Down but not out

No matter how bad your mistake is, there's no possible way it
can be as bad as Hugh Jackman's decision to look like this.

We all backslide sometimes.

No matter what goal we've set for ourselves, there will be times when we trip and fall flat on our faces on the way to achieving it. It's not the same thing as not trying – we all know when we're only pretending, and when we give it up it's almost a relief. Most goals never make it past wishful thinking, or conversations with friends or co-workers.

It's when we're actually trying that it really hurts. You have to have covered some ground before backsliding becomes noticeable, fighting your way through that first hump of "why did I say I'd exercise every single morning" or "I'm still counting the hours since my last donut." It usually hits when you've finally gotten into the swing of things, when that early frustration and despair over what you're  denying yourself has faded into something almost like hope. When you find yourself starting to think that, somehow, you might actually be able to do this.

But then something happens.  The day gets so busy that suddenly you're going to bed and you realize that you missed your exercise routine for the day. We swear to ourselves we're going to stop smoking, but then work turns into a nightmare and we get so stressed out there's suddenly a cigarette in our hand. We're at a party surrounded by all the fats and sugars we were so careful avoiding, and our self-control finally snaps like a twig. Between one breath and the next, it feels like we've undone every bit of the progress we've made.

Here's where it gets tricky. Maybe the reason is because you feel guilty that you've stumbled, and the thing that you usually use to comfort yourself is probably the thing you're trying so hard to stay away from in the first place. Or maybe the guilt turns into a shame spiral, and you decide suddenly that you were a fool for setting whatever goal you were trying for. You tell yourself you were a fool for ever trying it, that all your hard work has just gone down the drain, and there's nothing left for you but to give up on all of it.

The bravest thing you can do in these moments is ignore all of that and keep going. Yes, you screwed up, but the truth is that you're probably going to screw up several more times before you make it anywhere close to your goal. Even the best baseball players don't hit the ball every time they're up to bat, and even the best actors and actresses in the world will occasionally go out of their way to make a really, really terrible movie (I'm looking at you, Hugh Jackman). Everyone fails.

But you can't let that stop you. It's not the fall that everyone will remember, it's what you do next – you could lay down on the ground and bemoan your fate, or you could get back up again and keep charging forward. If you get knocked down – even if it's by yourself – don't stay down.

In the end, that's all success really means.

Adventures in wildlife, part 2

Photo courtesy of pbs.org

You know those moments when your gut tells you that something is happening, but your brain doesn't really want to deal with the complication and keeps deluding itself for a few more minutes?

Turns out I do that waaay more than I'm comfortable with.

I was sitting just outside the front door of my apartment on the darkened walkway, surfing the internet by the glowing light of my computer screen. It was inching on 2 a.m. and I really needed to go to bed, so I finally made myself surface and shut off the computer. That's when I looked over and saw this ... shape on the walkway not more than a foot away from me.

Staring at it through the darkness, I could almost hear my brain think the words "Oh, it's probably just a leaf." Now, this shape looked absolutely nothing like a leaf, and I knew that as I stared at it, but if it was anything else I would be forced to actually do something. So, still telling myself it was a leaf, I reached over to touch it.

It was warm and just a little soft, like the skin of a particularly fuzzy peach. I was forced to accept the fact that it was most definitely not a leaf.

As if in agreement with the thought, it chose that moment to chirp.

Well, the only thing to do at that point was to scramble upright, tuck my laptop out of the way of whatever was about to happen, and turned on the porch light. There, lying on my walkway, was the most adorable little brown bat I have ever seen. It was just plastered against the cement on his belly, and I was suddenly afraid the poor little thing I'd just heard the poor thing's final chirp when it started to move around.

Now, this was not my first encounter with local wildlife. I've hauled to safety several birds who tried to kill themselves in my hall closet, but this was different. The little guy wasn't imposing on me at all, but my apartment complex is full of idiot kids, even more idiot teenagers, and drunk people, all of which could easily show up before I got outside in the morning and none of which I wanted anywhere near this little guy.

So I Googled, the one information source that doesn't care what time it is. I desperately started searching on my tablet, standing outside on the off chance I could keep him from getting stepped on (in the city, drunk people can literally show up at any moment). Most of the information was about what to do if they were flying, but as my little guy was still plastered against the ground that was clearly not the issue.

