I Can Do It Continues Part 2

I Can Do It Continues Part 2

It has been quite a challenge to not only work to create a book that truly is written by both my grandson and myself but also the process of teaching writing to a child of this age. I know of others who listen to the ideas and then write the story. That would be the process of writing with a coauthor but I wanted it to be more.

I feel if I hurry to write the story I might miss the opportunity to be a part of an experience in learning that could carry on later in life. I have no idea what Zander wants to do when he grows up, but firmly believe that learning all that we can is never a waste. A friend of mine marvels at his enthusiasm saying it is because he is his grandma's boy and grew up watching me writing, typing, discussing, and shares my passion, feeling a part of it. That is probably true but I believe it is also in his own heart and his own desires no matter where it originates. Helping a child to enjoy learning is like an adventure for me. We have fun.

I think having fun in learning is especially important to the young. As we grow older we know there are assignments or things we need to do and learn and may do it because that is what we need to do. A young child might not feel the need or understand the advantage and their attention might wander to other things they find more fun and appealing. It is exciting to see them want to do and learn because they can not wait to do and learn more. Seeing them filled with pride and confidence in the new things they understand and now can use is only a start. Seeing them with a desire to continue and learn more is more than I can resist.

That is the reason I am working to write a book that will take others through the processes we are doing to learn and write our book. I plan to share things here too but am actually doing this second book in the same manner I use when I teach Zander or speak with school children or any others wanting to learn. It will not be a work book although it will have spelling words, learning definitions, concepts and hopefully a new way to think and see things as we work creating something special.

Zander has a pretty good understanding of many things relating to writing but I am going to try to relate some of them here and in the book. When I have tried to teach him some things especially if they are things he might not run across in everyday conversations with his friends I try to make it either fun or challenging. Often it is like a puzzle if he can figure out how it works.

One of the first things we discussed is what it takes to make a story. I asked him if he knew. He frowned not knowing what answer I was looking for. I explained that it takes a beginning, middle and end. If we tell all about someone and where they are, maybe even what they are doing but that is all, there is no end. “Sam was a big boy with brown hair ran swiftly. He ran in the race and was one of the fastest runners of all in the race.”

He waited for me to continue explaining. “We know that Sam is a big boy and has brown hair. We know he was fast when he ran and that he was running in a race. Did he win? Did something happen? Who else was in the race? What things do we need to know to make it a story instead of just telling me about Sam?”

A big smile came across his face. “Sam was only one of the kids in the race. There were a bunch of kids and one of them was mean and tripped him. When he fell he lost the race.” He laughed and asked it that was the end or did I want to know more?

That was the beginning of understanding for what we were about to begin. I want him to understand how important words are. We use words to write our stories. We use words to communicate with each other. We use words in many ways. We need to understand the words we use and the meanings.

I asked if he knew what a protagonist is and he gave me one of his special looks. He did not know and was not sure he cared but it was a challenge between us. I waited for him to ask what it was and was not disappointed. My momentary silence was soon filled with him wanting me to tell.

We have made such good progress since my last blog but I will try to bring us up to date and get ready for next week.

Spelling Words and definitions

Protagonist : the principal character in a literary work (as a drama or story) The chief character in a play, novel, or story

a leading actor, character, or participant in a literary work or real event

“I guess we could say that the protagonist is who or what the story is about.”

Zander smiled with understanding, “I know now. It is the person the whole story is really about.”

I love to create a bit of a challenge to think a little deeper. “It could be a person, but what if the story is about a talking dog, or a pumpkin that comes to life or even a ghost or an alien? Those are not just people. One reason we have words to have better understanding of what we are trying to say. If I just said the person the story is about that might not be good enough depending on our story. The words protagonist tells us all of that with one word and we know who or what in the story we are talking about.

Antagonist one that opposes another. “Who or what is causing the problem? If we know who the protagonist is and we know what is going on then what is the problem or thing that is happening in the story? What is keeping the protagonist from doing what he is trying to do? He smiled and said, “In the little story, it is the mean boy that tripped Sam.”

I was thrilled. At that moment he had learned two words I have never heard an 8 year old use before, but as we continued to talk and discuss ideas for stories and examples of things involving the protagonist and antagonist I could see him growing more accustomed to hearing and using his new words. I did not want to give him words so that he could learn the definitions and memorize them, but own them by knowing and understanding them in his own discussions and use. We continued to talk of many things but I found ways to use the new words as we did enjoying his responses when he too used the words. At first he seemed hesitant but soon seemed proud.

I mentioned since he knew what a protagonist was then he understood it was about the main character of the story. When we say character it could mean more than one thing. Some words have different meanings depending on how you use them.

We know that just as the protagonist is the main person or character of our story...the character is what? The character is a person or something that is one of the actors or participants in the story. You may have many characters.

The boy who was a fast runner is the protagonist that is the main character. They boy that tripped him is also a character but not the protagonist, or one the story is about. You could have other characters in the story such as “When Sam fell, two other runners stopped to try to help him up and see if he was hurt. All of the other runners ran right by and did not seem to care.” There may be many characters.

He had to think on that one for a bit. A smile came across his face and he was ready for more.

I told him what about this? “Look at that little dog chase his own tail. He runs in circles. He is such a cute little character.”

He looked confused. So I tried a different example. “The little old man could tell such funny stories and made us all laugh. He is such a funny character.”

