Reader's Review: "Disenchanted" by Kelsey Garmendia

Synopsis from Amazon:
Samuel was murdered in an alleyway in Boston in 1918. He woke up hours after getting his throat slit. He thought he was special. That his death was a gift. He was wrong. 

 __________________ 

Lily was normal. But her anger over losing her mother caused her to tear buildings down solely on her rage alone. She thought she could be helped. She thought she could control it. She was wrong.

My Review:

Despite what the title says, "disenchanted" I was not! The narrative focuses on Samuel and Lily, two people with singularly devastating superhuman abilities: Lily's power of telekinesis manifests when she is especially agitated, and Samuel cannot die.

Both conditions present the characters with extraordinary struggles: Samuel has seen enough of his loved ones die to last several lifetimes, and Lily's outbursts force her family to move and change their names, and damage her by causing brain-frying blackouts and evoking fear of any level of emotional increase. 

The development in this book is fantastic. I opened it just to "get a feel" for what the book was going to be like, intending to read it at a later date... But with each successive chapter, it grew harder and harder to put it down! Sometimes writers of the "superpower" genre get bogged down in the dark side of it all, or the deep-seated government conspiracy behind the manifestation of these powers, which turns out to be a high-flung bunch of jargon that makes the writer sound like she knows what she's talking about, meanwhile the characters are floundering in a sea of "lab rats" just like them who all have their own issues and the story gets pushed to the wayside while the anarchist author uses them as little more than a front for their pointlessly manufactured complaints about the government and the concept of "good/evil" in general that has little or no bearing on the reader's real life whatsoever...

Kelsey Garmendia blows past these "cliche traps" with the air of a master storyteller. She keeps it simple, focusing the narrative entirely on the lives of her two main characters, not cluttering the landscape with extraneous "super-normals" or shady government bogeymen. She trades off between filling in more of Samuel's backstory and advancing the present-day events at a steady, albeit relentless pace. At the heart of it all, two people dealing with being the "outsiders" of their respective circles, form a friendship that is closer to a brother-sister type relationship without any of the romantic tension that also entangles many promising premises of this genre. Suddenly it's not so much about a geek trying to convince us that superpowers are real and possible and only people with a certain genetic predisposition or some kind of mutating accident will have them--but it's about two people and a very real struggle we all deal with: Can I accept the way I am and the abilities that I have, and purpose to do good, even if no one else accepts me or thinks I can?

I have often repeated the quote from Ray Bradbury's "Farenheit 451" that says, "Good writers touch life often." Yes, this is a story with super-powers, but Garmendia treats the characters like real people, with the same sort of struggles you or I would face, and the "abilities" are neither the problem nor the solution; it is the people themselves who must work out the answer to the question, and in the process, give the reader a new perspective on his or her own life.

I will refrain from spoilers, but I can say emphatically that the ending delivered on every level! "Disenchanted" is a perfect score! *****5 STARS*****

Further Reading: (Superpowers/Time Travel/Immortality)
The Untamed Series--Madeline Dyer
       -Untamed 
       -Fragmented
The Jill Andersen Series--J. D. Cunegan
       -Bounty 
       -Blood Ties 
       -Behind the Badge 
The Vemreaux Trilogy--Mary E. Twomey
       -The Way 
       -The Truth 
       -The Lie 

Starstruck Saga--S. E. Anderson

       -Starstruck

The Chronicles of Lorrek--Kelly Blanchard
        -Someday I'll Be Redeemed
        -I Still Have A Soul
        -I'm Still Alive
        -Do You Trust Me? 
        -You Left Me No Choice 

The Time Tree Chronicles--Lisa Rae Morris
       -The Emergence

-Beasts of Babylon--E. A. Copen

-The Tannis Project--Daryl J. Ball
-Notna--J. D. Cunegan

The Grave Reports--R. R. Virdi
        -Grave Beginnings 
        -Grave Measures 

        -Grave Dealings 

The LouisiAngel Series--C. L. Coffey
        -Angel in Training
        -Angel Eclipsed
        -Angel Tormented

-Kalla--Amber Morant

-Charon, Unguarded--A. H. Johnstone 

Throwback Thursday: A Brief History of the Nation of Telmar

It all started not long after I saw the movie Prince Caspian. I had grown up reading the Chronicles, and loving them. I even had this small snippet of curiosity over what it would be like for a character who was deaf and dumb to all things in the real world, but could hear and speak in Narnia. The trouble was, there was already a series about Narnia, from its very beginning to its end. To write something myself would either be redundant or end up ruining the established canon—something I like to avoid unless the series does something REALLY stupid (and my only fault against CoN was the fact that they waited so long between movies that the main cast got too old before their characters should have).

