The Hemlock Notations

~ The writings of Faust S. Amazing

The Hemlock Notations

Tag Archives: editing

Character, to Thine Own Self be True

28 Monday Aug 2017

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in writing

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Bram Stoker, Dracula, editing, Hemlock, hemlock notations, how do I edit, how do I write, Notations, Samuel Eden, Stephanie Meyer, the editing process, the writing process, Twilight, writing

Confession time: I’m a big nerd

No, it’s not true.

I know, I know, it’s hard to believe, but this cool writer persona is nothing but a façade.

I’m bringing this up because what I want to talk about comes through one of my hobbies, roleplaying games. I was hooked on roleplaying games in high school with Advanced Dungeons and Dragons second edition, and I continue to game today (I’ve recently fell in love with Fate Core). It might come to no surprise to you that I’m, like 98% of the time, the Game Master of these games (the one who makes the story the players play in). As a result, I’m the one that knows/understands all the rules and I’m the one that helps everyone make their characters (the personas/people they’re going to be in the game).

It’s the character creation aspect of gaming that I want to talk about today. (This might sound like an intro to roleplaying games, but stick with it and I’ll bring it back around to writing. Promise.) So, creating a character can be as serious or as whimsical as you’d like it to be. For instance, in the current game I’m running, one of my friends got the idea to be an eighties’ business man that got turned into a vampire, but is inexplicably stuck in eighties. Another one of my friends ended up being a mermaid stripper. As you can see, things can get pretty out there if you let them.

What’s this got to do with writing? You might be saying. Give me a minute, I haven’t got there quite yet.

That’s two of my friends (the vampire and the mermaid), but I have to talk to you about my third friend (for privacy sake we’ll call him Dudley). Dudley came in, all serious like, and had a pretty solid idea for his character, came up with a good backstory for him, but as play began quickly became frustrated with things. Why wasn’t his character working the way he thought it should? Why was he having such a hard time doing what he wanted? His character is awesome, why is everything so difficult?

Let’s jump back to my vampire and mermaid friends. When we all sat down to make characters, my two friends were instantly struck with the ideas for a vampire and a mermaid. They were equally struck with the ideas that the vampire should be mentally stuck in the time period he loved the best—the eighties—and that the mermaid was fascinated by humans and ashamed of her mermaid heritage. Everyone thought this was funny, or a good reason to have a mermaid on land, and so they went with the ideas. As the game progressed they jumped into their characters’ traits and fun was had by all.

Now let’s talk about Dudley. Dudley made a character backstory that came out to make him a doofus. First, he learned about the magical in the world by being attacked by a magical being. Then he gave himself an “evil imaginary self,” which is a dual personality disorder (indicating that the trauma of the attack was too much for his weak mind to bear). Then it turns out that because he survived the initial attack by the magical thing, the magical thing has taken a liking to him and keeps coming back to play with him. On top of that, the vampire character has taken advantage of him twice in the backstory, one time causing a magical backlash onto Dudley’s character giving him a “false aura of power.”

All this adds up to, doofus.

However, as that fateful first gaming session commenced, and I, as an attentive and mischievous game master, began poking at Dudley’s character he got increasingly frustrated. Again, his character is awesome, why is everything so hard. Needless to say, Dudley went home a bit miffed about the whole thing (not the intended outcome of playing a game with your friends).

Everything’s okay now. We talked about his character, I told him my take on things, and he’d already thought about it and agreed that he should embrace the doofiness of his character. (To be fair, I did offer to help him make a new badass character).

Yeah, whatever. This still isn’t about writing.

Okay, okay. I promised to bring it back to writing, and we’re here now.

What happened with Dudley and his roleplaying character is a common problem that writers have. They have a cool character concept, but when it comes to putting the character on paper they struggle. This isn’t so much a ‘how do they fit into the story’ in a grand sense, but in a much smaller sense. In a scene by scene sense, a ‘why is this character in this scene’ sense. It’s a meshing of your concept for the character concept and their role in the story.

To bring Dudley’s character back up: His concept for the character was a badass wizard, when the execution of his character creation made him the comic relief of the group.

It is very important for you, as a writer, to line up character concepts with character motivation and character roles in your story. If you don’t it can be a shoe horning effort to find a place for your character in your story.

Alright, let me give you a literary example of what I’m talking about, just so you don’t think I’m talking out my ass. What am I going to use to prove this? Twilight by Stephanie Meyer.

Stop the eye rolling! I can hear you rolling your eyes, you know. The Internet is a magical place, it allows me to do that.

Are you done?

I’ll wait.

Okay. Bear with me, and I’ll walk you through the steps here.

So, we’re going to be comparing Twilight to Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

Let’s get the perfunctory disclaimers out of the way first. I love Dracula, the movie with Gary Oldman and Wynona Ryder. If you haven’t seen it and you like vampire movies I highly recommend it. I also acknowledge that Bram Stoker’s work is a classic and pivotal to the Gothic tradition. This is not me telling you that it’s not an important part of literature, or that you shouldn’t like it. This is me holding it up as an example of shoe horning.

So, we’re going to comparing Twilight to Bram Stoker’s Dracula. We’re doing this because they are basically the same story: immortal creature of darkness finds his one true love and struggles to be with her because of his dark, immortal nature. They also have the same character concept in Edward and Dracula, immortal, strong, fast, predatory.

What we’re going to do is start with a scene and walk backwards through the story to find how the character fits into the story.

Let’s start with Dracula first. Remember: Dracula=immortal creature of darkness.

Here’s the scene: Dracula has found Mina in London and has just bitten her to turn her into an immortal creature of darkness to they can be immortal creatures of darkness together. Bwahahahahaha!

So…we know Mina is in London because she lives there. Dracula, though, why’s he there? Better yet, how’d he find Mina in London, I hear it’s a fairly large city and fairly congested. And Dracula has been chilling in Transylvania for the past six, seven, eight centuries. Well, it helps that, 1) one of the people from London, like the second person, Dracula knows is insane, and just so happens to be in an insane asylum run by the doctor, that’s courting one of Mina’s friends, who, coincidently, Dracula has fed upon and turned into a vampire earlier in the book. Because London only has about fifteen people in it, according to Bram Stoker’s viewpoint. Oh, and 2) the other person Dracula knows in London is a reality lawyer who just so happens to be Mina’s fiancé and had a picture with him so Dracula could see it. Going back to the first question, why is Dracula in London? Why, diversification of course. I’m immortal, and the sole ruler of an entire country, with all of Europe at my fingertips, but I want to own half a dozen rundown houses in London.

Have you spotted the shoe horning yet? It would seem Bram Stoker had a great character concept, immortal creature of darkness, was once a man who lost the love of his life, and damned himself to find her. And he does find her! I just feel like it took a lot of shoe horning him into the story Mr. Stoker wanted.

Now let’s look at Twilight. Remember: Edward=immortal creature of darkness.

Here’s the scene: A car has just lost control in a high school parking lot. Edward jumps between Bella, the love of his life now, and the truck, stopping it with his immortal creature of darkness strength.

So…why is Edward there? Edward, is in Forks because it has horrendous cloud cover that allows him and his family of vampires to walk around in the day (quiet you! I know the reason why and we’re not here to talk about that!). Yes, okay, but why is Edward in high school, being that he’s 150 years old? Well, even though he’s 150 years old, he still looks seventeen, in order to keep up appearances and lead semi-normal lives, he and his “siblings” attend high school. They’re still the creepy kids in the school, but it’s better than being the creepy kids that live in that house waaay out in woods and never come into town except when they want to show off how cool they are.

See how easily Edward fits into the scene? There’s no magical coincidences about Edward knowing half of Bella’s family before he even meets her.

Character concept meets character role seamlessly. Say what you will about the actual writing or the story, but Mrs. Meyer’s planning of the story is spot on.

So, if you’re having trouble finding a reason your character is in a scene or the story at all, maybe you re-evaluate the concept you have of the character and the role they’re playing in the story.

Until next time: Be yourself, be well. Write yourself, write well.

PS: this is the last update before I post A Dinner for Crows. It’s finished. Yay! I just need to edit it a bit and then I’ll be putting it up. I know it’s been a long time coming. It’s almost as if it’s hard to write a novel that’s any good.

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With the Bath Water

01 Tuesday Aug 2017

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in writing

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editing, hemlock notations, how to edit, how to write, Samuel Eden, the editing process, The Witcher, the writing process, Video games, writing, YouTube

There’s an old saying: Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water (you know, when you toss the water out of the metal/wood tub you used to clean your baby). Basically, it’s going for just because you had one bad experience don’t let it sour the whole thing for you. Examples include: just because one date went bad don’t stop dating; just because you had a bad time playing Monopoly don’t stop playing board games all together; just because you had a bad day at your job doesn’t mean stop working. Stuff like that. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure the saying applies here, but it comes to mind when I think about this.

So, a couple months ago, in April (which is now three months now that I think about it), I watched an episode of The Know (video game news show on YouTube). The episode was all about Andrzej Sapkowski and The Witcher videogames. Quick update for those maybe not aware: The Witcher videogames are based on Andrzej Sapkowski books which feature the world of the witcher as well as the main character of the games (Geralt of Rivia).

I’m bringing this up because it’s been stuck in my brain for a while now, and I thought about it again when I sat down to write this. I’m not going to get too specific on what went down (if you’d like the story, including Sapkowski’s quotes, you can find the episode here), but the gist of the whole thing is: BOOKS are the end-all and be-all of storytelling, and videogames are crap for babies!

Let’s put aside the fact that the first game takes place five years after the events in the books, making them stand alone stories on their own. Let’s put aside the fact that these games are considered some of the best storytelling in videogames. Let’s even put aside the face that the people making the games are fans of Sapkowski and thought they were honoring him, and he just shit all over them.

Let’s put all that aside. What he said is still one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard.

Now, am I saying every videogame is a masterpiece? NO. GOD, NO.

That being said, I’ve read some pretty shitty books.

Here’s what I’m saying, society and culture evolve. As an example, when I was a kid in the nineties, and videogames were picking up steam, a common parental disparagement was: do something else, you can’t get a job playing videogames. Now there are literally thousands of people doing just that. To give the argument a more literary context; history, of a person, of a tribe, of the world, used to be oral, handed down from one person to another, then we had books filled with history on every subject you could imagine, and now we have access to a world of information in our pockets.

Videogames too have gone through a similar evolution. From Atari’s Pong, literally a digital version of ping-pong (and not a very good one), to arcade machines meant to take your quarters, to consoles for in home gaming. It’s not just the hardware that’s changed either. I’d like to mention a couple games now, Firewatch and That Dragon Cancer, both of these games are commonly called “walking simulators.” They’re called that because they are first person (the whole screen is your POV) point and click adventures (you use the mouse to click on things on the screen to pick them up and learn something about them). With walking simulators, the whole point of the game is the experience of going through the story with the main character, seeing how it unfolds and resolves. In the case of That Dragon Cancer, the game tells the story of the developer’s child dying of cancer. Not only did making the game help him(?) deal with the loss, he hopes that it can help other people deal with similar losses. Again, these videogames focus more on the story than the “gameplay.”

Now I’m going to mention, Until Dawn or any of the Telltale game series (Wolf Among Us, The Walking Dead, Batman). While these games have some stunning visuals, and larger than life characters, the focus of these games is also the story, specifically the choices you make during play that affect the story one way or the other. There might be some quick time events (pressing certain buttons when prompted before time runs out), but basically you’re watching a movie where you get to pick what the main character does in each scene.

Writing a videogame, or having one of my stories turned into a videogame, would be pretty cool, and I would jump at the chance. Live the dream!

Here’s what I’m trying to say: don’t close your mind. There are many ways to tell a story. There are many ways that culture can evolve, and different ways it can be influenced. Sapkowski has decided that videogames have no poetry, instead of a) seeing the poetry that’s there, and b) contributing to videogames so they have more poetry. Remember, at one point television was a fad, and I dare say there’s some awesome storytelling going on there right now. Just stay open to the possibilities of storytelling.

Until next time: Be yourself, be well. Write yourself, write well.

P.S.: Things are going slower than I’d like. A Dinner for Crows should be coming in the next month or two.

The One With All the Updates

24 Wednesday May 2017

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in writing

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Derek Landy, editing, how do I edit, how do I write, Samuel Eden, Skulduggery Pleasant, the editing process, The Hemlock Notations, the writing process, writing

Hey All!

Just thought I’d drop a line on what’s happening with everything.