What was it about the old man that made him such a character? Was it because he did something different or odd compared to others? Was the little dog doing something odd, different or funny? Was the old man doing something different that caught their attention with his stories?

Character an odd or peculiar person
a person in a story, novel, or play

We could also talk about what kind of character a person might have that made them trustworthy and honest. Are they of good character? Would the word character then describe something about a person?
Character can be moral excellence

We went on discussing different ideas for stories using the new words and he seemed to delight in one idea after another using his new words.

Ever so often as we used the words protagonist and antagonist I would spell it. Casually as we talked he was learning new words and how to spell them.

PLOT is another word that can mean more than one thing depending on what we are saying and how we use the word.

Plot and mean the main story (as of a book or movie) I like to use the word and give an example as we talk. You notice I did not say teach, because I am teaching by including him in the conversations or allowing him to crave an understanding, knowing he can figure out the puzzle or answer with it in the end.

“As I read the story it was so interesting I could hardly wait to see how it ends.” You could think of the plot of the story like a guide of how the story goes from beginning to end.

What about other ways to use the same word? If we are talking about a ghost story it would be a paranormal story. That is something that is not normal or out of the ordinary and normal. We could say “I was afraid to go near the plot of the old man who is supposed to haunt the cemetery.” We know the plot is a small piece of ground where the old man is buried.

a small area of ground : <a cemetery plot>

If I told you to be careful because I think some of the characters in the story will plot mean things for the protagonist, what do you think?

Zander laughed and said “That is easy. The main character had better look out because there is some bad stuff ahead.”

“That is right. We might say they have an evil or unlawful scheme of plan that is what they are plotting to do.

We continued talking and using the new words we had learned. I mentioned the original children's story The Pumpkin Field. He had heard it so many times he almost knows it by heart. Through the years he never seems to tired of it as he looks for other meanings for the same phrases. I wrote it hoping it would be something to stimulate thought as well as tell a story. I mentioned if we wanted to write the rest of the story as he had thought we could actually use the words from the first story in the second and develop it into a new story with the other story included.

US

http://www.amazon.com/Pumpkin-Field-Linda-Nance/dp/1461044812/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1373168927&sr=1-6

UK       

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Pumpkin-Field-ebook/dp/B00DIQUBIE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1373169032&sr=8-1&keywords=linda+nance

Canada

http://www.amazon.ca/The-Pumpkin-Field-ebook/dp/B00DIQUBIE/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1373169091&sr=8-4&keywords=linda+nance

Germany

http://www.amazon.de/The-Pumpkin-Field-Linda-Nance/dp/1461044812/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1373169140&sr=8-3&keywords=linda+nance

Spain

http://www.amazon.es/The-Pumpkin-Field-Linda-Nance/dp/1461044812/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1373169188&sr=8-5&keywords=linda+nance

France

http://www.amazon.fr/The-Pumpkin-Field-ebook/dp/B00DIQUBIE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1373169239&sr=8-1&keywords=linda+nance

I got out a copy of the book and he smiled as he read and looked at each page. “You will have to do some pictures for our book too. I know we have mostly words and the story but I still like the pumpkins.....and the witch....and the cat.... Well I like them all.” He remembered watching me as I did each of the original pictures. The pages are full size art works with the words included in the art.  I was amazed when I saw the first book at how exact the print quality was. I could see it just like the ones I have in a folder.

It would be a challenge, but so was creating a story that did not have characters he so loves such as Iron Man or Spider Man. We had to learn to create our own characters from our own imaginations and not use what other people had created. That was a bit of a discussion before he understood and accepted that he could not use any character or story from the television.

It was exciting as day by day we learned new words and worked to develop what the new story would be. He wants it to be for older children. He loves the pictures of the story book I wrote and illustrated but he said there is so much more to this story he wants to tell. He wants it to be one that he and his friends could read.

We began to actually put a story together. He chose the characters and names. We had to work to find solutions to problems early in the story. I loved watching the expressions on his face as he thought and would propose one idea after another until we could find on that might work. Sentence by sentence we made a small beginning. I know it will be written and rewritten many times before we are satisfied but that is part of learning to write a book. I want him to understand and question even his own writing. “Is what I have written easy to understand? Did I describe the characters well enough the reader knows what the look like and what they are like as people? How do they work out their problems? What are their problems? What are they wanting to do? Why?” These were only some of the many things we talked about and tried different things.

After we came up with the first part I typed out what he thought the story should be. We have his ideas, his characters, his story and me putting it together. I asked many questions leading him to analyze the story and develop it as we went along. When I asked a question challenging something the would do or wanted to do he would think and come up with what he thought it should be . This is the first bit we did.........

Beyond The Pumpkin Field

Several years ago, I decided to see if the rumors I had heard about a haunted pumpkin field were true. It was almost Halloween and many whispered about the spooky field down the old gravel road, not too far from my house. It was a night I will never forget. I was afraid to tell others about it, fearing they would never believe what I had seen and heard.

It was the dark of night but the moon shone bright, casting shadows on things below. I was younger then and those shadows looked spooky. I was afraid but did not want the others to know how afraid I really was. I should never have gone without telling my parents, but knew they would say no or think it was silly. We did not think it was silly and I really wanted to know the truth. I had heard many times that there was nothing in the dark that was not there in the daylight, but it sure looked like there might be anything hiding there in the dark.

As the years passed I began to wonder if even in time, we might never know what was the cause and the reason for it all. I just know what I saw, or thought I saw. I know it was true but then again, could it have been a dream? Those were things that I thought about from time to time.

