Hello, Internet. I am currently buried in NaNoWriMoing (as in, trying to catch up on my word count), not to mention homework, so instead of a normal post I thought I’d let you read the first little snippet of my novel. Keep in mind, it’s completely unedited and therefore very rough. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it anyway- any feedback would be appreciated.
Anyway, here you go:
The first time I met Jenny, I was sitting on a rock by the little streamlet in the woods behind my house, staring at the little fish that had somehow managed to make that 8 inches of slow moving water their home. It was high noon the summer I was 12, and I was grateful for the shade provided on the tree-lined bank.
As if to match the stream, which was barely large enough for the fish, the rock was barely large enough for me to sit on. I was just starting to hit my growth spurt, and my legs, finally starting to lose some of the chubbiness of my childhood, were folded beneath me. I rested my head on my hands and my elbows on my scraped knees (I had gotten a skateboard for my birthday, and my level of fearlessness on it was unfortunately inverse to my level of skill.). Even with the shade, the day was unreasonably hot, and the stillness that comes only with a lack of wind and an excess of boredom hung in the air. I was starting to regret coming out here, but this was the first summer that my mom had given me free reign of the wood, and I was determined to make the most of it even it meant spending all afternoon sitting on a rock and staring at fish.
However, the minutes passed and my boredom steadily grew. Finally, I decided that a 12 year old could only take so much and I would return to the house for a bit of fruit punch. As I began to rise, however, a veritable cacophony broke into my little world, originating from further down the creek and rapidly approaching. The fish took fright and scurried away into whatever secret holes scared little fish retreat to. As for myself, I was quite alarmed and in the brief second between hearing the noise and realizing what it was, my imagination went through every explanation from a forest monster to a very angry Rumplestiltskin. However, I stood my ground, because what had started as merely a commotion was developing into words.
“He was a one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people-eater…”
Clearly it was a person, and not, as I had feared, a forest monster.
“WE WEAR SHORT SHORTS! Flyin’ purple people-eater…”
And they were singing. Not very well, either. Each word was separated by what sounded like a fairly large stick being whacked against various trees. As I stood, transfixed by the noise, its source came through the trees toward me. It was a girl- she looked to be about my age, but that was where any similarity in our appearances ended. I was a brunette; she had a head of fiery red. I was dressed cleanly if not very stylishly in jean shorts and a t-shirt with a shark on it; she wore a wild looking but very interesting collection of clothes in various sizes, giving her the appearance of a gypsy come straight out of one of the old stories that I loved so much. And where my figure was soft in a way that was just beginning to suggest the curves I was soon to develop, every inch of Jenny was sharply defined in a way that gave her a carved and almost noble appearance despite her mismatched clothes.
Of course, I did not take much of this in at the moment. I was more worried about why a girl I had never seen before was singing about purple people-eaters and scaring all my fish away. (I thought of them as my fish, seeing as they had no proper owner.) For her part, Jenny walked right up to me, dramatically concluded her song, and flung her stick into the creek. Then she looked me in the face and said “Hi, my name’s Jenny. Nice to meet you.” She stuck her hand out for me to shake, smiling eagerly.