So I’m currently working on three projects. The first is A Dinner for Crows, the story I was posting for National Novel Writing Month. Yes, I’m still working on it!! Things got a bit hectic here, and writing became a back burner thing for a couple (few) weeks, but things have been ironed out, and I’m back in the swing of things. I’m hoping to be done with Crows by the end of June. When it’s done I’ll be putting it up on the website for everyone’s enjoyment. 😀

The second project is actually an older project I recently found while rummaging around my computer. It’s called Phallacy: A Little Shop of Porn Mystery. I originally wrote the story to be a graphic novel. I met a very talented artist when I was going to conventions named AJ Sabino–you can find a link to his artist page on the sidebar–and his brother Rocko. I talked a lot to the two of them at my first convention. I just couldn’t get over their names; saying they sounded like an adult version of the Hardy Boys. With that statement, my mind went off on its own and came back with this story. I talked to AJ about him illustrating it, but life happens (on both our ends), and I ended up forgetting all about it. Well, I recently found it. Talked to AJ, asking if he minded if I just published it on my own as a story, and he said he’s cool with it. So, Phallacy should show up (I’m hoping) by the end of May or beginning of June. It’ll be up on Amazon, and due to the mature themes, it’ll probably be a bit more than my other novellas up there (to discourage all the youngsters reading my stuff). True to its name, it is a mystery story, but I was watching a lot of Venture Bros. at the time so all the humor is influenced by that.

The third thing I’m working on is a novel in short stories. Inspired by the world of Derek Landy’s Skulduggery Pleasant, I’ve been writing about a sorcerer by the name of Troublesome Knock. Troublesome Knock is the character’s taken name. This follows the rules of magic that state everyone has three names: 1) your True Name (which no one knows, not even you); 2) your Given Name (the name your parents give you when you’re born), if people know your Given Name they can control you, and you have no defense against their magic; 3) your Taken Name (by taking a name, you seal your Given Name, thus cancelling the power people have over you, unless they learn your True Name). So, the novel, which is four novellas following the same overall arc, follows Troublesome Knock who’s quit the magical world, but slowly gets pulled back into it. I’m having a lot of fun writing it. One of the things I’ve done, is have everyone’s magic manifest differently, so while each person can do the same spell the magic looks different. Troublesome’s magic manifests as shadows. Other manifestations in the stories include wind, light, smoke, and butterflies. I’m in the middle of editing the third story. I have extensive notes on the fourth. And when it’s all finished, I’m going to try throwing it in the ring of publishing. If someone picks it up, then who knows when it’ll see the light of day. If enough people pass on it (or I get frustrated with all the rejection), of course I’ll put it up on Amazon. In that case, it’d be next summer or fall for its release.

For those of you who are fans of Amsterdam and the Murder Twins, Reiner Rotterdam, and my Zodiac story, I haven’t forgotten about them. I’m hoping once I get the current projects in the finishing stages I can turn my attention back to those stories.

So that’s where I’m at right now. The writing is keeping me busy. Just the way I like it.

Until next time: Be yourself, be well. Write yourself, write well.

Determination Maturation

18 Saturday Mar 2017

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in writing

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Determination, editing, Elizabeth Gilbert, hemlock notations, how to edit, how to write, John Green, Samuel Eden, the editing process, the writing process, writing

Hey. There’s been a lot going on here. A lot of stress permeating the air. It’s put a damper on the writing.

And that’s what I’m here to talk about with you. Losing your determination, your will, to write.

This is not the same as writers’ block, though it can certainly contribute to it. It’s not the same as writers’ block because it can come over you even though you’ve been writing fine, and even have some great ideas coming to you.

It’s not about bad writing, or no writing, or over writing. In fact, I’d say, it’s causes are mostly external. Basically, it’s just life, LIFE, coming at you too much, or too fast. As life—LIFE—does this, you sit down to write. There’s nothing wrong with your writing, but in the back of your mind everything that’s going on keeps coming at you. [Yes, I know that other writers will tell you to take all that emotion and put it into your writing. And yes, I know that we—oh, I do it too—write to retreat from the world for a while, or help us process what’s going on.] I’m not saying this isn’t good advice, or that it doesn’t work. What I’m talking about is when, for whatever reason, that’s just not working. Then you have that thought. You probably know the one. The thought: ‘What am I doing?’ Then you start thinking of all the things you could be doing instead of writing. All THE THINGS that could be fixing your problems, or be better for you, instead of making up stories. This thinking leads to an apathy towards your writing. You don’t see the point of doing it.

As a writer, you’re part of a very subjective craft. There’s a lot of rejection involved in doing what we do, both professionally and personally. It can be easy at the beginning to lose your determination, but even long time writers can fall prey to this.

John Green wrote The Fault in Our Stars. It was an international bestseller, and they turned it into a movie. And then he stopped writing for a while. Which some of your, I’m sure, are confused about. Well, here’s the thing, everyone seemed to love The Fault in Our Stars. It was hugely successful. How do you follow that up? What can you do that tops that? Some people were calling it a masterpiece. There’s the expectation that anything he writes from now on is going to be as good, if not better. How can he care about his next story when he’s made his masterpiece? How can he care about his next story as much as he did that one? And if he doesn’t care as much about his next story as much as he did for that is it going to be nearly as good? Is it worth writing if he doesn’t care that much?

There are many pitfalls being a writer, putting yourself out there, including success. 😊

Elizabeth Gilbert tells a story in her book Big Magic about meeting a man at a book signing. This man had been writing for fifteen (twenty?) years, but hadn’t gotten published. He asked her what to do. She told him to try doing something else, but if he didn’t feel as fulfilled as he did when he wrote, then he’s a writer and he must deal with it. (It’s a good book. I recommend it.) This man had been writing for twenty (fifteen?) years, and had finally lost his determination. No writers’ block for him, but he couldn’t see the point anymore.

I think loss of determination is even more insidious than writers’ block. You’ve probably seen my post about writers’ block, and what to do about it. But with loss of determination, the setting in of apathy, you lose connection with the thing that drives you. It’s hard to pick that back up.

Now, there are two things you can do here. (There might be more, but I don’t see them, so we’re going to stick with two.) The first thing is, take a break while. Maybe a week, maybe two, possibly a month. Give yourself time to untangle yourself. Let the urge to write build up again. Maybe during this time some of things causing stress in your life will be resolved, thus taking that off your mind.

This can work, but the problem with this method can be getting back into the writing routine. Not always, but it could happen.

Of course, sometimes the loss of determination can be born of frustration. The frustration of not being published, of continuous rejections, of seemingly not getting anywhere with your writing. (Ironically, the only way to solve any of those things is to keep writing.) So, method one won’t really help.

In this situation, method two is the way to go. Method two is, what I like to call, finding the fun in writing again. It’s exactly like it sounds, find the fun. Go back to the first things you read that made you want to write and re-read them. It could mean finding something you’d never read (fluff reading) and reading that. It could mean writing something you’d never write, a short love story if your thing is horror. If you’ve been writing a novel, try writing a play (or taking one of your short stories into a play). Sit in a coffee shop and try to come up with stories for the people you see come in for coffee. I’m a big roleplaying nerd, so I create characters (in various gaming systems) and write backstories for them. Maybe write a blog post *cough, cough*. (Excuse me.) Do anything that’s truly only for you, so you don’t have to worry about it. It’s very freeing. It can help you re-connect with your writing, which is what you need to do when this happens.

Recently, I was talking to someone about getting my MFA in Fiction. The person looked at me with disdain and confusion and said: “What can you do with that?” At the time, I didn’t really say anything, the conversation including some bad news for me, but on retrospect I wish I’d said: “You dream.”

It’s all well and good to pay the bills, to eat, but that’s just the body. What soothes the mind? What makes you get up in the morning? As writers, we are the keepers of dreams. We have the privilege to share our dreams with the world. And that’s worth staying connected to.

Until next time: Be yourself, be well. Dream yourself, dream well.

Exposing Yourself, The Hard Way

16 Thursday Feb 2017

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in writing

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editing, hemlock notations, how to edit, how to write, Samuel Eden, the editing process, the writing process, writing

Let’s talk about the ultimate goal of writing.

Is that a foreboding enough opening for you? Are you scared? Because fear is what I want to talk to you about today.

The ultimate goal of writing is: sharing your work with people. That’s what getting published is, putting your work out there for people to read, to experience, to absorb, and to form an opinion about.

It’s that last part that a lot of people find terrifying. The fact that people will have their own opinions about what you wrote.

How dare they!

I know, right. I don’t know about your stories, but my stuff is great.

They should just enjoy the story I wrote and keep their mouths shut!

You see, we see eye to eye on this.

Okay, let’s be serious now. First, if they kept their mouths shut then they couldn’t tell if they liked it either. Secondly, the whole editing process—you know, the part I go on and on about as an integral part of the writing process—is based on people reading your work and talking to you about it. Lastly, even after the editing is all done, and you’ve made the story you want and love, there are still going to be people that comment and critique it, because that’s the way the world works.

Some people are afraid to write, or at least put their writing out there, because of this criticism. It’s a perfectly reasonable reaction. You’ve put so much time, effort, so much of yourself into this piece of literature. It’s your baby. You don’t want people to tear it down.

If you want to be a writer, one that shares their work with the world (gets published) then you just have suck it up and grow a thicker skin.

I really wish there was a secret for not letting things get to you, but there just isn’t. There are going to be people who read your stuff and just don’t like it. They won’t get certain things, or they won’t like the pacing, or how you describe something (combat for instance). They’ll feel the need to *ahem* blog about it, or write a review on your author page, or tweet about it. And you have to know their opinion is out there. There’s just no secret formula or method for dealing with it.

Let me share. There’s a review forAmsterdam and the Murder Twins in: The Oysters on Amazon.com (I’m not sure if it’s still there) that’s less than flattering. Overall the reviewer liked the story, but was confused about the pacing and didn’t know why there was a dirty cop in the story. They gave it a three -starred review, but the way they put it about the pacing and the dirty cop bugged me for a long time. To be honest, I’m not even sure why. It just did, but I got over it with time. I haven’t even thought about it until I went to write this. Another example (and this one is really personal), involves Superiority Complex. A friend of mine bought a copy of it, an actual physical copy, which was cool, they didn’t have too, and I saw it on their shelf. I took it down, amazed to see it there. I asked if they liked it, and they said they did; they liked the characters and the setting. So, I flipped through it, because that’s what I do with books (I like how the pages sound) and see all these pen marks all over the pages. Apparently, as they were reading they edited out spelling mistakes and some grammar things I missed (and it seemed there was a lot of them). At the time, I was very upset and embarrassed. I was upset because I don’t write in books, and here was a copy of mine scribbled in. I was embarrassed because this is out there online and in hard copy. It was a shock to me that my friend had done this. Why couldn’t they just read the book and liked it? Why had they taken a shot at me? Of course, they didn’t, but that’s how I felt at the time.

(I know they read the blog, so excuse me for a moment. I’m fine now. I actually find it funny.)

There’s a separate point to be made here about self-publishing not having the same support structure as mainstream publishing, but I’ll leave it for now.

I’m going to keep going, and these next ones are pretty cool. Keep reading.

I used to go to conventions before life got in the way, and money, and at one convention a group of guys came over to the table. These were teen guys. I wasn’t expecting them to buy anything, just because I was selling novels at a comic convention. But they came over, and I like talking to people, so I talked to them. As they were looking over my books, they asked if I was the same Samuel Eden that wrote Snowfall. I said I was and asked them if they’d read it. They said their friend read it and liked it so much they made them read it. Then they asked for my autograph. It was the first time that I’d ever met fans. It was really fun finding out I had some. The last example (yes, we’re getting to the end), also comes from a convention. I was at a local con, and this girl (also in her teens) came up to my table, her mother and brother in tow. She asked me if I was the author of the books I was selling, and I, of course, said yes. She proceeded to talk to me for half an hour (?), an hour (?), a while. We talked about writing, we talked about her writing, and the need to write, places to get published (there are a lot if you’re a teen—check the sidebar for one such place), and how to find more. Before she left, she gave me a hug. I guess I must have helped her. I’m glad I did. Now, she didn’t know me before she came to my table, but me putting myself out there as a writer made it possible for me to meet her. So it counts!

Here’s the point of today’s blog. When you put yourself out there, yes, you’re going to have some bad experiences (relatively speaking), but if you don’t put yourself out there then you don’t get the good experiences either. I vote for putting yourself out there. I hope you do too.

Until next time: Be you, be well. Write you, write well.