When I think back to that night it was as if some kind of eerie spell had crept in and strange things were all around. The only way for a person to know for sure what was really going on, would be for them to go and see.

In the day it was a field that looked so peaceful with all of the plants the farmer had planted. When I went there before that night in the daylight the field was full of pumpkins the farmer had grown and corn stalks bundled here and there. The scarecrow hung limply on his perch looking old and worn with hay peeking out here and there. His blue shirt was faded with age and his hat hung down low on the head full of hay.

The moon had a silvery light and almost blue in the shadows. I felt a chill in the air and I began to shiver. I remembered the stories I had heard and the rumors of how haunted the place was.

I had also heard about the spell the old witch they told tales about was said to have cast on the land. There were many stories about her too. They say she used to own that land, but the farmer took it away from her. She was so angry she moved far back in the woods, casting spells and haunting anyone she ran across. The other children said a single look from her could turn you to stone or some other equally bad spell she might cast. There were other stories about her too. Each time they were told, the stories became more fearsome.

I have to admit that I was afraid. I was so afraid that night that I could hardly walk. I am still afraid. I have only told a few people about that night but none of them think it was real. Some people think that I just fell asleep because it was late and I had a bad dream. Some told me they thought I was telling lies. Some just laugh and think I am making it all up to scare them. When I think about it, I see no way it could be real. I wonder myself how it could have happened like I remembered. To this day I remember it all.

I walked up to the pumpkin field down a long road lined with big trees and bushes. I expected for one of my friends to jump out and try to scare me any time but it seemed like I was all alone. I could hear the frogs singing their night song not far away in a pond near the field. There were lightening bug or fireflies that flickered in the dark. I had a flashlight but was afraid if I used it, someone might come to see who was there and tell my mom and dad I had been sneaking around in the dark of night. I did not want to get into trouble.

I did not realize that if I got hurt, no one would know I was there. Any bad thing could have happened. It was really not a smart thing to do but here I was thinking about doing it again. Since no one believed my story I began to wonder about it myself. It all seemed so real but I could see no way that it could be real.

Now that I am a teenager you would think I would have figured it out, but I just have more questions. I decided I would have to go back. I might have to go back more than once. No matter what it took, I would have to figure out if it was real or only a dream. I had a plan to take a friend or two this time. I was going to have a witness if there was anything special to see.

This time it would be more than just me that saw things in the dark of night that sent a shiver down your spine. The next day at school we were eating lunch with everyone laughing and talking. I decided to confide in my two closest friends about my plan and hoped they might decide to join in too.

Matt could come and stay with me on the weekend. We would be able to sneak out together and be back home before daylight. I did not like to sneak but that night haunted my memory for all they years after it had happened.

Mary was friends with my older sister. Her name is Amie and she is only a year older than I, but thinks she has the right to always boss me around and treat me like I am only a little kid. The only way I could think of for Mary to be able to come with us, would be for her to stay overnight with my sister. My sister might tell on us and then none of us could go. She also might think it would be a lot of fun or another chance to show how stupid I am. It was a risk I would have to take and hope that Mary could convince her that it would be fun.

When I first began to explain what I had in mind, they both laughed and asked me if I was serious.

“I remember when you first told me all of that and can not believe you are serious. Are you telling me after all this time you still think you saw all those things and that place is haunted with an old wicked witch waiting to catch people?” Matt laughed and I worried others might start to wonder what we were talking about.

“Keep it quiet. You two are the only ones I trust with this. The last thing I need, is for everyone to find out and start telling the whole world. I would be in a lot of trouble if my mom and dad found out. I don't want to listen to some of those bullies teasing me or making fun of me either. I know it sounds crazy but maybe you are just too afraid to come and investigate with me. There are all kinds of groups that investigate things like this that are haunted. They call them paranormal investigators. We would be like them, doing an investigation.” I waited for them to think it over and hoped they would not think it was silly too.

A big smile came across Matt's face. “Have you got a plan on how we can all get there in the middle of the night? The more I think about this the more I think it would be fun. We could be the official Pumpkin Field Ghost Chaser Team.” He broke out in peals of laughter.

“I don't think this is funny. I am serious and hope you will be too. You could come and stay the night with me this weekend and Mary could stay with my sister. They are both in the choir together and I think still friends. Sometimes I wonder how anybody could be friends with my sister as bossy as she is.” I waited to see if I would have company or have to make the investigation on my own.

Matt and Mary both started to smile but it was Mary that spoke first. “You can count me in. I would not miss this for the world. I think we will have to change the name a little. I will go for the Pumpkin Field Ghost Hunters but have to leave the chasing to you guys. If I find a ghost I will be busy runny away.” They all three laughed at her new name for their little expedition.

We have a long way to go and I am considering changing it to third person point of view. For right now we have had fun with him acting as if he was the protagonist and telling his own story. We will wait and see what develops. We have had such a good time and the hours flew by as we talked back and forth about, what if this or what if that? They could have done this but what if that? Questions and answers and before long it is as if we know them.

When I finished typing it he read it allowed and said, “I think we got it Mamaw. This is really going to be cool. I think we have enough ideas we will have to write at least 20 or 30 books. I know we can do it.” I had to laugh. He has told me that several times and his mother and grandpa too. We can do it. We are doing it. What a summer adventure.

We began making a list of things about our story........

