Blog Journal for Week 8: Aha! from Making Shapely Fiction

    The room bustled with activity, a mess of long legs seemingly tangled over and around each other. A hum of indistinct conversation emanated from the distant mouths of the adults above. I wove between the legs, ducking, twisting. It was like an obstacle course! All these people were boring, talking about whatever they were talking about, standing around doing nothing. 

    We were here somehow to celebrate my aunt. I didn't really know what for, but my family had all made pictures of her. They were the kind of pictures where you cut out real pictures and add them all together. My mom had given her fox ears, and put her on a leafy fall path. She looked pretty. My dad had done some kind of black and white thing, made her look like she was from a long time ago. I made a good picture too though. I put glitter on her cheeks to make her all sparkly and fun, I drew a crown on her head with a red marker, and found a picture of a castle that I cut out and put on some water, so she was a queen of a floating castle! It was really cool. But now I was bored waiting around. I was in search of adventure!

    After picking my way through the crowd, I burst out along the edge of a wooden stage. Nobody was up there right now, so I guess we weren't using it. The huge, draped curtains caught my eye. That would be a fun place to hide! I pulled myself up, sure that none of the adults would notice since they were so busy talking to each other. I scooted across the smooth hardwood floor. Looking down at it, I saw it reflecting the lights above in it's glossy surface, broken sometimes by scuff lines and scratches. In a flash I reached the curtains, and I dove under them. Nobody could see me here!

    I peeked out from my hiding spot and surveyed the room. Now I was at the same level as all the talking people. I watched them all blathering on about stuff. I could see the pictures we made here too, posted up on the wall. Some people were looking at them! I ducked behind the curtains and made my way closer, before peeking out again. I wondered what they thought of my picture?

    As I looked out again, I saw a line of a few people looking at the pictures. They were standing back from them a bit, silently appraising. Closest to me was my grandma. I saw her smiling and looking at my picture, talking with someone else. She was always so nice to me, she always told me how good my art was.

    "I know isn't it horrible!" She laughed loudly, the same way she always did. She turned to her friend. "I mean look at the glitter! At least the parents did something to honor her properly." She stepped away from my picture, still laughing as she and her friend went to look at the other pictures. My heart sank, and I felt an empty sadness form inside. I looked at my picture again, the glittery cheeks, the marker crown. And I understood. Everyone else was so much better than me. I was bad at art.

Blog Journal 3: Finding Your Core Material

      Transplant + Stranger  

When I saw the girl coming over the hilltop, something inside me knew. As soon as I saw her, I felt I knew her, as though her face and her very self had occupied my dreams throughout my life. I was as if she had always been there, her face obscured in silhouette, hidden behind the curls of her hair. I felt like I had been waiting to see her for my whole life. 

Of course, I never had actually seen her before. We lived at the end of our road, back amongst the trees. There weren’t many people in our town, and with our place there at the end of Tillin street, no one had much reason to come over that hill unless we already knew them. But today, it was this girl cresting over the top of the hill, stepping lightly on the cracked and dry asphalt. She smiled slightly, as she looked around at our trees. Her blue dress looked dainty and delicate, but on her feet were tough boots with thick rolled-down socks. She had a scrape here and there upon her knees, and she walked with a confident trot that suggested an adventurous, curious spirit. Everything about her spoke to me: this is the girl. 

I stood there watching her. She probably wouldn’t see me right away since I was behind the hanging leaves of the cherry tree. I had been swinging on the old rope tied to one of its bowed branches. My mother had hated that we tied the rope there years ago, but she had long since given up on telling us not to use it. The rope still hung from my hand as I remained transfixed. How would I speak to her? What would I say? How could I ever tell her how pretty she was? How I felt like I had always known her, been waiting for her? I dropped the rope finally and moved fully behind the tree, breaking my view of her. Now I could think a bit more. 

I wracked my brain for any semblance of an introduction. How did people say hello again? Do I just walk up to her? Call out? I placed my hands on my knees and leaned forward, trying to get a hold of my mind, spinning and flailing as it was.

 I quickly realized that there was just no way to do it. I couldn’t let her see me, or all hope would be lost. She’d realize immediately how crazy I was feeling. I couldn’t hide how much I liked her. I stood up, and turned to run away. 

She was there. Standing in my gravel driveway, looking right at me. I startled, and stared at her. 

“Hi, I’m Ana.” She tilted her head to the side, examining me. I felt a bead of sweat form on my forehead, threatening to drip below my hairline and show itself. But she just smiled at me. The smile was amazing, and I felt a flood within myself. A smile broke out upon my face, too huge to hold back. “I just moved here, a couple houses down. What’s your name?” My fear faded, and I felt a calm roll through my mind like a cool mist. She wanted to know me. I met her eyes, and opened my mouth to speak my name.