Young Adult Novel - Zamoria - Written at Last

New Young Adult Novel!

I recently completed my first Young Adult Novel--Zamoria. This novel has a fantasy element as well as a traditional school-kid element. But my main character is anything but ordinary. Currently the book is unpublished but I'll be working on bringing it to you as soon as possible. In the meantime, here's a description of what you can look forward to in the book:

Is her mother really a cat? That’s one theory on the disappearance of Queen Zamoria, though how she became that way is anyone’s guess. Zamoria (the princess, not the queen or the country) doesn’t know if her mother lives or not, but one thing is certain—her stepmother, the usurper Costanzia, must go.

 That’s what snarky 12-year-old Zoë Jansen, the writer of this fantastic tale, would also like in her own life—for bossy Connie, her dad’s new wife, to be gone. It will take a fight on the basketball court, a painting of a flying horse, and an injury in a stable before she uncovers the answers she’s looking for about her own mother and stepmother. Although she’s most definitely NOT a cat, her mother’s whereabouts are unknown. Why hasn’t she visited Zoë these past three years? While the truth isn’t nearly as strange as being transformed into a feline, it’s almost as unexpected.

 Zoë wields her colored pencils in an endless quest to explore life’s mysteries through her fantasy creations. She uses every spare minute of her time and skills to craft a world as imaginative as she is through her stories. It is her alter-ego, Princess Zamoria, who discovers the strange connection between herself, a silver-feathered flying horse, and two stars circling one another in the early morning sky. And it is Zamoria who learns mystical truths in the tales about the Bundlebird people and goat-herding dwarfs told by a wise old peddler. And it will be Zamoria who unlocks a secret gate into her past that will determine the future for herself and her people.

 But Zoë can’t escape reality forever. Like her character Zamoria, she begins an unforeseen adventure that will place her squarely in charge of her own amazing destiny.

 

 

Wiggleton Books Available for Free Borrowing

Hello friends,

Just wanted to let you know that you can now borrow for free both WIGGLETON'S COURAGEOUS ADVENTURE and the sequel, WIGGLETON'S WRONG WAY HOME, on Amazon's Kindle Select. I've also reduced the price of the first book to 99 cents for the e-book edition. Hope you enjoy!

End of the school year

What's really cool about the end of the school year is more than just the absence of going to formal school. It's kind of like the end of the calendar year (you know, December 31) when you take a moment and look back at what the year was like and try to figure out what you'd like to change or accomplish in the year to come.

If you're a child in school the summer break gives you a chance to think and play freely again. It's a wonderful time to take up creative activities--maybe chalk drawing, or perhaps painting or even putting together a scrapbook of school memories. Don't waste it watching stuff on TV or just playing video games.

If you're an adult who is privileged to have some weeks off in the Summer--relax! So much stress...so little time. Take the time to de-stress and reconnect yourself to what's going on inside you. Are there goals in your life you've neglected? Do you just need to reaquaint yourself with your friends and family? Maybe you'd enjoy nothing more than lounging by the pool or soaking up rays at the beach with a good book.

Whatever your age or circumstance Summer gives you the chance to S-L-O-W down. Try it--it'll jolt you at first because you're not used to it. That's good. Remember that feeling when things speed up again and take that deep breath and drop the tension from your body. It's really and truly good for you.

Summer Apprentice

I wrote this story many years ago--even before I was a Mom--and entered it into a writing contest in Atlanta for The Oxford Review. I was tickled when it was listed with the "honorable mentions." Here it is for you, dearest blog readers, presented with a few minor modifications. This is a little glimpse into my childhood. While the story IS fiction, the setting is very much like the home where I grew up, and almost all of the activities in the story portray the ways my creativity and imagination were exercised as a child. I do hope you enjoy the story.

Summer Apprentice (Or How Mario Finally Got His)

by

Marjorie Hall

“Find me the wrench.”

“The…?”

“Wrench. The one I showed you yesterday, you know…”

“Oh…” Bare feet on cool concrete. The tools are heavy, fascinating and mysterious. The wrench. Her smile shows satisfaction.

“Good. I told you you’d learn them.”

* * *

Summer was better with Mario. Sliding down dirt hills. The thrill of rolling over and over through bee-covered clover. Running through murky streams, the cold splash of water up to her knees.

Mario could turn a small clearing in the woods into a time portal, sending them to the age of the dinosaurs or propelling them into the future, or even to another planet. He was especially good at making up games, but Clara sometimes suspected him of making up the rules too as he went along, suddenly declaring that his horse could fly or that her sorcery was powerless on Venus.

No matter, the adventures were much too delightful for her to risk spoiling them by a fight. She knew she was no match for Mario’s wits—he’d outsmart her every time. Or nearly so—she would get him if she could just plan it right. Oh, how she wanted to best Mario just once before the brilliance of autumn colors whisked them into school again! She must act soon. Hints of yellow-gold and dots of orange-red already threatened summer’s end.