STORY DETAILS

CHARACTERS

Jimmy main character Protagonist

Matt his best friend Character

Mary another friend Character

Amie Sister... 1 year older Character

DANNY IS HERE….NOW… I May be gone soon but will be back

        

  I have been so determined to get the novel Danny released by April 10.  It is here now or will be by morning.  If you want a book you can hold in your hands it is here now at CreateSpace eStore: https://www.createspace.com/4219992

          The book is available also on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/Danny-Linda-Nance/dp/1483950530/ref=la_B004PVDVR4_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1364778853&sr=1-2

The ebook is here too http://www.amazon.com/Danny-ebook/dp/B00C4K3EFW/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1364821468&sr=1-2&keywords=danny+by+linda+nance  

For a short time only to introduce this book and celebrate it's arrival it will be priced at $2.99 for the Kindle edition.

          I appreciate all of the input when I worked to do the cover.  When I started I had seen some storm clouds overhead and thought how powerful the emotion was looking at them knowing what those storms can do.  The wind came up quickly sweeping my hair back and cooling rapidly.  I felt a shiver as a chill ran through me right before the drops of rain started.

          I had continued to work with the idea of clouds and something looking down from them.  In the book and the story Danny there is more than a person might think that is looking.  It is watching.  It is there waiting. 

          I thought of the idea of a child reaching out.  If we felt so alone and lost, helpless and abused, what would we accept as we reached out for help. There is darkness beyond the hand of the child.  There is light above and behind but a darkness swirling around that could consume or carry a person away.

I had to decide on a color.  Color can make such a change in the mood of a picture.   I think it can create emotion.  Blue is not only the color of the ribbon for child abuse and this month is Child Abuse Awareness Month, but it has a cold look to it in the cover.  I hope you like it.

          I think this is a story you will not soon forget.  I believe it is one that will also bring to mind the consequences often overlooked or not thought of.  It is a story of fiction but one hauntingly real in heart and feel.

           A young child trapped in a nightmare life had a special friend. His friend said, “You can call me Danny.” Danny was his only friend. Feeling alone, abused, isolated and lost, a young child needed someone. No one but Steven could see or hear Danny. Was Danny imagination, a friendly ghost there protecting, or was there more to this entity than anyone might suspect? Steven began to think Danny might be a Guardian Angel but angel or evil…only time would tell….. because Steven would tell no one and betray his friend and that friend was there to stay. 
Tragedy and chaos, murder and an end to life as Steven had known, erupted in his household in the dark of night.  

                                                 This is a story you will not soon forget. 

           Danny is a story of a young child living a nightmare life of abuse and neglect. The pain of abuse at any age is one that has consequences. There are those who are stronger and live lives determined to never repeat the horrors they endured but there are others who survive in other ways. Feeling alone and vulnerable allows a person to be victimized even more in many instances. 
           Danny is a story of all that and more. There may come a day we suspect a person is being abused and want to help, finding it is more difficult than we dreamed.  If we dare to care and not give up, one by one we might make a difference. If we make a difference for even one person, it may mean the world to that one soul. 
             The idea that there might be more things in this world than meet the eye or that we might be able to see and understand, can give insight to a story that will take you beyond the abuse into the world lived by this child. This is more than a story of abuse and survival. This is a story that may haunt you in memory but remind us of what there can be in this world.  In this story you will know this child and feel from the depths of his inner-being instead of hearing his story. There may be a cold chill travel your spine as you begin to understand even more of this tale. We can call him Danny, but can we say who and what he really is? 

          I am so relieved to know that Danny is here and the book is a real book.  I hope to be able to share the news but know that my time to be online will be limited as we are enduring some very difficult times after my husband’s accident.  With no income we will have to wait…. But we will be back.  We are not giving up.  There have been a few times in this past month and some in the months before that seemed so impossible.  I try to look for the bright side and keep hope but there are times it is very hard.  In those times I heard from so many of you.  You helped share my news and sent messages of hope, good will, prayers and cares and touched my heart.  You all have helped more than you will ever know.

          These are things I do not say lightly and will remember always.

          I thank you.  I thank you all.  I may soon be gone from here, but will return.  While I am off line I will write…… Who knows what I will come up with next?  I will probably be here for another two weeks and hope to be able to tell all about this book I am so proud of.    I still get tired easily.  I am unable to sit here at the computer for long and having trouble with fluids.  It will get better and I will just take breaks and come back as often as I can.  I think I have been doing pretty good for the shape I am in and with all that life has presented.   There is no way I could give up with so many wonderful people reaching out to us.  Thank you.  We both thank you.

We had such a good time at my first book signing.

I read my children's book to my grandson's class.  I love the enthusiasm and interested in the young ones.  I think I had as much fun as they did.

This is Albert and I hope he will soon feel well again and we can visit with the children and grandchildren.  We can laugh and play and each day be brighter than the one before.

Telling Tales Through The Years

We had such a wonderful time last night.  We shared the evening filled with spooky tales, stories and moments presented by numerous people. 

There is a place in Jonesboro, Ar that is so outstanding in what they do.  They offer a place and times for people to gather and enjoy the arts in many forms.  We have gone and listened to music you wish would never end, as the evening is amazing for all.  The entertainers do more than play their music, they join with such passion everyone becomes a part of it all.  There are special events of so many different kinds that allow everyone to view, hear and become a part of it as artists show their creations, writers share their words and works, and musicians play a variety of music to delight and entertain.

