New Material: Bayou Story

Rough draft work for what I'm calling my "Bayou Story," which is about a teen who, on vacation to visit her grandmother in Texas, makes a startling realization about her lineage thanks to her new friendship with a mysterious older woman. However, there might be more to her family history than reality allows, and her recurring dreams (like the one below) intensify the longer she stays here. Enjoy!

~~~

I’m not walking. I’m floating.

However, I feel a sense of connection with the earth and its lush undergrowth. It is dusk, the time when birds recede and crickets take over, one type of chirping replaced with another. I can hear their harmonies, a symphony of high and low notes, and they lull me.

I am in multiple places at once.

One part of me stays behind and examines multiple leaves from the same plant, heavy with moisture, to feel which ones are most supple and full of nutrients. Another part casts about eyes sharper than a human’s with a gaze quicker than a snake, in search of bones left behind by decomposition or something similar. And the other part keeps ahead, nearing the bend in the river and watching for predators or humans.

I only forage tonight, for pieces necessary later, but this is often my favorite time. It is when I am alone—well, not truly alone, but surrounded by thousands of night creatures who watch me and question what it is I do and who I am. I tell them that I bring no hostility, that I am a being who means them no harm, one who seeks parts of the natural world to bring into the human world for my rituals. I take what they leave behind. I ask also that they return the favor and don’t harm me. We seem to live in a comfortable agreement.

My weathered, sun-darkened hands place the leaves in my bag that’s already filled with other bits of this sodden bayou; I gently press them down onto the moss, bark, and hard red berries that crowd the space. I stand, feeling at once a command of the space as well as a humbling inferiority: much of my living comes from the power of this bayou.

My second self, the one looking for bones, finds none but takes a couple of feathers on its way back. And my third self, confident in its knowledge that there are no people or gators nearby, turns back. Under a now-indigo sky and with a wind that disturbs no part of the environment, my selves gather back into one.

~~~

Picture Book Project!

Now that I'm not busy with school, I have time to pursue a variety of things. Lately I've been doing a lot of photo shoots, some dance-related, and now I'm doing a collaborative project involving pictures and a story for children: a picture book! I'll be portraying a forest fairy named Elra, who, while venturing into the human world one day, loses the magic amulet she needs to return to her own world.  An unsuspecting human is in possession of it, and he carries it with him around the city. Elra travels far and wide around the world of humans in search of the amulet.

I'll only share one photo! I'm super excited to get this book out into the world.



Aside from this project, I'm working on more stories for a second compilation book. Right now I am writing a story involving a girl whose yearly summer trip to hot, humid Texas to visit her grandmother goes a little differently than usual; her new friendship with a mysterious older woman -- who's ostracized by her grandmother's social circle -- leads her to question things about herself and, ultimately, her family. But is the hazy, dreamy atmosphere of Houston doing things to her mind, or is there more to her lineage than the rules of reality allow?

I'm so excited for both of these stories!

Branching Out (Plus: what made me decide to be a writer in the first place)

For a few months I've been particularly swamped with schoolwork, as it was my first term at Portland State University (as an English major — yay!), and these past few weeks I've finally had the solace of winter break. During this time I prepared for next term and did a lot of reading and writing. I'm trying to branch out more in the literary arts by delving into more than just children/teen fiction and fantasy. I used to only be interested in these genres because I stubbornly believed that writing about everyday life was boring. However, I've been changing my perspective lately and approaching the art of writing with a more open mind. Reading different authors' pieces in school has helped as well (as un-fun as it was doing seemingly endless homework on it all), and I'm starting to realize that I can actually have fun writing creative nonfiction, like short prose about memories or essays on personal experiences. After all, it was someone's essay about a personal experience I read, long ago in sixth grade, that gave me goosebumps and made me think, Who knew that words could be used to relive such meaningful experiences? Who knew you could recreate an event with only a pen and paper?

In my making-up of fictional tales, I seemed to have forgotten about that one time when I was eleven. That was a very significant day; it was during my Language Arts class, which was quickly becoming my favorite class, though I wasn't sure why at the time. While I waited for class to start I pulled out our textbook. As I flipped though the pages, not looking at anything in particular, I noticed something that caught my eye and caused me to go back a few pages. I gasped internally. I was on a page that mentioned Splash Mountain, the name of one of my favorite rides in one of the greatest places in the world, Disneyland (in my opinion, anyway). It was an example essay for a chapter on — you guessed it — writing about personal experiences. The way the essay was written was like a story, complete with the narrator's excitement about the ride, joy at seeing the characters, apprehension about the drop at the end, and suspense as the narrator ascended to the top. The impression this short piece of writing made on me was so great that I actually wanted to purchase the book for myself, or at least find the essay online, so I could read it again and again.

But this, I believe, was what made me realize that I wanted to write and create. I wanted to be able to write like this. I wanted to be able to elicit feelings in other people using just my written words. (And, being autistic, this was a fantastic way of finding a new and different way to communicate with people and express myself.) And shortly after I left middle school to be homeschooled for a few years, I had the time to work with that newfound passion and write my first book when I was thirteen, a fantasy/adventure novel called ArJarelia: The Discovery. When I entered high school, I self-published it and sold copies to friends and family. To this day, I still have plans for it.

Anyway. That's that story of my recent realization. Time to...write other stories.