But I very much wanted to write this story, and since Narnia was out, what other option did I have? I checked the map of Narnia usually included with most editions of the books: Calormen and Archenland were definitely out, because there were definitely scenes and events that happened in these places that would make it impossible to craft a story. Ettinsmoor didn't strike me as a very nice place to send a character, and the islands from "Voyage" were too far-flung to be a sensible setting like what I wanted. 

Mystery Solved

As it turns out, it wasn't that difficult to discover at least one country that certainly exists in the Narnian "world" and yet has never appeared on any map, nor have any characters from Narnia had any dealings within its borders. That country is, of course, Telmar.

Just as a precaution, I did a lengthy Google search and came up with a neat timeline (with a gap of about two centuries right in the middle of it!) and not much else. This is what as known as "fanfiction gold," especially for a world-builder-in-training like me. It's something referenced within the canon of a published "world", but there is plenty of room for the writer to have free rein and interact within the setting as she sees fit, without worrying about accuracy. 

I saw very little history in Telmar, especially during the years since King Caspian The Conqueror first departed Telmar; we know some of what went on in Narnia during that time... but not Telmar. That got me thinking:

What if, in the interest of maintaining the territorial rights to a kingdom without actually having to be there, King Caspian made sure to leave behind a man he trusted to keep the kingdom afloat just in case this Narnia campaign went sour and he needed to come back--and appointed that man Lord Protector of Telmar? (which is why the "Narnian" Telmarines would still accept Lord Protector Miraz as king, even though he really wasn't--he was their interim ruler, and they could understand that) 

What if Telmar was a provincial nation, with Lords ruling over each province, and all of them under the authority of the Lord Protector--and the area that my original character ends up at would be the smallest and least desirable province?

I read that King Caspian left shortly before a famine hit--but what if he left because of the famine? And what if the country didn't die out in his absence like he assumed it would, but only struggled greatly? And what if, because of what he intended to do through Telmar in Narnia in the future, Aslan saw fit to send my original character to Telmar, as a sort of "preaching to the Gentiles" sort of message? It made sense to me that the whole nation would function on a feudal-like system, with the richer classes owning all the farm land, and each province centering around one or two Cities where merchants would trade (and swindle) with the artisans, craftsmen, and farmers, and the rest of the land would either be barren forests or farmland owned by rich men who lived in the city and took the better part of all the crops, in spite of the recent famine that made the larger provinces only slightly worse off, and totally decimated the smaller provinces.

As far as the inhabitants of Telmar, they would necessarily operate on a class system. Occupations and family fortunes are passed on through generations; if your family farmed, the farm went to the oldest son, while the other sons had to find other farms to work on; nobody ever considered doing anything different than the life they already knew.

I drew up a sort of map... the best I could do on a Word document with little to no idea of map-making or actual world-design... and all I had left was to figure out the kind of person my main character would be.

Character Connections

I knew it would need to be a girl, because at that point I was not really skilled enough to cross genders in my writing. I knew she would have to connect with the Pevensies somehow at some point, because anyone who ever visits this Other World Collectively Called Narnia is either a blood relative or a close friend... at least in the series. But I really couldn't just make up Cousin Myrtle or slap Lucy with a Primary School Chum without messing up the series which was the last thing I wanted to do... so what gives?

Again, Prince Caspian gave me the answer. I don't recall off the top of my head whether it expressly mentioned it in the books, but the movie definitely shows Queen Prunaprismia and her baby among those to travel "back to our world" at the end--but it never quite divulged where they ended up.

I saw my chance to do a bit of retcon: to help me decide where (and when) they ended up, I needed to know a bit more about where the First Telmarines ("pirates from your world," according to Aslan) came from... And I found out something interesting:

According to one source, someone found somewhere in Lewis' notes or otherwise that perhaps the "South Seas" mentioned in his history of Telmar is a literary reference to William Bligh's Mutiny on the HMS Bounty... which happened in the 1780s. In the area now known as the South Pacific.

Didn't that get the wheels turning! I thought, What if the Telmarines from the end of Prince Caspian didn't just go back to the same place they left--but the same time as well? A desert island is now the only home known to a handful of people just ripe for starting a community in a strange world with no way off the island and no way back to the place they came from... so they populate the island and set up their community and call it.... ready? .... NEW TELMAR.

I got really excited after that.

So the girl who would be my main character is born into this community in the late 1920's, and she's of course deaf and mute, which doesn't make sense to anyone, since nobody had been born deaf and mute all at the same time for no apparent reason. She's cast out of the community and finds her way to America.... where she crosses paths with Susan, who is of course touring the country with her parents during the events of Dawn Treader, and Susan brings her back to England.... and the rest, as they say, is history.