TheArts@311 is a musicians/artists collective. It is a meeting place for artists and those who appreciate and want to support the arts locally. A warm comfortable and friendly place for friends, family and neighbors to join in the fun.  It is a place to meet and make new friends that are having a good time at 311 South Church Street, Jonesboro.  Jonesboro and Northeast Arkansas have an incredible amount of talent. Music, fine arts, visual arts, and writing, that is shared in a friendly atmosphere. TheArts@311 hosts these local professional and semi-professional artists for performances and exhibitions. There is a stage with equipment for music performance and the space is perfect for exhibitions of visual and fine arts. The stage can be cleared for theater and dance performances. The goal is to promote the artist,  That is what they do and what they did last night and we were there.

They had such a fantastic collection of individuals reading and telling stories and tales... truth or fiction?????  Why knows with tales told in the dark of night with a chill in the air?  I know it was so much fun for all.  Those who spoke, captured and enthralled all as they told their tales with passion and vividly presented stories with the audience hanging on every word.  You did not want to miss a moment.

There was one.... I can not say how well it was presented, but it was done by the author of a fictional short story she wrote and always enjoys telling..... me.  I had such fun but was nervous.  There is a difference in speaking to a group of friends or family and going up on the stage....lights are magically creating a scene and the microphone is ready.  They had the lights.  It was decorated with unique style, special effects bringing you all into a world of the unknown with tales to be told.  It was so perfect and when they said my name and introduced me, for a moment my heart skipped a beat.  It was time.  All eyes were watching and the room was silent.... the moment had arrived.

I chose a short story from one of my books that I especially enjoy.  When I started my back felt rigid with the tension and I hoped I could find courage to tell the story with the passion I had written in the words and not just read it.  I wanted to carry those who heard it to the time and place and let them share the adventure.  In moments I felt the tension ease as the story began to flow and I filled with the excitement of the moment.

I have shared many stories this time of the year to many groups of people.  One of those I especially enjoy, is reading the story of the Children's book The Pumpkin Field.  Last year I was dressed as a witch and had fun each and every time.

I read to the school children and received the greatest compliment I think an author can get for a children's book.  As I read the story, page after page, the children sat in utter silence listening to every word.  They did not fidget or whisper.  They watched and listened as the witch told the tale.  What bigger compliment could a person have than to share their words and have them received like that.

I have read in groups at parties and loved the excitement and comments the little story inspires as we talk for hours about what their thoughts, fears, ideas and stories of their own.  Reading at the Libraries is always a fun time. 

I have read for my grandson's class.  It felt wonderful to see him smiling as he told them "That's my Mamaw.  Seeing the children smile, laugh and ignite with excitement at the thought that they too can write stories and learn to do many things.  I have told them that grades are important but learning is a gift that lasts a lifetime.

Last night I was so nervous but having such a good time with good people. Last night I was able to tell a tale and share one of my stories another time for another year.  I listened to others who amazed and entertained me and all of the others with not only the fascinating stories but vivid presentations.  The atmosphere was perfect in the event presented by Rev-Rick Bowen.  I wish I had been able to get pictures but we were having such a good time we got caught up in the moment having such fun.



I would love to see this painting I did enlarged as a wall size print.  I think it would make a wonderful Murial or background for a Halloween scene.  I used it on the cover of the book of short stories.

I hope you all have fun tonight and stay safe.  I hope the children have safe and happy times making memories of their childhood to last a lifetime.

I WON AND THE LEGEND LIVES ON....PART 9

I WON AND THE LEGEND LIVES ON…PART 9

I am back and have so much more that I want to share but also other things by the dozens I would like to tell…but one step at a time and I often move a little slow so here I go again…..

I told about the wonderful class that I attended at ASU.  At the end of the class we received a notice or invitation to enter a short story in competition.  People from all over the nation could enter and 10 to 15 would be chosen.  The winners would be allowed to attend as special function there at ASU and part of it included a workshop/critique with Cary Holladay there in person.

My instructor encouraged me to enter.  I had never entered any short story or writing competition but did decide to submit one of my stories.  When I wrote The Legend Lives On I wanted to write something special that could involve the reader in the story.  The instructor said that he loved the story but wanted me to try to re-write it and explain it in a more traditional way so it would not confuse the reader.  He was afraid as I had written it might be something most readers would miss or not fully understand.

Most readers?  He might be right.  I think he might underestimate people but did as he asked.  I did not like it that way so when I entered the competition I submitted my version and thought that the chances I would win would be small considering how many people might enter.

I was shocked and surprised when I received the notice that I had won and was invited to attend the event.  I actually won.

I arrived there early and as the other people began to appear I was amazed that I was the only one from here and some had paid transportation and expenses to stay and attend from all over the country.

The excitement and anticipation grew as the time neared for the event to begin.  We were led to the area and beautiful refreshments were served.  The whole thing seemed unreal to me.  ASU had done a wonderful job of creating a welcoming and warm atmosphere for the writers.

Cary Holladay was delightful, inspirational, and so talented.  I can not say enough to describe what an honor it was to participate and meet such a person.  She has been so encouraging to me and even kept in contact and answered any questions I have had to this day.  She commented on my story to the whole group and loved my version.  People like here not only write wonderful stories and books, teach others to do and be more, but are an inspiration in themselves.