Editing is 20/20

30 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in Uncategorized

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editing, hemlock notations, how to edit, how to write, Samuel Eden, the editing process, the writing process, writing

Hey, all! So, today I want to talk about focus. Focus in your writing, of a scene or of a chapter.

For example, say your main character is a hard worker. In the first chapter or two you show a couple, three or four even, scenes where they work hard. Now, chapter three is here, we’ll say chapter three is twenty pages, ten pages are filled with the character working hard, and ten pages are filled with an interaction with a family member. This interaction is supposed to be meaningful, a bonding point.

Based on this info, what should the focus on chapter three be?

That’s a bit of a trick question. Sorry.

See the way chapter three is set up now equal focus is given to the scenes of the character working hard as the family interaction.

Roughly speaking, equal space, equal attention/importance.

Let’s add to the example. Let’s say when asked about the story, you say it’s about this person’s life, their family bonds and becoming an adult.

Okay. Got it?

So, what should the focus of chapter three be?

If you said on the family interaction and bonding, you’d be correct.

If you want the focus of the story to be on this character’s life, family, and maturation, then that should the focus. Giving equal space to scenes of mundane labor that the character does, then leaves behind with no problem, only takes focus (the readers’) and time (yours) from the family interaction.

This isn’t to say the character being a hard worker isn’t important, but it becomes characterization. Once you’ve shown us they’re a hard worker then it can be dropped to the background. Unless their work begins to slip later on, or something interesting happens with/during their work, then, please, show the readers that.

Another example for keeping focus (from my writing group), was a story that’s a quilt of several people’s lives. Each character got their own section. So, we got to (let’s say) “Claire’s” section. The author introduced “Claire”, then promptly introduced “Roger”, who we learned a lot about. Then the author introduced “Stan”, who we got a lot of information about. Then we met “Stephanie”, who was this nice girl with mean ambition. Then “Claire” came back, and the section ended.

When I read this section of the pages the author gave the group, I found it difficult to see why “Claire” was there. We got very little of her in her own section. I think what the author was going for was a sense of “Claire” feeling out of control in her life, feeling like a bit player. This can work, the author had a solid idea for it, but the execution of the section made “Claire” a bit player. It took the readers’ focus away from “Claire”. The other characters can come into “Claire’s” life/section and be larger than her, but the readers must always have a firm gaze on “Claire”; what she’s feeling, what she’s thinking, while these larger characters are horning in on her. However, at least in the draft I read, “Claire” seemed to fade to the background completely when these characters were on the page. Then when it came back fully to her, we didn’t get that much reflection from her, almost none, before the section was over.

My point: you have to keep the focus where you want the focus.

This may sound simple, but everyone, EVERYONE, struggles with this. It demands an awareness of your writing. An awareness that takes time to build up, to hone, and to keep. The thing that makes this awareness a slippery thing to hold on to, is that you’re you, writing your story. You have all the information in your head, something that’s obvious to you about the story/in the scene might not be obvious to someone else who’s reading the story.

An interesting exercise to try, is finding an older story of yours. Just read the title, maybe the first page, to remind yourself what the story was about. Then write down the point to the story, the focus, what you wanted to accomplish with the story. Now go put that off to the side, and go read the story. Does your story conform to what you wrote down? Where was it lacking? Were there any bits of information that weren’t in the story that needed to be there/or you thought were there?

There have been several stories of mine, where people have read them and been confused by something; and I’m like: “How can they be confused? It’s obvious why this is important!” Only to re-read the story and realize I never actually explain the important thing. It was all in my head why the important thing was important, but I never actually put it in the story. My bad.

Whenever I think about focus, I think about an old black-and-white Humphrey Bogart movie, The Maltese Falcon. In the movie the Maltese Falcon has been stolen, it’s all over the news, which they show you. Bogart’s character is a private eye who is hired to find the Maltese Falcon. At some point, he’s attacked by people who want him to stop looking for the Maltese Falcon. He starts to have feelings for the woman who hired him to find the Maltese Falcon, and is ultimately betrayed by her because she wants the Maltese Falcon.

Can you guess what the focus of the movie is? Yes, there’s violence, there’s love and betrayal, there’s the underlying issues of trust and relationships, but these all happen, the characters all meet to participate in said acts, because the Maltese Falcon has been stolen.

So, that’s what I think about when I think about focus.

Until next time: Be aware of yourself, focus on yourself. Be aware of your writing, focus on your writing.

The Potential of Potential Explained…Potentially

21 Saturday Jan 2017

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in Uncategorized

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editing, hemlock notations, how to edit, how to write, Potential, Samuel Eden, the editing process, the writing process, writing

Oooo, first post of the new year. Lots of pressure for something good. It was so much pressure that I kept put it off. Then I got to thinking about things, things writer-ly and whatnot. I came to the decision to talk to you about something deep and meaningful to me as a writer.

The blank page.

There is something beautiful to me about a blank sheet of paper, or a blank Word document. Winter is my favorite season because of the snow, and I guess that’s what it reminds me of, snow. The type of landscape after a good long and hard snow, that makes the world a white, pristine thing.

It’s calming for me to look at a blank page. It’s a space of nothing, of empty. A few times, right before I’ve started a story, I’ve sat back and stared at the blank page, soaking up the anticipation. There’s a silence to blank page that allows me to order my thoughts, the calm before the storm you might say.

Just think about it, the blank page. It’s a simple thing, flat, empty, featureless. Yet, it’s so much more. It’s whatever you put on it. If you use it for notes, then it’s a source of knowledge, a mini-library for science, or history, math, your own thoughts. As a receptacle for fiction it’s an even grander. What will it become today, for you? Will it be a pirate ship (a lot of my wonderings start with pirate ships). Will it be a space pirate ship, or a Spanish galleon? Will the focus of the page be on the hero or the villain? Will its views be as simple as black and white, or will it be covered in gray? Will the page be magical or hard bitten?

The potential (bringing us back to the title) is endless. Not only for the page, but for your words.

If there’s any resolution the new year brought to you as a writer let it be this one: take time to study a blank page, give it a good, long look. Then, by all means, fill the damn thing up!

It’s great to still be here with you.

Until next time: Be you, be well. Write you, write

Have You Met My Brothers: Na, No, Wri, and Mo?

06 Tuesday Dec 2016

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in writing

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Beginning Editing, beginning writing, editing, how to edit, how to write, NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, Samuel Eden, the editing process, The Hemlock Notations, the writing process, writing

Okay, so let’s talk about November, the National Novel Writing Month.

It’s clear from my posting that I “lost” NaNoWriMo. A lot of things happened in November that made it a rough month. First, I started off the first week sick, but I still wrote that week. A part of the writing was stubbornness, a part of it was me making a promise to everyone out there in the ether of the Internet that I was going to do it. All I did that first week was write and sleep though, so it was a rough start, but a good start. I like to think the second week went well too. It was the third week that things started to unravel. I seriously hurt my ankle on Monday of the third week, couldn’t take time off work, and I have a job where I’m on my feet all day. So, I was completely wasted when I got home. I tried to work, but my quota of pages took a nose dive. It was clear by the middle of the third week that I was not going to complete NaNoWriMo. It took some of the pressure off. I was able to get some really good writing squeezed out of what I did do.

This was the first time I’ve ever participated in NaNoWriMo; and one of the points of the exercise was to share my impressions of it. Which are, as follows. 1) It was fun. I had fun. Not because of the deadline, not just because of the story, but because every time I sat down to write I thought of all the other people that were writing that day/week/month as part of NaNoWriMo. Writing is a very solitary act (at least the beginning part of it where it’s just you), and taking part of NaNoWriMo made me feel a part of something, a community of writers. This, in turn, made me think of everyone that follows this site, and how I hoped seeing me writing would inspire you to write. So, the togetherness (as separate as it was) was pretty cool. This was a surprise for me. 2) Writing with life is hard. Especially if writing isn’t what you use to pay the bills. I want to stress what I’ve talked about before: if you want to write, you need to cut out time to do it. I got a few pages after work, before my wife got home, and in the mornings on the weekends before she got up. Sometimes my wife has to work on the weekend, Saturday, and that’s a boon of a whole day! Yay! My point is: if you’re a writer you have to write, so you have to find time to do it. 3) Just because you “lost” NaNoWriMo doesn’t mean you’re not a writer, and it doesn’t mean the story you’re writing is over. The story is done when you say it’s done. I felt bad, at first because I didn’t get the fifty thousand words. I’ve written that in a month before, so I was upset with myself. However, my situation was different when I did that, so that mitigated some of the despair. The other thing that dulled the grief of the lost, was the fact that the end of NaNoWriMo isn’t the end of the story for me. I’m going to continue the project because I liked it so much. I’ve got a good start on my hands, I like the concept and the characters so I’m going to keep going. I think, for any writer, that’s a good thing to take away from NaNoWriMo, it’s a challenge, but (and I think this is the point they’re trying to make) it’s not about whether or not you actually get fifty thousand words in a month, but that you’re writing, and that you keep writing. My wife works with someone who “finally beat NaNoWriMo” and got the fifty thousand words, but the story “needs about forty thousand more to be complete,” so she’s finishing it. That’s awesome! Again, NaNoWriMo is a jump start, a starting point for creativity and writing, not an end goal, not a finish line.

Those are my biggest impressions of the NaNoWriMo challenge. I think it’s fun and useful. If you’re not a writer, I think you should try at least once to see what comes out of you. You might be surprised. If you are a writer, it can help you find the fun in writing again (it did for me), and can help you feel a part of a community that sometimes is sorely lacking in the profession.

I would like to say, in case it was too subtly slipped into the last paragraph, that I am continuing A Dinner For Crows. Like I said, I like the concept and the characters. So look for it around the website (not soon-soon, but soon-ish).

Until next time: Be you, be well. Write you, write well.

A Dinner For Crows-Part 3 (21865 words)

30 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in writing

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A Dinner For Crows, editing, hemlock notations, How to be a Writer, how to edit, how to write, NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, Samuel Eden, the editing process, the writing process, writing

Po rubs at his still stinging eyes, the tears haven’t fallen yet, it’s more a nervous tick at this point. Clarissa looks at him with concern writ huge on her face. She glances towards the living room, but rushes over to him instead of going after Danny.

“Are you okay?” She whispers it, but Po doubts Danny would hear her if she shouted.

Po nods forcefully. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad. I thought…I hoped he was past this.”

“At least he’s calm.” Clarissa darts a look over her shoulder. “That’s good, right?”

Music booms from the living room, causing them both to jump. Po might have screamed, he’s not sure, it was drowned out by the music if he did. Clarissa looks at him and gives a slight smile. She reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. Po holds up his phone, Mr. Carver’s number on the screen, all he has to do is hit the call button. Clarissa nods, they slowly walk into the living room.

The Carvers have a surround sound setup in their living room. There are speakers mounted in the corners of the room with a few tower speakers scattered about too. Danny stands in the middle of the room, hands up in front of him, face straining, pushing on the air in front of him, looking for all he’s worth like he’s trying to move something that isn’t there.

“I can see the music.” He shouts at them. “If I concentrate hard enough I can make it visible.”

Danny stands there dumbstruck. Watching his friend strain at nothing, hearing him talk about seeing things; Po’s heart drops into his stomach, he’s breathing too fast. The words ‘he’s seeing things’ loop through his mind, they make him dizzy. He turns away from the scene, unable to see his friend like this. There’s a pain in his hand. Looking down he sees his fingers white, wrapped around his phone, his whole hand shaking.

He brings the phone up, ready to call Mr. Carver.

Clarissa hits his shoulder, Po jumps from the contact, forgetting for a moment she was even there. He looks at her, she hasn’t taken her eyes off Danny. She still doesn’t look away as she paws at Po’s shoulder, finally getting a grip and turning him around.

Po turns to see Danny still straining at the air. He’s about to look away again, when something shimmers in the air around Danny’s hands. Po blinks several times to clear his eyes. He decides there’s too much going on for him, between Danny, the blaring classical music, Clarissa. Po takes a step back, wanting to get outside so he can call Mr. Carver in peace.

There’s a burst of static from the speakers. When the music comes through again, there’s golden lines pulsing through the room.

Po stops moving, stops breathing, his mind seizes. The world seems to lose its color, everything but those golden lines. They pulse with the music. Po cocks his head, the lines don’t pulse with all the music just the percussion. Danny reaches out, grabs at something, and red lines appear in the air. They vibrate with the violins.

Still holding the lines, Danny twists around and smiles at them.