Works-in-Progress Wednesday: "Princess of Undersea"--Carnival Showdown

Image from Deviant Art

 

Ylaine closed her eyes as she sang, shutting out the world. There was no one but her and Nathan; no more conniving father, no more simpering princess, no more false Queen pretending to be her friend and then drugging her to try and remove all hope of her ever achieving her dream. All that melted away and disappeared as she sang,

"Hear my song, Prince of my heart!

Pride, forbear, and vanity, depart!

See the truth, in her shining glory,

Come near to me, and hear my story!"

She gasped as suddenly his arms were around her, and he was holding her close, whispering over and over in her ear, “Ylaine… Ylaine…. Ylaine!”

“Yes,” she whispered back, “My name is Ylaine, and I love you more than life itself.” It felt so freeing to be able to tell him how she felt! “Nathan, you have to listen to me; Queen Devaine and Princess Melinda are not who they say they are! They are only impersonating royalty; this was all a plot by an evil mermaid—a sea witch—to gain control of Overcliff and the water around it!”

Nathan pulled away in shock at the news. “What?” he gasped. "What are you even talking about?"

"Well, well!" A harsh voice cut the air behind her. "The Sleeping Beauty has awakened, and such wild tales she has to tell!"

Ylaine turned to face Devaine, while Melinda lunged for Nathan and pulled him away with her.

"Admit it!" The young woman snapped. "You aren't really the Queen of Crossway! I bet the true rulers do not even know that you are here!"

Devaine blinked in surprise, and Ylaine thought she had scored a hit.

"Do my ears deceive me?" Devaine gasped loudly. "Is this not Lady Illeinina, the stuttering half-wit under the Prince's generous patronage?" She looked around, and people nodded under her gaze. Devaine returned her eyes to the quavering girl before her. "How is it that she speaks so clearly now, when she is spouting such atrocious things about her fellow guests? Could it be, my dear, that you are not what you would appear?" She arched her eyebrows smugly.

"How dare you!"

The cry rang out from somewhere within the crowd. People parted as Giles worked his way to the center of the crowd. He jabbed a finger at Devaine while she glared at him in cold fury. "How dare you question the honor of the one who saved the Prince's life!"

"Be silent, steward!" Devaine spat. "Yes, I have heard the romantic tale—but it seems no one but my dear daughter has ever thought to consider the motive behind the rescue! Dear Prince," she turned back to Nathan, "are you aware of a second domain within the boundaries of Overcliff?"

Nathan blinked, as Melinda wrapped both arms around his shoulder. "Second domain?" He queried.

"Yes," Devaine smiled coldly. "That of... Mermaids."

A chuckle rippled through the crowd. King Theodore stepped forward. "Milady," he said to her, "you are mistaken; there have not been any mermaids in existence since my father was a very young boy."

Nathan stared at his father; he had never known mermaids existed at all!

But Devaine was nodding, and Ylaine trembled at what she might intend with this. "Ah, there you are mistaken, my Lord, for they are very much alive, and as numerous as they are strong—and there is one in your very midst!"

A gasp went up from the now-silent carnival. Everyone looked to his neighbor and under nearby crates and rent flaps.

The King drew himself up sharply, his face black as a thundercloud. "What is the meaning of this?" He demanded of Devaine.

The wily woman turned and plucked a pitcher of water from the hands of a woman standing behind her. Before anyone could move, she flung the contents of the pitcher right over Ylaine's head.

At first, several people reproached the woman for acting so crazily, but just then Melinda screeched, "Oh my! Look at her hands!"

Ylaine lifted her hands before her face. To her horror, the skin was already peeling away. Not even a declaration of love this very instant could save her now. "No!" She gasped.

Devaine was addressing the crowd. "Here is your little heroine! Here is the one who saved your prince! Did no one stop to think what business a young woman had to be swimming during a storm? Of course she saved him—she probably caused the storm in the first place!"

"That is not true!" Ylaine insisted, but the skin had already begun to slide off her shoulders, revealing her blue scales underneath.

"Merciful heavens," spluttered the King, "Devaine, what have you done to her?"

"Only exposed her true form, Theodore," Devaine explained earnestly. "She is a mermaid, who has taken human form to seduce the Prince—"

"She is a princess!" Giles insisted. "Her father is a king, she is no less noble than the Prince himself! Unlike y—"

Devaine cut him off. "Well, isn't that just fascinating! The King of the merfolk sends his own daughter up to masquerade as a human? Why would he do that? Is it because he wanted her to spy on this human kingdom, to see if there are any souls worth enslaving when they rise up and bring the entire kingdom under the sea?"

