tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30592039728298011202024-02-06T23:03:14.279-06:00Writing and StuffRead. Write. Breathe. Repeat.A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-35096032779584238412013-11-30T23:36:00.005-06:002013-11-30T23:37:15.516-06:00R.I.P. Bella<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_c9r8hlUmL4SwcPKwuz-G3-Vt7q8nFPtGYTLDPvJ-m9RLLGFNWzQAQxpc-3Js2iqIMkfVd4_hS4T5GXx5jnsY8rzc0123x9CYh4oPy0KNbqEcAX33ySRToXVARluE1teISAqPwaEaw/s1600/DSC02263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_c9r8hlUmL4SwcPKwuz-G3-Vt7q8nFPtGYTLDPvJ-m9RLLGFNWzQAQxpc-3Js2iqIMkfVd4_hS4T5GXx5jnsY8rzc0123x9CYh4oPy0KNbqEcAX33ySRToXVARluE1teISAqPwaEaw/s400/DSC02263.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Bella<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">November 18, 2007-November 29, 2013</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I miss your nose, the way it wiggled and twitched,</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Your sweet kisses and nose rubs. In your love, I was stitched.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You had my heart, I was wrapped around your paw.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I ‘ll miss waking to the sound of your jingle bell ball.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You always thumped your back feet when I made you mad.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You were the best Bella Bunny I ever had.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’ll miss calling you Bells, or Arabella when you were in trouble</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But most of all, I will miss our warm cuddles.</span></div>
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A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-38197109512813468272012-12-01T14:23:00.001-06:002012-12-01T16:50:48.671-06:00Brown Recluse Bite UpdateWell, I've been way too busy to post an update on my Brown Recluse bite, so let me catch you up. <br />
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Saturday, the 24th, I went back to the ER for a follow up. I had 93 random bruises all over my body and the rash was worse. It felt like my skin was on fire! The doctor took one look at me and said I was having an allergic reaction to the antibiotics they gave me on Thursday. The nurse came in and stabbed me in he back of the arm with an epipen and a respiratory therapist tried to give me a breathing treatment, but when I asked her why I needed one, she looked at the nurse and said, "Ummmm.... I don't know." So I politely responded with, "Then I don't want it. I want to speak with the doctor again."<br />
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They also gave me 3 super strength steroids and a Claritin. <br />
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So the doctor comes back and I call my dad to come find me in the ER. I argue with the doctor for a bit on his treatment and ridiculous diagnosis (he said the bite wasn't infected and that I don't need to be on any medication besides steroids and antihistamines.). After 2 more hours, I'm released an told to follow up with my family doctor in 3 days. <br />
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Three days later, I see my family doctor who couldn't believe that the ER doctor took me off all antibiotics. She gave me some really strong meds reserved for MRSA to treat the staph infection that had developed in my leg and was spreading to my bloodstream, causing a horrible, itchy, red rash all over my body. I was literally crawling out of my skin, it was so itchy!<br />
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Today, the 1st if December, I'm finally startling to feel better and the red rash is almost all gone. The bite is now caved in and still infected, but doing better. <br />
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I go back on Tuesday, the 3rd, for yet another follow up. Hopefully it will be the last, but I might have to have the infection cut out via surgery. <br />
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I was not a big fan of spiders before, but now I'm terrified! Apparently it's rare to be bitten by a brown recluse, and even more rare to have a systemic reaction like I did. And on top of all that, I'm allergic to the venom! A friend of mine suggested I buy a lottery ticket with all this luck!<br />
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I'll post again later if there's any new updates. <br />
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A. J. Spindle <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFGL89wJZKX-TXUwi6M-DoLWIgY9OO9Zxb1L4LWcRriPNgp4pq8EIThK4miWzkvpHF4qcXIh94WzwVPE_aL1fLuKruG8s1U97un66nw9MQGYpKGweCCnYkvfimWuftURW4ZuuldsjPAw/s640/blogger-image-240085054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFGL89wJZKX-TXUwi6M-DoLWIgY9OO9Zxb1L4LWcRriPNgp4pq8EIThK4miWzkvpHF4qcXIh94WzwVPE_aL1fLuKruG8s1U97un66nw9MQGYpKGweCCnYkvfimWuftURW4ZuuldsjPAw/s640/blogger-image-240085054.jpg" /></a></div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-273067177793064392012-11-23T16:37:00.001-06:002012-11-23T16:56:01.606-06:00A Thanksgiving to RememberThis will be a thanksgiving to remember. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?<br />
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I was getting ready for school monday, November 19th, when I pulled on a pair of jeans that had been on the floor all night. I felt something poke me twice, but didn't think much about it and went about my day. That night, about 12 hours later, I took my shirt off to take a shower and noticed a red, sunburn-like rash all over my stomach and back and a bite mark on my upper right thigh.<br />
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The next morning, the 20th, I woke up to a swollen red face, but went to work anyway. I only felt a little sick, nausea, headache, and kinda sore, but not too bad. A couple hours into work I started feeling worse and got a fever of 101 so a friend drove me home early. That night I went to the after hours clinic and they gave me some antibiotics and steroids for the swelling in my face and sent me home. At that point, the red rash was darker and very itchy.<br />
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The next day, the 21st, I got up and only had a little swelling around my eyes and my face was pink. I went to school and work without a problem. When I got home, I pulled out the jeans I had worn on monday and turned them inside out. A little brown spider fell out. It was dead, but looked like a brown recluse. I put it in a ziplock incase I needed to go back to the doctor, I could show them.<br />
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On Thanksgiving, I woke up at 10 a.m. to go to my aunts house for lunch with my family. But then I saw that my legs had dark red streaks and I was bleeding under my skin all over my body. I showed my parents and they took the food over to my aunts house and off we went to the ER.<br />
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I stayed for 3 hours while they ran blood tests and tried to figure out if it was really a brown recluse that bit me. I was finally released and told to return in 48 hours to check the rash, bleeding, and bite. They switched my antibiotics, gave me some anti-itching meds, and told me to keep taking steroids to bring down the swelling. Now my skin is peeling and feels sunburned and EXTREMELY itchy. <br />
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Now I'm at home and doing okay. I got back in tomorrow. The bleeding rash thing is still very itchy, but the meds they gave me knock me out so I don't want to take them in the daytime. Hopefully I won't have another IV thing (they left it in after drawing blood incase I needed meds right then). I'm not a big fan of needles *shivers*<br />
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Today I found another brown recluse in the house and it was ALIVE!! You should have seen my mom and I scramble to kill the thing before it tried to escape! It was funny, but seriously, these little guys can do so much damage. It's unbelievable!<br />
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Below are some pictures of my trip to the ER:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwPQvH7WLxwV5tLgvK5p6XIk7UU7neN2us-1e_7IEwd5Lvatxx0vDeWNf5t3KZvCoEsYcOt-6vtvoE4Q7mpgfiNHTqolKQH2q-Y2PfX5plM1yV81Umw4EMMjpXv2uf9v0emjqKOEG-w/s640/blogger-image-1444663035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwPQvH7WLxwV5tLgvK5p6XIk7UU7neN2us-1e_7IEwd5Lvatxx0vDeWNf5t3KZvCoEsYcOt-6vtvoE4Q7mpgfiNHTqolKQH2q-Y2PfX5plM1yV81Umw4EMMjpXv2uf9v0emjqKOEG-w/s640/blogger-image-1444663035.jpg" /></a></div>
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My IV line.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0Yd30pcyz0xBtik9XUTvSpdGAXeN4LA72XWCED7AVVNS1NUYIQHz_0YbROmK83PY3T6xpIJDulS3G4WBH8qQwwmIZ1Y7VozPtces7mAHTzozBosiERv4MXknTgWl91bzkr0SecSjWw/s640/blogger-image--1574129256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0Yd30pcyz0xBtik9XUTvSpdGAXeN4LA72XWCED7AVVNS1NUYIQHz_0YbROmK83PY3T6xpIJDulS3G4WBH8qQwwmIZ1Y7VozPtces7mAHTzozBosiERv4MXknTgWl91bzkr0SecSjWw/s640/blogger-image--1574129256.jpg" /></a></div>
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The bite 11-22-12</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRxTWiBVtsGip6L3O7Nb_NAslyBmouckcD3OWNwH4LCx1OTb0e3mCzVtjNHAIpsKCPkGtTioQuVc9HWPWfQmVbQmkdmFVeqehMMwtKs1dKrk9obVpjkbOGX8tULa67u-GdNNh9x_qSA/s640/blogger-image-952107209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRxTWiBVtsGip6L3O7Nb_NAslyBmouckcD3OWNwH4LCx1OTb0e3mCzVtjNHAIpsKCPkGtTioQuVc9HWPWfQmVbQmkdmFVeqehMMwtKs1dKrk9obVpjkbOGX8tULa67u-GdNNh9x_qSA/s640/blogger-image-952107209.jpg" /></a></div>
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The bleeding rash spreading down my legs. This was all over my back and stomach too.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPpZYB0ENRH98upgLhRssL8TdbbWOErn63XxN0_yhbfl-HmDcUe5hJMmXSnjU0lSCixVCHRMHSM7NOqpqzko8kWv8Zi01_AhXeUGVBXmomA20BhOiv7384ianz9NMw5LlyVHgUpu-U7g/s640/blogger-image--1135056460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPpZYB0ENRH98upgLhRssL8TdbbWOErn63XxN0_yhbfl-HmDcUe5hJMmXSnjU0lSCixVCHRMHSM7NOqpqzko8kWv8Zi01_AhXeUGVBXmomA20BhOiv7384ianz9NMw5LlyVHgUpu-U7g/s640/blogger-image--1135056460.jpg" /></a></div>
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And finally, me. I call this picture "E.T. Phone Home."</div>
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I hope your thanksgiving was less eventful than mine!</div>
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A. J. Spindle</div>
A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-61147732327911484122012-09-15T22:42:00.001-05:002012-09-15T22:42:48.470-05:00New Computer?!So I finally broke down and bought myself an iMac. You know, that shiny, sleek, beautiful monitor that has the whole computer inside? Yeah, that one. I got the one with 1,0024 GB because I've used most of the memory on my little MacBook.<br />
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I've wanted a desk top for a while now so that I can properly edit my documents by having two screens open at the same time.<br />
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I started my8th semester of college a few weeks ago. It's quite challenging. I'm taking Anatomy and Physiology I and Lab, Microbiology and Lab, Pharmacology, and Spanish III. The lab for Micro is pretty intense. We got to handle e.coli and other bacteria that I can't remember the name of.<br />