“How are you doing this?” Clarissa shouts over the music, a smile splitting her face.

“I told you, with magic.” Danny lets go of the golden lines, they fade slowly, reaches out, and the green of flutes appears.

“Stop it.” Po pants where he stands. His voice doesn’t carry past him.

Clarissa moves up to the flute lines, tentatively reaching out and touching them. Her fingers go through them with nothing happening to them, she runs through the line, giggling as she does. She turns around with a grin barely contained by her face. “Nothing happened.”

“Why would it?” Danny shakes his hand around, and the line wobbles back and forth, but the music is unaffected. “It’s just a visual representation of the music you’re hearing. It’s a harmless Glamor.”

Po takes four sharp breaths to fill his lungs. “Stop it.” He pushes the words out, but there’s no force behind them.

Clarissa runs back through the flute lines, and over to stand next to Danny. “Show me another one.”

Danny lets go of the violins, reaches out, and brown lines, humming with the oboes, appear in room. “They remind me of chocolate.”

Clarissa laughs. “They do, don’t they?” She reaches out and twiddles her fingers in the oboe line.

“Stop it.” Po finally finds enough voice to be heard. Danny and Clarissa turn to look at him.

“Po, what’s wrong?” Clarissa takes a step towards him, her joy muddied with concern for him.

Danny stands there grinning. “Isn’t this great?”

“I said, stop it!” Po runs over to one of the tower speakers and throws it to the floor, the sound fades from it, but the room is still too full. Po races to a wall mounted speaker and jumps for it. He only manages to push it facing the wall.

He tries to jump for it again, but arms wrap around him from behind. “Po, stop.” Clarissa’s voice in his ear is panicked.

Po pulls himself out of her arms and jumps for the speaker again. As soon as his feet leave the floor he feels hands on his back, and he’s smashed against the wall.

“Po, don’t do this.” Clarissa’s voice in his ear, her breath is warm and steady. “Danny’s not crazy.”

“Isn’t he?” Po push back off the wall. When he feels Clarissa move away from him, he turns to look at her. “What’s that mean then? Huh?” He looks her directly in the eyes, and he can see how confused she is. “That’s means magic is real, does it?” He takes a moment, hoping she’ll answer him. “That means the world is crazy.”

“I was just as surprised as you.” Danny steps next to her. Po realizes the music is off. Danny gives him an apologetic smile. “Not that the symbols meant something, I’ve always believed that. I mean, I was surprised when…” He waves his hand around in the air. “You know.”

Po looks at his friend. For the first time in years, he doesn’t know what to think about him. Best friend. Crazy friend. Magic friend.

“I need to go.” Po pushes off the wall walking out of the living room.

“Po, don’t.” Clarissa runs after him. At the front door, she reaches out and grabs his arm.

He wrenches his arm away. “Don’t touch me!” He spins around to glare at her, eyes wide and unblinking.

She takes a step back. “Po, this is good news.” He lets out a bark of a laugh. “Danny isn’t craz-”

“Stop saying that!” Po steps towards her, closing the space between them to almost nothing. Clarissa holds her ground. “Magic isn’t real!”

“What if it is?” Clarissa’s voice is a rush of air, barely audible. Her gaze turns distant as she says this, a smile slowly growing on her face. After a moment, her eyes focus again and she leans in, nose-to-nose with Po. “What if it is?”

Po steps away, back hitting the front door, panic rising in his chest. “It isn’t.”

“Excuse me, Clarissa.” Danny steps out from behind her, steps up to Po. He smiles at Po, and for a moment Po remembers his best friend before the journal. Without really wanting to, Po relaxes some. “Rough day?”

Po almost screams at him, feels the urge boiling inside of him. Instead, he forces a jittery smile onto his face. “You could say that.”

“You were worried about me.”

“Of course I was.”

“You’re so protective, it’s one of the things I love about you.” Danny reaches out to put his hand on Po’s shoulder. Po’s whole body tenses, Danny’s hand hovers over his shoulder for a second or two before coming to rest on it. When Po doesn’t feel anything but the weight of his friend’s hand, he relaxes. Danny gives his shoulder a light squeeze. “I’m seeing auras, flashes of symbols around people. When I answered the door, I saw a horseshoe on your chest.”

“Great, so I’m your good luck charm.” Po squirms under Danny’s hand, but Danny doesn’t move it.

Danny lets out a low chuckle. “Of course you are, but the horseshoe is also a symbol of protection. You’re a protector. You’ve certainly protected me over the years.” Danny looks him in the eyes. “Even from myself.”

Po looks down at the floor. “I don’t know if I can live in a world with magic.”

Danny squeezes his shoulder again. “I know I can’t live in a world without my best friend.”

Po’s head darts up, he stares into Danny’s eyes, searching. “Do you mean that?”

Danny nods. “Say the word, and I’ll never bring up magic, or symbols, or the journal again. I’ll put it all away.”

“You never have before.” Po shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’ve never asked me before.” Danny smiles turns reassuring.

“You…you’d do that for me?” Po reaches up and grabs his friend’s arm.

“I’m not going to lie; it’d be hard as shit. The way this feels is awesome. It’s not just physical, but knowing I know something about the world no one else does is a kick.” A snicker escapes his lips. He clears his throat, the smile dropping from his face. “But yeah, if that’s what you want.”

The boys stand there looking at each other. Their history, all the years they’ve known one another, filling up the space between them. Po takes a deep breath.

“Do I get a say in this?” Clarissa’s annoyed voice, comes from behind Danny.

Danny half turns, stepping to the side, so both him and Po can look at her. “Of course you get a say.” Clarissa smiles and nods. “Club rules, majority vote wins. I’m voting with Po.”

Clarissa’s expression immediately turns sour. “How is that fair?”

Danny shrugs. “That’s democracy.”

“How could you do that?” Clarissa crosses her arms. “You’re the one who translated the symbols. You’ve been doing magic all day. You said yourself, that it feels great knowing something about the world no one else does.”

Po looks from Clarissa to Danny, watching his friends as they debate this. He watches Danny nod, only years of experience with him allows Po to catch the twitch of Danny’s eye, indicating he’s sad.

“I said it would be hard as shit.”

“See.” Clarissa flings her hands into the air.

Danny’s eye twitches again, but he doesn’t raise his voice. “Let me ask you a question.” Clarissa nods. “Do you trust Po?”

Surprise strikes Clarissa dumb for a moment or two. “Of course I trust Po.” Clarissa looks past Danny at Po. “You’re my best friend.”

“Would you say he’s got the best judgement out of the three of us?” Danny continues like this is an interrogation.

Clarissa shakes her head from side to side and shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s the most mature, I guess.”

“Okay.” Danny crosses his arms across his chest. “So, I’m not going to do this without my best friend. The person we both agree has better judgement than both of us.”

Clarissa opens her mouth to say something, closes it, opens it again. She taps her foot for a minute or two, clearly she’s trying to think of an argument. After a minute, she sighs heavily. “Fine. You know what I want to do, but I’ll go along with the vote.” She stares at Po. “What do you say, Po?”

Po feels panicked again, being on the spot. He’s only seen a look this intense on Clarissa’s face when she’s taking tests. He looks to Danny. Danny still has his arms crossed, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Po wonders how he could be relaxed right now. He thinks maybe it has something to do with his fate being in someone else’s hands. Po can’t believe his friend trusts him so much. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“You know,” Danny speaks without opening his eyes. “Even if we decide not to do this, there’s nothing stopping you from learning magic on your own.”

Clarissa has been slouching, but at Danny’s suggestion she stands up straight, arms dropping to her sides. Po can see her mind working already. He knows she’s thinking about what books she’d need, and where she’d need to go to find them. He knows that’s what she’s thinking about, because that’s what popped into his mind as soon as Danny said what he did.

“Okay, let’s do this together.” The words are out before Po can stop them.

Clarissa looks at him, confused. “Are you sure?”

Danny smiles and pushes off the wall, opening his eyes to look at him. “We don’t have to.”

Po shakes his head. “No, I want to.” Clarissa smiles, her eyes lighting up. “But the first time something crazy happens we stop. Okay.”

Danny reaches out and squeezes his shoulder again. “Of course.”

Clarissa shakes her head. “It’s magic. Define, “crazy.”

Po shrugs. “Someone gets hurt. If someone gets hurt, we stop.”

The smile drops from Clarissa’s face. “Yeah, okay.”

Po swallows several times, mouth dry. Immediately he wishes he could take back the decision. His eyes dart from Danny to Clarissa, both so excited. Some of his regret over the decision melts away, knowing that if they didn’t do this together Clarissa would probably do this by herself. The tightness in his chest doesn’t lessen with the consolation though.

Po tries to take a deep breath, but only pulls in half as much air as he wants. Coughs rattle his chest. Danny and Clarissa look at him with concern. He waves his hand in front of him. “I’m fine.” He takes a slow breath to calm himself. “How do we do this?”

Danny looks to both of them, grinning. “Wait here.” He runs upstairs.

Clarissa stands at the bottom of the stairs, tapping frantically on the railing. Po’s hand cramps again. When he looks down, he sees he still has his phone in a death grip. He shoves the phone in his pocket, fingers aching when he lets go. He concentrates on breathing. Danny pads down the stairs too soon for him.

“Okay.” Danny flips through the pages. “I was looking over this part of the book last night.” He turns the book around to show them. Po doesn’t move from the door, afraid to get close to the journal now that he knows it’s real. He can make the symbols though, still confusing as ever.

Clarissa reaches out and touches the page. “Which part is this?” She looks at Danny questioningly. “This isn’t a part we normally focus on.”

Danny nods. “It isn’t.” He turns the book around to look at it. His eyes gloss over, go distant.

After a moment, Clarissa reaches out and pokes him. “Danny?”

“What?” Danny starts, looks from the book to Clarissa. “Sorry.” He shakes his head, walks into the living room. Clarissa follows him, looking back at Po, motioning him to do the same. Po sighs, pushes off the door, and follows his friends back into the living room. “This isn’t normally a section we look at, no.” Danny continues. “But after what Christine and Riley said yesterday I started re-thinking what we knew about the book and the symbols.”

“Wait, Christine was right about the symbols?” The joy in Clarissa’s voice is unmistakable. “Wait, Riley was right about something?” As is the disbelief.

Danny holds up his hand. “I’m not going to tell him.”

The gesture, the comment, is so “Danny” it brings a smile to Po’s face.

“So, as it turns out the book might be written in code.” Danny closes the book, keeping his finger in it to hold his place.

“You mean other than being in symbols?” Po can’t help speaking up. Since he got Danny’s text the world has felt on fast forward. He keeps looking for a way to slow it down.

“Yeah, besides that.” Danny doesn’t seem to have caught the sarcasm. “It’s like Christine said: symbols are symbols because they’re universal. So, I looked back at my notes and applied her theory that the writer of the journal layered in meaning.”

It’s hard for Po to pay attention to what Danny says. Half his brain keeps yelling at him that magic isn’t real. Another part of his brain keeps waiting for Danny and Clarissa to break out laughing, the whole thing a gag somehow. A tiny part of his brain believes Danny, it hasn’t made up its mind on whether magic being real is good or not.

“…That’s when I translated the sentence: Follow the light.” Danny smiles at them. “I didn’t know what that meant at first, and then I remembered what Riley said about the blank pages and the reflective pages being a code.” A look of distaste comes over Danny’s face.

Po wants to yell at him. To say: ‘If you don’t want your business known by people, you shouldn’t talk about it in front of them.’ He doesn’t speak up, realizing it’s just a way to derail the conversation, put it on a track that’s more comfortable for him.

“…book is written in sections. The sections following the flashes are real.” He opens the book up and shows them the pages again.

Clarissa’s face scrunches up. “That’s like a third of the way through the book.”

Danny nods. “Yeah. It’s behind a section that starts with a blank page.” Danny closes the book and sets it on the coffee table. “I think the sections after the blank pages are fake, intentional gibberish.” He shrugs at them. “I’m not sure. I have to double check.”

Clarissa nods in agreement.

Po’s brain won’t stop screaming at him. “This doesn’t make sense. Yesterday, you were you, and today you can do magic? Just like that? Overnight?”

Danny smiles at him. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Explain it to me.” He glances at Clarissa. “Explain it to us.”