Not that he wasn't mobile. I turned off the light, in case it hurt his eyes somehow, then jumped dramatically like a minute later when something warm and soft bumped into my foot. I immediately flipped back on the light (with apologies, of course) to see the little guy crawling along at a pretty impressive pace. It thought about going off the edge of the walkway for a few seconds (not a comforting thought – I'm on the second floor), then clearly decided against it and turned around.

By this point, Google was telling me that the best way to move the bat was to urge it to grab onto a stick and carry it around on that. I was short of actual sticks – there are very few convenient branches in the city – so I grabbed a very dull-edged decorative sword (yes, I know. The only excuse I have for grabbing that instead of oh, I don't know, a broom, was that it was 2 a.m.) and ran back outside to find that the bat had crawled about 2 feet up the brick wall right by my front door and settled in for the night.

Now, I was really tempted to let him stay – like I said, the little guy was adorable – but that was still very much grabbing height. So I tried to get him interested in the sword, but unsurprisingly he wasn' t having it. I found a grabbing arm with a nice metal pole, but he wouldn't grab that either. In the end, I got desperate and used the grabbing arm to gently urge him into an empty, lidless cool-whip container (apologizing the whole time). Then I carried him to the one strip of relatively protected green space for like five blocks and wedged him into branches a few feet off the ground. When I went back to check on him a few minutes later, the container was empty and he was gone.

I went back the next morning to check again, but there was no sign of anything (I shooed off a cat, just in case). Clearly, I'm getting a little bit of a reputation amid the smaller portions of the animal kingdom. 

Representation, or finding our place in the story

We all deserve our own stories.

For a long time, I didn't realize that so few of them were made for me. I was never really the princess type, too stubborn and loud and average-looking for the lost princesses who filled the stories of my childhood. There were only a few warrior women and lady knights, but they didn't really work either – I wasn't strong, I wasn't noble, and I always thought there was a smarter way to fight than charging ahead with a battle cry. They were all good characters, but there was no place in their lives for someone like me.

But oh, I loved the thieves, the pirates, the charming rogues with a secret heart of gold. They didn't necessarily have to be attractive – a way with words was so much more important than how they looked. They didn't have to have powerful muscles – their brains did most of the work, and sometimes they could even best big, scary swords people without blinking. They didn't have to be even particularly good – they thought rules were bendy, twisty things, but they were usually at least helpful to the hero and sometimes even stood on the sides of angels.

When you feel like you're different from everyone else, it's too easy to also feel like there's something wrong with you. Like you're broken, or even just meant to fade into the background while the "hero" goes off and lives an exciting life. For a little girl with a plain face, a facile tongue and a squirrely mind, these characters felt like I had a place among all the pretty people. There wasn't anything wrong with me – I was just meant to be a charming rogue.

But ... all the charming rogues I had ever read about were boys. I wasn't a boy – I didn't even want to be one – and so for a long time I was just a lost girl in the corner with dreams she could never quite figure out how to reach. It took me years to steal the role, to cut it up and piece it back together into a shape fit an angry little girl. It took me even longer than that to find the self-confidence I'd lost so many years before, letting the rogue's boldness sink into my skin and teach me everything I'd always been meant to know.

And I was lucky. There are so few white girl characters when compared to boy characters, but there's even fewer for people of color or those who aren't heterosexual. They don't have the luxury to care about personality – they're grateful for the few they can find, and cling to them because they don't have anything else. And inside, they end up feeling that there's no place for them in the great story of life.

Feeling like there's someplace you're meant to be can change your whole life. No one deserves to only see their own faces, their own hearts, as background characters or villains. Or worse, to not see them at all.

So please, write more stories. Give your heroes and heroines your skin, your history, your fears. Give them your dreams, and in turn you pass those dreams onto all those little boys and girls who want a story to live up to.

Secret Princess Training Camp, pt. 3

Parts 1 and 2 can be found here

000

Unsurprisingly, our first "secret princess" class looked a lot like those special seminars where you're supposed to learn the secret of success for three easy payments of $49.99.

"The only thing that's missing are smiling minions with name tags," I muttered under my breath, making a mental note that folding chairs were no more attractive or comfortable-looking in a fantasy world than they were in mine.

"You're letting your sarcastic internal monologue leak out again," Hortensia whispered, keeping an eye on Mother Gans as she poked me in the leg. Kate had taken over the job of drawing her attention, but the pig was right – I had to be more careful. "You have a point, though – this crowd is too well-behaved for there not to be minions lurking around somewhere."

