The Awakening

The following post was originally intended as a short story. The author R. R. Virdi mentioned that one type of character had become a meme in Urban Fantasy – the wise cracking wizard. I thought about a different way to characterize a wizard, and, when I got an iPad, decided to use this idea to learn how to use the iPad’s writing app. When I got to the end, I realized that it would be decent as the first chapter of a book. So, I’ve begun expanding on this chapter, but thought I would share what was originally written as a short story, and is now a chapter in what I hope will become a published novel. I should note that Mr. Virdi and E. A. Copen both looked at this story and didn’t hate it. I love their UF writing and those two made me want to write this. You may see why I don’t write many short stories! 😀

The Awakening

written by Bob James

all rights reserved ©2017 by Bob James

 

“Oh crap!” I knew as soon as I said that, Pastor was there. I looked up from my phone into his laughing eyes. “Sorry, Pastor,” I said, after looking down to make sure my shoes were tied.

Pastor Sanchez chuckled. “Don’t worry, Jim. What’s wrong?”

“My dad,” I sighed. I showed him the text. “He’s always trying to find some excuse to keep me away from church.”

“Jim, I know that you’re frustrated. But you need to respect your parents.”

I took a deep breath. “When does that rule end? I’m 23 and halfway to 24.”

“As long as they live, if they don’t ask you to do something immoral.”

I glared at him. It wasn’t often I was ready to talk back to my pastor. After a few seconds I thought better of it and checked my shoes again. “I don’t like it, Pastor, but I’m gonna listen to you. You’ll need to get someone to do the sound for me.”

Pastor Sanchez gave me a sour look. “Then again,” he began. When I looked hopeful, he chuckled, “Sorry, God’s principles don’t change. Go on. We’ll take care of the sound.”

I wasn’t happy that my loophole didn’t work. Dad was always pulling me away on one emergency or another. “Urgent!” It said. “Come home now! 911.” Sure it was an emergency. “Maybe mom didn’t finish her breakfast again,” I grumbled as I slammed the car door shut behind me.

It took all my self-control to avoid peeling rubber out of the parking lot. I exhaled slowly and drove carefully as more people started arriving for church. My phone chimed again. “COME NOW! NOT MUCH TIME!” I saw out of the corner of my eye. I shook my head, then slapped it as I realized I hadn’t responded to dear old dad. “On my way!” I sent at the next red light.

I turned onto our street and sped under the leaf covered canopy. Downers Grove was one of the older suburbs and the maple trees still provided shade during the day. I squealed to a stop in front of the house and ran up to the front door. If they wanted me to think it was an emergency, I’d humor them.

As I reached for the door, though, my dad pushed it open. “Quick, get inside. I have,” he looked at his watch, “7 minutes to prepare you.”

He slammed the door behind me after I got inside, almost shutting it a little early. “What are you…”

“Son, listen to me just this once, and don’t interrupt.” Dad took me by the elbow and led me into the dining room. The windows were blacked out with dark purple drapes. The old oak table had been pushed against the drapes by where the windows would have been. Candles scattered around the room provided the only light. Before I could open my mouth, Dad warned me again. “Just sit in the chair, and let me do all the talking. Do you understand?”

I nodded and headed to the chair. I kept quiet, but wanted to ask my Dad where he had gotten the throne. And what a throne it was. The chair was a high backed mahogany chair with dark red padded arms.  The padding on the back was the same deep red and the upper edges of the back of the chair were plated with gold.

As I sat down, Dad began talking. “In 5 minutes and 15 seconds you will be exactly 23 and a half.”

I had to interrupt. “Seriously dad? I thought we stopped celebrating half birthdays after my 5th birthday.”

His glare stopped me. “Today you come into your inheritance. Today, you take your rightful place on the throne.”

“What the…?” he glared as I began asking and spoke over me.

“You were born to be the leader of the wizards of Chicago,” he said. “That responsibility is passed on to you at the age of 23 and a half. I have not been able to talk to you about this until now, because your mother wanted to give you the chance to lead a normal life.”

“What if I don’t want the job?” I asked. I had my friends. I had my church. This sounded like it would take a lot of my time.

“There is no choice, my lord,” Dad said with a bow. “In,” he looked at his watch again, “3 minutes the power will come upon you. Your fate was determined at birth.”

