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| Makes me feel like a proud mama. |
"I didn't know Confucius had an ethanol bus," Maura reported to Ryan, seconds after the duo and their crew had left the aircraft. He shrugged and told her that he wasn't in charge of their transportation, chasing Confucius Gave Me Wisdom, Not Brains down the steps.
"Call Jerry or something," he suggested, looking back at her. Jerry is useless, she thought, but didn't say anything out loud.
(mid-Novemeber 2010 excerpt from page 74)
So I finally sent this into CreateSpace, figuring I'd make use of that free proof code. With the deadline at the end of June, I was pressed to edit best I could. And here I am, finding yet more spelling errors, and an embarassing misuse of they're/their. I guess that's what happens when you write 50000 words in 15 days- National Novel Writing Month. Yay?
(pages 122-123)
"Name two adjectives you would use to describe The Ignorance's sound."
"Energetic," they said in unison. "Rock," was Tim's second answer and Maura said "versatile".
"Em, if you were given the choice of being any of the band members for a day, who would you be and why?"
"Tim, because it's impossible to figure out what's going on in his mind."
"What do you miss the most when you're on tour?"
"I don't miss anything, because I have all my favourite people with me," Tim said sweetly, getting an "aww," from Sandra.
"Which city have you most enjoyed playing in?"
"Gah, don't make us choose. We love them all. Right, Em?" She gave an agreeing laugh.
"The one vegetable that you hate the most."
"Cauliflower. Don't ask."
"Do you listen to your own music?" Tim cracked up.
"No," Maura answered for him. Darren tried to trick them with the next question.
"Is The Ignorance re-releasing Pardon The Sky?"
"I don't know. Should we?"
"Yes," Sandra replied. "If you had to choose between Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin, who would it be?"
"Led Zepp, definitely."
(from page 150)
Rhiannon pulled the covers over her head. There were three short knocks at her door, and a fatherly head poked in. He stared at the mound of blanket staring back at him. There was the sound of her guitar being picked up off the floor and set back in its case. Then he sat at the foot of the bed.
"Are you alright?"
The top of the mound dipped once, than stilled. Sean didn't interfere further; he was always giving her a clear path of independence. He just sat and examined the worn out carpet. The mound gave him a nudge with its foot. He got up reluctantly. His next line sounded almost like an apology.
"Good night, Rhiannon."
She didn't sleep that night for the first time since the trip. The owl hooted and she kept getting up to check that both cars were in the driveway. It was unnecessary, she knew. Paranoia gnawed at the edges of her. The trees seemed to be whispering, 'are you afraid?' I have every right to be afraid, she thought stubbornly. I’m not afraid of being afraid. She walked to the window and announced this to the dead morning street.
(ps. I was 15 last November)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jo Jiang is an easily distracted 15-year-old child who has recently accepted the tragedy that she will never, ever be a giraffe. It's What We Do is her second work past a length of 20 pages, and the fastest she has ever completed National Novel Writing Month. She plays multiple instruments and blogs about eccentric new music from afar in suburban Toronto where she resides with her gnome friends. (Whom she thanks sincerely- you know who you are!)