Magical minions, probably, and the sudden thought made my stomach twist. I scanned the crowd again, hunting for any sign that someone was here who didn't want to be, but no matter where I looked there were only bright, shining faces. There was some whispering, but the women looked too excited to be plotting escape.

There was only one explanation.

Hortensia saw the answer in my face. "Mind control spells," she breathed, looking absolutely panicked.

She started backing up, her steps slow enough I wasn't sure she was consciously doing it, and I caught her arm before she could get very far and leaned in close to whisper into her ear. "They're probably not dosing everyone, or they'd be doing it at the door and we'd already be feeling it. That means they're likely targeting troublemakers. If we smile, play nice, and don't take anything they hand out, we should be fine."

"Unless it's in the food," Hortensia whispered back.

"Well, then we'll... we'll...." See, this is why I liked writing the action instead of living it. I was much better at coming up with clever plans when I had some thinking time and a backspace key. "You're just a ray of sunshine, aren't—"

"You were just telling me about that, weren't you, Jenniffer?"

I shot upright at Kate's suddenly loud question-slash-warning, pasting a bright smile on my face. "Sure!" Deciding that was a little too psychotically cheerful, I dialed it down a notch. "We're really excited."

The small headshake from Kate made it clear I hadn't guessed quite right, but it was close enough that Mother Gans only hesitated a moment before smiling again. "Of course you are, my dears." She ushered us toward the seats. "Now, if you'll just sit down, we can get started. I can get someone to—"

"Oh, there's no need to go to the trouble," Kate cut in, using a smooth, persuasive voice that she must have once used during her old happily-ever-after sales pitches. "I'm sure we can find an open spot somewhere."

We hurried to the chairs, tugging each other into position as Mother Gans headed to the stage at the front of the room. As the music started, Kate leaned over and whispered in my ear. "I think the seating attendants are holding small misters."

As a former Fairy Godmother, Kate has more experience with mind control potions than the rest of us. "Any chance there's a cure like there was for True Love?" I whispered back. I'd have made sure there was, if I'd been the one writing this, but since I wasn't at my keyboard there was no way to be sure.

Kate shrugged. "I don't know. Given the way she was smiling, Mother Gans might actually be spraying herself."

Onstage, she'd started into the pitch, a magic mirror projecting a fake ballroom onto the walls behind her. "...want to shift the nature of what is possible for each and every one of you. In your old lives you were forgotten – shopkeepers, scullery maids – passed over every day by dozens of people who saw you as boring. Ordinary. But I'm here to tell you that each and every one of you are special. You are...." She paused for emphasis as her hands lifted, the music providing the appropriate dramatic accompaniment. "Secret princesses!"

Wild applause erupted, which we joined an instant later. Tuning the sales pitch out, I studied the seating attendants who were positioned in the aisles. They were all average-looking women, clearly no warriors among them, and the fact that they needed the potions hopefully meant they weren't witches or sorceresses themselves. If it was anything like True Love, we'd be fine as long as we stayed out of spraying range, though that would eliminate any chance of being able to steal one for ourselves.

Which, now that I thought about it, might be the best idea. If the crowd was any indication, a good spritz of the stuff made you super compliant. If we gave them a dose of potion directly to the face, it was possible we could get a minion to actually lead us out of here....

"...deserve more than to be a bit player in someone else's story, appearing only in a few crowd scenes to fill out the background. You're all meant to be the heroine of your very own tales, sweeping princes off their feet with your beauty, charm and goodness. Who knows, maybe you all are lost princesses, trapped in the wrong life through a cruel twist of fate with no memory of the glory that you've lost."

The crowd cheered again, even more loudly than before, and out of the corner of my eye I could see at least one woman with tears streaming down her face. Next to me, Kate looked alarmed. "At first I thought she was trying to start the Fairy Godmothers, Inc. racket up again, but the truth is that she sounds more like you."

I just stared her, horrified by the thought. "Take that back."

She looked almost guilty, which only made things worse. "I'm sorry, but it's true. The whole 'everyone deserves their own story' thing? You were talking about almost exactly that last night."

Worried now, I paid more attention to what Mother Gans was saying. "The only thing holding you back is the tools needed to become the heroine of the story. The way to dress and the things to say that lets the story know that you are the one it should be paying attention to. The one who the prince adores, who always knows the right thing to say and just how to solve the problem. The one everyone listens to." She threw her hands up in the air, face once again alight with the crazy. "We will make the world beautiful with your stories, and when we're done no one will ever ignore us again?"