"What?" Nathan cried.

Ylaine tried to speak, but the skin slipped off her nose and covered her mouth. Her gills were beginning to loosen at the presence of water in her throat.

Devaine was not finished. "Surely you cannot think that a union between a mermaid and a human would ever be considered—and what better excuse to declare war than to accuse King Theodore of kidnapping the mer-king's daughter?"

"What?" roared the King.

Ylaine gasped to shout, "That's not true!" But her gills suddenly snapped open and she choked on the dry air.

Devaine gazed at her pityingly. "You didn't really expect us to believe you came of your own accord, did you, little fish-girl? That you came for—what was it—love?" She snorted.

Ylaine felt her knees buckle, and she fought to stay upright. "I... Did... Come... For.... Love..." She rasped, gasping furiously for each word.

"Oh, poppycock," Devaine waved a hand. "Even the Prince knows that you did not stand a chance of getting his attention without your magic voice!"

Ylaine struggled to think through the fog in her mind; what did Devaine know about her gift? She turned to look at Nathan, even as the skin from her cheek slid down her neck. "Nathan?" She whispered. "I swear, I did not deceive or enchant you—"

"But you did." He stared straight at her, unblinking. "What the Queen says is true; I harbored no thought for you, no love in my heart—until I heard you singing!"

Her heart ripped yet again. "Please! I was just—"

"Trying to seduce him," Devaine finished for her. "Yes, we know. But your little plot failed! Go on back to the water, little fish!" She snarled. "There's no one here on land for you!"

Tears slipped down Ylaine’s face for the second time.

“Nathan?” she begged.

He would not respond. Desolate, Ylaine ran from the crowd—who gave her wide clearance to pass through them—and away from the carnival, down to the sea.

There was a moment of uneasy tension, then the crowd dispersed back to its diversions. Melinda gave the arm she clutched a little squeeze.

“Well,” she sighed, “I am so glad that little hussy is gone! Now that’s over, Your—“ She stopped.

Giles and not Nathan grinned down at her.

Melinda pulled a face and pushed the serving-man away from her. “Eww!” she cried. “Where’s Nathan? Where did he go? Nathan!” She ran around the carnival as the swelling noise drowned out her squeaky voice. “NATHAN!”

The prince had vanished.

Excerpts from "Princess of Undersea":
-"Undersea and Overcliff" 
-"The Wish" 
-"The Witch and The Storm" 
-"The Bargain" 
-"Fish Out of Water" 
-"Walking Through Overcliff" 
-"Dining With The King" 
-"Enter The Queen" 
-"Exposed" 
-"The Exchange" 

NaNoWriMo 1K-A-Day: Day 4

All around the Stevenson house, the storm raged on. As they climbed into bed, Sharon muttered to Hank, "Boy, am I glad we have enough trees around that we don't need anything like a lightning rod. That thunder sounds really close!"

"Yep, we're safe in this house," Hank agreed. "It might sound scary, but we don't have anything to worry about."

High up in the attic, seven figures sprawled among the dust and discarded storage of the family’s surplus belongings. One of the clay figures, slightly bigger than the others, faintly glittered in the darkness. A bolt of lightning split the sky directly over the house, and tiny pieces of grit embedded in the figurine flashed in time with the bolt. A thin spark slithered down the antenna till it neared the glittering figure.

It might have been a trick of the shadows, but if there had been anyone watching, they might have sworn that the figure on the table, ever so slightly, moved.

[...]

Chad stared around at the figures. They were all exactly as he made them, and their voices sounded exactly as he had imagined they would—but they were moving around and talking!

"Unbind him," said Zandor, and Chad felt the gag slip from around his mouth and the bonds loosen from his wrists. Once he had the use of his hands, Chad pushed off the ground and against the sides of the tunnel surrounding him. It collapsed easily at his touch, and Chad sat up while the heroes gathered around his lap. He glanced around.

Somehow, the six figures made of modeling clay had dragged his nine-year-old self all the way upstairs and into the attic. He studied the figurines in the light produced by Illuminus. They all looked up at him; at six inches high they were about a head taller than his knees.

He flinched when Zandor placed a wide hand on his knee.

“Do not be afraid, Master,” said the clay figure.

“It’s… I’m not…” Chad spluttered, unable to check the rising queasiness enveloping his stomach. “Don’t call me that,” he whimpered softly.

“What would you have us call you, then, sir?” asked Marquiam, spreading his arms and lifting straight off the ground.