“But, but,” I stammered. ‘What about my beliefs. The Bible says…”

“The Bible and those who follow it are not kind to our people,” Dad said. “That is why I tried to discourage your association with the church. The days ahead will be difficult for you.”

“In what ways?” I was still trying to figure out what kind of joke my dad was playing on me.

“When your power comes, you will have the ability to read through all disguises. There are many who walk among us who are werewolves, or vampires, or fae, or other supernatural beings.” I didn’t seen even a hint of a smile in his face. “This power is only granted to the high council members of each group. As leader of the Chicago group, you will be on that council.”

“Father,” I said trying to get him to stop with the nonsense. “This is cra…”

“Stop!” He spoke with amazing vigor. “You are no longer to call me Father. Once the power comes, I, and all other wizards here, will be but subject to your rule.” He examined his shoes and I realized where I got that habit. “I would ask the privilege of being your advisor as you grow accustomed to your new office, my lord.”

“And why would I need an advisor, slave?” I decided to play along.

“You will soon be meeting other powerful people who would use you for their own ends, my lord,” he said, still averting his eyes. “You did not grow up learning the customs of your people by order of your mother. If you wish, I will use my experience to guide you through the maze of power.”

I thought about all the old movies I had seen with kings and decided to play the part to the hilt. “Very well,” I said as I waved my hand with a flourish across my body from left to right. “I shall call you my advisor. Give true and wise advice, upon punishment of death.” I was proud of myself for not giggling.

Then, my dad, or should I say, “My advisor” prostrated himself on the floor and said, “I am but your humble servant, my lord. My advice will be as true and as wise as I may make it.” He pushed himself back to his knees, nose still touching the floor. “My first advice to you is prepare for anything. The time is now.”

I was about to laugh in his face. It was time to end this charade. Then, the candles flickered and went out. I felt an overwhelming presence of darkness that left me breathless. The darkness wrapped around me, making it impossible to move. I couldn’t even struggle, I was so bound. My heart was pounding as I desperately sought a way out, but there was no escape.

Wind started whipping around the room. The chair started rocking from side to side, and then started rising in the air. The wind blew the chair in circles so many times that I couldn’t count and then plopped me back down hard. The wind died. The blackness receded and the candles flickered and started burning brightly again.

I started to get out of the chair, only to be stopped by my dad. “Don’t! Stay in that chair!” I sat back down. A thin ray of light beamed down on my head from the ceiling, that soon turned into a full beam of light illuminating me as I sat in the chair. I was blinded by the light even though I was squeezing my eyes as hard as I could.

“Listen,” I heard my dad whisper.

I strained my ears, but I didn’t need to, the voice was inside my head. “Stand,” it said. “Stand and take your place.”

I stood, eyes still shut. “Open your eyes,” the voice said. “Experience everything.”  I opened them. My dad was on the floor, covering his face. The room’s lighting had returned to normal.

“Prepare to depart,” the voice said.

“Advisor,” my dad sputtered. “Ask for your advisor.”

I spoke with a confidence I didn’t fell, or know I had. “May I take my advisor with me?” I asked.

The voice sounded surprised. “If you have an advisor, he may accompany you.”

Before I could thank the voice, I realized that I was floating through the air. I looked back and my dad was following. We rose through the ceiling and moved east towards Chicago. We flew over the western suburbs, headed towards downtown. I didn’t go into the city much, so I didn’t recognize the landmarks. All I knew was that we were moving quickly and it wasn’t long before we started descending towards an old Victorian house in the Austin area. I didn’t know how to stop as we headed towards the roof. I covered my face, only to find myself in a dining room, sitting at a table with five others.

“Welcome, Master. We have awaited your ascendancy.” It was the voice that had spoken in my head earlier. I turned to look at the voice. It belonged to an older man, about 50-55 years old. His dark brown hair had gray highlights on his temple and above his ears. He looked like any businessman might in his navy-blue suit that seemed to accentuate his bright red tie. “You have chosen your advisor well.” ***

I looked back over my shoulders. Dad had survived the trip and stood at my right shoulder as if waiting for me to make a request. “Thank you,” I said. Again, I wondered at the confidence in my voice.

My dad leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Master, you need not thank your servants. They are merely doing their job.”

I looked back at him, then looked at the voice. “Your advisor serves you well, Master. Each man, and woman, exists to serve you. From the time we summoned you here, we stopped being a ruling council and have become your servants. It may seem like a cliché, but your wish truly is our command.”