Halloween will soon be here and I want to take the time to share this story.  It is not exactly a Halloween story but if you think of a haunted church…..I hope you like it and can not wait to hear what you think.   Here it is….The Legend Lives On………

                                                                                                                                                                                                                            *    The Legend Lives On    *      

                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

            The historic church sat among giant, old oak trees, towering proudly with their twisted and gnarled limbs swaying in the breeze.  These trees were some of the oldest in the area and still stood proudly in the decades of passing time.  Storm clouds had gathered making the evening hour gloomy, with thunder rumbling in the distance.  The wind swept currents of leaves, fluttering and whispering along the stone paths that wound between the old church and behind, to the historic cemetery nestled amid the growth of bushes and more trees.

             As far as the eye could see in all directions that secluded spot was surrounded by highways, buildings, and more people.  This one small area stood protected from the growth of civilization near St. Louis Mo.  It had been built long before Saint Louis was a city, and still stood stout of timber with every stone in place surviving the ravages of time.

            Darkness was not far away as a small group of children gathered on the stone steps leading into the church.  A fourteen year old girl named Jenny, glowed with enthusiasm as she found the door unlocked, and no one but them in sight.  She paused before entering, as if considering some troubling thought, before she spoke softly to the other children gathered closely on the weathered steps. 

            “I know you all know the real story of this old church,…. but every time I come here,….. it comes to my mind so strongly,….. I can just see it, ….as if it were happening

all over again…..  I can’t imagine the horror of what it must have been like, way back then.  The modern church never admits to what really happened, because they’re afraid of scaring away tourist and making their church look bad.  You’ll never hear them mention or even admit it was possible, they had a haunted church, but considering what happened on this very spot,……. who knows what could be?”                                                                                                                                                                The other four children listened intently, and moved to stand even closer.  Silence                                                                                                                                                                                                                           prevailed as each of them gazed at the dark wooden beams and stones of the walls before them.  One small voice of the ten year old brother of Jenny, tentatively found the courage                   

to speak, barely above a whisper. 

            “How come I never heard anything about the old church being haunted or bad things happening here?  You’re making it all up, just to scare us.”  He was more than a head shorter than Jenny and had his hair cut short for the summer with ears sticking out on each side of his round little face.

            Jenny glared at him and shook her head.  “Of course you’ve never heard anything about it.  You’ve always been such a baby; Mom and Dad probably figure you’d keep them up all night having night mares, if you heard even part of it.  I know you’ve grown

up a lot now, so we won’t tell them I let you know about it or came with us here to see it.

After all, you’re my brother and we’re all good friends that grew up together.  I can’t believe you guys didn’t know.  Grown ups never tell us the good stuff.  This old church is in books and a historical registry, so it‘s easier for them to just ignore it all and pretend it never really happened.  They even named this silly town with some Indian name. 

Can you believe that, after what happened to begin with?  Cahokia’s an Indian word.”

            Terry and Sherry stepped forward together, with heads held high.  They wore matching yellow shorts and tops, with matching hair styles, matching shoes, and matching mirror images of one another.  The twelve year old twins even had the habit of finishing each other’s sentences.  Only family members of the girls, and close friends could tell them apart.

            “We’re not afraid of any old ghost….”Sherry boldly stated.

            “….or afraid to go in this old church.”  Both of them nodded their heads in agreement as first one, then the other finished what they had to say.  Thunder rumbled in the distance with a low resounding growl,  a little closer then it had before.  All heads turned, looking at the slowly churning and ominous clouds building in the evening sky.  They shivered slightly in the damp and chilly breeze as it rustled and whispered through the trees and fallen leaves.  A whispering sound was heard as the breeze swept the densely vegetated area.  It wasn’t a sound they heard often growing up in the crowded

subdivisions of houses near by, with one tree per yard if they were lucky.

            Kathy and Jenny had been school mates and friends for as long as either of them

could remember.  Kathy moved from the side of the group to stand next to Jenny.   A basic part of the relationship between Kathy and Jenny, involved a constant rivalry, making it impossible for Kathy to allow Jenny to know something she had not known first. 

“I think I do remember something about this old church…..  It‘s been so long ago, I just can’t quite remember all of the details.”  Kathy wanted to make sure the whole group knew there was nothing Jenny knew, that she didn‘t know.

            Another clap of thunder startled the group, as Jenny slowly pulled the heavy wooden door open on the rusted thick metal hinges and brackets.  The door made an eerie creaking sound and hollow groan.

            “We’d better go inside before it starts to get dark, or we won’t be able to see at all.  There’s no electric lights inside,….. and I want to be able to see in every corner when I go in. …..That is, if you are all sure we want to do this?…… I can tell you all the details inside, for the ones who don’t know what really happen, on this very spot so long ago and  Kathy can fill in on any thing I forget or leave out,….. when we get inside.”

            Slowly the five children entered the dark and shadowy interior of the old building.  The moment they entered, the door swung closed behind them. Four of the five children stared in apprehension as if unseen hands had pushed it closed. The dank musky smell of

the ancient structure was thick in the air.  The entry had a low wooden ceiling of big heavy timbers, making them feel close and confined.  The ceiling of the entry was actually the floor of the narrow choir loft above.  The darkened heavy wooden timbers that supported the choir loft framed the walkway entering the worship area. 

             Taking slow and cautious steps they moved as a group into the interior of the small historic church.  Jenny stopped in the lead, and cleared her throat as she gazed warily all around at the rows of pews on each side of the isle, behind them, up into the shadowed recesses of the choir loft, and the narrow steep steps that led up into the recess above nestled under the main ceiling of wooden timbers high above the group.