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Why am I taking all these classes? Oh, because I've put the English Major thing on hold for a while as I try to get into the Surgical Technician program at College #1.<br />
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I'm still teaching preschool and having fun with that. I haven't had ANY time to work on books, or READ them, for that matter. My schedule is as follows:<br />
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6:00 a.m. Wake up<br />
7:20 a.m. Go to school<br />
2:30 p.m. Go to job number one<br />
6:30 p.m. Go to job number two<br />
9:00 p.m. Come home<br />
9:30 p.m. Eat dinner<br />
9:45 p.m. Study until I can't see straight<br />
11:40 p.m. Go go bed<br />
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So, as you can see, that doesn't leave me with much free time. My only days off are Saturdays and they're usually filled with homework and cleaning the house.<br />
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I've been cleaning out my desk today and came across all my old spiral notebooks containing just about every short story I've ever written. I also found the beginning of my children's book, Bennett Nelson scrawled across several pages from when I was 15 years old.<br />
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I might turn Bennett into an ebook since I've had no luck with finding a literary agent. Maybe I can at least get it out there for others to see instead of taking up space on my hard drive.<br />
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Well, it's 10:40 pm already. Guess I better get back to cleaning up the house so I can get to bed and watch a few episodes of Gray's Anatomy.<br />
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A. J. SpindleA. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-72202246314663364432012-04-23T11:46:00.001-05:002012-04-23T11:47:26.081-05:00Long time, No Blog.<div style="text-align: left;">Well, a lot of things have changed since I last blogged. I turned 21 years old, got the iPhone I've always dreamed of, made new friends, got baptized, started and almost finished my last semester of college #1, and most importantly, published my children's story.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">As you can see in the screenshot below, I self published my kids story as a FREE e-book. You can download it on Apple's iBooks store, through Barnes and Noble, or Kobo. If you download it, PLEASE leave a review. I don't care if you hate it, tell me in a review. (but please don't hate it!) :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjprlISnKBkrOqPoB-m4St0MlxGxDRXpEgtL4LXBR00PvDrZeZhaS_-uck2DhfbnUnQLQ3XH6UP6hL-PFSJA59pC0QymDO8hwRxPAJXHsloh1KRglA1FQltKJQ2FkkqHpAi-dJdIrWsiw/s1600/IMG_0147.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjprlISnKBkrOqPoB-m4St0MlxGxDRXpEgtL4LXBR00PvDrZeZhaS_-uck2DhfbnUnQLQ3XH6UP6hL-PFSJA59pC0QymDO8hwRxPAJXHsloh1KRglA1FQltKJQ2FkkqHpAi-dJdIrWsiw/s320/IMG_0147.PNG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here is my new used desk! It's been in our guest room for many years now, and I decided my old desk was too small for writing and doing homework. The only downside to this desk is that it doesn't have any drawers. But it will do for now until I can get a fancy desk with a matching bookshelf. :)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqADRd-BpVdJ0aslnvkRyrhb3Ys4UvEMTlyfrCUiOkCLlCJHJr4rsup3UjParmhFBfPppl_HWzGHSF21XsQMgv_nu4hiR9kjnDULHT_oYCwxgFHQ7Ezx6hyphenhyphenhQ8ULy0TVS-sCaI44_uA/s1600/IMG_0222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqADRd-BpVdJ0aslnvkRyrhb3Ys4UvEMTlyfrCUiOkCLlCJHJr4rsup3UjParmhFBfPppl_HWzGHSF21XsQMgv_nu4hiR9kjnDULHT_oYCwxgFHQ7Ezx6hyphenhyphenhQ8ULy0TVS-sCaI44_uA/s320/IMG_0222.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You can see Bella in her cage, staring me down. She likes to try and grab my hair through the bars as I sit at the desk. You can also see the color coded index cards on the wall on the right. Those are character cards for Bennett Nelson so I can just look up and see all the info about each character when I'm writing. And no, I do not go to A&M. I just like the coffee mug!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So as for turning 21, it's not that great. I had a quiet birthday, just went out to eat dinner with some friends from work, who are awesome by the way! And I bought myself an iPhone, like I've always wanted. Now I'm just afraid I'll drop it and shatter the screen! Haha!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm working on my 10 page research paper for English. I chose to write about feminism in The Yellow Wallpaper. I'm on page eight so far. I really need to go back over it to make sure it's okay. I'd rather not get a bad grade on this paper since it's worth 30% of my grade.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Work is still going well. I still love my kiddos and their antics. I just wish I could be with them longer each day. 4-6 hours a day isn't enough. During the summer I'll be working 40 hours a week instead of 20-30, but my other job takes a break for summer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Another change is that I changed my major, or well, added another one. I'll still be majoring in English (but I'm taking a break next semester to focus on the other degree). I'll be applying to get into the surgical technician program at school #1. After this semester (if I by some miracle pass math) I will be graduating in May of this year! (That's one month away) I will have my Associate of Arts. I just need this one math class; statistics!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Well, I better go work on my research paper before I have to go into work early today. Don't forget to download my kids book! It's FREE so you have no excuse!! :)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">A. J. Spindle</div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-29223117606286177372011-11-19T21:46:00.003-06:002011-11-19T21:48:11.090-06:00Well, it Finally Happened. I'm in a Book!So I got my first glance at the anthology I'm in. It's pretty and shiny and full of awesome, although I might be a bit biased :)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg02SFRE6Oy3zyVSR-im_CJ6fb0YsET_5X511hVSyPSSjFC3IRY0ipQcz6XZU3GDMKz9tevz1UB-PJrcOqn4wUVBfipmLQsPgmCck2izRwnN84TVS7GJKY5ner1NG5tbklkMhX7Yu0Yw/s1600/388093_10150374500654482_778684481_8180267_2070184932_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg02SFRE6Oy3zyVSR-im_CJ6fb0YsET_5X511hVSyPSSjFC3IRY0ipQcz6XZU3GDMKz9tevz1UB-PJrcOqn4wUVBfipmLQsPgmCck2izRwnN84TVS7GJKY5ner1NG5tbklkMhX7Yu0Yw/s400/388093_10150374500654482_778684481_8180267_2070184932_n.jpg" width="328" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99srHdjudkQ-JJGO0h3p8KMV3GLB2pvT3TG2C_B35th1GwDEznFsTZbF-5bWVMnZ-DpzKSJY63FVzyBcnUxL3YApYWlmhET9kt_vnNB9a71-vnk8Eza4W4M1xlDGBkhfVG7GjMx4gOQ/s1600/312615_10150374523784482_778684481_8180333_507585509_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99srHdjudkQ-JJGO0h3p8KMV3GLB2pvT3TG2C_B35th1GwDEznFsTZbF-5bWVMnZ-DpzKSJY63FVzyBcnUxL3YApYWlmhET9kt_vnNB9a71-vnk8Eza4W4M1xlDGBkhfVG7GjMx4gOQ/s320/312615_10150374523784482_778684481_8180333_507585509_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I took pictures with it as you can see above. I signed a copy for my aunt and grandmother and still have a few other people asking for me to sign theirs. If you wish to purchase one, you can do so at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Voices-Angels-Debz-Hobbs-Wyatt/dp/1907335153/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1321760532&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon</a> or online at Barnes and Noble. You could also ask your local book store to stock them, which would be really cool if you would. You can even get one from the publisher <a href="http://bridgehousepublishing.co.uk/currenttitles.aspx" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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I think I'll have to do a give away soon, that should be exciting. Maybe the anthology if I can snag another copy.<br />
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School and work are going well. Very tiring, but doable. I get two days off this week for Thanksgiving which I'm grateful for. I need a break!! Haha!<br />
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Um... comment if you read this please so I can see how many people actually read this blog. Thanks!<br />
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AJA. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-7115004764731872702011-07-09T10:29:00.001-05:002011-07-09T10:30:23.878-05:00A Short Story I wrote in March 2011<div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;">Comments are appreciated. I will probably delete this post after a while, it just depends. It has no title so if you can think of one, suggest it in the comments!! :)</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;">No Title</div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">A. J. Spindle</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The rocks and debris bite into my skin as I drop to my knees. All I can see is the blue tarp in front of me, completely still. The hair on my arms stands, leaving a tingling, icy feeling, despite my many layers. The police men don’t say anything as they watch from behind. I reach out and pinch the corner of the tarp, hand shaking, and pull it back.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My sister, my beautiful little sister and the last of my family, lay silently with her black hair pushed back, away from her eyes that are half open as though she were just waking. I look away. My nose burns and my throat closes up. A hand flies to my mouth, startling me, but it’s mine; a knee-jerk reaction. I can’t speak. There really isn’t anything to say. My teeth sink into my lower lip and I rest my forehead on my knees to make the world stop spinning while I blink back tears.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There’s a strong hand on my shoulder, rooting me to the spot, digging me deeper into the rubble of our home. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he whispers.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I turn and look, it’s one of the men who lived on my street. His eyes are watery and gray, rimmed in red. Folds of paper thin skin drape over them like a canopy. He opens his mouth to speak but I can’t hear him. There’s waves of rushing water in my ears as the blood pumps through my veins. I only have one thought: My heart’s beating and hers is not.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I stand quickly and rock back on my heels. The man catches me and puts an arm around my shoulder. I want to shrug it off, like it doesn’t matter if he cares, but I can’t. I’m so numb. I don’t know how I can move when my body feels this heavy, like my sadness is a thick, wet wool blanket draped over me. It’s suffocating. I’m led to the jeep and someone helps me into a seat, buckles me in. As we begin to drive away, the cold air chills me to the bone and I wonder for a second if I can ever really feel warm again.