Chad gasped for breath as the impact of what he was witnessing washed over him. “I’m just Chad,” he sniveled weakly. “Call me Chad.”

“Chad.” It sounded like some kind of regal title when Zandor said it. The figurine bowed low toward him. “It is an honor to receive life from you.”

“But I didn’t do it!” cried Chad, as a clap of thunder echoed overhead.

“Didn’t what?” Zandor asked as Chariostes, Voxx, and Marquiam joined him in front of Chad.

A rustling behind him called the young boy’s attention away for a moment. A blue-and-orange figurine bustled about, folding up the tarp Chad recognized as the “walls” to the “tunnel” he had been in, and placing everything back into the storage bins he had raided. Tecchon! Chad couldn’t believe he had built something that could actually build other things. He turned his attention back to Zandor.

“I didn’t bring you guys to life,” he answered the figure’s question.

Zandor glanced to his comrades and looked back at Chad. “Did you not make us, s—Chad?” He glanced down at the lump of yellow clay that formed the front of his chest-plate. “Do we not bear the same markings upon our bodies from your very hand?”

Chad huffed. “Yeah, but that doesn’t—I mean, you guys are all just—I mean, all I did was…” The more he watched them, the more Chad began to wonder if perhaps his imagination had done the impossible; certainly the clay itself did not have such a capacity. He crouched down to bring his face level with those of the heroes. “Can you really do it?”

Zandor examined his own hands and arms with the fascination of a new sensation. “Do what, Chad?”

Chad blushed deep red all the way to the tips of his ears as he explained, “All the stuff I said you could do.” He was going to add when I first made you and I was playing with you, but he thought better of it. “You know,” he said instead, “… before.”

Having an armored helmet for a head, Chad could not distinguish any change of features in Zandor’s face, but the voice was gentle as he said, “Ah, our abilities; yes, Chad. You have chosen well for us. I, Zandor, have the ability to sense truth, in what is written and what is spoken. My compatriots,” he waved a hand toward the others, “Chariostes can control the various elements of the earth—“ the brown-and-green figurine stamped his foot, and a small green vine sprang out of the ground. Seizing it in his hand, Chad watched in fascination as the vine froze into a long, thin icicle within minutes, then the whole thing burst into flame and vanished in a puff of ash.

“Voxx possesses telepathy and the ability to mimic voices.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Voxx—and Chad realized with astonishment that the figurine was using his own voice!

“I can also communicate with my mind,” Chad heard the strange voice echoing through his thoughts—but the source was undoubtedly the figure before him.

“And then there is Tecchon, our main constructural engineer,” Zandor continued, as the blue-and-orange figurine began rapidly to pull together small bits of this and that from around the attic till he had a small-scale replica of Chad’s own house right there in the middle of the floor.

“Marquiam is our flight expert,” Zandor gestured to the red-and-purple blur executing complicated patterns among the rafters supporting uneven ceiling of the attic. “And Illuminus… Well…” Zandor chuckled as Illumius sought to emphasize his powers by glowing so brightly Chad had to close his eyes, at which the figure dimmed his light to a more tolerable level.

Chad chuckled to himself as he looked around at them all.

“This is so cool,” he murmured.

NaNoWriMo 1K-A-Day: Day 3

He could hear Justice and the others shouting, but he ran in all random directions in an attempt to lose them. He came tearing around a corner so fast that his feet slid out from under him. Chad crashed to the ground as a sudden pain shot up his leg. He checked it; a large tear ran down the side of his jeans, but the skid marks had not broken the skin.

"There he is! I hear him!" yelled Tyler.

Chad scrambled to his feet and took off for any sort of exit. He made it outside and sloshed through the muddy grass to the sidewalk. He did not slow his pace till he clambered up the porch of his house. He looked down. His clothes were drenched and there was the tear in his pant leg—but he had escaped the bullies! The thought warmed him up all over, and he wiped his feet and stride into the house.

His mom screamed when she saw him.

"Chadwick Bailey Stevenson! What on earth have you been doing?" He thought she would be mad, but she threw her arms around him. "I expected you home half an hour ago! What took you so long? You're absolutely filthy! Have you been playing at the old parking garage again?"

Playing? He never played there; but his mom would never understand that. "Th-the rain," he stammered as his teeth chattered. "S-stopped to get out of it for a bit, and I tripped."

Sharon sighed. "Well, it looks like I am going to have to get you some new pants this weekend. Go wash up and put some dry clothes on," she turned him toward the stairs.

Chad traded his wet tee shirt for a dry hoodie and tossed his wet, torn jeans aside, sliding his legs into a pair of sweatpants.

