Merry christmas

merry christmas peeps because today is actually christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and right now i am writing this post on my new nook that i got today!!!!" a nook is sort if like an ipad!!!" well, i gotta play with my orbies and tarot cardsso cheers !!!

Post #4

Happy Chanukah to everyone! And merry almost Christmas! Maybe i will write a holiday-themed poem soon! And just so you know, it would REALLY make my holiday if you told your friends and family to come to my blog and comment!


Thank you!

-Madam Bella

Ava's writing piece

Cora, Marie, and Magnolia

By Ava Blum-Carr, age 13

Cora, Marie, and Magnolia sat together, cramped into two small seats. All three of them had identical black trunks resting on their laps with initials stenciled in white paint—

C.C.A.

M.F.A.

M.G.D.

And all three had the same blank faces, made empty by six days of travel. They sat in silence and watched the road stretch in front of them and the sky stretch behind them. The air of the car felt still and heavy, like it was hanging around them in great folds, in the way of musty velvet curtains.

It was Magnolia who was making such comparisons in her head, thinking absently how the sky was billowing like sun-bleached cloth and how the road ahead was a single line on the map of her life: hand drawn, wavering, and all alone. It gave her a funny feeling, rendering her very existence as a piece of paper. It wasn’t a bad feeling, though. She closed her eyes in a meditative sort of way, to help along further analogies.

It was Marie who was worrying. She frowned involuntarily as she gazed out the window and thought of upsetting things. First of all, why was she even here? In a car with her two least favorite people, driving unprotected to the last place she wanted to be. It should be the opposite, Marie fretted. I should be on a majestic cruise ship, sailing OUT of England, not further into it. Headed towards…New York City with…with….she didn’t even know. Marie rested her head on the window glass.

It was Cora who was fussing. She squirmed and retied her hair-ribbons and pulled at her dress, grimacing as she thought of what she might look like at this moment. In her world, six cramped hours in a car without so much as a reflective window, let alone a mirror, did things to you. And furthermore, Cora couldn’t even bring herself to look down at her gloves. She clenched her fists. Magnolia. She directed hateful, hateful thoughts at the girl sitting next to her, but at the same time refused to look at her (even though they were inconveniently squashed together.) Angrily she produced her wire brush from her handbag and began to groom her suede boots to further perfection, just to keep her mind off things.

The car sped along under the immense grey sky, and each girl’s thoughts floated out and up, up to join the clouds above them.

Alisa's (my mom's) poem

I Have Become and Continue to Become

by Alisa Greenbacher, who is 41 years old 

 

In seven short weeks

I have become a mother of a daughter

who is becoming herself

 

a daughter

 

Become the daughter of a grandmother

who is becoming herself

 

a grandmother

 

Become the daughter of a grandfather

who is becoming himself

 

a grandfather

 

Become the wife of a father

who is becoming himself

 

a father.

 

How one new life

has brought us into these new ways

of being our newselves

 

and we are always

becoming

becoming

Thank you, alisa! you can do this too!

 

Post #3

EVERYONE, PLEASE COMMENT! IT'S EASY! JUST CLICK "comment" AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POST! ALSO, PLEASE SUBMIT MORE WRITING AND POEMS! THANK YOU!

Bella's (Me) writing piece

Here is a begining of story i wrote last night called My secret life I'm ten years old:

I used to wear lipstick. I used to wear fishnet leggings. I used to wear high heels and get my nails done every Thursday. I used to love to ride motorcycles. And I still do. My obsession started one       Monday when I was just finishing  my “At home finishing school” lesson. Out of the tiny slit between the door and it’s hinges I saw two rough-looking boys zooming down the street. They pulled their handles and jumped and landed back on the ground. They made a big “WHOOSH!” noise whenever they jumped. They went super fast…and…suddenly…they…flipped upside down in midair! It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen!

            Instinctively, I punched my fist into the air and yelled: “Whoo-hoo! We won!”

            The door fell open to reveal the two boys laughing at the manicured, make-uped, high heeled girl cheering for some gangsters on motorcycles. They zoomed away, laughing so hard they cried. I couldn’t help myself; I’d never seen anything like it before.