* * *

“Now the Phillips.”

Clara sighs. She knows this one all too well, no challenge. She moves the tools around in the box, barely catching the shiny glint of the ONE. She ignores it, searching for the screwdriver with the long yellow handle. She squats down; her thighs are strong and brown from the summer’s fun. She spots the faded yellow of the Phillips handle beneath some huge, beat-up wire cutters and yanks. The Phillips is in her hands but the momentum of claiming it lands her hard on her bottom. She wants to cry, but doesn’t. Mario doesn’t like sissies. Besides, she’s really seen it this time. She does not tell Mario.

“Well, are you going to sit there all day?”

“No,” she whispers and rolls to her feet.

* * *

            She raises it carefully toward the window. The ONE glistens in the moon’s glow, looking as promising as a tinsel-covered tree on Christmas Eve. How did it get here? Could it have been brought back from one of Mario’s expeditions to alien worlds unknown to her? Then he knew it was in the box! Bur surely it was forgotten now. He couldn’t risk her finding it there.

            She tiptoes out of the workshop to test her weapon. The grass is moist with dew. Her sneakers are soon soaked through as she searches for…ah—this old antenna should do nicely. The aged metal rests atop a small compost heap in the back of the workshop. It has begun to rust—no one will notice if parts of it are, well, disintegrated come the morning’s light. Yes! She almost shrieks as the ONE emits a thin, blue ray. The antenna is now cleanly dissected in two. Clara grins. She will easily catch Mario off guard this time! The ONE goes back into the tool chest, hidden to all until Clara calls it once again into her service.

* * *

            “What’s with you?” Mario asks.

            She smiles weakly.

            “You don’t look too good, Clara. Maybe you were up when you weren’t supposed to be last night?”

            She nearly falls off the wooden sawhorse upon which she is perching. Does he know? She holds herself, waits.

            “Course, it could be that wicked meat loaf we had last night. Ugh!” Mario grabs his throat and leans over, fakes a retching noise.

            Clara laughs…and lets her smile stay wide. That’s what she is supposed to do. He does not know.

            Mario begins to hammer again on the two-person spacecraft he is repairing. In a moment he says, “Get the other hammer, the one with the larger end…”

            Clara’s heart is pumping so fast and hard she fears she cannot walk. Her balance is off and she stumbles a little as she tries not to run to the tool box. She glances back at Mario—he is intent on wiping a smudge from the nose cone. A little shifting and the ONE is in her hands. Its silvery handle is an icy burn into her right palm.

            “Mario!” she shouts. She does not know if she does this to save him or to make sure he knows it is she firing the blue ray machine.

            Mario’s eyes are huge—his arms thrown back, he falls over.

            Clara runs to him and kneels to touch his forehead. An odd smell, maybe burned hair, fills the workshop. He is motionless; she sees no wound. She rests her weight on the back of her legs. Her eyes close—she has done it.

            “Force shield,” he says.

            “What?”

            “Force shield. You cannot penetrate my reinforced force shield even with the blue ray.”

            She argues this time—this was the ONE, “Mario! You know good and well I can! Besides, you didn’t even have the force shield activated when I fired!”

            “Did so!”

            “Did not!”

            “Did so!”

            DID NOT…DID SO…NOT…SO…NOT…

            Clara stops and laughs. Mario can argue all day if he wants, but Clara knows that he knows…he has finally got his.

END

Write What You Know?

Most writers are told "write what you know". This is generally good wisdom. What it means is that the best stories, even ones entirely made up (like my fantasy fiction with little Periwiggles) seem more true-to-life (real) if I write scenes that I understand. When Wiggleton leaps and soars among the trees, which is something I have never done, he does so in a forest of trees that I DO know something about. As a child I wandered for hours near my home through woods very much like the ones Wiggleton knows so well. And the scenes of him playing with his friends are also familiar to me. I played outdoor games with my friends very much like Wiggleton does.

But...there comes a time when I need to write about things I DON'T know. Like, for instance, gems and crystals. That's when it's time to RESEARCH. Research is something every writer must do from time to time in order to know enough facts about a subject to make it seem real in a fiction story.

Yesterday I needed to know more about gems and crystals not only for my Talismon Tales books, but also for another series for adults that I am writing. I don't know much about either gems or crystals. But I can find out! And I did. I drove to the library and checked out some books and learned some really neat things. One of the most interesting to me was that gems ARE crystals--usually these are polished to become shiny. You know gems as clear diamonds, red rubies, green jades, blue sapphires. Cool. But sometimes diamonds can be pink or red. It depends on how and where they were formed.

Other ways to do research are to use the internet or to ask an "expert" person questions. Research can be loads of fun because you often discover wonderful new knowledge you had no clue about before. It is very much like being a detective, and it's one of the many terrific things about being a writer.