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling as if someone had scrapped out my insides with a dull knife. There’s an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I swallow hard, trying to hold down the pain and nausea. I roll over on my side and shrug off my blanket. The room is filled with quiet snores, people asleep all around me, dreaming like the earthquake and tsunami didn’t happen. I envy them, peacefully asleep, able to dream while all I had was a nightmare. I get out of my makeshift bed walk around. Each face I see reminds me I’m not alone in my grief.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A child is curled up into a ball next to her mother, her eyes shut. She’s holding a doll. It’s filthy, covered in dirt and grime, but she clutches it like it’s the last good thing on Earth. Maybe it’s all she has left; the only thing not taken from her. I turn away, brush the wetness from my cheeks, and move on. There’s an old man hunched over in the corner, away from the others. His head is bent forward as if in prayer, but his lips aren’t moving. His chest rises and drops evenly with each breath. Did he lose someone too? A wife? A son? A daughter? Was he all alone now, like me?</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It’s too much. I need out. I take a flashlight and go out the front doors. Nobody stops me. Why would they? With me gone, there’d me more room for the others. Someone would notice I left and take my blanket to put on top of their own.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I pull my coat closer around my ears, wandering around, not quite sure where I’m going until my feet take me there. Before I know it, I’m standing in front of my home, or what’s left of it. There’s a little bit of our roof to my left, spread across the muddy ground. To my right is a heap of scrap metal and chunks of wood that used to be the walls.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I shine my little flashlight at the debris. Photographs of me and my sister litter the yard, pieces of my room are half buried under a wall. My eyes stop when they see what’s left of my bookshelf. I climb over the rubble to get to it and scoop up a book. The cover is torn off, pages wavy and splayed out like a Japanese folding fan. It’s soggy with sea water. I drop it back to the ground. It’s trash now.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It’s so quiet it hurts my ears. I have to make some noise or I’ll go mad. I kick the heap of trash in front of me and hear a <i>snap</i> as the wood breaks. It’s comforting, in it’s own way. I kick it again, and again. Finally, I stop and just stand there. I try to picture our house before the disaster. The front door should be here, right in front, and the kitchen window should be to the left, next to a shrub. The walkway should go from the door to where I’m standing now.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There’s nothing left. I’ll have to go back to America, where my aunt and uncle live. Mom and Dad always wanted us to move back anyway. I guess it would be a way to honor them now. I was born there, but I don’t remember much of it; just glimpses like peeking at a photograph. Still images of an open field, horses, and cars. Lots and lots of cars.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The sun begins to rise. I should go, but I need one last goodbye. I stumble over a metal pipe and fall, skinning the palms of my hands on something rough. I sit up, more tears fall, but not because of the pain, it’s because I see her, laying there like she didn’t have a care in the world.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Curled up under the rubble was Mioko, my four-month-old kitten. I crawl over to her on my hands and knees, my clothes snagging on the wreckage. As I get closer, my elation shrinks away to nothing. Mioko isn’t moving. Her black and brown fur is rugged and patchy like someone had sent her through the washer and dryer. I reach out to her, wanting to rest my hand on her ribs, feel the warmth of her fur under my fingers. But I don’t. I just sit there and cry, let it all out. I shed a tear for everything and everyone I lost; my home, my school, my job, Mom, Dad, my sister, and now my little kitten.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’m wiping my eyes on my sleeve when something rubs up against my thigh, brushing against my jeans. I look down to see Mioko staring up at me with those big green eyes.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I gasp and grab her up in my arms, bury my face in her rough fur. She smells of warm seawater and garbage.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mioko, you stupid cat. You scared me to death.” I pull her back to look her in the eyes. She squirms and tries to get free, pawing at my hands. Here we are, the only things left and she wants to play. I just sit there and hold her to my chest, refusing to let her out of my sight.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Eventually I stand up and brush myself off, tuck Mioko under my elbow, and start walking away. Away from my home, my street, the town where I grew up. I’m not really sure where I’m going, but anywhere would be better than here. And wherever I end up, I know it will be okay again. I may not be the same person I was yesterday, but maybe that’s a good thing. Changes are scary and at the same time exciting. As I near the end of my street, I don’t turn around. I keep on walking toward my new life, wherever it may be.</span></div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-27195886775312067352011-05-21T12:22:00.002-05:002011-07-09T10:36:17.272-05:00Updates and a TeaserThought I'd post a teaser from my WIP#3, The Bridge Between Two Minds:<br />
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"I felt so numb, like I’d finally gotten a sense of closure about this whole ordeal. Dan was gone, I knew that in my mind, but now I felt it in my heart. It was a calming feeling, more than saddening, and I was grateful. For the first time in weeks I felt hopeful."<br />
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I just started my new job this week at Primrose School so I haven't had time to write like I was hoping. The money will be nice though. Maybe I can buy a Mac and a new desk sometime this year. After I cancel my AT&T phone and get a Virgin Mobile phone (to save more $$$).<br />
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Hopefully I'll have some more time to blog this summer since I'm not taking summer courses this year. I'll only be working 20-35 hours a week so I should have some spare time to blog and/or work on my books.<br />
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I'm going to work on my WIP#3 today. I really want to finish it by Fall of this year. No promises though. I'm not quite sure where my characters are going to take me yet. I might have to talk it over with my cousin/brother, Jacob. He's pretty good at letting me bounce ideas off of him. He wants to be a writer too, in his spare time. It's nice having him there when I get stuck and feel like giving up. He's a pretty smart kid, or well, teen. He'll be 17 this summer!! It feels like just yesterday we were jumping on his toddler bed, watching Blues Clues together, and playing in the sand box. I guess time flies when you're having fun! HA!<br />
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I DO have the name of the anthology that my short story will be in. It will be called "Voices of Angels" and it's being published by Bridge House Publishing, this summer, late July. The forward will be written by Gloria Hunniford (who is some person from the UK that had a talk show or something). Not going to lie, I'm kinda excited to see my short story, Blue Lipped Angel, in print.<br />
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I also got my first ticket last week. I ran a red light because the person behind me was too close and I couldn't stop in time without them hitting me, so my front tires crossed the white line 0.64 seconds after the light turned red... Sooooo I had a 77.95 dollar fine. Which is NOT cool.<br />
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So, this is just an update on what I'm up to. Not much really. Maybe something exciting will happen soon and give me something fun to post about.<br />
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A. J. SpindleA. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-55546891591296091262011-04-18T15:45:00.002-05:002011-04-22T14:44:41.221-05:00The Girl in the Mirror<div style="font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here is the beginning of my new short story. I haven't finished it yet because I don't know if it's worth finishing. This is only part one, part two is written, but I didn't post it yet. I'm just missing the ending.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">***I've now posted part two! Just scroll down until you find the part where it left off.***</span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The Girl in the Mirror</span></span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 10px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A. J. Spindle</span></span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 9px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 10px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The sound of winter’s first frost under her boots filled the air. Amy pulled the fur lined jacket closer around her neck and slung her backpack over her shoulder. The snow drifted around her, swirling in the wind and landing on the halfway-covered, yellow grass. Looking up to the sky, she held out her tongue and tried to catch a few flakes; her breath coming out in white wisps. She wasn’t watching her footing and her boot snagged a loose root, sending her sprawling across the frozen ground and filling her mouth with snow and dirt.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Ugh!” She spit and rolled over, staring up at the sky. A bird sat watching her, its eyes like two red raspberries. “What are you looking at?” she asked the bird. It flew off without an answer.</span></span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy pushed herself up and leaned against a tree, checking the damage. Her jeans were ripped along the knees and soaked with fresh snow. “That’s just perfect.”</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She stood up and dusted herself off the best she could. Her backpack landed a few feet in front of her, having slid off her shoulder when she fell. She bent down to pick it up when something shiny caught her eye. She left her bag and went over to investigate. Bending down, she reached out and pulled off a layer of vines and roots. Whatever the object was it had been there for a long time, hidden by nature’s hand.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy tugged the item loose and brushed off the remaining dirt on her jeans. It was a mirror, wrapped in a rounded frame and a curvy handle. The metal was rusted and scratched as if the owner had abused it. There was no telling how long the mirror had been in the middle of the woods. She’d taken the path many times before to get to and from school but she’d never noticed it.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The mirror felt cool, even through her gloves. Amy ran her fingers over the back of the frame. Swirling lines were etched deeply into the metal, creating an elegant pattern. She turned the mirror back over, reflective side up, and her stomach dropped to her toes. A young girl resembling Amy stared back.</span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But this girl wasn’t Amy.