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Author Topic: The Somewhat True Story of Sara Raberts-MG  (Read 4154 times)
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ever feel like you are chasing the roadrunner?

« on: August 24, 2016, 05:47:29 PM »

Chapter One
The Glowing Palm

It began as the worst day in the history of the world. Well, maybe not the entire history of world, but it was definitely the suckiest day of Sara’s young life. The day only got worse as school progressed didn’t improve her mood any better. It wasn’t her fault she was a “freak”. She wasn’t to blame for the disturbance in first period. Sara only knew her family would move because of what happened in her math class. 
While Sara was in geometry class attempting to learn the difference between volume and surface area - when the star-shaped birthmark on her palm lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July
Not now. As the new kid, she already felt like the weirdest girl in her seventh grade class. She sat on her hands to conceal her defect. Glowing star-shaped birthmarks wouldn’t help her fit in, either. Thankfully, only a few in the class noticed the light beams. The other students went about their work as if nothing even happened. Sara began to think she probably imagined it, but a note suddenly appeared in her geometry book confirming it wasn’t her imagination. The note meant trouble.

The Distinguished Mr. Thomas T. Thompson requests the presence of your company today. Please use your home teleportation apparatus to arrive. This is of utmost importance.
Thomas T. Thompson, ESQ.
It wasn’t bad enough she was a freaky outsider. Every time her mother got one of her strange headaches, the family would pack up all their stuff and Sara would find herself the new kid on the block. Now Sara figured she was required to deal with random notes appearing too.
Sara spent the rest of class reading and rereading the note. She didn’t learn the difference between volume and surface area. Why would Mr. Thompson send me a note in the middle of first?
The bus smelled like moldy gym clothes and motor oil and twelve-year-old Sara Roberts sat on the front seat. The bus was going home from school after her rotten day. She ignored the other kids and stared out the window. An old car drove by the bus, a toad in a green leisure suit sitting behind the wheel. The back seat was full of rats in purple hoodies. Her stomach fell to her knees. Panic swept over her. Sara knew the toad. She needed to warn her mother. If Appleton caught either her or her mother, it meant certain death. But she was the only one on the bus able to see Appleton as a disgusting toad. The normal kids could only see him as an ugly old man. She could care less how others perceived the rats in the back seat.  She was the only one on the bus from another planet. A crooked toad grin popped onto his green face as he waved at her, and then sped past the bus.
Her day made sense now. Appleton was the cause of what happened in school.
When the bus let her off, Sara sprinted to her house at record-breaking speed.  She stopped at the doorway and peered through the kitchen window, terrified she might be too late. The room was spotless, dishes washed and put away. She took a deep breath, opened the door and walked into the empty kitchen. 
 “Mom?” There was no answer. She called out again, still no answer. Her heart sank.
She stepped down the hall to search all the rooms. Despair followed her like a lost puppy dog through each empty room. Finally, she stood in front of her mother’s open bedroom door. Tears filled her eyes. Her mother was not in her room. Sara removed the cell phone from her front pocket and auto-dialed her mom’s number.
Sara heard a ringtone playing in the distance: “When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are…”
She followed the sound of the singing phone. Lying on the dresser was her mother’s large blue purse, and sunglasses. The purse was ringing.
As she scurried into the kitchen, Sara saw a note on the table.  “SaRah, I have left two help your Ant Abigail. She was in a axcident and had nowear else to turn. Love, Mom.” It looked as if the note rats wrote the note.
 Her mind raced. There was precious little time before Appleton found her house, if he hadn’t already found it. She decided it might be beneficial to come up with a plan, and she needed quickly.
She grabbed her backpack and ran back into the bedroom, looking for clues - anything could help. Picking up the purse, she emptied it on the vanity. There were four missed calls on the cell phone. One was from her. The other three were from Thomas. Sara’s mother taught her at an early age to trust Mr. Thomas. This was the first time she could remember he asked for her company.
Dumping the backpack on the red-carpeted floor, she replaced the books and notebooks with her mother’s cell phone, purse, and the note from the kitchen table. At the very last minute, she threw her special hairbrush into the backpack. She wiped the tear from her eyes and left the room.
Suddenly shouts echoed from the front porch. It was too late. They found her.
Sara clutched her backpack as if it was her favorite stuffed unicorn toy and sprinted into the bathroom. They hid the family transport machine behind the midnight blue seashell curtain. She never knew why they needed any kind of transport, until today.
She only hoped Mr. Thompson fixed the dials on the machine, or this would be a short ride. Appleton and his rats entered the hallway just as Sara slammed the door shut. Muffled voices and the eerie sound of rat feet clawing on the tile floor followed.
“Stop the brat before she escapes!”
The door burst open. Her heart thumped against her chest, as she fumbled for the latch on the transporter.  She vanished before Appleton could react.

May your life be full of sunshine, even when your skies are gray.
May you find the strength to go on when you think you lost your way
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« Reply #1 on: October 07, 2016, 12:58:42 PM »

Avesthom. In the past hour, you have commented on SIX first chapters, and every single time you just said "I just don't like it; something's missing."

You don't have to like everything. Hell, you don't have to like anything. But if you can't come up with a single constructive comment to say about anything, maybe you should try listening quietly.

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« Reply #2 on: October 07, 2016, 01:25:31 PM »

@Avesthom: The missing "past" that you keep referring to is what writers call "back-story." Modern narrative structure does not begin with back-story but with a setup and an inciting incident; everything else follows in a causative fashion.

A story told the way you seem to be suggesting would have to open with something like "Once upon a time…." Or perhaps all the way back to a birth announcement (The Joneses are pleased to announce the birth of….). I doubt, somehow, that it would work, but who knows?

There are many books on the subject of narrative technique. I suggest "Stein on Writing" by Sol Stein. But if that's too avant garde, try Aristotle's Poetics.

Hope this helps.
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« Reply #3 on: October 07, 2016, 02:47:59 PM »


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