The lightning crashed and the rain pelted the window, but the house was warm and safe inside. After dinner, the family sat in the front room and played games until Chad’s bedtime.

“Goodnight, Squirt,” his dad called after him.

Outside his bedroom door, Chad caught sight of the attic steps and remembered the figurines he had made the day before. He wagged his head; he’d forgotten all about them, and now it was too late. Perhaps tomorrow he would go up there and retrieve them. Thinking about the figurines reminded him of the wad of clay still in his jeans pocket. Chad quickly retrieved that and tucked the marble safely in the pocket of his robe. He changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed, where he fell asleep to the rhythm of the pattering rain.

Chad’s eyes snapped open when someone tugged on his sheets. His limbs felt heavy, as if he were dreaming. A light so bright he could barely look straight at it swirled round and round his head, coming closer to his eyes.

Chad’s heart beat wildly as he tried to fend off the ominous light, but just like in dreams, he could not move his body. Closer and closer it came, inevitable, unstopping. It approached right against his eyelashes, and Chad closed his eyes. Something wide and heavy pressed on his face, and the young boy blacked out.

Chad awoke in a dark place. He heard a faint dripping noise, and felt something that kept his mouth from closing. It was a gag, tied tightly around his head. Chad wanted to reach up and pull it off, but his body still wouldn’t move. Something tied his arms and legs down. Chad pulled back and forth, trying to loosen his bonds.

“Hold, giant!” a commanding voice ordered, echoing in the darkness. Chad saw a light approaching near his knees, but he could not see the source. The boy froze, whimpering with fear. He heard boots thudding closer and closer, but still he could not see anyone. He felt a moving, tapping sensation, no bigger than a few fingertips, working their way up his side and toward his chest, but still he could see nothing. His hands, he realized, were tied behind his back. He was losing feeling in them. The light grew brighter, even as the tapping sensation moved up his leg. Chad noticed that the ceiling above him was very short and made of wooden slats. What were these things? What was happening?

“Turn the giant, that he would face me, Chariostes and Marquiam,” the voice continued.

Chad felt a huge hand envelop his left side and push him very hard. The ground seemed to slant, and Chad involuntarily rolled over onto his stomach. Now his hands were on top. They felt tingly as the blood resumed its circulation in his fingertips. Chad tipped his chin up, and saw his captor for the first time.

It was the figure he had made! The black-and-yellow one! It was standing there, talking to him! Chad blinked several times. The light was still behind his head.

“Zandor, sir!” a voice called out from behind him. He felt the “fingertips” (now he realized they were probably the feet of the other figures; but how had they captured him?) gathered around his firmly-bound hands.

Zandor looked over the top of Chad’s head; the light grew very bright, and as the voice continued very close to Chad’s head, he surmised that it was the glow-in-the-dark figure who was speaking (and glowing). “What is it, Illuminus?” Zandor asked.

“We have discovered markings upon the giant, sir.”

“Markings?” Suddenly, Zandor’s legs seemed to extend, so that he easily mounted onto Chad’s back in a single stride. Zandor joined the others near Chad’s hands. The young boy wondered what they saw, though he knew what was so shocking when he felt their small, clay hands around his fingertips.

“Look, Zandor!” a gruff voice cried, hushed with awe. “It is the same markings we all bear over our bodies! What does it mean?”

“It means, brothers,” Zandor replied gravely, “that this giant is none other than Our Maker.”

NaNoWriMo 1K-A-Day: Day 2

  He couldn’t think what his mom would be expecting him to do if he got home and she wasn’t there. Chad sat on the porch steps and let his face drop into his hands. Tears itched the back of his eyes.

He had messed up again! If only he hadn’t gotten turned around and backwards on his way home. He probably would have gotten back in time to meet his mom if he had just taken the Birch Street route. It would have been worth getting beat up just to meet his mom like a normal day.

Just then, a car horn attracted his attention. There was Chad’s mom, just driving up, babbling away on her cell phone.

“…Telling you that if you are not more careful, we will just have to find another housekeeper! I’m serious! How many times have I told you: the blue china goes on the top shelf, and tea sets need to be dusted by hand. No more using the duster, Anise!”

Chad jumped to his feet and ran over to her as she kept right on chastising the housekeeper. She carried a plastic bag around her wrist. Anise offered a reply, giving Sharon a chance to mouth sorry to her worried son, and she handed him the bag.

Chad peeked inside, and his eyes lit up. A whole set of modeling clay, in ten different colors! Chad saw red, orange, black, green, blue, purple, brown, pink, yellow—even a brick of glow-in-the-dark clay! He was so excited, he didn’t even wait to get inside. He plunked right down on the porch steps as his mom walked inside, pulling out the clay and ripping into the packaging.