             Slowly she turned facing the altar.  Alcoves flanked each side of the altar.  A sculptured figure of Mother Mary stood in the one on the left, staring blankly with outstretched hands, dressed in a flowing blue robe looking worn and faded with small chipped areas about the edges. The other alcove held rows of small candles each held in ruby colored glasses.  An arched doorway was nestled behind the alcove with Mother Mary that exited from the side of the altar area leading to the priest’s area.  It was only a niche in size that held a small desk, chair, three shelves mounted to the wall over the desk and a row of pegs to hang coats or robes nest to the arched doorway.  The small desk stood with its roll top closed and locked. A tiny door from the priest’s area exited the back, into the cemetery they had seen behind the church as they had walked up earlier. 

            Each of the children peered intently, following Jenny’s gaze of their surroundings as they stood in the center of the rows of pews in the church.  What light there was filtered in multicolored rays through stained glass windows in recessed areas of the thick walls.  Tall narrow windows fashioned scenes in vibrant colors.  Seen in the ruby, emerald, golden and azure streams of light, small leather bound books sat neatly in their places with their fragile yellowed pages still intact, resting neatly in the wooden racks on the back of each pew.

            As Jenny began to speak, her voice had a strange hollow sound under the high ceiling and thick walls surrounding them in the dim and shadowy interior.  It was not quite an echo, but held a timber not normally heard.  “I almost feel like I’ve walked into the past,……. and am waiting for them to come back here, where they belong…..  It was so long ago, but this is the way it happened…….

            A small group of French Settlers viewed the peaceful little valley beside the Mississippi River, and determined they could build homes for them and their generations to come.  The area abounded with trees and natural resources to provide all they needed.  They began to carve out an area in a well chosen spot, this very spot we stand on now, using the huge trees cleared to build sturdy homes for the winter to come.  The determination of the group was unparalleled in history. 

            They built a church with large hand cut timbers, fashioned to endure through

generations of worship, they imagined to be their future……  If only they could have known what that future would be.

            “We studied about all of this in school.  Most of them were fur traders and stuff like that.  They were French.”  Kathy proudly related the facts she knew.  “Our books say they got along great with the Indians.”

            Jenny smiled and agreed with Kathy as she silently wished Kathy would stay out of her story.  She tried not to let her irritation show at the interruption as she responded.  “That’s very true.  Most of the settlers and the French settlements got along fine, but what the books don’t tell are the rare times small bands of renegade and hostile Indians passed through and what really happened then.  History books don’t tell everything.  There is a lot the books leave out…..Like what happened right here.”

            Jenny’s little brother had big blue eyes that seemed even larger than usual.  He had been silently listening as he moved closer to Jenny.  “Go on and tell us what happened.”

            “All right.  This is how it was.  It was a beautiful Sunday morning, when they had

gathered from all around the area, where each family had settled and built their own homes.  The richest family sat in the first pew and was proud of the mansion they built not far from the church and all of the land they claimed and owned.  The old mansion still stands down the road we walked down to get here, and they say it’s just as haunted or more than this old church.  There are a lot of stories about them, and all that went on there with the old family and the way they treated their slaves, and everything else for all the years after, that went on in that place.  The foundation is still in the ground behind the mansion where the slave quarters were, but that building fell down a long time ago.

            Sherry interrupted Jenny in telling the story, and asked a question that as usual was finished by her sister Terry.  “This isn’t way down South……..”

            “So how come they had slaves?”  As Terry finished the question, the whole group waited for Jenny to explain.

            “This area was known as a border state.  A lot of people didn’t want slavery but a lot did.  They even held slave auctions on the old court house steps.  They also had an underground railway to help slaves escape to farther up North.  That’s a whole other story.  This bunch here, had brought their slaves with them.  If you’ve got servants that don’t get paid, then that makes them slaves in my book.  Do you want to know about this old church, or not?”           

            Jenny’s little brother Dave wanted to hear what he had been to little to know before.  He was always being told he was too little for something.  “This place gives me the creeps, but I want to know.  Tell us.”

            “All right.  I’ll tell it…..   They thought they had it made.  They never saw it coming. All the people from miles around had gathered together to worship.  A lot of the people there lived farther out and only saw each other on Sundays…  They never saw it

coming…..  The doors flew open…… The windows were forced open……   A tide of rampaging Indians swarmed the church, just as the choir was softly singing a special song, featuring a duet of the only twin girls in the settlement.”

            Jenny paused and stared blankly at the rafters in the high ceiling above, inhaling the dank, musty smell of the past.  No sounds issued from the others in the group, but the twins gazed into the choir loft, as if they could see the twins of long ago.  A low rolling growl of thunder from the storm approaching seemed to rumble and echo in the church.

            “There were twins that lived that long ago…”  Sherry half asked

            “That sang in the choir?”  Terry finished asking

            Jenny turned her attention to Sherry and Terry.  “They not only sang in the choir, but sang the special duet that started each church service.  They were two of the three children of that rich family that lived down the road.  Their Mother, Father, little brother and Grandparents sat right there in that first pew.  The twins were trapped up there in that choir loft you can see above us.”  Jenny stood pointing to the empty choir loft shrouded in deep shadows above them as she continued her story.