On my other side, Hortensia leaned in close. "Is it just me," she whispered, "or does this sound suspiciously like some kind of hostile takeover?"

I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. Only I would be dumb enough to create a reality where Mother Goose would get a taste for world domination. "It's not just you." I hesitated, thinking. "Are you okay here alone for a little while?"

She looked around, then nodded. "Don't be gone long, though."

"I won't." Then I leaned over to Kate. "We need to get outside. Follow my lead." I doubled over, clutching my stomach, then hobbled my way over to the aisle. Kate stayed next to me, a hand on her back and a concerned look on her face.

We'd barely left the row of chairs when one of the seating attendants moved to intercept us, hand slightly raised, and I kept an eye on the bottle while Kate spoke. "I'm sorry, but my friend is nauseous from something she ate before we arrived here, and we don't want to interrupt the beautiful presentation. Where are the bathrooms?"

The woman hesitated, hand half raised, and I lurched forward with a gagging noise. She jerked back, clearly afraid of being in target range, then waved us both to the exit. We hurried out, straightening only when the doors had swung shut behind us.

"This will go faster if we split up," Kate said. "One of us can check the perimeter while the other looks for our things."

I shook my head. "It also increases the chance of one us being caught and conveniently used as a hostage during a key narrative moment." I tried not to think or Hortensia, knowing that I'd left her in exactly that position. "Come on. Let's go look for your magic mirrors."  

Secret Princess Training Camp, part 2

(Part 1, for those who might have missed it.)

000

It was all well and good to decide you were going to break out of a Secret Princess Training Camp, but first you had to figure out how you were going to actually pull it off.

“We don’t have a lot to work with, unfortunately.” Hortensia kept her voice matter-of-fact, and if she was worried I couldn’t see it. “They grabbed our personal magic mirrors, which means there’s no calling the cavalry until we get them back.”

Kate’s expression was grim. “They also took my wand.”

I’d assumed they had – she would have said something before now if she could have just magicked us out of here – but it was another thing we’d have to figure out how to get back. “I’m not sure how useful it would be, anyway. I’m pretty sure they have anti-transport wards….” My voice trailed off as my brain caught up with the real problem. “Oh no.” I looked over at Kate, feeling the panic come back. “Once they figure out they just grabbed their very own Fairy Godmother, they’ll never let you leave.”

Hortensia’s brow lowered. “Why haven’t they already, though? Given how obsessed they are with fairy tale situations, I would think that would be their first guess when they saw your wings and the wand.”

“And even if it’s not, they’ll think I’m a witch or sorceress and I’ll be in nearly as much trouble.” Kate’s jaw tightened. “My best guess is that our things got put somewhere else, and no one’s bothered to look through them yet.”

“Which means we have a lot tighter a deadline than we realized, at least to get our things back.” The kidnappers had my cell phone, which had no signal in this world but might be useful at some point for its strangeness factor. They’d left me with a tube of Chapstick, two tissues, a pen and a flier that someone had stuck on my windshield back in the real world.

Not a lot to engineer a dramatic escape with, even for a writer. Which meant that I needed more to work with.

“Just go with me on this,” I told them, heading toward the door. Then, taking a deep breath, I channeled every con artist character I’d ever written and pounded on the door. When nothing happened, I pounded even harder.

Finally, there was the sound of running footsteps, and a nervous-looking boy carefully opened the door. He couldn’t have been older than 16, and when I smiled brightly at him he flinched. “Did … did you need something?”

Okay, this required a slightly different pitch. I dropped my shoulders, making my voice sound much less certain. “I’m sorry, but I was thinking about how much we’re all going to have to learn to be good secret princesses and I got so worried that we wouldn’t be able to learn it in time.” I lowered my voice a little further. “Could you tell someone we’d really like to get started right now?”

He looked slightly less nervous now, his expression sympathetic. “It is really tough. Even if I hadn’t been disqualified for being a boy, I don’t think I could have….” His voice trailed off, and he squared his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

When he was gone, I heard Kate come up behind me. “We’re breaking him out, too, if he wants,” she said softly. “Right?”

I knew she was thinking of Ned, too. “Absolutely.”