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She had Amy’s dark brown hair and blue eyes, but the girl in the mirror wasn’t surrounded by trees or wearing a thick coat and toboggan. The girl in the mirror wore a honey colored dress with ruffled white lace around the collar. A single heart shaped pendant dangled from a chain around her neck.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy dropped the mirror and took a step back. She looked over her shoulder, nobody was there. Of course not. Nobody goes into the woods but her; people believed it to be haunted. Amy took a cautious step forward and peered into the mirror. The girl was gone and only Amy’s reflection remained.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy let out the breath she’d been holding. She picked up the mirror and the girl appeared again, raising an eyebrow at Amy.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Ahhh!” Amy threw the mirror and it bounced off a tree, sending shards of glass flying. Everything went dark, as if the sun had been snuffed out like a candle. The shards of mirror began to glow and Amy could hear laughter. She whipped her head around looking for the source of the sound. Something grabbed the back of her jacket and she tried to run but the thing was too strong.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Let me go!” Amy lashed out with her arms but there was nobody behind her. A white mist tugged on her clothing, pulling her closer to the mirror shards where the laughter grew louder, more high pitched. “Help! Someone!”</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The mist circled her and became thick like fog, pulling her down to the ground.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">***</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Breathing hard, Amy opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed through an open window. She was laying on her back on a hardwood floor. A young man stood over her, his face full of concern.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Amelia, are you okay?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She didn’t know what to say. She blinked and looked around. The smell of a sweet perfume filled the air. A marble fireplace sat to her left and to her right was a four poster bed, buried under mounds of blankets and fluffy pillows. Amy looked up at the boy who watched her with interest. His brows threaded together and his mouth set in a frown.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Amelia, are you okay? Can you talk?” He reached a hand down to help her up.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Why are you calling me that?” Amy finally said.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He cocked his head to the side. “Excuse me?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“You said Amelia. Nobody calls me that.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I don’t understand. That’s your name. What am I supposed to call you?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Amy.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He looked over his shoulder. “Your nurse went to fetch help. Can you sit up?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“My nurse?” She couldn’t be in a hospital. At least, she didn’t think she was. She’d never seen such a fancy hospital room before. The walls were oak paneled and there was a dressing curtain at her feet. No, certainly not in a hospital.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I hope she can find the doctor,” the boy said, looking uneasy. Amy tried to sit up. He reached down to help.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Who are you?” Amy asked, letting her eyes follow the features of his face. His dark green eyes led down to his pointed nose, thin lips, and square chin.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“You did take quite a spill, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “I’m Ephraim.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy gave him a blank stare.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Your betrothed,” he clarified.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy burst out laughing. “What? Are you serious?” she said between chuckles.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ephraim cleared his throat and looked down at her. “Quite serious.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Something in his expression made Amy freeze. “Oh.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The door opened and an older woman rushed in. “There she is!” she said, pointing to Amy. A balding man came in behind the woman carrying a black bag by the handle. He wore a thick wool jacket with a white scarf sticking out around his neck. He came over to where she was on the floor and set his bag down beside her.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“What happened, Amelia?” The man reached into his black bag and rummaged around.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“That’s not my name,” she said. The man paused.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“She’s confused, Doctor. She thinks her name is Amy,” Ephraim said.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I’m not confused,” she said. “And my name </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">is</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Amy. Amy Thatcher.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The doctor nodded his head. “I see.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“No, you don’t see. I was in the woods coming home from school when I found this mirror. There was a girl in the mirror, but she wasn’t me. She was dressed in what looked like an 18</span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 8px/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> century gown. She wore a long necklace with a heart on it.” Amy put her hands around her neck, as if to show what she meant, but her fingers found a warm metal chain there. She looked down and screamed.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“It’s on me!” she yelled. The honey colored dress and heart necklace had somehow made their way onto her body.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The doctor turned to the woman who Amy assumed was the nurse. “Help me get her in bed.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Why am I in this dress? What’s going on? Who are you people?” Amy thrashed on the floor trying to get the doctor and nurse’s hands off her. Her foot kicked something sharp, making her suck in a breath.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Ow!” she looked down at her foot. A shard of glass stuck out of her heel at an odd angle. Amy pounded the floor with her fists and tears welled up in her eyes.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The doctor grabbed her foot so she couldn’t move it and spoke over his shoulder. “Ephraim, get warm water, towels, and a glass of wine for Amelia. Hurry.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ephraim ran from the room, not bothering to shut the door on his way out.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy sucked in a breath trying to ignore the jarring pain in her foot. “You people are crazy! I want to go home!”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“You are home, child,” the nurse said. “Don’t you recognize your own bedroom?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Hold still, Amelia. I have to remove this bit of mirror,” the doctor said.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy froze. “Mirror? Let me see it!” she demanded, pulling her foot away from him. She bent over and saw her reflection in the glass; her face on the mirror girl’s body. She looked up and saw bits of mirror scattered across the floor. The metal frame sat a few inches away from her. She snatched it up and turned it over in her hand.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Be careful, you could get cut again,” the nurse said, but Amy ignored her.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“This is the mirror I found in the woods, but it’s not scratched or rusted.” Except for the splintered glass, the mirror looked brand new.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ephraim came back with the supplies the doctor requested. He held out a glass. “Drink this, Ameli-- I mean, Amy,” he corrected.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The use of her real name threw her off. She reached out and took the glass of dark red liquid; peering inside, she sniffed. “Thanks.” She took an experimental sip. The liquid burned her throat and nose, making her cough. “I don’t think I like it,” she said, handing the cup back to Ephraim.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“You need to drink it. You’re not going to want to feel this,” the doctor said, taking her injured foot again. He took a white towel and dipped it in warm water. “Hold still.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy bit her lip and whimpered as the doctor took hold of the shard of mirror and tugged. The blood left her face, leaving a light tingly felling. She laid back on the floor.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I think I need that wine now,” she murmured, eyes squeezed shut.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ephraim leaned down and held the cup to her lips. “Is she okay?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The doctor grunted. “She’s having glass removed from her foot, son. What do you think?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The doctor removed the glass and wrapped her foot in a cool cloth. The pain began to ease a little as her head grew fuzzy.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“There, that should hold. Let’s get her to bed. Ephraim, you need to leave so she can change into her bed clothes.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“No, I want him here.” Amy handed the nurse her wine glass that she’d drained.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The woman gasped. “Amelia, you’re not in your right mind.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I want him here!” Amy didn’t know why, but she felt that Ephraim might actually believe her. He’d called her Amy, after all.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The doctor looked uneasy but shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever keeps her calm I suppose.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The nurse clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “The boy better keep his peepers shut if he ever wants to see </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">anything</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> again.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I think I should wait in the hall,” Ephraim said, glancing at the nurses pursed lips. “I’ll be right back.” He walked out to the hall and shut the door.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“You too, Doctor,” the nurse said.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I suppose I’m not needed here. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and stays in bed for the rest of the day,” he said on his way out of the room.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“She will.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After Amy was dressed and tucked safely in bed, Ephraim was allowed back in, so long as she kept the covers pulled up to her chin.