stay.

“Come on, there’s Branden,” Phoebe led me to the handsome man who had given us the invitations.

“You made it,” He observed politely. I didn’t even know what to say, but Phoebe was already taking charge.

“Did you think we would pass up the opportunity to attend a gala hosted by Pacific University’s elite?”

“Touché,” Branden gave Phoebe a half smile. “Well, girls, mingle, eat, and dance. Enjoy yourself.”

He walked off before I could ask why we had been invited.

            Phoebe turned to me, positively giddy.

“Oh my gosh, I handled that ridiculously well. Did you see his face? I was so cool, too, it was just like BAM response!”

I tried to quiet her down, but I couldn’t help but laugh. “Ok, ok, I get it. Now shall we mingle?”

“We shall.” And it was all I could do to keep up with those strappy red heels of hers.

            She was a sight to behold, completely at home in her attractively cut red dress, and her elegant hair-do. Her alluring smile caught every male’s attention.

Me? I’m afraid I’m just slightly more awkward in social situations. I wouldn’t go so far as to say outcast, or wallflower, but small talk has never been my strong suit.

            There was a single person besides Phoebe there that I knew. A girl named Kira Drake. I had my writing class with her. She was friendly and we talked a second about our creative writing assignment due on Friday. One thing about college is that there was always something due, even worse than high school. Seriously, it kept you on your toes.

            A waltz started about half an hour in.

“May I have this dance?” I turned to my right to see where the voice was coming from. A guy, around my age, possibly older, was holding out his hand, peering at me with piercing eyes. For some reason he reminded me of old black and white movies; the tux, gray eyes, black hair combed neatly in an old fashioned way.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to waltz,” I apologized, hoping he would take it as a no. Instead he took my hand and led me to the dance floor.

“Nonsense. I’ll teach you.”

“Oh, um, okay.” I tripped after him. He led me in a simple 1-2-3 pattern that became natural quicker than I had imagined it would.

            “My name’s Lyr-“

“Lyric Anastasia Romanoff. I know.”

I blinked at him, but I realized he must be a member of the party that invited us. “That leaves me at a bit of a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Jason. Jason Clyde.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you Jason,” I remarked. He gave me a quick smile.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

Were we flirting? I’m 76% positive we were flirting. “

Tom, Becky, and Huck

Since y’all liked my Mad Hatter post, here’s more.

“Tom Sawyer was a lot of things, unconfident not being one of those things. The boy walked with his shoulders back and his head up. The lanky sixteen year old was always dirty. His dingy, olive green hoodie was covered in dirt stains and something that resembled blood on the elbow. The cuffs of the sleeves were stretched out and torn, frayed at every edge they could find.

He had sun-lightened golden brown hair and a permanently freckled face. There was always some amount of mischief to be found in those sparkling blue eyes of his. His grin was easy and frequent, though not to be trusted in the slightest. His faint southern accent made him practically irresistible to the majority of the girls in school. But he only had eyes for Becky Thatcher.

Becky was the kind of a person that made you stop and stare. Her bright blue eyes almost matched her boyfriend’s. All the girls were jealous of her naturally honey-blonde hair that always managed to look perfect. And she had that vintage style that they wished they could pull off like Becky could.

Her laugh was like sun-beams through dark clouds on a rainy day. She really was the sweetest thing and no one was quite sure why she stayed with loud, disrespectful Tom. Some say she brought out the best in him, and that he’s very gentlemanly to her alone. But it remained an enigma the student population.

Then there was the classic third-wheel friend; Huckleberry Finn. Rumors said his dad was a drunk and his mom left before he could remember much of her. But that didn’t seem to put a damper on Huck’s life. He was always laughing boisterously, his grin even more present than Tom’s. He went barefoot whenever possible, not a sight anyone really wanted to see. His favorite clothing was overalls… and nothing else as far as anyone could tell. His hair was a little darker than Tom’s, and his face had less freckles, but they looked very similar, with the straight nose and strong chin.

Huck was one of those friends who could make anything into a dirty joke, but chose his moments carefully, not wanting to overuse vulgarity. There were very few girls genuinely interested in Huck, but the few who had had been sorely disappointed. The fifteen-year-old was still convinced that girls had cooties. His weekends were spent hunting and fishing and every type of outdoor activity that boys dreamed of.

The trio was interesting to observe, with Becky there to balance out the boys. But they were nonetheless entertaining and loved by many.”

Again, let me know if you enjoyed this 🙂