A summer's Day

My friends, I miss them.

A Summers Day

          It was a normal summer day; at least that’s what I thought. My parents had called my family into the living room for family council. This is where we would discuss the things we were going to do through out the week.

My brothers and sisters showed up and my Mom had said, “So, Dad and I wanted to ask you something.”

          “We were wondering how you guys would feel if we spent a school year in Portugal.”

I immediately interrupted my mom saying, “No! I have all my friends here! My school is here, my whole life is here!”

          “Chase, it wouldn’t be forever. Just one year and then we’ll come back and you can finish high school.” My father said, giving me one of his blank stares.

          “Wait just a second, how do you guys feel about this?” I asked my siblings.

My little sister who was only 8 at the time said, “I don’t want to leave. My friends are here.”

Joel, my brother who was older asked, “What would we do while we were there? Would we go to the beach a lot? Would we travel around Europe?”

          Mom said, “Yeah we would go to the beach and in matter of fact, we were planning on having each of you guys pick one place to visit.”

          “I don’t know Mom, I really want to spend my last year with my friends before I leave on my mission,” Joel said.

Ian, my younger brother who was always enthusiastic to do new things said, “Yeah! That would be awesome.”

          “No Ian, it wouldn’t. What about your friends? What about school?” I asked him.

Ian looked down at his hands and said, “They don’t care about me, I want to go to a different school.”

          Frustrated I thought to myself, another unarguable conversation.

“We will be seeing and living where I grew up. There will be lots of new opportunities for you guys to learn the language and culture,” My Dad had said.

I was silent. I knew that there was nothing more that I could argue about, so I sat there.

Mom noticed that this wasn’t really going anywhere so she said, “This isn’t even for sure yet… We will be talking about this later, but for now it’s time to do chores. Once were done you guys can go be with your friends.”

“I’m not leaving!” I thought.

*

          Once I had cleaned the bathroom, picked up dog poop, and pulled weeds, I was finally able to go to my friends. I rode my bike through alpine and on the way to my girlfriend’s house.

          Her name is Dashia; I first met her in 8^th grade. We went to the same charter school and about halfway through the school year we had started talking. She had blonde hair and blue eyes.

          The nickname I gave her is Sunshine because she knows how to make me smile.

I really enjoy the ride to her house because there are so many loops and hills; it’s an enjoyable ride. Once I get to her house, Dashia and Becca (Dashia’s friend) were outside. Becca was drawing on the sidewalk with some chalk and Dashia was sitting on the curb.

          Dashia stood up and walked over to me as I set my bike down, “Hey Chase!” She said kissing my cheek.

I blushed and said, “Hey Sunshine.”

“How have you been? We really need to hang out more… I only see you like 4 times a week,” Dashia said smiling at me.

I laughed, “I know.” I knew I had to tell her the truth about me leaving but it was hard.

I forced myself to do it anyway, “I need to be honest.”

“Why?” Dashia asked now forming a crease on her forehead.

          I take her over to the drive way so Becca couldn’t hear us, “Because I found out today that I might be moving to Portugal for a school year… But I can’t. I can’t leave you and I can’t leave Braeton. You know he’s like a little brother to me.”

          “You can’t go… Chase this can’t happen,” Dashia said with worry in her voice.

I tried to calm her down, “I might not even be leaving… I said that I might be leaving. It’s not for sure yet.”

          “Well, you can’t tell Braeton! You know that he worries with these types of things.” It was true. Braeton had some problems with attachment. He is adopted and, let’s just say that his parents don’t take care of him very well. He is also 14 years old and pretty short.

          “I wasn’t planning on it.” I told her as I kissed her forehead.

As we were done talking, I noticed that Braeton was riding his scooter down the street.

          “Hey Chase; hey Dashia!” He yelled as he met us at the driveway.

“Hey Bud!” As I wrapped him in a bear hug.

          “Where have you been Chase? I haven’t seen you all summer. We really need to hang out more often,” He said.

          “For sure, I’ve actually been here most of the time… The question is where have you been Bud?” I asked with a grin.

          “Chores, I’ve been doing chores all summer and haven’t had a chance to hang out with you guys. So I see you’ve brought Becca; how come she is just sitting over there? Becca, come and talk with us,” Braeton said.

          Becca turned her head and blushed but stood up and walked over to us.

“Hey.” Becca said shyly.

          We all nodded and Dashia asked, “Do you guys want to go over to the park to play tag on the play ground? It sounds pretty fun to me.”