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Could you give us some privacy?” Amy asked the nurse.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The old woman’s eyes grew big. “Privacy? Have you lost all sense of modesty, young lady?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I need to speak with him. In private. I guess I could get out of bed, but the doctor wanted me to rest and--”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Oh, all right. I’ll go sit over there. Drink some more wine,” she said, handing the refilled glass to Amy. She smiled and took a sip, hoping to please the nurse. It seemed to work and the nurse grudgingly walked away, taking a seat by the window.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I need you to do something for me,” Amy said in a low voice as Ephraim pulled a chair over to the bed and sat.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Anything.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I need all the pieces to the broken mirror.” She glanced up at the nurse who was watching like a hawk. Amy took another sip of wine and yawned.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Why would you want that for?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I just do, okay,” Amy pleaded with her eyes for him to understand the urgency behind her words, but he didn’t.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“You need to rest for now.” He stood up from his chair.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“No, I can’t! Not without the mirror.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ephraim sighed and then chuckled, a light airy laugh. “Do you want your nurse to murder me? I wouldn’t put it past her.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Please?” Amy felt tired; her head thick from the wine. It didn’t help that the heavy blankets pressed down on her like a butterfly in a cocoon.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“You sleep and I’ll see what I can do.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Amy had no strength to argue so she nodded and rolled over to sleep.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">***</span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-53501312640132133272011-04-09T18:31:00.001-05:002011-04-12T12:32:42.662-05:00Almost My Birthday!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4Mc3xQkcd8eIDXi_GUj4vhCeTbxuc3jMyjkBGbBPG3NKkVeg6Xe23Xvz9wRY40AHQ0pzvBQYoKjClORrXjbbLQdNJjdC-1HfYYa4TUVS8QZB2yZWMT1OlkH_sWm_aL8H8EMjC9sPXg/s1600/fa30118a66734ce7f27112b307936be1_14835882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4Mc3xQkcd8eIDXi_GUj4vhCeTbxuc3jMyjkBGbBPG3NKkVeg6Xe23Xvz9wRY40AHQ0pzvBQYoKjClORrXjbbLQdNJjdC-1HfYYa4TUVS8QZB2yZWMT1OlkH_sWm_aL8H8EMjC9sPXg/s320/fa30118a66734ce7f27112b307936be1_14835882.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Three more days until I turn twenty-years-old! That's just crazy to think I was born two decades ago on April 12, 1991 at 12:16 pm. I certainly don't feel twenty yet. I feel like a kid. I think it's harder for my parents to believe I won't be a teenager anymore. Well, I'm glad I survived my teen years, not that they were hard or anything. Hopefully my twenties will be more exciting. Maybe I'll finally sell my book and people will stop asking if I'm in 8th grade.<br />
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So for my birthday I will be going to the zoo because I have a school project that day, funny how that worked out :)<br />
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So now that I'm going to be an official adult and all, I guess I'll have to be more serious... or not. I'm fine with being goofy and crazy until the day I die, haha!<br />
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I haven't blogged in a while and I appologize for that. Not that many people read my blog, but there are a few of you out there. School has kept me very busy. I'm looking for a new university to go to and trying to find a second job. Did you know college was expensive? Who would have thought, haha!<br />
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That's all for now,<br />
A. J. SpindleA. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-70170993286460774982011-02-26T05:22:00.001-06:002011-02-26T05:22:10.285-06:00Please excuse the broken links. This blog is under construction!A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-30017378361646314052011-02-20T10:38:00.007-06:002011-02-24T11:06:06.308-06:00New Short<div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> snippet of my new short story. I could turn it into a book, but I've set it aside for now. Enjoy. (note: this has not been edited and errors are sure to be present).</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There was a knock at the door. I muted the television and set my popcorn down on the table. When I opened the door, I’m sure my jaw dropped, but I don’t really remember. All I know is that when my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun, I saw my mother standing in the doorway, smiling like she’d never left. Like her presence now could somehow make up for the past nine years.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Mom,” I said as curtly as I could, “you’re not supposed to be here until tonight.” I leaned against the open door, blocking the entrance with my body.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Brianna, darling, I’ve missed you,” Cynthia said. Dad said I wasn’t allowed to call her Cynthia to her face, but that didn’t stop me from thinking it.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“It’s Bree now, actually,” I said, “but you wouldn’t know that.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Oh, I’m sorry, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Bree</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.” She smiled like she’d told a joke. That just put more fuel on the fire. “Can I come in?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not after what you’ve put this family through, no. Do you think you can just waltz back into our lives like you never left?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> “Sure,” I said. I didn’t want her in the house. I didn’t want her to poison it like she did the last one. I wouldn’t forget what she did to me when she left me crying in my bedroom floor when I was seven. I moved aside, just enough for her to slide past me into the living room.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“This is nice,” she said.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I didn’t say anything back. Instead I plopped back onto the couch and turned up the volume on the television.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Where’s your father?” Cynthia asked.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Dunno.” I stared blankly at the screen like a zombie, thinking maybe if I tried hard enough, she’d go away.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Where’s your brother?” she asked after an uncomfortable minute of silence.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Which one?” I tossed a popcorn kernel in the air and caught it in my mouth.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She was quiet for a second as she thought that over. “Brayden, of course,” she finally said.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“What? Didn’t you know I had two bothers now?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Your father neglected to mention it,” she said. That pleased me. If Dad was keeping her out of the loop, she might not even know he’s married again.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Did he tell you about Mom?” I don’t ever call my stepmother “Mom” but I did it just to see her reaction. She didn’t even blink which disappointed me.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Yes, I’ve heard about Kristen. Is she...” she searched for words, “nice?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“She’s the greatest. We do everything together.” That was a lie too. Kristen and I get a long just fine, but we don’t hang out. Not the way my real mother and I used to.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I see,” she said.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I cocked my head to the side and looked her in the eyes. “Is there something you </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">wanted</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Her eyebrows knitted together. “Brianna Fletcher, do not talk to your mother that way.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I lost it.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Who do you think you are? You just show up on our doorstep like some stray cat and expect us to invite you in? You left us. You left </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">me</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.” My voice broke on the last word and I kicked myself internally. “You are </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">no</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> mother of mine.” I stared back at the TV like nothing had happened.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Cynthia stood from the couch. “I see your father’s temper has rubbed off on you,” she muttered.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Better than yours.”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Maybe I’ll come back when he gets home, then, hmm?”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Does it look like I care what you do?” I snapped. She stood by the door for a minute with her fingers around on the handle, like she couldn’t decide what to do.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“I guess--”</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Cynthia?” Dad’s voice wafted in from the kitchen. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Oh, great.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-7237325669212952142011-01-21T15:20:00.000-06:002011-01-21T15:20:43.703-06:00Printing the Manuscript<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVt_xfAWR160lA2ibHM_R6M5WDMeEtDTK9vff604JKGThAywQ9i6MapvmhPV7iZa5-lBIE7QHO5qjH4HG5B9D6aq-9TOkWky8y1bpERg9dcSZl5Rt8-zS5E0wlf0mJ8cJOrW-jWNC0tw/s1600/165171_491367559481_778684481_5932287_1711666_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVt_xfAWR160lA2ibHM_R6M5WDMeEtDTK9vff604JKGThAywQ9i6MapvmhPV7iZa5-lBIE7QHO5qjH4HG5B9D6aq-9TOkWky8y1bpERg9dcSZl5Rt8-zS5E0wlf0mJ8cJOrW-jWNC0tw/s320/165171_491367559481_778684481_5932287_1711666_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
What am I holding in this picture, you ask? Oh, nothing too important... It's just my MANUSCRIPT!! I sent my book, Bennett Nelson and the Maker of the Stones, to Staples to have them print and bind it. It looks so official and book-like! I'm so excited, if you couldn't tell by that smile on my face. :)<br />
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Anyway, I'm looking through it now and I'm smiling to myself thinking, how did I even come up with that? There are a few small typos, as was expected. For instance I put the word "Breathe" instead of "Breath" but that's okay. This book is for my eyes only, and maybe my parents.<br />
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Now I've got to find some more literary agents to send this too. Hopefully someone will want to take a look at it and maybe even represent it!<br />
