The Novel

Part of the reason I created this blog was to hold myself accountable to someone or something to get this d@mn thing done. Nothing like having interweb strangers ask about your novel's progress to kick your butt into gear.

I am certainly not the worst writer out there, I can write one hell of an analysis paper. But I haven't done much creative writing since high school. Oh, I've written the odd poem here or there (and maybe I'll post some) but I'm not about to be nominated to be the Poet Laureate. I'm not fishing for compliments, I'm just aware of my strengths and weaknesses. The more I write, the better I'll get (ah yes, the practice makes perfect adage). I tell this to my students all the time, you may not be an exceptional writer now (and in the 9th grade, I don't expect them to be), but you have the potential to be one if you put in the work.

So this is my first real attempt at a project this big. Some of it may be good, most of it will be ok, and some of it may be terrible. But I won't get any better if I don't start.

So here's my start. Let me know what you think.

Jeanie

“Jeanie, I look ridiculous in this thing,” I protested as Jeanie tightened the laces.

“Oh, just shut up and stop breathing for a sec.”

            I sucked in my breath and braced myself, this was going to be a long day.

Jeanie had been my best friend for the last 5 years and we were the odd couple of friends. Where she was artsy, I was practical. Where she was adventurous, I was cautious. We shared a love of white wine, British Literature, and Harry Potter. I had met her during one of the midnight book releases; I had brought my 10 year old niece Alyssa as my excuse to be the 30 year old single childless woman in the crowd, and Jeanie was working with the troupe of actors hired to play book characters. She was Bellatrix.

            We bonded while cleaning up Alyssa’s puke (food poisoning) and after I dropped poor sick Alyssa off at home, I ran by Jeanie’s for the Harry Potter after-party, which included actual butterbeer and concoction she called “Serverus’ One Eyed Snake” that may have actually made me hallucinate. We’ve been almost inseparable since, she’s attempted to loosen me up and I’ve been her crash-on-the-couch-safety-net when she’s between jobs or boyfriends or both.

            Which is why I was allowing her to cinch me into what was, perhaps, the words most uncomfortable corset. Although based on the pictures I’d seen from her costuming books, no corset is every really comfortable. Last week during her late shift at Starbucks, Jeanie had met Christian, her new love, who “worked Faire” (read: Renaissance Faire) and now she was insisting that I accompany her to opening weekend so I could meet the latest man to sweep her off her feet.

            “You know, he has cute friends,” she said through clenched teeth as she continued to lace me into the bodice. She had one set of the laces in her mouth and the other in her hand as she pulled it tighter.

            “I’m sure he does,” I replied breathlessly, “but I’m not going to be conscious enough to meet them if you don’t loosen this thing up a little. Why does it have to be so tight again?”

            “The tighter it is, the better your boobs look… and the smaller your waist.”

            I glanced at myself in the mirror. My rather ample bosom was practically spilling out of the corset as it was. I’d had rather large breasts since puberty and the novelty had worn off years ago. Jeanie had not been gifted the curse of large breasts and liked to live vicariously through mine.

            “Jeanie, if you tighten this anymore I’m going to have a Kris Jenner incident. I want to be able to sit down, we still have to drive there.”

            “Fine,” she huffed, annoyed. “But I’m just trying to help you out.”

            “I know you are,” I replied as she tied the laces into a double knot and then handed me the over dress. I awkwardly stepped into it as she zipped me up. “It’s just that you know how uncomfortable I am in large crowds of artsy people. And anyway, why am I going as nobility? Shouldn’t I be a serving wench or something? What’s your costume?”

            “Christian only had two girls costumes, and you get this one by default. Besides, I didn’t think you’d want this on.” She held up what looked like a tin bra and a leather thong.

            “Wait, I’m going in this heavy thing and you get to wear the equivalent of Princess Leia’s slave costume? Totally not fair.”

            “Well, do you want this one?” she asked, waving the leather thong in my face.

            I made a face. While I’m certain the barbarian costume would have been more comfortable, I wasn’t exactly ready to walk around in public half naked.

            “No, fine” I sighed. “I’ll wear this.”

            She finished zipping up the back of my costume and then promptly disrobed so she could put on her “costume.” As she dressed I turned to the mirror and surveyed her handwork. The ensemble didn’t look half bad. There was entirely too much cleavage, but the undershift came up to my throat, so if the girls decided to dive out they’d be mostly shielded by the shift, which was practically sheer but better than nothing. And I have to admit that the corset, while certainly the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn, did give me the exact same figure I’d been trying to achieve in years of spinning and Pilates classes.

            “Done!” She exclaimed. I turned to look.

            “You look, uh, great!” I said.

            She narrowed her eyes at me. “Tell me the truth.”

            “No, really you do, I just don’t think I’ve seen that much of you before, and we’ve been skinny dipping.”

            “Shut it,” she laughed as she passed me my phone, “you ready?”

            “Yea, but where am I supposed to put this thing?” I asked as I grabbed my phone.

            “In your bodice, silly,” she responded with a sly smile.

            “Great,” I replied, “lets hope my Apple insurance covers breakage due to boob sweat. Lets get this over with.”

            The ride to Faire was uneventful, although incredibly uncomfortable. By the time we got there I felt lightheaded and queasy. To be fair, part of that was Jeanie’s driving. I’m not quite sure how she got her license, but I suspected a fair amount of flirting and/or bribery.

            Jeanie picked up our tickets at will-call and we headed toward the gate. The crowd was a colorful mixture of people dressed in period Renaissance clothing, revealing fairy costumes, and about a dozen Captain Jack Sparrows. The crowd was trampling up a fair amount of dust from the dirt walkway and the sun was already starting to make things uncomfortably warm.