Danny holds up his hands defensively. “Okay. It was late by the time I figured everything out, but I didn’t want to stop.” He shoots Po a look that says, you know how I am. Po nods. “I was translating a section, it’s about connecting with primordial power, I was half asleep. At some point, I must have fallen asleep, but the symbols didn’t go away. I dreamed about them. When I woke up, things were different. I was different.” He holds his hands up in front of his face, moves his fingers around. “I can understand the symbols, and other things. The book mentions connecting with power on a subconscious level. So, I hypnotized myself, put in key phrases to help me access the power.” He smiles at them, shrugs again. “It’s not so much that I know magic, but I have access to a pool of power. I can manipulate it to do things. Not much at the moment, but I’m sure with practice-”

“And this is what you want to share with us?” Po still can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You want to hypnotize us?” Po remembers when Danny became obsessed with hypnotism, a couple years after finding the journal. Danny jumped on anything “mystic” back then. It never seemed to work when they tried it.

“I kept the books. I’ve been practicing. Why do you think my grades are so good?”

“Hypnotism?” Clarissa laughs.

“Not hypnotism per se, but the study of mental-ism has helped me improve my memory.”

Clarissa’s face scrunches up again. “You’re cheating?”

Danny shake his head at her. “It’s not cheating. I’ve maximized the potential of my mi-”

“Shut. Up.” They look at Po with open mouths. “You want to hypnotize us.”

After a moment, when he doesn’t continue, Danny nods. “I want to put you into a trance state, through which I can guide you to the power I’ve accessed.”

“You sound like a cult leader.” Po rubs at his chest, the tightness still hasn’t gone anywhere.

Danny wiggles his fingers at him. “Join me. Join me.” He laughs. “It’s not like that, bro.”

“It’s never worked before.” Protests keep popping up in Po’s mind.

“We were young. I didn’t have magic before.” Danny’s smile deepens. Po’s getting tired of seeing his friend’s face like that.

“I’m up for it.” Clarissa steps in front of Danny. “Hypnotize me.”

Po’s gut twists, an acid taste fills the back of his mouth. “Do me first.” Po steps around the couch and sits down.

Clarissa glares over her shoulder at him. “Why can’t I go first?” She narrows her eyes at him.

Po looks at her, doesn’t want to say, but she doesn’t look away. “In case something goes wrong.”

Her eyes go wide. Po’s guessing it hadn’t occurred to her that something could go wrong.

“Nothing’s going to go wrong.” Danny reassures them.

“Then it won’t be long, will it.” Po settles into the corner of the couch, tries to get as comfortable as he can.

“You don’t have to this.” Clarissa is back to glaring at him. “I told you, I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah.” Po meets her eyes. “And sometimes that means letting others take care of you.”

Again, surprise rushes over her features. Her face flushes, Po will deal with her anger later. She turns away from both him and Danny. “Fine. You win this time.” She walks out of the living room.

Danny looks after her and then at Po. “Chicks, right?”

Po wonders just what it is she thinks he’s won. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay. Are you comfortable?” Danny’s voice is suddenly serious. Po nods. “Good. Do you remember how this goes?”

Po nods again, closing his eyes, and breathing deep and slow. He concentrates on his body, relaxing every part of it. Everything relaxes quickly, until he gets to his stomach. It’s been doing flips and heaves for a while now, and it takes more than a few seconds to calm it. He’s surprised by the amount of tension there is in his shoulders. Relaxing his back, he falls deeper into the couch.

“You look relaxed.” Danny’s voice comes at Po soft and steady. “You’re in the first trance state.” Po thinks he hears Danny move, but he’s not sure. His first instinct is to open his eyes and look, but he curbs it. If he doesn’t trust Danny this isn’t going to work. “I want you to focus on the sound of my voice. Let everything else drop away.” The world goes quiet for Po. “I’m going to reach out and touch you. Don’t open your eyes.” Po feels Danny’s hand take his, he doesn’t move it off his lap though. “You’re doing fine.” Danny applies a steady pressure on Po’s hand. “I want you to sink lower with me. I want you to imagine your limbs are made of stone. Your arms. Your legs. They’re so heavy you can’t move them.” Po imagines his limbs are stone, cool, gray, and heavy; just like that he can’t move his body. “Good, you’re in a deeper trance state. But we’re going to go deeper. I’m going to take you deeper.” There’s that steady pressure on his hand again. “You’re going to feel warmth spread from my hand into yours. You’re not going to worry about this. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just helping you get into a deeper trance. I’m helping you connect with what I connected with.” Danny’s hand heats up, almost uncomfortably so. Po tries to move his hand away, but his arms are still made of stone, so they don’t move. The heat lessens, entering Po’s hand and shooting halfway up his arm. He feels his muscle twitch involuntarily. From there the heat seeps upward, to and then past Po’s shoulder. It passes into his chest, and his middle begins to fill up. “I want you to take as much of the warmth as you can.” Po takes a deep breath, imagining he’s sucking the warmth into his body. It plummets into his stomach, pools there for a moment, then rushes into his legs. Four more deep breaths and his entire body is warm. Sweat breaks out on his skin, everywhere at once. “That’s good.” Danny’s voice sounds strained. “I’m going to count to three. When I get to three, I want you to open your eyes. I want you to observe the world. I will continue to talk to you, to guide you, but I want what you see to take priority.” In the state Po’s in, all he can do is accept everything Danny’s saying. “Nod your head if you understand.” Po nods his head. “Good. One, two, three, open your eyes.”

Po languidly opens his eyes. Danny sits on the coffee table in front of him, still holding his hand.

A Dinner For Crows-Part 2 (17,703)

12 Saturday Nov 2016

Posted by Faust S. Amazing in writing

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editing, how to edit, how to write, NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, Samuel Eden, the editing process, The Hemlock Notations, the writing process, writing

Danny stops them at the top of the stairs. “Do you hear that?” Danny takes a half step forward, listening.

Po looks around the hall, wondering what Danny has up his sleeve. “What is it?” Po whispers, staying in character.

Danny turns, fear coating his face. “Dinosaurs!” He grabs the front of Po’s shirt, and pulls them into the room at the top of the stairs, closing the door behind them.

It’s Grams’s sewing room. The sewing machine on a table in front of the window. Po goes over to a bookshelf filled with material, reaching out to run his fingers across the fabric. There are several pattern packets on the shelf too. He takes one off the shelf. The picture on the front shows a long flowing dress in red. Po looks at the shelf, finding the fabric on the bottom of a pile, it feels silky when he touches it. He wonders why Grams never made the dress.

“Hey, Sara Lee, you done playing dress up?” Danny taunts him from the door.

Po puts the pattern back on the shelf. “Sara Lee is a baker.” He turns back to his friend.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were an empyreal soldier, not a baker.” Danny puts his fists on his hips.

“Why can’t I be both?” Po honestly wants to know.

Danny strides across the room and grabs his shoulders. He shakes him from side to side. “Stick with me, man. Don’t let the isle take you. We’ve got cannibal natives and dinosaurs to sneak past if we’re going to find this treasure.”

Po smiles. “I didn’t mean to lose my head. It won’t happen again, sir.”

Danny narrows his eyes at him, then squeezes his shoulders. “That’s what I like to hear.” He makes his way back to the door, opening it and peeking out. “The natives are restless.” He closes the door. “Don’t forget about your rations.” He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a piece of cookie.

Po does the same, munching on pieces of cookie until one of his back pockets is empty of all but crumbs. The entire time he eats, he watches Danny at the door. Danny keeps opening the door and peeking out into the hall. Po can see his friend’s head moving back and forth like he’s watching actual natives and dinosaurs move around out there. Po wonders if his friend has a better imagination than him.

“What’s the plan of attack?” Po finally asks.

Danny starts in on his other back pocket, not taking his eyes from the hallway. “I’ve got a plan.”

Po chuckles. “Let me guess, does it-”

Danny flings the door open. “Run!” He’s out the door without waiting to see if Po’s following him.

Po jumps when Danny hollers, but he’s only a few steps behind him.

“Watch out for traps.” Danny ducks, but keeps running.

Po imagines a log with spikes coming at him and ducks too. He almost loses his balance, but keeps his feet. When he looks up, Danny is high-stepping and jigging from side to side. Po’s expression is grim determination as he enters the arrow trap. He drops into a roll, when he gets to his feet he spins and lunges for the end of the hallway. Smashing his back against the wall, making himself as flat as possible, he looks to Danny who’s doing the same.

“These traps are ancient.” Danny pants at him.

“I’m surprised they still work.” Po pants back.

“You’ve got to admire the craftsmanship.” Danny laughs, bending over and sucking in a huge gulp of air.

Po points down the hallway. “Wouldn’t setting off the traps alert the cannibal natives?”

Danny freezes for a moment, then looks up at him with surprise. “Into the cave!” He pulls the attic door open, jumping up three of the steep steps to let Po get in too. When Po is inside he closes the door behind him. “Hurry, help me barricade the opening.” Danny pretends to stack rocks up in front of the door; Po joins him. After a few minutes of this, they’re both satisfied that no cannibals will get them. Danny grins widely at Po, punching him in the shoulder. “Now! Time to find that treasure.”

They pad up the stairs together, coming out of the floor in the middle of the room. The attic runs the width and length of the house. It makes for a huge open room. Open, except for all the boxes piled neatly around the floor. Several small windows let in the day’s light. It’s more than enough for Po and Danny.

The two of them have spent many afternoons up here. They run past the boxes of Christmas decorations, containers of receipts, and old clothes. The back corner of the attic is where they know the treasure is. The back corner of the attic is where most of Danny’s grandfather’s things are, along with mementoes of his and Grams’s youth. They’d found the stuff by accident one time, just playing around up here. Ever since then the boxes have become the treasure in their games of pirates.

The first thing Danny goes for is his grandfather’s service jacket, he always goes for that first. He shrugs it on, shoving the sleeves up so his hands are free, and poses. “You can call me captain now, sir.”

Po lets out a laugh. Neither of them know if the service jacket symbols mean captain or not, but Danny insists that they do. Po grabs the stack of letters from the same chest, and sits down in a pool of light. They’d found the letters in the bottom of the trunk, looking for more military stuff. It had taken them a couple visits to the attic to decipher his grandfather’s handwriting, but once they did the letters were the things bringing them back.

Jacket securely in place, Danny joins Po on the floor. He takes half the letters, and they start reading. For the next few minutes the boys sit in silence as they reacquaint themselves with Grandpa Carver’s scrawl. Danny is the first to break the silence.

“Listen to this.” He tugs on Po’s shirt to get his attention. “Me and the boys were out on patrol this morning. A group of enemy combatants came up over a rise. I think we surprised each other. The fighting broke out soon after that…” Danny grins at Po. “How cool is that?”

Danny puts the letters down and jumps up. Pulling a cane from a half open box, he holds it across his chest like a rifle. He ducks behind some boxes, peering around cautiously. When he decides the coast is clear, he sprints to another box and squats behind it.

Po picks up the letter and keeps reading where Danny left off.

…when the gunfire died down Jennings and Cooper were wounded, but most of the enemy were dead. A couple of them had run off. A few of the boys wanted to go after them, but I put an end to that. I had Jennings and Cooper looked after, and we had to look over the enemy bodies, for intel.

Olivia, I know they’re the enemy, but some of them were as young as us. I started to wonder if they had girls back home they were writing to. They tell you it’s us versus them, and it is, but sometimes-

“Soldiers! Enemies on the ridge!” Po looks up to see Danny do some quick hand gestures. Then he puts the cane up to his shoulder, taking aim. “Pewch! Pewch!” Danny jerks the cane up like he’s firing a gun. “Jay! Coop! Flank on the left side! Pewch! Pewch!”

Po watches his friend order around his troops, and fire on the enemy. Then, coming around the box to take some more shots, Danny jerks backwards and falls to the floor. Despite himself, Po jumps when he sees this. As Danny gets up, holding his shoulder, Po lets out a sigh of relief.

“Fall back!” Danny lets off one shot, then runs back towards the corner, sliding onto his stomach.

“You may have to call this one.” Po smiles down at him.

“They’ll never take me alive.” Danny ducks his head as more imaginary bullets fly by.

“I think that’s the plan.”

Danny sticks his tongue out at him. Looking frantically around the attic, Danny finally sees what he’s looking for, turning to Po and smiling. “We just need to get to higher ground.” Danny jumps to his feet, fires off a couple shots, then runs for an old dresser against the wall. A couple feet from it, he jumps. Unfortunately, his foot kicks a stack of boxes. He makes it onto the top of the dresser, but two of the boxes ‘thunk’ onto the attic floor, the top one popping open, spilling its contents.

Po and Danny stare at each other for a long moment. Their eyes dart at the same time to the attic stairs. They don’t move for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, Danny eases off the top of the dresser.