          Everyone agrees, so we all walk over to the park across the street to Dashia’s house that had a big playground and lots of obstacles.

*

We had been playing Tag for an hour and half when Becca’s mom had called and told her it was time for her to come home. As she said goodbye, she told us that we should do this next week.

          Dashia asked, “What do you guys want to do now?”

“We can go back to your house if you want.” I suggested.

          Braeton and Dashia agree and we walked back to her house.

Dashia said, “Once we get back, if you guys are hungry we can make some sandwiches and eat something if you want.”

Braeton and I nodded in approval.

          As we got back to Dashia’s house, she told us to wash our hands as she started to pull ingredients out of the refrigerator and pantry.

          Braeton and I walk to the bathroom and I let him go first.

          He looked at me through the mirror and he said to me, “Chase, you’re my best friend. I really appreciate that you care about me so much. You’re like my older brother that I’ve never had.”

          I was heart wrenched. I couldn’t leave him.

          “Thanks Bud. You’re my little Bro and I’ll always watch out for you,” I said feeling awful inside.

          Once we were both done washing our hands, we went back out into the kitchen. Dashia was crying. She sat with her head in her knees crying, “Dashia what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Braeton asked coming over to her.

          Dashia looked up at Braeton and said, “Could you go downstairs and wait while Chase and I talk for a second?”

          “I can help,” Braeton told Dashia, but I shot him a glance, to which he said, “Alright.” And he headed downstairs.

          Once he was downstairs I asked, “What’s wrong?”

“You can’t leave! Didn’t you just hear what Braeton said? He needs you! You can’t move to Portugal. You’re all I got.”

          I kissed her forehead and said, “I know, I just don’t know how to tell him.”

“You’re leaving?!” Braeton was right behind me.

          “No-, “He cut me off.

          “I trusted you! You were my big brother who was going to take care of me! But I guess not! I hate you!” He turned and ran out the door way.

          “Braeton! Don’t leave!” I said with tears in my eyes.

I stood up and was about to run after him but Dashia grabbed my arm, “Chase stop! Let him go cool off. He needs it.”

          Dashia was right.

I sat there crying for about ten minutes, and then told Dashia I had to go home.

          I kissed her goodnight and went out and rode as hard as I could to my house.

I didn’t know what to do.

          I had left him there.

Author's Note

I had left and I wish I didn't

Reviews

[Workvio]

An interestingly emotional tale that depicts the feelings of young people who fail to realize that wherever their parents decide to move, sometimes for work and financial reasons, their children will be going along, like it or not for such things are never negotiable in the first place ... My parents moved 33 times from the time that I was 3 to the time I was 18 ... I was never asked if I wanted to move, for such a question would have been a stupid question, as children seek stability and rarely ever wish to move ... But parents do what they must do in supporting their children ... We live in age where truth has been inverted and turned upside down to bring about a Topsy Turvy world where children expect their parents to operate around their wishes, whims, and desires ... Such a world is bringing disaster to the American family ... Now, I never wanted to move the many times we did move, but my parents were first and foremost in my mind above those friends that I came to miss ever so dearly ... This tale is an accurate depiction of how children, small and teen, think in today's world ... It is wrong thinking that will come to visit them one day as Karma does to all ... Good read!

[C. Lee Battaglia]

Thanks Marv,

Your reviews never cease to amaze me and help me comprehend what life’s responsibilities are.
I appreciate your review and thank you.

C. Lee Battaglia

[JayG]

Before anything else, a disclaimer: nothing I’m about to say has to do with you, your future as a writer, your story, or good/bad writing.

Basically, what you’re presenting is a chronicle, and detailing the succession of events that you visualize in the film version of the story that you have in your mind. Problem is, while we learn what happens, the reader is blind. And leaerning what is in the scene doesn’t give thus a picture. Because you don’t mention it, we can’t see the expression of dismay on the protagonist’s face when he gets the news (As an aside, you don’t say anything that defines gender and Chase can be of either gender. It’s not till we reach the girlfriend that he becomes a he) We don’t see any of the body language that you know takes place, because you’re reporting things as dispassionately as, well, a report.

As you read, each line calls up images, memories, and story from your mind. You see the scene before you read the first word. And you see it because you created it. But what does the reader have? A list of what was said and done. The people in the story don’t stop to think. They don’t argue, hesitate or rephrase. They use no sense but sight. They don’t fidget, or make gestures. They act, they don’t react as people.