Hortensia came up to join us. “If everyone’s in that bad a shape, we should probably just lead a revolution and be done with it.”

I smiled a little. “Now, there’s an idea.”

We cut the conversation off at the sound of footsteps. The same woman from before was coming down the hallway with that same bright, slightly deranged smile as before, flinging her arms out as if she was about to drag us all into a group hug. “Excellent! I didn’t mention it before because you dears looked a little nervous, but Thomas tells me you’re just itching to get started."

Making a mental note of the kid's name, I put on my best earnest expression and stepped forward. "Absolutely. We're not going to become the best secret princesses we can by just sitting here."

Behind me, I heard Hortensia clear her throat, pretty sure that would have been a discreet elbow jab if she'd been within arm's reach of me, but the woman just clapped her hands together again. "Perfect!" She glanced back at Hortensia and Kate. "Do all three of you feel the same way?"

"Oh, absolutely," Kate said immediately, sounding breathy and dreamy and not at all like herself. "I'd love to be a fairy princess."

There was a beat before Hortensia spoke, voice polite but nearly expressionless. "What they said."

I made another mental note – clearly, the con game was not on Hortensia's list of skills – but the woman didn't care. "Oh, I'm so happy that all of you could join us." She gestured us all out into the hallway, and it took effort to resist the urge to actively run. "Let's get you to your first class."

After she turned, I passed the flier and pen to Kate, mouthing the word "map" before setting off behind the woman. "Will you be teaching it?" I hurried ahead until I was almost walking next to the woman – the less reason she had to turn around, the better. "You seem like you know so much."

She chuckled, and the sound was nearly as unsettling as her smile was. "Oh, aren't you a dear." The woman shook her head, immediately patting her hair back into place. "Sadly, I don't teach anything but a few special classes. I'm Mother Gans, and I oversee our happy little camp."

A camp which, at the moment, consisted of nothing but a second stone hallway and other seemingly locked doors. Creepy, and not even slightly helpful. "Are we in a castle?" I made sure to sound excited, even though all my attention was focused on the tiny slit of a window we were about to pass. "I've never camped in a castle before."

"We're not camping, dear." She patted my head without turning to look at me. "We call it a camp because we hold some of the later classes in tents outside. The introductory classes are in the main rooms downstairs, and the offices and 'introduction' rooms are upstairs."

So freedom was with the advanced classes, but our things were probably upstairs. I slowed my steps enough to move out of Mother Gans's immediate visual range, ducking over to the window and getting up on my tiptoes to get as detailed a look outside as I could.

Trees. So many trees, thick enough that I couldn't see anything but their tops.

Damn it. Clearly, I had written way too many forests into this universe.

As I hurried to rejoin the group, Hortensia moved to take the spot I had vacated. She wasn't a great liar, but she was good at being thorough. "What will be learning in our first class?"

"Oh, the first class isn't really a class, per se. It's more about helping the girls understand the vision of what we're trying to do."

Kate glanced over at me, eyebrows raised questioningly. I hesitated, weighing the need to speed our way up through the classes with finding out whether or not we had any allies here. Even if we didn't have to go the revolutionary route, I couldn't leave a character here who was just as trapped as we were—

I was jerked out of the thought by a white flash in front of me where I knew there shouldn't be one. I scanned the ridiculous, ruffled edge of Mother Gans' blouse, my eyes widening when the fabric slid in just the right way to reveal the tip of a white feather.

I couldn't say for certain without Google in front of me, but it seemed pretty safe to say that it was a goose feather.

Putting my smile back on, I moved to switch places with Hortensia. "I'd love to hear all about it." 

Adventures in Meta (part 1?)

You know how easy it is to get sucked into a story when you're reading it, and even more when you're writing it? Well, blogger extrordinaire Kriss Morton asked me to get sucked into the world of my books "Fairy Godmothers, Inc." and "Huff and Puff" for her Fourth Wall Friday and spend some time with my characters Kate and Hortensia. I was happy to.

Unfortunately, I had no idea we'd get sucked into a Secret Princess Training Camp.

000

I woke up with a groan, opening my eyes just far enough for my brain to start screaming at me for making terrible decisions. I immediately shut them again, rolling over to my side and pressing my hand against the back of my throbbing skull. “What happened?”

Clichéd, yes, but head injuries wreak havoc on my ability to come up with witty dialogue.
“We’ve been kidnapped.” That was Hortensia, using that matter-of-fact voice that meant she wanted to gouge someone’s eyes out but hadn’t yet figured out the best way to go about it. Not that most people could recognize it – few people tended to be intimidated by a talking pig in a dress.