A slow grin spreads across Danny’s face. “That was a close one.”

“Boys!?” Mrs. Carver’s voice comes to them from downstairs.

“Yes?!” They yell together so it’ll carry all the way down.

“Are you okay?!”

“Yes!” Again, together. They rush over to the fallen boxes. Po picks up the first box and puts it back in the stack. Danny sets the second box up and starts throwing the contents back in it.

“You’re not in the attic, are you?!” Mrs. Carver’s voice sounds closer to Po.

“No!” His voice comes out alone, he doesn’t think she’s heard him. He turns to look at Danny. His friend has stopped moving, in his hand is a leather journal.

“Earth to, Po!” Someone grabs Po’s shoulder and shakes him. Po looks up from the page of symbols, Danny’s slightly annoyed face stares down at him. “Hey, bro, our prison sentence has been commuted. We can go.”

Po blinks. His head hurts. It’s too bright. He looks around him, he’s sitting at a table, there are shelves of books around him. “Wha?”

“Are you okay?” Clarissa bends and twists to look at him. “Po?” The concern in her eyes scares him.

“Hey, you finished the pages.” Danny reaches over his shoulder and takes the pile of symbol pages from him.

It’s like someone turns the volume up to ten, reality comes crashing back to him. Po tries to grab the pages back. “Wait. No I didn’t.”

Danny fingers through the pages. “It looks like you did to me.” He gets to the end and smiles down at Po. “Yep. All finished.” He looks at Clarissa. “Ms. Denning, I’ll take your work as well.”

Clarissa stands up straight. “I can’t give it to you, I didn’t finish.”

Danny shakes his head. “Mr. Allen finished.”

She cocks her head and frowns at him. “Well, Mr. Allen is an overachiever, now isn’t he?”

“Apparently so.” Danny shoves the pages into his backpack. “Can we at least get out of here? All this learning is depressing me.” He turns and heads for the doors.

Po watches his friend go, things still feel fuzzy.

Clarissa puts her hand gently on his shoulder. “Hey, you, are you okay? Seriously?”

Po sighs, shaking his head. “No, yeah.” He looks up at her and blinks several times. “I’m just tired I guess.”

She smiles at him. “Your parents riding your ass too?” She blows a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Mine already want me to apply to colleges. Every time I come down to breakfast there’s another flier for me to look at.”

Po smiles despite himself. He wonders if Mr. and Mrs. Denning got that from his parents, or his parents got that from them. “I know, right? I finally told mine I’d start looking after Christmas. That’s seems to have stopped the fliers and cereal combo.”

She laughs. Po’s not sure what he said that was funny. “I’ll have to try that.”

“They mean well.” Po shrugs.

Clarissa shakes her head. “I wish they’d mean it a little less.”

“I know what you me-”

“Are you two coming, or are you planning on spending the night here?!” Danny’s voice crashes through the stacks at them.

“I guess we should go.” Po pushes away from the table grabbing his backpack. Clarissa nods, rushing past him for the door. Po jogs to keep up.

* * *

The walk home isn’t long, but the three of them take their time. This is part of the “down time” Po wanted so badly this year. Clarissa asks about homework. Po answers, clarifying what Mr. Parks wants. Danny grumbles about slave labor. Mostly the trio walks silently. They’ve known each other for years, and they settle into each other’s company.

Po keeps waiting for Danny to bring up the journal and the symbols. He keeps waiting for him to remind Clarissa to finish her pages as soon as she can. He doesn’t do either. For some reason Po doesn’t find this comforting.

When they get to Danny’s street, Po and Clarissa stop, but Danny keeps going. Danny’s so lost in thought he doesn’t even notice he’s walking alone.

“Hey!” Clarissa can be surprisingly loud when she wants to be. “Danny!”

Danny jumps, looks to either side of him, and spins, fear on his face. When he sees them standing on the sidewalk his features clear. He makes his way back to them. “Don’t do that to me.”

“Do what?” Po can feel the weight of his friend’s obsession settling over him.

Danny waves his hand in the air, vaguely. “You know.” He bumps his shoulder into Clarissa and then into Po, his version of a hug, and heads down his street. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Po watches him go. He wonders what Danny’s thinking about exactly. He wonders why it goes to the places it does.

“It’s cute how much you care about him.” Clarissa bumps her shoulder into his.

“You know what he’s like.” Po feels himself frowning, but he can’t seem to stop.

“I do.” Clarissa tilts from side-to-side a couple times. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Po shakes his head. “You just said you know what he’s like. He didn’t even remind you to finish the symbols.”

“Wait for it.” Clarissa holds up three fingers in front of them. When she gets down to one, she points at Danny. He takes a couple more steps before stopping and looking back at them. Clarissa waves.

“Don’t forget to do the symbols!” Clarissa’s wave turns into a thumb’s up of acknowledgement. Danny nods a couple times, then turns back around.

Clarissa turns and smiles at Po. Po pretends to keep watching Danny. Eventually he has to turn and look at her. He just stares at her staring at him with that smile on her face.

“Fine.”

“I told you so.” Clarissa lets out a laugh at him.

“Shut up.” Po moves past her, heading down the sidewalk.

Clarissa hurries to catch up, falling into pace next him. “It could be worse, you know?”

“Hmm?” Po’s lost in his own thoughts already.

“Danny. He could be a druggie.” Clarissa offers a small smile when Po looks at her.

“I guess.” Po feels his face frowning again. “I just wish he didn’t get so obsessed with the book.”

“Yeah.” Clarissa shrugs her backpack into a better position. “You know, people like him get jobs at the NSA, or start tech companies that make billions of dollars. He’ll be okay.”

Po can’t think of anything to say to that, so he lets his thoughts wander. He thinks about the day, about how much work he needs to get done that night. Finally, his thoughts come back to the library and the pages of symbols. He tries to remember circling them, but he can’t. What he does remember is him remembering when Danny found the book. They were both there when Danny found the book, but it’s always felt to Po like it was Danny who found it.

“Or maybe it found him.”

“What was that?” Clarissa’s head whips away from him when he looks at her.

“Nothing. Sorry.” Po shakes his head to clear it. It’s thinking like that, he feels, that’s gotten Danny in so much trouble. “I was just talking out loud.”

“Yeah, of course.” Clarissa stops walking, they’ve reached Po’s street, the next one down from Danny’s, but Po keeps going. “Hey, I haven’t lost you now, have I?”

Po turns, walking backwards. “No. I thought I’d walk you home.”

“What? Really?” Clarissa smiles, nervously shoving a strand of hair, possibly the same strand she blew out of her face in the library, behind her ear. “Why’s that?”

To Po it looks like she’s blushing. He shakes his head again, believing he must be seeing things. “I just don’t feel like dealing with my parents yet.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Clarissa nods a couple times, and starts walking again. “Let’s go.” She walks past him, walking quicker than she was.

Po spins and lengthens his stride to keep up with her. “Hey, wait up, lady.”

Clarissa doesn’t slow down. “Am I going too fast for the wittle baby?”

“A little, yeah.” Po picks up the pace so he can walk next to her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Clarissa takes several deep breaths, the pace wearing her out a bit. “Shouldn’t you text your parents to let them know you’re going to be late?”

“Eh, they’ll be fine. I think they actually like not having me at the house. Can you believe it?” Po sees Clarissa’s mouth twitch into a smile.

“Heresy.” She tries to flatten her lips, but they keep curling up at the edges.

“I know. The other day, before I left for school, I saw them,” Po shudders for good measure. “Kiss.”

A laugh bursts from Clarissa, her steps falter, and their pace slows.

“I think they liked it too.”

This sets off a string of laughs from Clarissa. “Parents these days. You don’t think they’re into the,” she leans in close to Po, “sex?”

Po stands up straight, shock on his face. “God forbid.” They both laugh, leaning on each other for a few steps.

Almost on cue, Po’s phone vibrates. He takes it out of his pocket to see a text from his father.

Mom’s worried. Where r u?

Po shows the text to Clarissa, who giggles some more. “Poooo’s in trooouble.”

Po makes a face at her.

Walking Clarissa home. B home in a minute.

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Okay.

“What did he say?” Clarissa leans over, trying to see what’s on Po’s phone.

“You know.” Po turns the screen off and puts it away. “He just wants me to stay out of trouble.”

The two settle into a nice, silent pace. Po likes feeling like he’s not being watched over. He can only think Clarissa feels the same. He knows both their moms wear the brand ‘tiger mom’ with pride, but he’s see some of the really controlling parents at their school, and he’s glad neither of them are that bad. Still, it’s a relief to have a few minutes of fresh air and space.

Po doesn’t stop at the top of the street when they get to the road Clarissa’s house is on, he walks with her to her house.

“You know, we’ve got that test in AP Chemistry coming up. We should get together and study.” She pushes the strand of hair behind her ear again.

Po nods. “Yeah. I’ll give Danny a call and see when he’s free.” Po pulls out his phone and types in a reminder.

“Yeah. Of course. Danny should definitely be there too.” Clarissa lets out a sigh, shuffles her feet a bit. “You know, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Po feels his face automatically go into frown mode. He tilts his head to the side, cracking his neck, working his jaw up and down a few times. He lets out a sigh of his own. “You’re probably right. It’s not like he’s ever climbed a tree and refused to come down because “they” were coming to get him.” It comes out harsher than he wants. Clarissa takes a step back from him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Clarissa steps forward, closer to him than she was before. “I’m a big girl, Po. I can handle myself.” She leans into him. “Besides, I said it’s cute how much you care about him.” They look at each other. Po feels like Clarissa is waiting for something. Suddenly she moves to the side, and shoves his shoulder with hers. Then she turns and jogs up to her house.

Po hopes she’s right about Danny. He doesn’t want to see his friend like that again. Phone still in hand, he turns from Clarissa’s house, heading back up the street. He texts his dad to let him know he’s on his way home, steps crisp and quick. As much as he longs for space, without his friends by his side he quickly gets lonely.

Roughly five minutes after leaving Clarissa’s house, he walks through the front door of his own. He can smell dinner cooking. Heading for the kitchen first, he sees his mom moving around efficiently, chopping something here and stirring something there.

“Can I give you a hand?” Po walks over to the stove, leaning over, and taking a deep breath.

His mother pushes him out of the way with her elbow, dumping some chopped onions into the sauce. “Did everyone get home alright?”

“Yeah. We’re all snug in the bosom of family.” Po puts his head on his mother’s shoulder.

“You mock, but we hover because we care.” She kisses the top of his head.

“I mock because I care.” Po puts his bookbag on the floor and stirs the sauce.

“You mock because you’re a teenager.” His mother moves back to the counter to chop some more. “Go do your homework, dinner will be ready in about half an hour.”

Po stirs the sauce some more, soaking up the heat from the stove. “You sure I can’t give you a hand?”

His mother stops chopping and looks at him. “You don’t have any homework tonight?”

Po sighs, eyes rolling automatically. “You know, I could always do my work after dinner.”

Mrs. Allen points the knife at the door. “Go do your work. Your father had to check some e-mails, and then he’s coming to help.”

“Alright.” Po grabs his bag, kisses his mom on the cheek, and heads for the door. “Slave driver.”

“You’ll thank me when your older and successful.” His mother goes back to chopping.

Po stops himself halfway to the stairs and comes back. “Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you tell me Danny called?” Po watches his mother closely.

“Danny hasn’t called tonight, dear.” She moves over and dumps peppers into a pan.

“No, I mean last week.” Po leans forward on the island.

“When was this?” Po can hear a faint lilt to his mom’s voice. She had the same lilt when he asked her if Santa Claus was real.

“Mom.” Po puts a slight edge in his voice.

“You were busy. With your piano.” Po’s mouth twists as he tries to smile and frown at the same time. It’s been ‘his piano’ since he took up jazz.

“Which is why he called the house when he couldn’t get a hold of me.”

“You see?” His mom turns and smiles at him like that should explain everything.

Po smiles back at her, mockingly. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me he called.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” She turns and stirs the peppers. “I know how much you like jazz.”

“That doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me when I was done.” Po can’t help getting more and more annoyed at her.

“It must have slipped my mind.” The lilt almost turns the sentence into a beginning of a song.

“Mom!”

Mrs. Allen puts down the knife and turns to look at her son. “I worry about you.”

“Mom.”

She holds up her hand, and Po closes his mouth. “I worry about you. It’s a parents’ duty to worry. What happened with Danny a year ago-”

“A year and a half.”