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Squeal! I'm just so happy with how official it looks!<br />
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That's all for now,<br />
A. J. SpindleA. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-6223792686104714152010-12-31T13:13:00.001-06:002010-12-31T13:14:19.640-06:00New Year!! Woohoo!Haven't blogged in forever, I'M SORRY! I've been so busy with school, then the holidays, and now we have family over to spend the week with us.<br />
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Anyway, I thought I'd share some news with you. Some of you already know, but I met my goal for 2010. I wanted to be a published writer and it happened. I signed my contract on December 16, 2010. My goal was to sign a contract by December 31, 2010. Mission accomplished!<br />
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I'm pretty happy. No, it's not a book deal, but my short story will be published in an anthology. I'm pretty excited. It's just the first step :)<br />
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A lot of people ask me about writing so I made a video to answer some of their questions:<br />
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HAPPY NEW YEAR!A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-22733364145775170952010-10-30T15:44:00.001-05:002010-10-30T15:46:28.336-05:00I think I'm addicted to keeping fish. I now have three fish tanks in my game room. One 2.5 gallon with a male betta fish. One 15 gallon with 1 silver dollar, 3 mickey mouse platies, and 1 peppered cory catfish. And in the third tank, a 55 gallon, I have 1 common pleco, 1 rubbernose pleco, 7 golden tetras, and 6 tiger barbs.<br />
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I don't know why fish keeping is so much fun. I love to rearrange the tank and add new plants. The fish are active and darting around the tank, chasing each other and it's fun to watch! Recently, my friend L. J. Boldyrev has joined the fish loving club. Her 10 gallon is beautifully decorated and full of pretty neon tetras, glass fish, a frog, snail, and a featherfin catfish. Daily we discuss our fishies and how happy they make us.<br />
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Recently, my bunny rabbit, Lola, passed away from flystrike. She died a horrible death and I was really sad. But these new fish have helped distract me from thinking of her. She was a great bunny. Always the calmest, gentlest, and most loving of all my rabbits. She never once growled at me, or thumped, or tried to bite or claw me. She just sat there and let me pet her and brush her fur. She was always happy and loved to move the hay around in her cage and build a nest for winter. She was very special. I adopted her when she was 1 year old. I had her for 3 short years. Her cage may be empty, but she left my heart full of joy. I buried her in the back yard under a peach tree and decorated her grave with pretty rocks.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbKtLxbPNhc4kGOLarFIVEhIvYb25yrYPVhsST2hrDP6jc-A0qei-aKAWp2cV8IEozqwBl3laXPISgPryfqcKX0gFMKL9BdEwIVkPjoTRae9egVBnbg29I1sUt9VtlO53vhTWvWs5MA/s1600/random139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbKtLxbPNhc4kGOLarFIVEhIvYb25yrYPVhsST2hrDP6jc-A0qei-aKAWp2cV8IEozqwBl3laXPISgPryfqcKX0gFMKL9BdEwIVkPjoTRae9egVBnbg29I1sUt9VtlO53vhTWvWs5MA/s640/random139.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><blockquote>It’s been a week since you left </blockquote><blockquote>And here I sit alone, </blockquote><blockquote>Collecting your pictures. </blockquote><blockquote>Thinking if only </blockquote><blockquote>I would have known </blockquote><blockquote>That that day was your last. </blockquote><blockquote>I’d have given you a hug,</blockquote><blockquote>Maybe kissed your nose,</blockquote><blockquote>Tickled your ears,</blockquote><blockquote>Or played with your toes.</blockquote><blockquote>I miss your eyes,</blockquote><blockquote>They way you lit up a room.</blockquote><blockquote>I miss the way you</blockquote><blockquote>Would try to groom</blockquote><blockquote>My arm with your tongue.</blockquote><blockquote>I wish you were still here,</blockquote><blockquote>You were so young.</blockquote><blockquote>Now you’re gone and all I have</blockquote><blockquote>Are memories to which I’ve clung</blockquote><blockquote>To, to get me through this time.</blockquote><blockquote>You had me wrapped</blockquote><blockquote>Around your paw,</blockquote><blockquote>And I was trapped in your love.</blockquote><blockquote>I will never forget you</blockquote><blockquote>As you watch from above.</blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPWKbznR-EiSh1YdUuR1taZ7d7zo5gCTZ0CcOKnWxsNK7aohZZil_Xs-5LzSKuiWzYniAzs_3SAcaSyY_GTK_T6B2OSLcp0l08eZJtcSJHgy4Ko75A7tD-Bwceo-UOcmIyuQxKU575w/s1600/random144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPWKbznR-EiSh1YdUuR1taZ7d7zo5gCTZ0CcOKnWxsNK7aohZZil_Xs-5LzSKuiWzYniAzs_3SAcaSyY_GTK_T6B2OSLcp0l08eZJtcSJHgy4Ko75A7tD-Bwceo-UOcmIyuQxKU575w/s400/random144.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
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</div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-88587492985140403452010-10-14T13:03:00.004-05:002010-10-14T13:05:33.436-05:00Greed Only Leads to Corruption<div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A common problem in today’s society is greed. People always want more than they have and it’s a never ending desire. Americans in particular can’t be truly happy until they have the latest gadget or newest clothes. Scanning the news articles, one can see how greed can corrupt people, ruin relationships, and even lead to murder. Greed is an intense and selfish desire. It will exist for as long as the Earth continues on. Those who succumb to greed find themselves in a worse situation than had they hesitated to act upon their desires.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">One news article from today addresses the trapped miners in Chile and their relatives. While the miners are trapped underground, trying to stay alive and keep a level head, their relatives are above ground arguing about how much money one family receives from the government while another receives less. An article from Yahoo News sheds light on distant family members who are trying to ride on the miners fame, “There are those who, despite only distant blood ties to miners, lined up for donated gifts including bottles of wine and electronic toys and Halloween costumes for children.” Greed stands in the way of what is really important: the safety of the trapped miners. These people don’t care about these men who they barely know. Their greed urges them to take advantage of the situation, and that is just wrong.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">An excellent example from the Ancient World unit is in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Medea,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> by Euripides. Jason, Medea’s husband, takes a new bride without asking or saying anything to Medea. She feels betrayed and angry with him. Her anguish is so great, her nurse fears she will snap and hurt herself. Medea had always been faithful to Jason, turning her back on her homeland to follow him and be his bride, and he repays her with this slap to the face. Jason claims that his marriage to this young princess will ensure that Medea and her two sons will be taken care of for the rest of their life, but Medea knows that he is selfish and takes what he wants. His greed gets in the way and in the end, he loses his new bride and his only two children by Medea’s doing. Jason says it’s “only naturally a woman is angry when her husband marries a second wife.” (Euripides, 865). He does not regret his decision, but expects Medea to except it because women cannot divorce their husbands, it was far to shameful. So instead, Medea ruins his life by taking all that he loves.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In the book of Genesis of the Old Testament, a man named Cain is envious of his brother, Abel. One day, while out in the field, Cain gets fed up with his perfect brother and kills him. When questioned by God as to where Abel is, Cain answers “I know not; Am I my brothers keeper?” (Moses, 72). Cain wanted God’s attention and love. When he saw that Abel was God’s favorite, he acted without thinking. After the slaying, Cain was punished more than he could bare. No crops grew for him anymore. Embarrassed by his actions, he went into hiding from the Lord, saying “...I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth” (Moses, 72). Had he been able to control his greed for attention, he could have been blessed by God and got along with his brother. Greed corrupted him and sentenced him to exile.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In the end, those who give in to their temptations and act on their desires of greed will most likely cause more problems than they can handle. If everyone could learn from the mistakes and flaws of characters in literature, there would be less impulsive people; people who think before they act. Imagine the murders that happened because of greed. What if that one person lived and they found the cure for cancer. Is it really necessary to own the fastest car, fancy clothes, and the newest iPod? Imagine a world where everyone put others before themselves. How would that impact daily life for those who are less fortunate and don’t even have a place to call home? Greed, of course, cannot be completely snuffed out because it is part of human nature, a fatal flaw, but if everyone gave instead of took, they hold the potential to change the world.</span></span></div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-6256516689514092162010-08-27T14:13:00.000-05:002010-08-27T14:13:34.289-05:00School So school starts Monday and no, I'm not prepared. I thought I was, but I'm really not ready for all that homework! I only have 2 days of summer left and I don't know what to do with them. I just got <i>Mockingjay</i> in the mail today by Suzanne Collins! One of these days I'll have a giveaway on my blog. I only have 8 followers and nobody reads this except for Lacey, because she's awesome :)<br />
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Soooooooo, I had to break down and buy a stupid book for school since it never came in the mail. So I had to pay 70 bucks instead of the 36 I paid the first time. College is annoying. The book I got was so beat up anyway, you'd think it went through a shredder! Definitely NOT worth 70 dollars!<br />