Molding the substance between his fingers, Chad’s imagination activated, and he began forming the colors into various shapes and sizes, placing the pieces together. Soon, he had an array of robot figurines, all of similar shape and size, but different colors.

The first figure he made with the yellow and black clay.

“This is Zandor,” he whispered to himself. “Zandor can sense if someone or something is true.”

He molded a second figure out of the red and purple clay. “Marquiam has the power of flight,” he said.

The green and brown clay soon became a figure named Chariostes, who could control the elements. With blue and orange, he made a builder bot named Tecchon. The pink and black became a robot named Voxx that could communicate telepathically and mimic voices. Finally, out of the glow-in-the-dark clay, he formed one last figurine: Illuminus, who could of course light the way in the dark.

Chad was having so much fun imagining all sorts of adventures with his six heroes that he didn’t even notice the other kids coming up the street till one of them yelled, “Hey!”

Chad looked up. Justice and his buddies were walking right toward him! There wasn’t time to grab all the figurines and run. He could only sit and wait as they approached, scowling at him.

“Missed you today, Shrimpy!” Justice sneed, towering over him.

“Watcha got there?” asked Corbin. “Play-doh?”

Chad was frozen to the spot. What were they going to do now?”

Mando and Tyler were already hovering over the figurines. “Look!” said Dune, “It’s a dogpile!” She had smashed the six robots that Chad had pieced together so carefully together in one big mess. Justice picked up the wads of leftover clay.

“Hey, this is cool stuff,” he said, “I wanna play too!” and to Chad’s horror, he took all of that nice, new clay and pressed it together in one wad, mixing the colors hopelessly together.

“Stop!” Chad wailed, but Justice shoved him to the ground.

“Oops,” he said, but he grinned anyway. He dropped the wad of clay, and it splatted on the gritty pavement. “See you tomorrow, sucker!” and with that, the six bullies moved on, leaving the despondent Chad with a pile of broken figurines and a wad of useless, marbled clay.

Hot tears welled in his eyes, and Chad gently picked up the figurines one by one. It took a very long time, but he got them separated once again. Laying them gently in the plastic bag, separated by sections of the clay’s original packaging, he held the bag in one hand and picked up the wad of clay in the other. The bottom was coated with grit from the pavement. There was no way he was getting it all out; the bullies had ruined everything. Chad trudged inside, only to be met with frustration from his mom.

“Chad! Not all over the clean floor!” She pointed to his feet. “Look at your shoes!”

“But—“ Chad wanted to show her the clay, but she wasn’t paying attention to him any more.

He ignored her protests and ran upstairs. He got to the second floor and kept right on going, up the tiny back stairwell that led to the attic. He knew his mom wouldn’t try to follow him up there.

Sure enough, as he dropped the bag of heroes on the floor and knelt down and squashed the ruined clay between his hands, he could hear her voice floating from the bottom of the attic stairs.

“Chad? Are you in the attic? Come down, honey! There’s a storm coming and I don’t want you to be playing near the antenna!”

Chad glanced up as she said that. In the center of the room was the base of their TV antenna. The pedestal supporting it was like a short table. Still seething with anger at the meanness of the bullies, Chad deliberately picked up the dusty, gritty wad of clay and set it on the surface of the wide pedestal. Working quickly, he made one more figure, this one a little bit bigger than the others and studded with the grit.

“This is Ferristral,” he whispered to the other figurines he had made. “He has all the powers—and he is going to get revenge!”

A flash of lightning and a thunderclap punctuated his words.

NaNoWriMo 1K-A-Day: Day 1

Today, I started my National Novel Writing Month project! It's called "Clay Heroes" and it's an idea that I thought up last year, intending to do it then.... but then The Suggestion Box happened, and that year's project ended up being a big long incorporated story arc with all of the Lists.

This year, though, I fully intended to actually write this idea. Therefore, I made this year's Suggestion Box a continuous story from the get-go, so that I could put it on hold for the month of November (instead of ending it! So for those of you who have been following it, there is still more coming! And to those of you who have missed some of it... now is your chance to get caught up!) and every day during NaNoWriMo I will be posting the first 1,000 words I write each day, just as soon as those 1,000 words are written!
Sometimes I might add a small "Editorial Note" like this one at the beginning... sometimes not.

And thus, without further ado.... I bring you the first 1K of "Clay Heroes"! Enjoy!

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Again.

They were waiting for him again. He knew they would be there as much as they knew he would come. It was always the same.