            “The screams echoed from the roof top, as the Indians swiftly massacred the entire congregation.  The people lay dieing and bloody as friends, family, and people they loved, lay gruesomely dieing along side them, in the church they had lovingly built.  One of the twins screamed as she tried to fight before being thrown from the choir loft, and the other died quickly as the savages tore through the people.  None of them even had a chance.  Even the priest was slaughtered right here on the altar.  They say he fell to his knees, held up his hands and begged the savages.  He pleaded but it did no good, because here is the very spot he died,…… none the less.”

             Jenny advanced to the front of the church and reached out toward the beautiful altar, edged in bronze with a large life like image of Christ on the cross behind.  It had blood shown flowing from the side, and on his head, and hands and feet.  The Christ like image hung staring blankly toward the children.  The others gathered around her silently looking and listening, with every fiber of their being.  The darkness and shadows

had increased with the dimming light outside.  Some areas inside were almost totally dark in shadows.  The air hung heavy with the odor of the ancient place, as well as with the tension and fear of the children as they visualized the past. 

            She continued telling her story.  “Word got out about what had happened to the settlement, and all the people.  You can look in the history books to see how things went,…. but I can tell you what really happened,….. right here in this very spot where we stand…..  The main church was so grieved by what the Indians had done, that they buried the old priest right here under this very altar as a testament to the sacrifice he had made.”……In some ways it feels like they are all still here waiting to start their church service, in their church…..caught in time and waiting……It feels like this is their   place  and they are still here………..waiting.

            Several of the children stepped back away from the altar with looks of surprise and shock.  The twins looked back down the isle to the shadowy area of the door and then above the door to the empty choir loft.  Jenny walked forward and tightly pressed her fingers tips to the altar and closed her eyes.

            “The body of the long dead priest lays right below where I stand.”  The strengthening wind outside howled and wined.  A swift gust rattled the windows and made whispering and wining sounds of tress and limbs outside.  Jenny spoke almost in a whispered voice, as if in reverence.  “If you listen closely, you can almost hear the soft high voices of the twins singing the last song, of their young lives. They stood side by side there above us. They say if you press your fingers to the altar like this, you can some times feel the heartbeat of the dead priest.  Try it, unless you’re afraid to.”

            Kathy boldly stepped up and pressed her finger tips tightly to the altar, as did one by one, each of the others.  A look of shock and surprise blazed across each young face as they too felt the beating of a heart.  The lightening cracked above the tiny church as if it were going to split the sky and open the heavens.  Thunder roared, and the flash of light lit the dim recesses in the tiny church flashing in vibrant colors through the stained glass windows.  A stream of crimson color flooded the alter area in it’s momentary glow.

            Fear filled their faces as the beating heart pulsed in their finger tips.  Dark shadows surrounded.  The air felt too thick to breath.  Four of the five children pulled their hands back from the altar, and turned running down the narrow isle between the mutely empty rows of pews.  Jenny removed her hands from the altar last and followed, walking swiftly as her brother and friends ran in near panic out the door and down the road to their homes.  Huge rain drops were beginning to fall, and the night would be remembered by each and every one of them, for as long as they lived.

            Thirty-five years had past since that time so long ago, with the small group of friends gathered in a time of their youth.  Kathy and Jenny happened to reunite at their high school class reunion and reminisced about the old days, and all of the things done and shared.  Kathy had invited Jenny to come to her home and meet her family.

            Kathy’s grown daughter came into the room with her own daughter.  The little girl reminded Jenny of how her friend Kathy had looked in their youth. The little girl had the same dark hair and russet brown eyes Kathy had had in her younger days.  Kathy lovingly put her arm around the child as she ran to her grandmother smiling with a dimple on each side of her rosy cheeks.

             The little girl looked at her mother and eagerly asked, “Is this the lady that was with grandma when they felt the dead priest’s heart, beating through the altar?  A bunch of us at school were talking about the history of the old church the other day.”

            Kathy lovingly put her arm a little tighter around her grand-daughter and smiled as she thought back through the years.  “It sure is, and it’s a day I’ll always remember.  The legend of the old church….”  She paused deep in thought.  “To this very day the church denies it ever happened, but everyone who grows up here knows the legend.”

            Jenny was smiling at all three of them in secrete amusement all her own.  She had her own memories of that time.  She found humor that the legend lives on.  Jenny’s

memory of the time at the haunted church varied from the memory of the others.

*****  

Since I’ve told you the story of all that happened back then, I’ll stop here to tell you a little about myself.  I was a mischievous child, in the days long ago.  I had learned something new to me, and believed you should try to use the new things you learn.  I was also aggravated with my little brother always tagging along everywhere I wanted to go.  My best friend had a way of always trying to be the best, and in the process could be demeaning and even snotty at times.  Did I mention, I can at times have a warped sense of humor?  I learned if you press you finger tips tightly to any hard surface you will feel your own heartbeat.  There should be some use for new things learned.

            I can understand the children believing the ghosts of the past, on an evening in a spooky old building, thunder rolling and all.  I can’t believe that three generations later the legend of the massacre at the old church is still told and believed.  I was just being ornery and having fun, seeing if I could scare the willies out of the other kids. Everyone loves a good ghost story.  I could think up some good ones.   I think the heartbeat with the finger tips pressed tightly against the brass edge of the altar really helped.  I could try to tell Kathy the truth, but she would never believe me……….  after all of these years, she still knows everything.

My name is Jenny.  

By

Linda (Williams, Brown) Nance

I hope that you liked it.  I will be back soon to share some more things old and new.