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I was playing around on photoshop the other day and came up with this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOyWhR3Ar_CZTGXzxeUrQzoEhIBqOcYHoi2_CEgbN2LW6XarMihyphenhyphenpm4Wok_OYA6GO9LPOndbhIN2Xcl3W7Qcvaei91TswJLqVj14MmYR_M7hTrzY3hc6kujYZCqoPHJnFuG34ezd81Dw/s1600/BennettBackCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOyWhR3Ar_CZTGXzxeUrQzoEhIBqOcYHoi2_CEgbN2LW6XarMihyphenhyphenpm4Wok_OYA6GO9LPOndbhIN2Xcl3W7Qcvaei91TswJLqVj14MmYR_M7hTrzY3hc6kujYZCqoPHJnFuG34ezd81Dw/s400/BennettBackCover.jpg" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> I made it out of boredom. This is what I think the back of my book should look like. It has a few typos, because I couldn't see what I was typing, but over all I think it's cool. I have an idea of what I want the front to look like, but I have no idea how to make it with photoshop.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>I guess I should go get all my textbooks packed up for the first day of school now. Yay.... not.A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-66771493234846820742010-08-23T12:51:00.003-05:002011-04-02T15:51:34.625-05:00Publishing and Stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"> So this is what I looked like this morning when I got a certain email from a certain publisher. No, they did not offer me a book deal, but what they said made me just as happy. What could make me this happy at 9 o'clock on a Monday morning, you ask? The answer is below this picture of a very happy cat.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjy7R1ieaZSPSc1DP0oE3PUzsWPzukk6lLGznnI7xpSWbmZ0mSbj7azvKqMWG0erCtuaawjriYvf7d11hyXtaFs4OYE8vKF_O1oleQ4zhf-sobEuH6P1kU2Qi4_jo_ouxoREMxnnBk7A/s400/super_happy_cat.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjy7R1ieaZSPSc1DP0oE3PUzsWPzukk6lLGznnI7xpSWbmZ0mSbj7azvKqMWG0erCtuaawjriYvf7d11hyXtaFs4OYE8vKF_O1oleQ4zhf-sobEuH6P1kU2Qi4_jo_ouxoREMxnnBk7A/s1600/super_happy_cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"> The email basically said that they (the publisher) would have an answer for me this week, regarding my manuscript (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Bennett Nelson and the Maker of the Stones</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">). Then on Twitter, they posted that they had "three fabulous manuscripts in front of them" and mine is one of those "fabulous" manuscripts!! Even if they reject me after this, I've had a major confidence boost. The fact that they've called it "fabulous" is enough to make me do a little happy dance! *runs around the room, frolicking like a fairy*</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"> So now comes the hard part... the waiting. I've already started writing book two, haha! I'm still plotting/planning it out and even thinking of a third book. I know, crazy right. Just three years ago, I was a 16 year old girl with a pen, a blank notebook, and a crazy imagination. It's hard to believe that </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Bennett</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"> will actually be out in the world one day. People will read his story and they'll know I wrote it. That's just... wow. No words for how I feel about that. Actually, there is one: nervous. I'm afraid that people will hate it. I know </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Bennett</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"> is not for everyone, but it still makes me nervous. What if EVERYONE hates it? But I won't worry about that right now. I'll just focus on the positive, like a publisher calling my work "fabulous."</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"> All right. Back to writing. School starts one week from today. One week to write my little heart out. This should be an interesting week for me. I'm entered in a contest with my query for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">Bennett</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"> and I'll be getting feedback on that on Thursday. Mockingjay comes out tomorrow and I've already ordered my copy. I'm waiting for a few books in the mail that should be here this week. Wow, crazy times.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">That's all I have time for for now.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #bf9000;">A. J. Spindle</span></span></div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-13837440782560727622010-07-24T12:47:00.013-05:002010-07-24T13:05:33.402-05:00Writing and School<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I started working on Bennett Nelson, book two, yesterday. My goal (though I don't think I can manage it) is to write 1,000 words a day until school starts on August 30, 2010.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Well, today is day two and the word count is roughly over 2k.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I updated all of my word counts on my facebook today:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Current Word Count for my books (titles not set in stone)<br /><br />Bennett Nelson (50,926)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Bleeding Royal (63,381)<br />Alice Reid (19,193)<br />Bennett Nelson Two (2,133)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Those numbers make me happy :)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Hmmmm.... I haven't blogged about my kitten yet, or have I?</span></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8BELmnrqMhx7p6Nv4gcLx3AyRWYoSjySgrM8UD27Qrf72Kq3Jd7WPDYG-FT2MAKVBWORUDf0piiWeD6bkWrR3xiNhK9ry3Kzg0OxYvZJnob2fZcf4vRY2nU48vniW28rmCoRESX9vQ/s320/36461_403727224481_778684481_4316649_6402085_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497534659725686930" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I can't remember. Anyway, this is my kitten/cat, Charlie. She's so cute. I love her so much, even if she attacks me when I walk outside. She loves to chew on my ankles and arms, which hurts. I'm sure she's a vampire in disguise, because the other day, she bit me and made me bleed and had blood all over her mouth...</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Gross, I know.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I just finished my online summer one class, Forms of Literature. I signed up for my new classes back in June. My schedule will look like this:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PE- M&W- 12:30 pm-1:50 pm</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">World Literature- T&TH- 8:00 am- 9:20 am</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Math- T&TH- 9:30 am- 10:50 am</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Creative Writing- Distance Learning (DL)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">History II- DL</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Art- DL</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">That's 16 hours. It was supposed to be 18 hours, but I couldn't take that many without a note from my counselor. I'll be taking two english classes again. Fun. Fun. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Fun</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This will be my 4th semester of college. After this fall, I'll have one semester left before graduation. Then I can transfer to a university and pursue an english degree.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I better get back to writing if I want to keep my goal.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">TTYL,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A. J. Spindle</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-27625798559076660682010-07-20T12:38:00.013-05:002010-07-22T15:16:09.528-05:00Showing, Not Telling; Easier Than You Think<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I received an email yesterday after querying to Wyvern Publications in the UK. This is a short version of what it said:</span></span></div><div><div></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">"Thank you for your submission to Pixiefoot Press. We loved your story but I felt it needed a little more description and feeling from Bennett. It has a good fantasy feel that we believe is just right for the 12+ market and if you were to edit it and resubmit we'd be very eager to read it again.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">From reading the first three chapters, your pacing of events and characters are spot on and the only thing that needs brushing up is the overall narration. This sounds like something massive, but it needn't be at all. There is a lot of passive action; 'telling' instead of 'showing' and if you were to really get inside Bennett's head and let us see and feel what he does, it could bring the story to life.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Please remember that this is just one opinion and another publisher might snap your book up right away. Also, if you rework your book and find that our doors to submissions has shut, please send your work to us anyway as it does have much potential."</span></span></div></blockquote></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">So if you're a writer, I'm sure you've heard about "showing" and not "telling" what's happening, am I right? Well it doesn't have to be that hard. If fact, it can be kind of fun. Yes, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">fun</span></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">;</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> as in "enjoyment, amusement, or lighthearted pleasure." NO, I'm not brainwashed, I'm simply on a writing high. *grins*</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">As I go over my WIP#1, which is a middle grade novel, I find sentences such as:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">"Bennett had thousands of questions racing through his mind."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">And I change it into something like this:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">"Bennett felt like there was a horse derby inside his head. Questions racing around the track of his mind, competing for attention, but his body had been through so much that it demanded rest from him."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Another example is when I said:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">"The trip was always a long and boring one."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">And I changed it to this:</span></span></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Bennett stared out the window, hoping to find something interesting on the side of the road. Anything to relieve his boredom.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Make sure you behave for your father,” his mother said after a long silence. “And remember to brush your hair and teeth.”</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled back. Bennett spotted a chicken on the side of the road. For a second he thought it would try to cross in front of their car, but it didn’t. Bennett’s mother snapped and he looked away from the window.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Are you listening?”</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Yes,” he said and then looked back out the glass; the chicken was gone. Now he’ll never know the age old question of why the chicken crossed the road.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“Your father will meet you when you get off the boat so look out for him and don’t stray too far from the dock.”</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">“I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">This is only my third trip</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">, he thought, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">and it’s always the same</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">. His mom would take him to the dock and make a big deal about her little baby going away without her. Then she would finally let him leave after a two minute ‘death hold’ hug.</span></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">The two hour ride seemed a little longer this time without the radio. It had been broken for about a month. Bennett twiddled his thumbs and stared out the window, trying to pass the time.