He would come around the corner of Birch Street, and Dune would be leaning against the bare sheetrock, tossing a hackey sack between her hands. Her dark, greasy hair hung over her face, obscuring all but one eye that leered up at him once his sneakers crunched on the loose gravel and the sound echoed through the empty parking structure.

And when Dune looked like that, Chad always knew a beating would follow.

Again, they would come around the corner. Again, somebody shouted in his face while someone else pulled on his backpack. Again with the shoving; again with the shoe connecting against his knees. Again, somebody shoved him in the back when he fell on all fours. Again, the laughter rang out; again they called him stupid and a wimp and a crybaby. "Dork! Airhead!" Stung his ears as he saw the day's homework fluttering across the wet pavement under his face.

Again.

Chad got beat up on the way home from school, just blocks away from his house for the three hundredth time—and for the three hundredth time, there was no other thought in his mind save one: "Why?"

Why did they always pick on him? Why did they always wait for him there?

Why couldn't someone just happen to be walking by and catch Dune and the others in the act?

Why, if he knew exactly what to expect, did he always manage to come this way and get caught? He'd tried everything: telling a teacher, who crossly shushed him (was it really his fault if he decided to divulge the atrocity in the middle of the math lesson?) and forgot to call on him later; he tried taking a different route home, but the house and parking structure, with all their specific parameters, were pretty much on the same block.

Why?

There was no way around it.

Why?

It was a terrible situation, but it was also hopeless.

Why?

There were six of them, all fourth- and fifth-graders: Justice, Dune, Corbin, Mando, Tyler, and Presley—and they were bigger and stronger than he was.

Why?

Every day, they would beat him up, and Justice—the ringleader—would fish out Chad's notebook, where he scribbled down the stories running through his head.

"Whatcha got here, Dope?" He would sneer. "Anything good? Oh, nope!" And the notebook would go sailing through the air and splat in a puddle while everyone laughed.

Why?

Chad stayed where he was and took the beating till Justice and the others felt like they'd had enough fun. Chad could only count it luck that the bullies never beat him unconscious, just shoved and kicked and punched till they got bored. The more Chad fought back, the more fun it was to really try and hurt him, so Chad learned not to.

Once everything was quiet, Chad pushed himself back onto his feet, brushed off his wet and muddy clothes as much as he could, and went about, gathering as many papers as he could find. He retrieved the notebook—but the water had washed the pencil away.

So much for dragons, then. He would just have to write something else.

The grey skies suited his mood perfectly as he turned onto his street. Maybe his mom would be doing what she called "resting", and Chad could sneak up to his room and change into dry clothes before she noticed.

When he opened the front door, he didn't hear anything. His first footstep squelched just a tiny bit on the hall rug, but he rubbed both shoes clean and slipped them off, padding over the linoleum on stocking feet. Just a little ways to the stairs...

His mom's voice stopped him.

"Anise, that is what we are paying you to do. What I don't get is how you can keep our kitchen so spotless, but my son barely has any clean clothes when we need them! Oh, speaking of, there's his backpack. Hang on; Chad?"

Chad bit his lip. Maybe if he didn't answer she would go back to harassing the housekeeper.

"Chad, honey, come on in here."

Slowly, Chad turned around and entered the doorway to the front room. His mom's eyes sagged when she saw him. She was tired all the time, what with the baby coming and the incompetent housekeeper. But she reached for his hand and smiled when he got close.

"Aw, baby, what happened?"

Chad stared at her hands.

"Slipped at recess today," he muttered.

She looked at the dark streaks over his jeans, and the scuffs on his face. "Really? It looks more like you've been hanging around that old abandoned parking garage down the street."

Hanging around; yeah, that is exactly what he'd been doing there. Chad said nothing. His eyes wandered to the baby bump his mother cradled. Soon there would be a little sister to absorb all the attention.

His mother had leaned back with a groan as she rubbed her temples. "You know, why someone hasn't demolished the thing already is beyond me. Come to think of it," she picked her head up and smiled at Chad, "why do you always take Birch Street home? You could just turn down Hillsmith and take a left on Court, and you wouldn't be coming home dirty all the time."

Chad shrugged; there was the question again. Why? Maybe he would try the new route tomorrow. It would certainly solve the issue of the beating.

"Maybe," he told his mom.

"Okay," she responded. "Well, what say you and I go out and get hamburgers for dinner? Go wash up and change your clothes and we can leave."

Chad eagerly shuffled up the stairs. He heard his mom moaning about the state of his homework as she fished through his backpack, but he ignored it. He could hide behind the way things really were. 
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Current Total Word Count: 1,049