I looked around the table. The others, three women and a man nodded in agreement. I thought about asking them to do jumping jacks, but what came out of my mouth was, “Now that I’m here, do we have any business that we need to discuss?”

One of the ladies responded. “Today was our chance to welcome your ascendancy and pledge our allegiance to you, Master. If you have any commands for us, we will welcome them. Should you need us to gather together for any reason, all you need to do is think about it. We will be here, ready to serve you.”

She may have been in her late 40’s, but she was beautiful. Her brunette hair hung down on the shoulders of her yellow dress. I was young, and I began thinking about what it would be like to be with her. She looked at me, a surprised look in her eyes, then smiled and shrugged. “As you wish, Master.” She began unzipping the back of her dress.

“No!” I said. “What…?”

She stopped and looked back at me. “Your wish, Master. Your thoughts speak to us and we will obey immediately. However, your words will also be followed.” She zipped her dress back up. She placed her hands on the table and looked down, shyly. “If I may speak freely, Master, I am honored by your thoughts.”

I felt my cheeks burning. “Since we have no business, I’ll dismiss you as soon as I get my question answered.” I was wondering how I would get home.

“Just think about where you want to be, and you will be there,” my potential lover said. “And include anyone that you would like to have accompany you. Your advisor,” she said, “or perhaps…” she let the thought linger, and I realized I could read her thoughts also.

“Perhaps sometime in the future,” I thought as I smiled at her. I looked at the others around the table. Their smiles told me that our thought conversation wasn’t private. “You may leave,” I said, dismissing them.

“Begging your pardon, Master,” the voice said. “We will not leave until you do. It is a rule of the advisory council.”

I nodded. “I understand.” Then, I thought of home with my dad. And I found myself sitting at the dining room table with my dad standing across the table from me.

“Dad,” I began.

He interrupted me. “No longer call me ‘Dad,'” he said. “If you wish to show me respect, call me ‘Advisor.’ If I displease you, ‘servant’ or ‘slave’ is expected. You have ascended.” He bowed.

“Then, it…it wasn’t a dream?” I asked.

“No, Master,” he said not daring to meet my eyes. “You are the lord of the Chicago area wizards.”

“Are there other responsibilities I should know of? Is there some kind of nationwide organization, Advisor?”

He smiled on hearing that. “Yes, Master. All the information has been sent to your computer.”

I heard him think, “…and you don’t have much time to read it.”

I thought back to him, “How long do I have to read it?”

He didn’t respond. He kept looking at me, as if he waited for me to say something. “Am I safe in understanding that my thoughts do not reach you?”

“Yes, Master,” he said. “Only the advisory council has that ability. If you wish, you may prevent them from hearing your thoughts.”

“How do I do that?”

“That information is included in what’s been sent to your computer,” he answered.

“And how long do I have to read that information?” I asked.

“There will be a convocation of leaders in Washington in a week, Master. You are expected. The meeting was set for one week after your ascendency so that you would have time to read and learn.”

“Why me?” I asked. “What makes me so special when I have been involved with my church and have never learned of the existence of wizards until today.”

“Your mother was a leader in the North American Council when she died in childbirth.”

“But,” I protested. “You’ve called me back from church to help mom on many occasions. I remember her as I grew up. What do you mean she died in childbirth?”

“When my first wife, your mother died, I was ordered to take Mandy as my wife. She was charged with your upbringing. Although I am your father, and a good wizard myself, I was to be her servant and raise you as she ordered. Now, I am your servant, Master.”

As if on cue, Mandy walked in. “What your father has said is true, Master. Now that you have ascended, my task is complete.” She bowed. “If you have no other desires of me, I will return to the North American Council and return to duty here. I am your servant.”

“Would it be asking too much to ask you to stay here, mom?” I asked, not able to break the habit of 23 and a half years.

“While you may call me mom, I am but a servant, my Master. If you wish me to stay on in your service, I will do that.”

I nodded, which she took for a dismissal, and she left. “Well, da…er…Advisor, is there anything you would suggest I do to become comfortable in my new situation?”

“You have another unique power, Master,” he said. “We might begin to develop it by taking a walk.”

“And what is this power?”

“You’ll be able to sense the presence of other supernaturals,” he said.

I stared at him, my jaw on the ground. “Other wizards?”