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Instead of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">saying </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">flat out that the trip was boring, I showed Bennett being bored.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">So it's little things like showing and not telling that make the book come alive. When I write, I just write without over thinking it. Then I come back later and edit, move stuff around, rephrase, all that fun stuff.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Now I've got to get back to work.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">That's all for now,</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">A. J. Spindle</span></span></p></div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-15029331197012167532010-06-19T20:24:00.004-05:002010-06-19T20:28:59.082-05:0060k Words!!I updated my website today and worked on Bleeding Royal (what was previously called Vampire Prince). I also did a ton of homework, including two essays. I'm on a writing-high, lol. I just made that up. :)<div><br /></div><div>I'm am absolutely thrilled to announce that I have hit the 60,000 word mark. This is the longest book I've written so far and I am ecstatic to say the least! I have been jumping all over the house today. I feel like a real writer. Like I actually have the chance to get this published. I sent out my first query the other day for BR (Bleeding Royal) and I haven't heard back, which may be a good thing, haha! I just wrote a twist in the plot and I'm adding it in now. I'm so excited I can hardly sit still for more than five minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Check out all my hard work I put into my site today, it's completely new!</div><div><a href="http://www.ajspindle.com">www.ajspindle.com</a></div><div><br /></div><div>If anyone actually comments on this, I will love them forever!</div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-19271208949698183712010-04-26T13:25:00.002-05:002010-04-26T13:27:09.774-05:00Help!<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I can't decide which way to write this book. I need your opinion. Which of these two samples sounds better?</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">People are standing all around me. Mr. and Mrs. Cole, Mr. Stark, Jackson, Dad, a few friends, but not Dan.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“Where’s Dan?” I ask. “Where’d he go?”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">They all look at me but don’t say a word.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“Where is he? He was just here!” I don’t have the patience for silence. I want Dan. I want to know where he went.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“No, Al. He wasn’t. Dan’s...” Jackson looks at me strangely.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“Dan’s what?”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“Dan died. Remember? We went to his funeral earlier today,” he says.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“No, he didn’t really die! He was here! I saw him!”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Mrs. Cole breaks down into tears and then I remember. The funeral. The pew. The bike. The </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">accident</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It feels like my lungs have collapsed and I can’t breathe. It’s like losing him all over again.</span></span></p><p></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Or this one...</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">People were standing all around me. Mr. and Mrs. Cole, Mr. Stark, Jackson, Dad, a few friends, but not Dan.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“Where’s Dan?” I asked. “Where’d he go?”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">They all looked at me but didn’t say a word.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“Where is he? He was just here!” I didn’t have the patience for silence. I wanted Dan. I wanted to know where he went.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“No, Al. He wasn’t. Dan’s...” Jackson looked at me strangely.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“Dan’s what?”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“Dan died. Remember? We went to his funeral earlier today,” he said.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“No, he didn’t really die! He was here! I saw him!”</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Mrs. Cole broke out into tears and then I remembered. The funeral. The pew. The bike. The </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">accident</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It felt like my lungs collapsed and I couldn’t breathe. It was like losing him all over again.</span></span></p>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-42095032493890726352010-04-19T14:52:00.004-05:002010-04-19T14:59:59.092-05:00Song<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I had my character sing a song. Therefore, I had to actually write the song. This is what I came up with.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Liam closed his eyes, plucking at the strings. His face twist into a look of pure concentration, like he forgot I was even in the room and it was just him and the music. Then he opened his mouth to sing. Notes fluctuated in the air and swelled around the room, filling every corner with the sweet sound.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“You are my love</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My heart belongs to thee</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Death shall not part us</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Our bond will always be</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Call on me, I’ll be there</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I promise to never leave</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">You know this, I swear"</span></span></p> <p></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Thoughts??</span></p></div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-3398849755565707722010-04-06T13:45:00.002-05:002010-04-06T13:49:01.878-05:00BoringMy wrist hurts. That means it's going to rain sometime soon. It's done that since I broke it when I was 8.<div><br /></div><div>ANYWAY...</div><div><br /></div><div>My 19th birthday is in 6 days! (April 12th) I asked for a billion books. Hopefully I'll get a few of 'em.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hit the 55k mark on my WIP #2 :D</div><div><br /></div><div>Um.... nothing else interesting has happened lately. This is a lame blog. I'm sorry if your reading this. Maybe I'll blog again if something fun happens.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until then,</div><div>A. J. Spindle</div>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3059203972829801120.post-31904748507909742312010-03-20T16:08:00.008-05:002010-03-20T16:26:45.608-05:00I've hit 50k words!<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 21px; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:15px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: justify; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">To celebrate reaching 50k words, I've uploaded another snippet for you. This is from the beginning of the book.</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: justify; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: justify; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: justify; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; "></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“I really have to be going now. My friends are waiting for me out in the front,” I don’t know why I didn’t trust her, something about her was unnerving. Was she the Moldovia? She was beautiful like Nicholai. What were my chances of screaming? Could he hear me if I tried. Of course he could, he has vamp hearing.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“Come with me,” she said more stern, she knew I was on to her. A weapon… I needed a weapon. What could be used as a weapon in a bathroom? The only thing close to me was a roll of toilet paper. It’s not like I could wrap her up in it like a mummy and expect that to hold her. No, I needed to think. Adrenaline was swiftly escaping into my veins and she saw the panicky look on my face.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“Are you going to come quietly?” A wicked smile surfaced on her face. I had to scream, Nicholai wouldn’t let them take me, not without a fight. I drew in a long quick breath, readying myself for the shriek, but the woman guessed my next move and stopped me. She wrapped herself around me covering my mouth with her hand. I tried to scream but it was muffled.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“Oh, we don’t need your little boyfriend to interrupt us. See, if your </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">dead</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> than he doesn’t have to keep watching over you. We’re doing him a favor,” she chuckled. I panicked. I struggled to get free but she was so physically powerful that I couldn’t. I opened my mouth under her hand and grabbed what small amount of flesh I could between my teeth. I bit down as hard as I could until I tasted blood. She shrieked in pain.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“Why you little maggot!” She released me, just the reaction I was hoping for. I took this opportunity to burst through the exit out into the store. Nicholai was standing with Chloe at the counter, paying for their goodies.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“Help!” I cried, throwing my hands in the air. I was running full speed toward Nicholai. He grabbed Chloe and thrust her behind his body for protection. I was almost to him when the woman grabbed my left arm.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“Let her go, Mandy,” he roared. His fiery eyes revealed his hatred. He looked very cold and enraged. He looked Malicious.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“Now why would I do that?” she sang, smiling viciously. It happened so fast the memory is just a blur to me. Nicholai had lunged at her throat. She jumped back just in time, releasing me. Mandy held out her hands like lethal claws and began slashing about the room missing Nicholai by inches every time. A big man walked in and sat staring at us. I tried to warn him with my eyes, tried to tell him to get out of here. Then he walked over and stood by Chloe and grabbed her arm, he was one of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">them</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. At this point I wasn’t thinking. My adrenaline was fueling my actions.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px Times New Roman"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I dashed across the small open space to the man and kicked him in the shin. He let go of Chloe and grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me out the door. I looked at Chloe, her face full of tears and horror. Then I saw Nicholai behind her, crumpled on the floor, his right shoulder bleeding freely. This was it, I thought. There taking me away to kill me. The large man took me outside and threw me into a windowless van tying my hands together behind my back.</span></span></p><p></p><p></p><p></p></span>A. J. Spindlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08963966269707893895noreply@blogger.com1