Were someone to run into the room and tell you that you just won the lottery, would you say, “Oh my.”? Or would you be paralyzed for several seconds as you first wonder if what you heard was what was said. You’d wonder if he knew or was repeating rumor. You’d wonder where you put the ticket, and a dozen other things. And when you finally spoke it would probably be something like, “Are you sure? Where did you hear it?”

You would NOT instantly reply as if no thought or doubts applied. In other words, not like your character. When told he might be spending a year abroad he doesn’t react to the news. He doesn’t even ask if it’s THIS year. He doesn’t say, “Please tell me you’re kidding.” The father blurts. He blurts. Everyone does. But how real can that be?

Think about yourself when you read. If it’s a horror story are you hoping to learn that the protagonist is terrified? Or do you want the story to terrorize you, and make you afraid to turn out the lights?

If someone falls in love are you interested to learn what the one they love looks like or what kind of person they are? When the protagonist visits their friend with purpose do you want to know how they met or in what’s happening in the moment the protagonist calls “now.”

It’s easy to lose sight of it, but for all the time you spent talking about how your protagonist met his girlfriend, and what she looks like, not a blessed thing happened in the story. Your protagonist stood tapping his foot, impatient to tell her he would be leaving, but couldn’t, because you usurped the stage, wearing makeup and a wig, pretending to be the character at some time other than that afternoon. But which is better, to learn that she makes him smile from you, or by her making him smile often? Wont that last one make us love her, too? Is it better to tell the reader she has blond hair or have him touch her blond hair in affection, or smile and say, “Hi Blondy, how are you today.” ?

See the difference? If you TELL the story it comes from an external view and reads like a report, because we can’t hear your voice speaking his lines. And if you don’t make us know how he feels by making us know the situation AS HE KNOWS IT, we’ll be given data, not be entertained.

And that’s my point. Readers are expecting you to entertain them, not inform them. So every spot where the narrator tells the reader anything, explains anything, or presents an overview or summation, we are NOT in the character’s viewpoint. And that’s what we need to fix, because you’re facing problems you’re not yet aware of.

Here’s the deal. You, like everyone else, think you’ve learned to write, so you’re using that knowledge, and tools, in presenting your stories, coupled with the storytelling skills you use when someone says, “So how was your day?”

But in school you are not learning a profession. They’re training you in a set of general skills that will make you a self-sufficient and productive adult. And that’s great. Problem is, the writing techniques you’re spending every day perfecting are the skills employers, not publishers, need.

So with that training you can probably write a pretty good essay or report, all author-centric and fact-based, with the goal of informing the reader clearly and concisely. And if our readers were seeking to be informed it would be great.

If only. It would also be great if, by reading, we noticed the tricks of writing. But we no more learn them that way than we learn the techniques of handling a chefs knife by eating fine foods, or become a screenwriter by watching TV. We see only the polished product of any profession, with the tool marks polished away. But what we need in order to create the product is the process.

For fiction we need the techniques of writing to entertain, with character-centric and emotion-based techniques. We need to know how the structure of a scene on the page differs from that of film. We need PROFESSIONAL knowledge not a general skill. And like all professions; we need to learn it from the pros, not people with the same skill set as ourself, who share an interest in the subject and share our misconceptions.

By going to a pro as you did you showed initiative, and that’s great. Not one in a hundred has the sense to do that. So you have the right attitude. And given that let me give you a few suggestions.

The knowledge you need is available, and perhaps free—which is always good. Check your local free library system’s fiction writing section for the names Dwight Swain, Jack Bickham, or Debra Dixon. Any of them is gold. Bickham’s Scene and Structure is the one most often found in the library.

If none of them are, pick up Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It’s the best, but is a college level book—which makes sense since Swain and Bickham were both professors of writing and Oklahoma University. Deb’s book is a more gentle introduction, and an easier read, so you might start there. Eventually, you might want to read them both. But whatever you choose, allow time to think over each point raised. Look to see how your favorite authors use it. And incorporate it into your own writing to make it yours before moving on. Skip that step and you’ll forget it in a week.

For a sort of lite version, to get a feeling for the field, you might want to dig around in the writing section of my blog. I also have a bunch of stories there, ranging from flash fiction to novella, romance to adventure, to sci-fi, to give a feel for what the result of applying the techniques you’ll find in those books.

Sorry this is so long, but what can I say. I write novels, so I can’t say hello in less than 10,000 words.

Hang in there, and keep on writing. The world needs more people who can be staring out of the window, and when asked what they’re doing can truthfully say, “Working.”

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/