“Yes, Master. And other supernaturals – werewolves, vampires, fae. You will be able to see all. Only the leaders of their councils, those who hold similar positions to you, will be able to recognize you as a wizard.”

“Who can recognize me other than people on the councils?” I asked, trying to get a grip on everything.

“Only those to whom you choose to reveal yourself, Master,” he said.

“May I call you ‘Dad’ in front of my friends who know you?” I asked.

He bowed his head. “You are the Master. If it suits your purposes, I won’t disagree.”

I was still having trouble understanding what was going on. We walked out into the street and dad led us towards the business district. Not many people were out on this Sunday afternoon. It struck me that it was still Sunday. So much had happened today. Then, I saw my first supernatural: a werewolf. It was Donte Holmes, a deacon at the church. He was outside, watering his flowers.

“Afternoon, Donte,” I called.

“Howdy, Jim. Missed you at church today,” he responded.

I nodded towards my dad. “Dad needed me at the house today.”

Donte broke out into a big smile. “Oh! You’re Jim’s dad? Nice to meet you.” He put the hose down and wiped his hands on his pants before sticking his hand out to Dad. As they shook hands he looked at dad and said, “We really need Jim at church. He’s an important man.”

Dad held back his laughter and nodded gravely. “I think he’s pretty important myself. I understand your feelings.”

“Thanks, Donte, I’ll try not to miss many more services. Dad and mom will be needing me a lot, but even when I’m not there, you know where I want to be.”

As we left, dad chuckled. “He doesn’t know how important you are.”

I was still trying to process this new world. “He’s a werewolf. What do you expect?”

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Oh, your power works?”

“A deacon in my church is a werewolf and all you can say is that my power works?”

“I don’t know about your church. I know and serve you,” dad responded. “I knew that you would have this power and position where you might not be welcome in the church if they discovered who you were.”

I paused, trying to imagine how Pastor Sanchez might react to the knowledge that his sound man was a wizard. He chuckled quietly as he remembered that Pastor had joked about him being a wizard with the sound system a couple of times when he had dealt with some major issues quickly during the services. “Could he have…” I trailed off mentally, not wanting to go where that thought led me.

“What’s so funny, Master?”

“Nothing, dad,” I ignored his evil eye, “but let me ask you a question. I can recognize other supernaturals. Can I recognize them before they change like I did?”

“That’s an interesting question, Master,” I wondered if he emphasized the word Master for my benefit. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” I said. I started walking again.

We got downtown and started window shopping. Before long I had become adept at recognizing the various supernatural beings. Downers Grove had a few more werewolves than wizards, at least based on my quick observation. I saw a few vampires inside of the stores, but none walking in the streets. I had to ask my advisor about the ones who shimmered. He told me that they were were fairies, fae to use the preferred term.

I turned to head towards home. The sun was dropping in the west and there was a slight chill in the air as we walked. I looked at my dad. He was shivering, but tried to hide it when he saw me looking at him. “It’d be nice if we had some coats, eh?” I asked him.

He laughed. As I looked at him, there was a swirl of lights, and then he was wearing a coat. I almost missed it because I was trying to figure out how I had one also. When he saw the puzzled look on my face, he smiled and said, “You will be surprised at the extent of your power in days to come.”

“Not bad, Jim,” a familiar voice behind me said. He continued talking as I turned to look. “You might want to be a bit more cautious in the way you use your power.”

“Pastor, I can explain,” I said as I turned. When I faced him, I wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, I said, “We don’t all have our own fur coats.”


My first try at any kind of Urban Fantasy writing…feel free to comment!

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Research and Beta Reading

As I continue seeking to be better at description, I took on a new task for me: Beta Reading. It’s funny – I can see the issues in this other person’s story, but I can’t catch the same types in my own writing. I am hoping that learning to critique the writings of others will help me to become a better writer. Perhaps I can rewrite with an eye towards finding those types of issues in my own writing. Not long today…just letting you know that I haven’t stopped trying to grow.

Descriptive Writing #3

Descriptive Writing #3

So tonight, I’m changing gears and pictures. I’m using a picture I took of the Super Moon rising and referencing a few other pics along the way. Is the description done well, over done, or underdone. Is it appropriate for the subject? Is there anything I left out that I should have included? Did I include stuff I should have left out? No plans to use it except for this exercise, but you never know. Thanks for your feedback.