            The next day I asked my mom if I could have a motorcycle and, of course, she said no. Or more like: “Angelica Rosaline, you are a lady! Stop thinking about stupid things that only boys do!” And she spanked me. That was the first time she’d ever hurt me.

            Crying my black, mascara tears I ran up into my room and ripped down all of the motorcycle posters I had bought at Robby’s convenience store.

            Mom never came back up to knock on my door, to say sorry for murdering my only dream.

            That was the day I met Grumpy. The day I met Grumpy I was skipping rope on the perfectly paved driveway behind Mom’s shiny pink Porsche. My jump rope was pink, too, since Mom always said pink was for girls and blue was for boys. I once asked her if black was a “girl color” since that was my secret favorite color. She spanked me.

            “Bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish, how many pieces do you wish? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…” I went on and on, counting my jumps until I got to two-hundred and fifty-nine.

            I ran to the back door of my huge, white, clean and pillared house, that was more of a mansion, to check through Mom’s office window. She was there, working on her wireless apple computer, never looking up.   

            “Phew,” I said. Mom never let me play basketball, but I secretly stole our neighbor’s ball and secretly glued together a piece of wood and a net without a handle and bottom to make a hoop.

            I dribbled up to the hoop and shot and…got a hoop! And another! And another! I finally stopped when I had gotten forty-seven hoops.

            “You’ve sure got a nag fer sports.” A deep voice said behind me. I turned around quickly to see a rough face with a few scars. Scars are just like tattoos with better stories.

            The face belonged to a tall, skinny man who was standing behind me, his hands on his hips.

            I beamed; I’d never gotten a compliment before ever since Daddy died. Daddy was a tall, skinny man with a scraggly moustache and a deep, jolly voice. Daddy had slick hair and smelled like rotten salami, but I loved him. Back when Daddy was alive, Mom used to joke and let me choose what I would wear. That was nine years ago, and now I’m twelve, and now Mom makes me wear prima donna clothes.

            “Well?” The man said.

            “What?”

            “You might as well quit holdin’ yer breath and pant now.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well, you jus’ did two-hundred an’ fifty-nine jumps an’ forty-seven hoops. Aren’t ya tired?”

            “You were counting?” I beamed again,

            “Yeah, but ya didn’t answer my question.”

            “I’m not tired. Why, you think I did a lot?”

            “Sure, but only fer yer age.” The tall man said in a rough voice, but I knew he was just trying to disguise a compliment. So I beamed again.

            “What’s your name?”

            “Grumpy.”

            “Don’t joke with me. What’s your real name?”

            “Grumpy’s what everyone calls me, you got a problem with that? And I don’t do back stories.”

            “I’m Angelica, and although that’s a stupid name, it’s not fake.”

            “Eh, it’s okay. I’ll call ya Angel.” Grumpy said, trying to say a compliment again.

            I beamed again.

            But all of the sudden, Grumpy started to mumble my name over and over with a strange look in his eyes, like he was looking back into his brain, even though he was looking straight ahead.

            “Angelica…Angelica…” He mumbled.

            “Hey, uh…you wanna shoot?” I asked him, holding out the ball.

            Grumpy snapped out of his trance and stared at the ball.

            “Can’t.”

            “Sure you can! All you have to do is run up to that hoop over there, take the ball and hold it over your head, and throw it into the little circle. Just try!”

            “Can’t.”

            “Why?”

            Grumpy lifted up his arm. Or what was left of it. He arm went down to his elbow and then stopped, leaving a dried-blood stain and a scar.

            “Oh. I’m…I’m really sorry.”

            “Nah, it doesn’t hurt too much. Well, anyways, I can’t play sports but you can. And yer pretty amazi-I mean, yer okay…well…”

            I beamed.

            “My point is, take this and consider it. Yer pretty goo-okay for a kid.” Grumpy said, handing me a piece of paper.

            I looked at it.

            In big, neon orange, block letters it read: California Professional Motorcyclist Club-Every Wednesday, 5 pm. Be there!

      I stared at Grumpy in disbelief.

            “How did you know?! I-I…” I stared at Grumpy right in his sea-blue eyes, finding the goodness buried deep inside him. Even if he smelled stinky, wore ripped clothes, yelled a lot and didn’t have two arms, I loved Grumpy and I knew, deep down inside his warm, soft body he had good inside him.