At least, until they found out what happened to her brothers.

“I still can’t tell if it’s my fault or Kate’s, but I’m leaning toward Kate’s,” Hortensia continued, having waited a respectful pause for my internal monologue. “BB’s enemies don’t tend to put people in holding cells that look like a birthday cake exploded all over it.”

Okay, that was unexpected. Deciding the knowledge was worth the suffering, I slowly opened my eyes to discover that the room we had been tossed into was ridiculously pink. There was bunting all over the place, swirled over the walls and bed as thick as icing, then tied up in a bow at every possible opportunity. On top of all that, someone had scattered tiny satin hearts.

It was horrifying.

Read more

000

If you'd be interested in reading even *more* than that, I'm considering continuing the adventure over on my blog. What do you guys think?

The Second Time: Book Signing Edition

Photo by Louise R. Shaw

Katherine Russell Rich said that uncertainty can give you power, but I’m pretty sure she was nuts. Sure, you need uncertainty in your life, because otherwise you’re going to spend your entire life in front of the television, but I haven’t noticed it make me any mightier. What it mostly makes me is panicked, though I’ve gotten to the point where the only obvious sign of this is eyes that grow to about three times their normal size (though, since they’re pretty small anyway, that might be a plus).

             

Still, when it comes to new experiences, the second time is usually easier than the first. My first book signing was last Saturday, with my second coming up this Saturday at the Barnes & Noble in Sugarhouse (if you’re in Salt Lake, come say hi!) Here are some things I’ll know this week that I wish I could have told myself last week (or maybe not – time travel is never a good idea). If you’ve had your own book signing, I’d love for your to add your own insights in the comments.

1. Breathe

            

A book signing isn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as I thought it would be. You’re mostly there to talk about your book and explain why it’s the greatest thing ever, a process you’ve already mastered when you were trying to get the thing published in the first place. As long as you don’t try to accost people and shove the book into their hands, you’ll be fine.

2. Think about all the people who might want to buy your book

            

You will be amazed (or at least I was) about the number of people who will come up and ask if your book would be good for kids/adults/romance fans/serious readers/casual readers/goldfish. Give serious thought to the answer – you don’t want to steer people wrong, but you also don’t want to leave out a potential audience. I’ve had everyone from 12-year-olds to women with their own kids say they loved “Fairy Godmothers, Inc.,” but when I was writing it I had no idea the spread would be that wide. 

3. Don’t freak out over the quiet periods

            

Those moments when you’re sitting alone at a table, watching everyone hurrying by to places that are clearly more interesting than you are, isn’t fun. The self-consciousness comes almost immediately, followed by the flashbacks to less pleasant moments of high school.

The key thing to remember is that these quiet periods are a natural part of any book signing, and it doesn’t mean that your book isn’t the most awesome book ever written. How many times have you hurried through a store to get where you needed to go and not even noticed anything else going on around you? That’s what happening here.

4. It’s surprisingly hard not to knock into things when you have wings sticking out of your back.

            

 I have so much more sympathy for Kate now.

Fairy Godmothers, Inc. Flash Fiction: Icebreaker

Icebreaker

By Jenniffer Wardell

The dance hadn’t worked.

Kate and the client, a shy but perfectly nice young lady named Bonnie, were currently hiding out in the castle corridor trying to figure out what had gone wrong. At the moment, the “figuring” mostly consisted of Bonnie crying and Kate thinking evil thoughts about the young Count Duboir.

“He hates me,” Bonnie whimpered, trying to keep her sobs quiet. “When we started dancing I thought he liked me for a minute, but then he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

“That’s because he’s an idiot,” Kate soothed, rubbing a hand along the girl’s back. She’d actually been dumb enough to like the painfully young count for about five minutes. He’d looked incredibly uncomfortable at the party, but when he’d seen Bonnie step out onto the dance floor his whole face had lit up. She didn’t understand why he’d bolted the minute the song ended, which made the whole thing that much more infuriating. “I’ll figure out something.”

“It won’t work.” Bonnie shook her head, her voice wet. “You did everything just right.” She sniffed, sounding absolutely miserable. “It’s all my fault. I should have giggled more or something. But all I could do was stare at him.” That started the tears up again. “He was just so wonderful….”