Mrs. Allen frowns, and Po closes his mouth again, hanging his head. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, and with Danny going through…Well,
whatever he went through. I just-”

“He’s my friend.” Po’s eyes hurt, he takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“I know, but-”

“The Carvers are your friends too. You’ve known them as long as Danny and me have been friends.” Po looks at his mother, and she can see the
concern on her face.

“They’ve pulled away a lot since the incident.” She gives him a half shrug.

“So I should disown my best friend because he’s a bit…sick?” Po rubs at his face to keep the tears from running out of his eyes.

“Honey, no…I’m sorry-”

“Ah, the prodigal son returns.” Po’s dad’s voice booms in from the hallway. He strides into the kitchen and over to the stove. “Everything smells delicious.” Turning towards them, he freezes. “What are we talking about?”

“Just the usual pre-dinner casual conversation about life and friendship.” Mrs. Allen’s voice cracks a little as she confesses to her husband.

“Oh.” His face turns down. “Lifetime movie of the week, or Kevin Hart promo?”

Po and his mother smile at the same time.

“More after school special material.” Po ops for a middle ground.

Mr. Allen nods his head considering. “Not that bad then. Verdict?”

Mrs. Allen wipes at her face. “It turns out our son is a much better person than we are.” She smiles at Po.

“Of course he is,” Mr. Allen looks at his son proudly. “We raised him right.”

Po laughs and shakes his head. “I’m going to go do my work.” He fixes an appraising gaze on his mother. “I’m not going to miss any more calls, am I?”

His mother holds up two finger. “Scouts honor.”

Po nods.

“Don’t believe her, son.” Mr. Allen wraps his arms around his wife and nibbles at her neck. Mrs. Allen squeals in surprise. “She was never in the scout’s.”

Po shakes his head and goes up stairs to his room.

Entering the room, he throws his bookbag on his bed. For a moment he considers join it, but then he hears his mother squeal again, and puts his earbuds in, turning the music up as high as he can take it. He snatches his bag off his bed and pulls out his government book. Over the next twenty minutes he finishes off the chapter, jotting down notes as he goes. Between the music and concentrating on committing the chapter to memory, he doesn’t think about Danny.

He jumps when his dad touches his shoulder.

“If you’re surprised, maybe your music is too loud.” His dad gives him a halfhearted frown.

“You know what they say.” Po throws the earbuds on his desk. “If it’s too loud you’re too old.” He gives a cocky smile to his dad.

“True dat.” His dad makes devil’s horns with his hands, putting them above his head, and headbanging.

Po laughs at his father. When Mr. Allen is done re-living his youth, he and Po go downstairs and join his mother for dinner. As good as everything is, he barely tastes it. Out of the book, with no music to drown things out, his mind jumps to all the things he needs to do. He’s still got math to finish up, something for English that he can’t remember, but he’s sure he’s written down somewhere. Remembering the test coming up in AP Chemistry, he tells his parents Clarissa suggested a study session.

With that, Danny comes back to the forefront of his mind. He knows Clarissa isn’t worried, but she’s more optimistic than he is, at least where Danny is concerned. The tree incident last year was just the most recent incident, the most blatantly bad. There are others that led up to it. Maybe they weren’t as flashy, but thinking back on them, instead of enjoying his dinner, Po can’t help but think they were just as drastic.

The incident before the tree, Danny had been up for three days convinced he was on the right track to decoding the symbols. It had scared Po to see his friend become more and more erratic over those three days, but the third day had been Friday; he thought a couple days at home with his parents would get him settled down. Then, that night, the Carvers called his parents looking for Danny. They couldn’t find him all weekend. On Monday, they found Danny in one of the school’s classrooms. He’d been there all weekend “translating” the journal. He’d filled all the lesson boards in three classrooms with his scribblings. Some of his writing was in French, some in Spanish, pages ripped out of text books left in the rooms organized to help him. When they brought Po in to talk to Danny, he said some of the symbols only made sense in French or Spanish. Po had cried in front of Danny, the assistant principal, and the janitor when he saw his friend like that. Danny broke down into tears too, but only when Po was able to talk him out of the room and into the paramedics’ waiting care. He screamed about his notes even as they drove away.

They treated Danny for dehydration and sleep deprivation. His parents even took him to a therapist. Po came over every day after school to check on him and bring him his work. Danny didn’t talk to anyone for a week. The therapist eventually said what happened was due to the sleep deprivation, and suggested they make sure Danny got the sleep he needed. The therapist didn’t mention the journal much; neither did Danny. Two weeks after the incident Danny came back to school. Po was excited, but when he saw his friend he knew something was wrong. When Po asked him about it, Danny angrily confessed that he couldn’t see the patterns in the symbols anymore. To Po’s relief, Danny didn’t do anything with the journal for a few months. Po thought he might have seen the last of it, but he hadn’t.

“Po, are you listening to us?” His mother’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife.

“What?” He sits forward and shoves a forkful of cold food into his mouth. “This is really good. Thanks for cooking, mom.”

“Oh sure, she did all the cooking, all by herself.” Mr. Allen puts on a face of mock hurt.

Po’s mother shoots him half of a glare. “Sweet child of mine, that’s not remotely what we were talking about.” She offers up a small smile.

“Oh…” Po tries to think what they were talking about, and comes up with nothing, his mind was too far away.

His mom reaches out, putting her hand on his. “What’s on your mind?” Po opens his mouth to say something, then shakes his head. Mrs. Allen looks across the table at her husband.

“You know you can talk to us, right, bud?”

Po moves his head in a half nodding gesture.

“Is it girls?” Mrs. Allen probes.

Po sighs. “No, it’s not girls. I’m not going to talk about girls with my mom.”

“No, heaven forbid you talk to the one person in this house who used to be one.” His mom makes a ‘hrmph’ face and crosses her arms.

Po knows his mom is being overly dramatic for his benefit, but he still feels like he should apologize. “Mom, I didn’t mean it like th-”

“It’s not drugs, is it?” His dad pipes in.

“What?” Po looks from his mom to his dad and back again. “It’s not drugs. Why would I be on drugs?”

“Oh my god!” Mrs. Allen sits up and grabs his head in both her hands. “Has the pressure gotten to my baby? Have you turned to the pot to take the edge off?”

Po freezes in place, not exactly sure what to do. “What edge? Why would I blow my chances at getting into a good college by smoking pot?”

“My baby!” Mrs. Allen half stands, pulling Po into a half standing position, smashing his head into her chest in an embrace.

“It’s not girls and drugs, is it?” His dad seems to be oblivious to the scene in front of him. “’Cause I did girls and drugs at the same time, I know how awesome they are.” He looks wistfully off into the distance.

Mrs. Allen lets go of Po and stands all the way up. “When did you ever do drugs and girls?”

Mr. Allen waves his wife’s question away. “It was before I knew you. They were glorious days.”

“Roooggeer.”

“What? They were.” Po’s dad still looks off into the distance.

“Roger!” Mrs. Allen throws a napkin at her husband. He jumps and looks at her. She nods her head towards Po.

“Oh, right.” Po’s dad finally seems to get the message. “Listen here, young man. I don’t care how much fun drugs and girls are, you can’t do them in this house. You’ll just have to wait until college like every other self-respecting American.”

Po’s mother had been nodding along up until the part about waiting for college for the girls and drugs. “Roger!”

Mr. Allen looks from Po to his wife and back again. “Your mother’s right. You should wait until you’re out of college for the girls and drugs. In the privacy of your own home.”

“Rooogeer!” Mrs. Allen throws another wad of napkin at him.

“I’m sorry, Patty. If he’s already tried the girls and the drugs there’s no going back now. The best we can do is hope he becomes successful so he can afford the habits.” Mr. Allen hangs his head in mock mourning.

“Oh, no!” Mrs. Allen sits back down, holding her head in her hands.

They sit like that for a few minutes in silence.

Po finally decides he should get up. “Since I have the weirdest parents in the world, I’m just going to head up to my room and finish up my homework.” Po gets up from the table and heads for the stairs.

“Hard work and determination, son. They’re just useless attempts to fill the hole where girls and drugs used to be.” His father calls after him.

His mother sobs.

Po takes the stairs two at a time. When he gets to his room he hears his parents laughing downstairs. He closes the doors behind him, automatically grabbing his earbuds before sitting down at his desk. As the music blares, he lets a smile crack his face. He loves his parents, but sometimes their humor is…well, it’s their humor.

It takes Po another couple of hours to get things finished up the way he likes. He even finds time to look at AP chemistry and jot down some notes for the study session. His parents are reading, their pre-bed ritual, when he goes down to let them know he’s going to bed. They seem to have calmed down, and they wish him a good night.

Po falls into bed physically and mentally exhausted. It still takes him longer than it should to fall asleep. He keeps thinking about Danny, wondering if his friend ate dinner that night, or ignored his food, if his friend is laying down at that moment, or caught in the throes of useless symbols.

Groggily, Po rolls over, reluctantly coming out of sleep, and grabs his phone. The screen reads, 3:15am, before he thumbs it to accept the text. Not surprised in the slightest, he reads the text from Danny.
I’ve done it. Talk 2 u 2morrow.

Po lets the phone fall from his hand onto the bed. “Great. It’s going to be one of those days.” He rolls over and goes back to sleep.

* * *

In the morning Po makes coffee. When his father sees him filling up a travel mug he raises an appraising eyebrow at him. “Long night.” His father reaches for a mug and pours his own cup of coffee. When Po grabs a second travel mug, his father whistles. “It was a very long night.”

Mr. Allen nods. “Is that for Danny?”

Po stops, feeling like he’s been caught. “He texted me a little after three this morning.”

“You know.” Mr. Allen puts down his mug, steps forward, and wraps his arm around Po in a quick hug. “Your mother was right, you are a better person than us.”

Po gives his dad a quick smile. “I’m going to be late.” He leaves the house, getting to the top of the street only a minute or two before Clarissa.

“Oo, is that for me?” She reaches for Po’s second travel mug.

Po moves it out of her reach. “Get your own. This is for Danny.”

“He texted you too?” Clarissa falls into step next to him.

“Of course he texted me too. He woke me up.” Po’s more than a little annoyed about that.

“And you’re supposed to be smart.” Clarissa ‘clucks’ her tongue a couple times. “I turned my phone off last night just in case of that.”

Po’s face scrunches in frustration. He does wish he’d thought of that. He could have always seen the text this morning, at a reasonable hour, when he turned his phone back on. Letting out a long, exasperated breath, he stops at the top of Danny’s street.

“He’s not here.” Po shuffles the mug around and brings out his phone to check the time.

“Hey, you are smart.” Clarissa smiles at him. “He’s just late. Give him a minute.”

Po and Clarissa wait for more than a minute. The three of them have a five-minute rule. So, Po and Clarissa wait the pre-requisite five minutes.

When the five minutes are up, and they don’t see Danny coming up the street, Clarissa grabs a mug out of Po’s hand. “Mine now.” She takes a swig and moves down the sidewalk. She’s half a dozen steps away when she realizes she’s walking alone and turns around to look at Po. “We’re going to be late.”

Po waits for a couple beats, sighs, and turns away from Danny’s street. He keeps looking back as they walk away.

“He’s fine. He’s done this before.” Clarissa tries to be encouraging as she slurps more coffee.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Po sips his own coffee; more to cover his nervousness than for anything else.

Po tries to concentrate on school work. Mainly it’s useless. His notes are scribbles, his answers are half-hearted, his attention short. All day he keeps waiting for Danny to show up. Clarissa is right, Danny has done this before. Sometimes, when Danny doesn’t meet them in the morning, he shows up during first or second period. Ten minutes after the start of second period, Po’s eyes are locked on the door to the class room, but Danny doesn’t come strolling through, hair barely combed.

Po keeps his head down during class after that. He doesn’t want to keep looking at the clock, he knows it’ll only feel like forever if he does that. Plus, he doesn’t want to interact with anyone at the moment, he feels too frantic. He keeps seeing images of Danny in his head, of Danny doing crazy things.

“He’s probably just sleeping. The asshole.” The thought of Danny sleeping on his couch brings a smile to Po’s face.

He jumps when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Looking up to see if anyone heard that, his eyes dart around the room. Mr. Parks is at the board, diligently explaining the lesson, which Po has barely paid attention to, and no one around him seems to have noticed. Putting his head back down, he slides his phone from his pocket and sets it on his leg. He knows it’s a weak effort to be stealthy, but he hopes the effort is enough not to disrupt class.

He lets go a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding when he sees it’s a text from Danny.