You can do this too1

Ava's writing piece

Prologue--

In Kirin’s mind, it was the new health food store that started all the trouble.

If Joe’s had never opened on South Chapel Street, he never would have purchased that miniscule camera, which meant he never would have put together a certain slideshow, and never shouted a certain word quite loudly, and therefore never had something very dear to his heart blown to pieces after a small explosive was detonated in the wall next to it. The bomb wouldn’t have been there at all, if it weren’t for Joe and his health foods.

It was just his luck, though, that all those things did happen, and maybe—Kirin wouldn’t acknowledge this, though—maybe some of them were, in a way, his fault too.

A lot was Kirin’s fault, but he didn’t like admitting to that kind of thing.

Chapter One--

Kirin had a chair called Al, the kind that swiveled and had wheels. Al was short for Alrik, which was the name the chair had come with when he bought it for fifteen dollars plus tax.

He had been sitting there, spinning back and forth in that very chair, two weeks before, when his laptop emitted a tinny ringing sort of noise. Scooting over to his desk, Kirin saw his Skype was open and was displaying the message Randolph Snidely is requesting to video chat with you.

A short time later he was hunched over his desk, deep in hushed conversation with the pixelated image of a man wearing a red mask.

“Kirin, problems are cropping up everywhere. It’s some kind of movement starting. Calliope’s just messaged us, and she says Number 7 is coming to Almond to start up some kind of store,” said the voice behind mask.

“Coming to Almond? You mean this Almond? My town?” Kirin bit his lower lip fiercely.

“Of course I mean your town. Now, what this means is--”

“What this means? It means Number 7 knows who I am and where I live! Do you realize how bad that is?! My life is in danger!” he cried shrilly, and slapped his palm on the desk with unnecessary force. A water glass beside the computer rattled and tipped, spilling lumps of melting ice on Kirin’s lap.

“Get a grip on yourself, for god’s sake,” the masked man shot back. “I know what it means. We’re giving you an assignment.”

“Took you long enough,” Kirin muttered. He flicked the ice to floor and stared into the eye-holes of the red mask.

“I heard that, you know, even with this kind of sound quality. The reason you haven’t had a job to do in two months--”

“Three!” he interrupted, and then immediately fell silent. The man behind the mask was the only one he knew who could shut someone up with a look while their face was hidden.

“The reason you haven’t had a job to do in three months is because you’re just so cut off from all the rest of us. You know that we can’t send letters, or email. Communication is ridiculously difficult when you’re across the country.”

“Yeah, well, we’re skyping right now, aren’t we?”

The red mask ignored him.

“Kirin, you understand. You’re just too stubborn to admit it. Now, do you want to know the details of your assignment or not?”
         “Maybe I don’t even want an assignment after all!” Kirin stabbed a pen into the wood, making a tiny navy-blue hole.

“See what I mean? So stubborn. And I will ask you to keep in mind that I am in charge of you and you do what I say,” he replied calmly. “Calliope is coming to the area for a night. Meet her at the cafe at the corner of Northeast and Triangle, and she’ll tell you what you need to know.” With that, the red mask was gone and the screen blank. Kirin closed the laptop and spun a few times in his chair, scowling.

The man with the mask’s name was not really Randolph Snidely. He was, though, really Kirin’s boss and not someone to disregard. And so, the next day, Kirin walked downtown and into The Roost, his favorite place for coffee, to talk to Calliope.

It would be unwise, very foolish really, to waltz into previously disclosed meeting place, and, in public, discuss things not meant for the ears of a few choice antagonists. One thing Kirin had learned was you never knew who was listening.

That was why, when Kirin walked into the café and immediately spotted the young woman with braided hair and a red knit scarf, he waved and made a few hand motions before sitting down opposite her, rather than speaking. She smiled and motioned back, before standing up and looking towards the counter and glass case full of pastries.

Calliope was deaf. It was thanks to her that Kirin was fluent in American Sign Language, and thanks to her they had a way to meet in a public place and not be eavesdropped on.

It also helped that they were not, actually, in the coffee shop on the corner of Northeast and Triangle, but at the other side of down.

Kirin and Calliope stood side by side in line, catching up with each other. How have you been? Calliope signed, then began unwinding her scarf.