Oh, the poor girl. “Listen, you’re the wonderful—“ Kate stopped, practically able to feel the pieces clicking into place. “You didn’t talk to him very much, did you? When you were dancing, you didn’t have to, but afterward you’re expected to stare at each other and say all kinds of romantic nonsense.”

“I was hoping he wouldn’t notice when I didn’t say much.” Wiping at her wet cheeks, Bonnie watched Kate stand up with a confused look. “Is that what I did wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong,” Kate said firmly, helping Bonnie to her feet. “The count is just as shy as you are, and after the dance was over he panicked.”

Bonnie just stared at her. “How do you know?”

“I don’t, but any other explanation means I have to kill him.” Kate dragged Bonnie back toward the ballroom, stopping just outside the doors. “Is there any chance at all you might be willing to start a conversation with the man?”

Bonnie looked panicked. “What would I say? I don’t know enough to sound interesting!”

Kate sighed. “Okay, option two.” She watched the pages run back and forth between the kitchen and ballroom, then snagged a dish of custard off of one of the trays. Watching the crowd until the count came into view again, she dumped the custard over Bonnie’s head.

The girl looked like she was about to cry again. “I really liked this dress.”

“Yes, but now the count has a reason to talk to you,” Kate said, pushing Bonnie through the door. The girl just stood there a moment, looking miserable, but when the count saw her a look of instant dismay crossed his face.

Immediately, he pushed his way to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked Bonnie, taking her hands in his. When the girl just shook her head, still sniffling, the count led her out the door. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Hiding safely around a different corner, Kate grinned

PBS in my DNA

I’m a full-time journalist and about to be a published novelist, and I’m just now realizing how much PBS made me a part of who I am.

My earliest years are a combination of “Sesame Street” and “Mr. Rogers Neighborhood,” both ingrained in me so deeply that lines from different segments will still float through my head occasionally. It’s a standard line now that both shows make education seem fun, but they also taught me things I never found in a textbook. Through those shows, I found out that words have a wonderful rhythm that can be as fun to play with as any toy. I found out that everyone has their own story to share, and you can find out the most wonderful things if you’re just brave enough to ask a question. I learned that it’s okay to be scared, but that things will probably work out if you take a deep breath and jump in.

Then there was Bob Ross. I’ve never really painted, and most certainly not with oils, but when I was a kid he was the only creative person I knew. In a way, he opened up the entire world of creativity for me. You could watch him paint these beautiful, complicated scenes, and he would break it all down into these simple-sounding steps that made it seem like anyone could make something that beautiful and complicated. I know Ross really believed that, and he was warm and encouraging enough to feel like the kindest, most loving teacher in the world. There were no mistakes, only “happy accidents” that you could turn into something wonderful. On a more fundamental level, the fact that he loved what he was doing radiated out of him every second he was onscreen.

Bob Ross might not have succeeded in teaching me how to paint, but he definitely taught me that making something out of nothing is one of the happiest, most welcoming experiences a human being can have. How was I supposed to say no to that?

A gateway to anywhere

I truly love airports, despite the fact that admitting this generally makes people question my sanity. True, the security lines are clearly secret government experiments on how extreme stress affects the human mind, but there’s still nowhere better than an airport for that sheer, concentrated sense of potential.

If you’re the one getting on the plane, being in an airport usually means you’re traveling someplace far enough away from home that it automatically qualifies as an adventure. Vacations, naturally are the best – either to someplace new or a beloved spot you haven’t seen in too long – but even business trips can give you the taste of a new city. Afterward, being in an airport means you’re heading home again to a familiar bed and people who at least like you quite a bit.

If you’re not leaving or coming back, odds are you’re welcoming someone you love. Either it’s a family member coming home after experiencing their own adventure, or it’s distant loved ones who you don’t get to see often enough because there are so many miles between you.  No matter how annoying they can be, heading to an airport generally means that something significant is about to happen. It’s a controlled surprise.

In my own life, I’m generally the one leaving and coming back, since there’s too much I still want to see and none of my beloved beaches anywhere in my home state (the ocean is a terrible thing for a desert-dweller to love). In college I had one of my two best friends on each side of every plane ride, and now I have the whole wide world on one side and people I love on the other (and generally in the seat next to me). To keep that opportunity in my life, I’ll take disapproving TSA agents and terrifyingly small airplane bathrooms any day of the week.