 

Super Moon

The sun’s rays slowly faded away leaving the water in darkness. Across the bay to the east the construction continued under lights that pierced through the darkness. New oil rigs would soon be heading out into the gulf. Off to the north, The Lexington was highlighted with purple lights, the ghosts of wars past flying around as if protecting her.

Off to the east, it began as a few small rays of soft orange light peeping over the horizon. The light struggled with the darkness, making little headway in its battle at first. Then, the light advanced upward conquering the nearby darkness but without the power of the morning light. Soon, a sliver of moon eased up over the horizon, barely visible at first, but growing larger and larger to menace the darkness. Darkness fled before the coming moon and the initial rays of orange soon turned into a soft, golden gleam. Continuing the struggle, the moon fought through the darkness that sought to keep it imprisoned and broke free, popping over the shore in the east. The giant golden ball spread its light over the waters that quietly lapped at the wall by my feet sharing its gold with the cold, dark waters of the bay.

Descriptive Writing Exercise #2

A different mood today. Same rules as yesterday. Is the description 1) Underdone, 2) Overdone, 3) about right? What kind of mood am I trying to set. Here’s the picture of the study again, although we start in the outer office.

 

Pastor’s Study

The light behind the desk made me blink. I had to avert my eyes as I said, “I have an appointment.” My comment was met by silence. I tried to look at the lady typing. I put a hand in front of my eyes and saw a tight black bun, rounded shoulders from typing, and wrinkled hands on a keyboard. I cleared my throat to get ready to remind her.

“Heard you,” she snapped. “Name?”

“Pastor Charles,” I said.

I think she turned down the air conditioning as she said, “Obviously. What’s your name?” She stared over the top of her half glasses letting me know that I was beneath her effort.

“I’m sorry. I’m Merle Ambrose,” I said hoping she might thaw out.

She sniffed. “Go ahead and sit down. Pastor Charles will call for you when he’s ready.” She looked back down at her typing. The only thing I could hear was her nails hitting the keyboard. That is until a door slammed shut and a young lady came rushing by, wiping her sniffles with her sleeve. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she headed out the door to the street. That inner door flew open as a man slammed it open to run after her. I saw Pastor Charles walking out of the darkness of the room, shaking his head.

“Pastor,” the secretary broke into his reverie. “That’s Merle Ambrose. He has an…”

Pastor Charles frowned. “…appointment. Yes, Vivian. Thank you.” He looked at me. “The study’s over here,” he said pointing to the door.

I realized that was his invitation and got up. He followed me into the study, closing the door behind him. I blinked to help my eyes adjust to the light, or perhaps it would be better to say the lack of light. The only light in the room came from the window behind the desk, but even that light flickered in shadows.

“We had the lights off for an exercise we were doing,” he explained. Then he flipped the switch for the overhead light. It didn’t help much. He walked over to his desk and sat down in an avocado green swivel chair. He poured himself a mug of coffee and the aroma filled the air. I wasn’t sure if he was going to offer me some, or not. I hoped he would.

When he turned around I saw that the golden words “Preach the Word of the Lord” stood out on the blue background of the mug. He gestured with his mug towards the couch. The ivory fabric on the couch was accented with a golden brocade. “Sit down, Merle,” he said. “I’m concerned by some of the things I’ve heard and I wanted to discuss them with you.”

Descriptive Writing Exercise #1

I took a picture from the Internet and tried to set a mood from the picture that would go along with a story idea. The picture is of a pastor’s study and a meeting with one of the members. So, what kind of mood do you think I was trying to set? Is the description 1) overdone, 2) underdone,  or 3) about right? I appreciate your comments and your help. I plan on writing the same scene tomorrow with a different mood.

Pastor’s Study

Meeting with the Pastor

“The pastor’s in his study right now,” his administrative aide said as I walked in. “Administrative Aide,” I thought. “I still prefer ‘secretary.’” “That’s fine, I can wait,” I said noting that her hands never stopped typing on the keyboard in front of her.

She did stop her typing long enough to pick up the phone. She punched in the extension to the pastor’s study. “Yes, Pastor. Your one o’clock appointment is here.”

She paused, her long, manicured fingernails clicking on her desk. “Yes sir, to the study? Really?” Her eyes opened wide and a perfectly groomed eyebrow shot up over her right eye. “Yes sir,” she responded. “Of course I can trust your judgment.”