Altogether, fine. How’s Daniel? Daniel was Calliope’s boyfriend, Kirin’s good friend back when he lived in San Francisco with everyone else.

He’s fine. We miss you, you know.

 Since he’d relocated to the town of Almond, Massachusetts, things had been very different.

Sure, there were benefits. His new favorite frozen yogurt place downtown. The new chair, Alrik, from the IKEA in New Haven, Connecticut. Living in more of a country setting. Snow--and with that came skiing in the Berkshire Mountains.

Sometimes, though, he felt the good things were overshadowed by the shortcomings. Most prominently, the distance. Kirin had known from the start it would be tough to be suddenly separated by thousands of miles from his boss and his coworkers. The entire organization, for the most part, was, most of the time, unreachable. It was unsafe to send letters, as they were aware of agents working in the US mail services that could very easily intercept information. Brief emails were okay, as long as they didn’t write frequently. Skype went the same way. Kirin’s boss regularly wore masks as a part of his day job, but also for most communications with others in the organization—either on the computer or sometimes in person. And besides the fact it was annoyingly difficult to get information across the country, Kirin missed everyone. Greatly. He didn’t have money for the air fare at the moment, so he really was stuck in Almond. On his own.

I miss everyone too, he signed back, and slightly overcome, gave Calliope a hug. She smiled at him, then touched his arm, turning him in the direction of the woman behind the counter. They’d reached the front of the line.

He ordered a tomato and mozzarella sandwich and an ice coffee.

Once they were sitting opposite of each other, beginning to eat their respective lunches, Calliope began.

R typed this up for you. She pushed a sheaf of clipped-together papers across the table in his direction. R was the name their boss preferred, short for Randolph, which was cover for something else only a few people knew. It’s quicker to read it than having me tell you.

He began to scan the first pages, his eyebrows contracting.

Calliope tapped the passage on the bottom half of the second page. Right there’s the summary. Read it now.

Kirin’s eyes darted across the block of text, growing more agitated the further he read.

Starting on the first of November, you will be taking the place of a flight attendant for Delta airlines in order to gain information on various agents of Number Seven working for said airline. All expenses for air fare to Atlanta, Georgia for training will be covered by us, as will be the cost of training. As you speak very good Japanese as well as English we are confident that you will be able to attain a job and begin flying as soon as possible.

He can’t be serious! Kirin glared across the table as he signed. This is my assignment?

Calliope bit her lip. I’m sorry.

Don’t apologize! He snatched up his empty cup and plate and slammed them into the bus bucket. I’m leaving. Tell Daniel hi.

With that, Kirin zipped his jacket and stormed out of the café.

Calliope rested her chin in her hands. She’d known Kirin a long time and of course knew how hot-tempered he was. But throwing a tantrum because he didn’t want to be a flight attendant? She had almost forgotten how irritatingly immature he could be.

Chapter 2--

The following emails are transcripts of our protagonist Kirin’s correspondence with his boss, “Randolph Snidely” and read as follows:

To: rsnidely@touchlesstoweldispensers.com

From: kirin.r@gmail.com

Subject: NO WAY

are you insane? i don’t think ive ever said anything in my life before about being a flight attendant this is NOT th assignment i wanted and im not going to do it. what made you pick me of all people? i still don’t believe this

-kirin

To: kirin.r@gmail.com

From: rsnidely@touchlesstoweldispensers.com

Subject: Calm down.

Kirin,

First of all, I think everyone would appreciate it if you didn’t write us emails while in an angry state of mind, as it really influences your correct grammar, punctuation, capitalization, and politeness. We all know you’re more than capable of typing a capital “i”.

Now, secondly, please think carefully. I selected this assignment for you because you were the obvious choice for this! You have a very outgoing personality, graduated from a good college, and also happen to be fluent in of course English but also very proficient in ASL and Japanese. In short: they can’t turn you down.

I knew before I gave you this assignment you were going to react in a similar manner, but, please, Kirin—think carefully about this. We need you. You’ve been wanting an assignment. I personally think this is a great opportunity to stop waiting tables and see the world.

Sleep on it.

           

-R.

P.S. Being a waiter gives you experience in the world of customer service! Again, there is no way they’re going to turn you down.

Thank you, Ava!