Next time I post, I promise another story...one based on my very own childhood. Something I don't need to research since I'm already an "expert" on it. See you soon!

Blue Star Gem

A little something extra...that's what often needs to be done when writing or drawing. When I first drew the illustration for Chapter 1 of Wiggleton's Wrong Way Home, Windy the Outer Banks wild horse, is featured carrying our hero, Wiggleton, atop her head along the sandy beach. You can view that drawing below. But when I went to color the drawing and finalize it for the cover art of the book I realized I was missing something! That something was the blue star gem which becomes important later on in the story.

Wiggleton has been idly holding this gem while he contemplates how to get off the island and make his way back home. But...he drops the sparkling blue gem in the sand when Windy offers him a ride. So...the cover now includes the colorful gem. By the way, this gem is the first of several that Wiggleton will encounter in his travels in Talismon. One by one they will solve an ancient mystery of his world. So, having the gem on the cover is more important than just looks...it foreshadows (gives a hint) to a future part of the tale.

But first, he has to find his way home. Hope you like the cover and the story.

The Story of Joey Sludgedirt

In my last post I promised a story about a boy named Joey Sludgedirt. Well, almost as soon as I posted that I realized a better story would be about a KANGAROO named Joey Sludgedirt. It would be better because of at least two reasons 1) all baby kangaroos are called "joeys" and 2) it would be more fun! So...here it is.

THE STORY OF JOEY SLUDGEDIRT

Joey was a Kangaroo. He lived in Australia but he never considered what country or continent he lived in the way people do. His first home was Mom’s pouch. In fact, he thought he was somehow part of Mom. But he soon learned he was separate from Mom and that sometimes, when something called “safe” happened, he was allowed to crawl outside Mom onto the ground. His Mom always called him, “my darling Joey Jumper.” And she did this a lot when he wasn’t jumping. In fact, it was mostly while she licked a spot on his right ear.


Joey didn’t know it, but there was a whiter spot on his brown fur on his right ear. It had little brown dots inside it. His mother adored the spot but Joey would soon discover a different reaction from others.

It wasn’t long before Joey grew larger and rarely was in Mom’s pouch. He was strong enough to bound about on his own and he soon made friends with other young roos. This was fun because Joey loved to jump and bound. It was his most favorite thing to do, and he thought it was especially fun to share bounding games with other roos. But on the third day of his newfound freedom this changed. Joey's playmates started calling him “Joey Sludgedirt.” They said there was a spot on his ear that looked like a mud smear (this is what roos call sludgedirt).

Joey didn’t like the name and he couldn’t see the spot. At first he didn’t believe the other roos and he was angry with them for calling him sludgedirt. But a strange thing happened. Because the roos kept calling him the name day after day, Joey started to accept that his real name was Joey Sludgedirt. He felt…like he was worth less than the other roos. Like he wasn’t as good as them and he never would be.

His mother noticed the difference in Joey. He wasn’t the happy young roo he used to be, always carefree and ready to jump. She said, “My darling Joey Jumper, what has trapped your feet? You don’t find joy in bounding?”

“Mom,” said Joey, looking down at his large roo feet, “there’s nothing wrong with my feet. It’s…my name.”

“Your name? How can a name stop anyone from jumping?”

“Mine is…because I’m not…because I’m mud.”

“Nonsense, Joey. Your name is Joey Jumper…it has nothing to do with mud!”

Joey was puzzled. You see, he didn’t remember the time when he wasn’t called Joey Sludgedirt. But when he heard that he was Joey Jumper instead, a memory of his mother whispering the name and licking the back of his ear came into his small roo head.

Seeing Joey’s puzzled face, his mother hopped along saying, “Follow me. There’s something I need to show you.”

When they reached the river bank Joey’s mom stopped bounding and asked, “What is flowing here?”

Joey shrugged and said, “Water, of course.”

“Hmm. So you can drink it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do so.”

So Joey bent over and began lapping up the clear, cool liquid. His mother asked, “What if I said this water was sludgedirt?”

Joey smiled and said, “You could say that, but I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Why?”

“Because…” said Joey, “you can’t drink sludgedirt. It doesn’t flow like this!”

“Does sludgedirt bound?”

Joey flicked his ears and said, “No, of course not…” and he saw the spot on his ear in the reflection of the water. “Hey, it’s the spot! So that’s what they meant.”

Joey studied the spot a long time. His mother waited patiently. He turned to her and said, “You know, it doesn’t even look like sludgedirt.”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s just a silly nickname.”

“Of course!" shouted Joey. "It’s just a made-up name. From now on no matter what the other roos call me I know the truth!”

And the truth about who he really was set Joey free. Now he didn’t care what name he was called…he knew it didn’t change his true self.