Obviously, she didn’t trust it if the look she gave me as she hung up the phone was any indication. “Follow me.” She sighed as she beckoned, taking me out of the office and down the hall. She didn’t knock, but opened the oaken door carefully, as if giving the pastor time to say “No.”

Pastor Charles was already standing to greet me. His hands were rough as we shook, which surprised me. I never figured a pastor would do physical work. “Hello, Merle. Happy to meet you face to face.”

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me, Pastor Charles,” I said. The study smelled like coffee – hazelnut if I knew my coffee aromas.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the couch beside his desk. He walked to his desk, poured a cup, and then looked over his shoulder at me. The sun shining through the window reflected off his hair, giving him a glow. “Forgot to ask,” he said. “Coffee?”

“Please,” I answered. “black.”

He handed me the cup and my hands curled around it, embracing the warmth. I sniffed the steam, trying to take the chill out of my body. The sun flickering in the window lied as it made me forget about how cold it was outside. “So what can…” he stopped when his phone rang. The strains of “You Raise Me Up” filled the room. “My wife,” he said, embarrassed by the interruption. “Forgive me.” He answered and began talking.

I got up and walked to the other edge of the room. This bookcase was filled with older volumes and the musty smell filled my nostrils. This was much like my father’s library. I shivered as I thought about that, then I realize that maybe dad would enjoy talking old books with Pastor Charles. There was always a chance.

 

 

 

Learning the Craft

One of the things that separates the author from a writer or a story teller is the craft. Craft inovlves the way you put together a story so that it works together, paces well, and generally flows well. It’s knowing when to show and when to tell. I am going to be working on craft as I continue my writing. The first area I’m going to tackle is description. I love reading well written description. It makes the scene come alive to me. I just have not felt comfortable writing description. When I write it, I feel like it’s overdone and “hokey” if I can use that word. The only way to work on description is to do it, so, I’m planning on working on description in a few different ways. Over the next week (?) I’ll be doing some descriptive writing. I’ll be posting it here for you to critique. I’m pretty good at taking criticism and try to use it as a springboard to grow. I’ll include my feelings about the writing after the selection. What I eventually want to hear is “Nailed it” (and not like those pinterest memes.) I don’t expect to nail it at first, so I would appreciate any feedback. If you have any ideas to help me as I go through this journey: websites, techniques, descriptive exercises, good examples of descriptive writing – please share them. I appreciate any and all help. Thanks in advance!

Having a Moment

After posting yesterday, writer’s block set it. Some wit said that writer’s block happens when writers have nothing to say and the sad thing is, it doesn’t happen to them more often. Mine wasn’t based on having nothing to say; mine was based on grief and fear. As I studied the beta reader’s comments, there was a little bit of grief in losing the simple story I had. I knew that, for the most part, he was on target with his comments. I have heard him critique shorter pieces and that was why I was excited when he agreed to be a beta reader for me. Still, there was a sense of grief as I realized that all those plot holes and inconsistencies that I had learned to love had to go. I believe that what will rise from the ashes will be a much better story, but it will require a lot more work than a few small touch ups. And that’s where the fear came in.

I realized I needed to do a lot of foundation work before I went back to rewriting. I had to understand my characters in depth, including my living villain. I had to change the motivation for my villain while, at the same time, make his good character qualities stronger. I had to have a better explanation for the break in the family relationships of my main character. I needed to understand my world and place it in proper context on its planet – especially for future novels. I needed to understand my nameless, faceless villain and find ways to weave the background of that agency into the story so that tales of the current nature will make sense. I even realized that the changes I made for this book, would affect the other books – especially since the original title no longer made sense in light of the ideas I had for changing things.

So, I had a moment yesterday. I opened up the file for this book and stared at the character page for my male main character. I couldn’t even put down the height. I went away and looked at something else. I don’t know how many times I went to that page, and clicked away from it because of the fear of doing this right. I couldn’t work on some other writing that I had to do either. One of them is a writing challenge for 400 words a day. Later in the evening I finally passed 400 words, but not by much. So yesterday I had a moment. Today, I have hope. Today, I will begin reworking my characters and falling so much in love with them again that I want to be sure and tell their story – different as it may be. Today, I begin the process of falling in love with my better, more complex story as I progress towards becoming an author.