Where r u?

Po shakes his head, but can’t help the smile that appears on his face.

Class. Where r u?

Before Danny’s response comes back, Po quickly turns off ‘vibrate’ on his phone so the communication is silent.

Discovering new worlds. >/ Ur supposed 2 b here!

The room turns cold, Po’s heart beats in his throat, his breath comes in short jolts. Po reads and re-reads Danny’s text. He tries to figure out what it means, he hopes it doesn’t mean his friend has had a psychotic break, he hopes Danny isn’t hallucinating. After the tree incident, Po spent some time researching mental illness, he’s as much of an expert as the Internet could make him. Sitting in class, staring at the text, he tries to figure out what he should do next.

Looking up, he searches the classroom for Clarissa. Her face is already turned towards him, concern writ large on her features. She mouths the words, Are you okay?

Po shakes his head, no, and mouths back, Danny.

Re-re-reading Danny’s text Po types with a shaking finger.

Do you need me to call someone? Where r u really?

Po stares at his phone so hard his eyes start to burn. Smashing them shut, when he opens them, he focuses on the Mr. Parks and the lesson board. He takes the time to jot down some of what’s there, but his eyes keep flicking down to his phone. Finally, the screen lights up with a response.

What?! I don’t need ‘someone’, I need you. I’m at home.

Po taps his screen to keep his hand from shaking. He lets out a long breath and comes to a decision.

I’m calling your parents.

The response is almost instant.

Don’t! Just come here!

“Mr. Allen, can I ask what’s so intriguing in your lap?” Mr. Park’s voice snaps Po’s head up, bringing his attention back to the class. Several kids laugh, and Mr. Park waves it down.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disrupt class.” Po stammers out quickly.

Mr. Park deflates a little. “So you’re on your phone.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Po sees Clarissa jump and then sneak her phone out of her pocket.

“Need I remind you of school policy, Mr. Allen?” Mr. Park looks at him with disappointment.

“I’m checking on a friend.” Po blurts this out before he can stop himself.

Mr. Park narrows his eyes at him.

Po looks around the classroom, some of the students look at him disdainfully, thinking he’s just trying to get out of trouble. One or two of the faces have recognition painted on them. Po knows not everyone knows about what happened with Danny, but enough know that his outburst could make its way through the school.

“And how is your friend, Mr. Allen?” Mr. Park isn’t the biggest fan of Danny. It’s not, Po believes, that Mr. Park doesn’t think depression and things aren’t real problems, it’s just that Mr. Park thinks Danny is using what’s happened to him as excuses to get away with more stuff.

Po gives him a weak smile and shrugs. “Touch and go?”

“That’s too bad. Now, if we can-”

The bell cuts off the end of the sentence, and of class.

“Don’t forget about tonight homework; it’s on the board.” Mr. Park hollers over the rush of kids leaving the room. “Mr. Allen, I don’t want to see your phone tomorrow.”

Po nods as he passes Mr. Park and heads into the hall. He catches Clarissa as she leaves the room. They fall into step, their own little island in a sea of bodies. “What did Danny send you?”

She flips her phone towards him.

Talk to him. U need to come over.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Talk to you about what?” Clarissa looks at him with the spark of fear in her eyes. She’s not panicking yet, but Po thinks she’s not far off.

Po grabs her arm, slowly and steadily steering her down the hall and off to the side of their classmates. He looks around the hall, making sure none of the teachers that are out in front of their rooms are looking. With a suddenness that causes Clarissa to yelp, Po pushes her into the boys’ bathroom, following close behind her.

There are a couple boys in there already, one checking his hair in the mirror, the other at a urinal. The boy by the sink flinches away from the mirror when he sees Clarissa, then sneers at both of them and leaves. The boy at the urinal glances over his shoulder and chuckles when he sees Po pushing Clarissa towards the back of the room.

“Po, stop pushing me.” She tugs at her arm, but Po doesn’t let go until they’re in the back corner. “What a wonderful smell you’ve discovered.” She glares at him, but underneath he can see the panic rising, turning from a spark into a fire. “Now are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“It’s about this.” Po hands her his phone. While she reads the texts, Po keeps glancing at the bathroom door.

“This sounds like Danny.” She hands the phone back to him, annoyance and confusion on her face.

“Yeah. That’s the problem, it sounds too much like Danny.” Po thumbs through the messages, re-re-re-reading them.

“Po, I don’t think-”

“I’m going to see him.” Po reluctantly turns off his phone and puts it in his pocket.

Clarissa nods. “Do you think Mr. Murphy will let us skip out on tutoring today?”

Po shakes his head. “I’m going to see him now. He needs me.”

“You’re going to skip school?” Her faces twists with disbelief. “You never skip school.”

“Desperate times and all that. Are you coming?”

Clarissa opens and closes her mouth several times trying to form an answer. “Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun? He’s at home, how much trouble can he get into?”

“He’s at home alone, and in five hours who knows where he could be. Are you coming?” Annoyance spreads through Po quickly, not that he’s made his mind up he doesn’t want to waste any time.

“Won’t your parents be mad if you skip school?” Clarissa looks unsure, Po doesn’t know if he’s ever seen her unsure of anything.

“They’ll understand-”

“Are you sure?” There’s panic in Clarissa’s voice now.

“I don’t know! Okay? But Danny is my friend, and I’m worried about him.” Clarissa backs up against the wall. Po wasn’t expecting the words to come out so rough.

“He’s my friend too.” Clarissa looks hurt and a little scared. “Look, I remember the tree incident-”

“Do you? Do you really?” Po can feel the annoyance turn to anger. “Do you remember the look on Danny’s face as he sat in the tree. Do you remember having to convince your friend of twelve years that you are who you say you are? Do you remember him mapping out the conspiracy to keep the symbols secret? Do you remember the lies you had to tell your friend to get him out of the tree and into his parents’ car?” Po’s eyes sting and his face is wet. He sucks in a deep, snotty breath, trying to get himself under control.

Clarissa’s face quivers, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, Po. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you say something?” She reaches out for him.

Po takes a step away, and she puts her hands down. “Because that’s just the way it is. When Danny goes off the deep end, they call me.” Po swipes at his face, but talking about what happened as sprung something inside of him, the tears won’t stop. “I don’t want to see my friend like that again. So, I’m going to skip school, of course I am. And I don’t care if my parents are mad or not, or if they’ll understand. Alright?” He takes another long breath, this time when he wipes away the wet on his face no more tears fall. “So, are you coming with me or not?”

Clarissa nods, wiping away her own tears. “I’m not going to let you do this alone.”

Po nods. “Alright then.”

* * *

It takes them twenty minutes to get out of the school and to Danny’s house. They have to keep reminding each other not to run. There were a couple close calls, a teacher in the halls, on their way to make copies, and a parent arriving out in front of the school, but neither of them said anything to them. The thought that it pays to be a good kid, because when you do something bad no one expects it of you, goes through Po’s head. The more he thinks about it, the sourer it feels. Po’s not a fan of breaking the rules, but he’s willing to do it for his friends. That thought doesn’t feel sour in his head, and he looks at Clarissa and smiles. He likes to think if he were in trouble her and Danny would break the rules for him.

In front of Danny’s house, a chill settles over Po. It makes him jittery, makes him want to keep moving. He practically jogs up to the house and bounds up the porch steps. He’s surprised to find Clarissa lagging, walking hesitantly up the walk and the porch steps.

When she finally joins Po on the porch she gives him a small smile. “I’m a bit nervous.”

Po nods slowly. “It’ll be okay.” He turns and raises his fist to knock.

Clarissa grabs his other hand, holding tight. “What…What should I expect?”

Po sighs and lets his hand drop from the door. “It’s hard to explain.” Po turns to her, fear blatant in her eyes. “Before, he’s been…consumed? Consumed with the symbols and what they mean.”

She smiles, a jolt of her mouth muscles, then it’s gone. “Nothing new there then.”

Po shakes his head. “No, it’s not like normally. He’ll…He might not know who we are.” She looks at him confused, but also like she wants to try to hug him again. “It’s like his obsession pushes everything else out of his mind.”

A tear falls down her face. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Po squeezes her hand, still in his. “The important thing to remember is, he’s still Danny. And he’s never tried to hurt anyone.”

Clarissa nods and wipes the tear away. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Po sets his face, takes a deep breath, and turns back to the door. Before he can knock, the door opens slowly, Danny stands there smiling at them.

“It took you guys long enough.”

“Danny!” Po drops Clarissa’s hand, reaching out and grabbing his friend by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Danny reaches out and draws a ‘u’ on Po’s chest and giggles. “I’m wonderful. How are you?” He looks at Po with wide eyes, reaching towards his shoulder to pet at something.

Po takes a step back, getting a good look at him. “Are you high?”

“Jesus Christ, really?!” Clarissa pushes past Po, leaning in close to Danny to look at his eyes. “His pupils aren’t dilated. That’s good, right?”

“Oo, pretty.” Danny reaches out like he’s going to touch Clarissa’s hair, but stops just before he does and make a petting motion. “You have such a pretty aura.”

“Nope. He’s high as balls.” Clarissa takes a disgusted step away from him.

“Guys, I’m not high.” Danny protests.

“Goddammit, Danny. You had me worried.” Po steps back in the doorway. “I thought you were in trouble, and it turns out you’re just at home doing drugs.”

“I’m not high, Po.”

“Where the hell did you even get drugs?” Clarissa shouts over Po’s shoulder.

“Didn’t your dad hurt his ankle running last year? Are you on his leftover painkillers?” Po pushes past Danny into the house. “Where are they?” Po spins around in the front hall, now that he’s in he doesn’t know where to look.

“You idiot! We’re missing class because you.” Clarissa strides past him, picking up the shoes by the door and tipping them over looking for the pills. Po moves to join her.

“Stop!” Danny holds up his hand and a spark flies out from it.

Po and Clarissa freeze in place, not sure they saw what they did.

“What the hell was that?” Clarissa looks from Po to Danny.

Danny grins at them. “It’s magic.”

Po narrows his eyes at his friend, trying to figure out what’s happening this time around.

Clarissa looks at Po, confused and concerned. “Has that happened before.”

Po looks at her askance, not sure if she’s being serious or not. He shoves past her and grabs Danny’s hand. He examines it, turning it over and over, spreading the fingers, looking for flash paper, or oil, anything that could explain the spark.

“Are you finished, detective?” Danny is still grinning.

Po looks at his friend. “How did you do that?”

Danny takes his hand from Po and cupping Po’s face with it. “I translated the symbols. Some of them anyway. They unlock magic.”

Po looks Danny in the eyes, his breath coming in short bursts. He swallows hard to get his voice working. “Danny, you’re sick. We need to get you help.” Danny shakes his head, taking his hand away from Po’s face. “I’m going to call your parents.”

“I can’t believe you don’t believe me, Po.” Danny actually sounds hurt. “I want to share this with you. With both of you.” He looks at Clarissa and smiles.

Po has his phone out, but he hasn’t called anyone yet. It’s like he’s moving in a dream, he’s scared if he moves too fast it will break Danny’s calm.

“Do it again.” Clarissa’s voice shakes.

“What?” Po reluctantly takes his eyes off Danny to look at her. He mouths, what are you doing?

Danny smiles at her. “Do what again?”

“Do the spark thing again.” She looks to Po. “You looked at his hand, he doesn’t have flash paper, or…or whatever else, right?”

Po can’t believe she’s suggesting this. “No.”

“Okay then. We both saw the spark, right?” She looks at Po for confirmation.

“Yeah.” He can’t see where she’s going with this.

“Okay.” She nods, looking at Danny. “You want us to believe, you show us some of this magic.” Danny smiles, starts to say something. Clarissa holds up her hand to silence him. “Here’s the deal, you show some magic, but you have to agree to abide by our ruling. If we don’t see the magic, then you have to sit with us quietly while we wait for your parents to arrive. Deal?”

Po shudders inside. It’s something like this he wanted to avoid. He doesn’t want to go through this again. He has to admit that Clarissa has a good plan though.

Danny considers what she said for a minute, then nods. “Okay, but the spark was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“I’m calling your parents.” Po thumbs through his contacts until he finds Mr. Carver’s work number.

“Po,” Clarissa’s voice is clear and authoritative. “We made a deal. We’re going to let Danny show us his magic first.”

Po sighs, and nods. “Just try and do it again. Okay?” He looks at Danny expectantly, his eyes stinging again.

Danny looks at them for a moment, then walks past them into the living room. “I can do you one better.”

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