November 6, 2002

• The American Way

  
  

  Did you vote?  I worked a lesson on govrnment and the American voting process into my homeschool yesterday, then I took my children to the polls.  They weren't very interested at first, but I explained that we are a nation under law and that people make our laws.  So if we want good laws, laws that will help make our lives better, we have to pay attention to what the candidates say.

  
  

  We had an example, Candidate number 1 wants to make a law that all Mommies should feed their children spinach three times a day.  Candidate number 2 wants to make a law that says all Mommies should take their children to Disneyworld at least once a year.

  
  

  All of a sudden, voting took on an importance they had previously not recognized.

  
  

  When we arrived at our polling place, (for us it's a tin garage with a wood stove) there were election workers, but no other voters.  The kids were surprised and shocked.  "Mom where are all the people?"

  
  

  "Well, it's raining and very cold today, maybe they are waiting, hoping it will clear up later."

  
  

  "What if it doesn't clear up?  Are they just not going to vote?"

  
  

  "Some people probably won't."

  
  

  Michael thought about that for a minute. "Do you think they don't know that the people on the ballot are going to make our laws?"

  
  

  "They know son, but for some people they'd rather leave the decision up to someone else than risk getting cold and wet."

  
  

  "I think we should vote that the people who don't vote have to eat spinach three times a day.  Maybe by the next election they'll feel strong enough to come out in the rain."

  
  

  NaNoWriMo Report

  
  

  Thank you - thank you all for coming around and giving me encouragement.  This writing a novel is both more fun and more frustration than I was expecting.  When I'm not at the computer writing, I'm frutrated because I have ideas popping into my head, non-stop.  When I sit down to write, I'm frustrated because the ideas choose that moment to take a nap.

  
  

  I don't know much about the process of writing a novel.  I don't know if there's a way you are "supposed" to structure the story and plot in detail beforehand, or if you should just sit down and go for it even without all the questions worked out.  (I suspect the latter, although I keep thinking that people who get a nice tidy outline and stick to it are stellar beings to be envied.)  I started with an idea for backstory and a character. 

  
  

  So do you wanna see a peek?  This is the raw, unedited, scene that I started with the other night. 

  
  

  "Jonathon Grace." The voice came from behind him. "And they say no man has ever been shot while washing dishes."

  
  

  The man at the sink paused for a moment then resumed wiping the cloth over the fork. "How did you find me."

  
  

  "It wasn’t easy. I’ll give you that." The man holding the gun waved it slightly to encompass the room. The kitchen dining/room would have been small for a family, but it was perfect for a single man. The small drop-leaf table served well enough for eating, and left room for a computer desk. "You’ve made a nice respectable little life for yourself. Too bad you weren’t content to let the past be the past. Obsession is a character flaw of the worst sort."

  
  

  "There’s something about having my best friend murdered that just pushed me over the edge, I guess." Jonathon put his hands back into the water. While he washed the glass, he looked into the window at the reflection of the man behind him.

  
  

  "I make it a point not to shoot people in the back. It makes it much harder for the police to decide that it was suicide."

  
  

  "That would be why you’re waiting for me to finish the dishes? It would be hard for them to believe that a man decided halfway through a chore that he’d rather kill himself than finish the job."

  
  

  "See that’s what I like about you. You understand things."

  
  

  "I don’t suppose you’d care to dry then."

  
  

  "Ah, I’d like to but then there would be fingerprints."

  
  

  "I see your point. . . ." Jonathon didn’t change his pace, but reached under the suds for the plate off which he’d eaten his dinner. The computer screen flicked black then relit with tropical fish swimming across the monitor. The appearance of the fish distracted the man with the gun for a second. When he glanced over at the screen, Jonathon whirled and threw the plate like a frisbee at the other man’s throat.

  
  

  The impact of the plate snapped the man’s head back and his gun arm flailed out for balance. The plate ricocheted to the floor and shattered. Before he regained his footing, the Jonathon tackled him knocking the gun from his hand. It spun sideways under the table. From his position on the floor the assassin rolled and dodged a blow aimed at his face. Both men scrambled to a crawling position reaching toward the gun.

  
  

  The assailant kicked out and caught Jonathon in the ribs. He grunted with pain but grabbed the pants leg and yanked. The assailant fell onto his stomach. He rolled and kicked back with his free heel opening a cut above his victim’s eye.

  
  

  Blood splattered over the floor and ran down his face. Jonathon shook his head and hung on to the pants leg, pulling his assailant back until he was almost on top of him. Another twist of leg and a third kick ripped the fabric from his grasp.

  
  

  When the assailant tried again to get the gun, Jonathon shoved him hard to the side. The assailant put his hand down on a piece of the broken plate. "Son of a bitch!" He tried to stand.

  
  

  A hand reached up and tugged hard on his shirt. He fell forward and struck his head on the edge of the tiled counter then sank silently to the floor.

  
  

  The Jonathon reached under the table for the gun. He picked it up between two fingers, keeping it turned away from himself.

  
  

  As he looked around, trying to decide what his next move should be. He heard a bump outside. The light switch was on the wall to his left, so he hit it plunging the room into darkness.

  
  

  "Girardeau?" a low voice called.

  
  

  The Jonathon moved away from the sound toward the back door.

  
  

  "Girardeau!?" the voice was a little louder.

  
  

  The door was only inches away. Jonathon opened it silently and slipped outside. His house was the southern part of a building that contained two townhouses. Circling up through his neighbor’s backyard, he came out to the street about 120 feet up from his front walk. An unfamiliar car was parked there next to the stand of trees separating his neighbor’s yard from the next one.

  
  

  He touched the hood. It was warm. He looked inside and saw the key still in the ignition. "Thank you, God, for stupid crooks." He started the car and backed up the street without turning the lights on. At the intersection he backed around and drove off into the night.

  
  

  Back at his house a third man was talking on a cell phone. "Girardeau is out…I don’t know, I was waiting outside…No, he only knows we were supposed to kill him. I never mentioned you, so he don’t know nothing about who hired us…I left the car in the street like you said…"

  
  

  He looked out the front window, "He’s gone."

  
  

  I had thought that the opening scene would be the murder of my character, and then the book would be about a nosy neighbor solving the puzzle.  But, then Jonathon Grace escaped - or was he allowed to escape?  Now, the story is going off in a wilder direction than I had expected.

  
  

  Total word count as of Wednesday 8:30 AM --- 9,367.

  • 8:52 am
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