Weather

"What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"What?"

"Don't play the innocent with me!! Look at that!"

"Look at what?"

"Provo, Utah, United States!"

"Okay..."

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I really don't know what you're getting at."

"Look down there! South Provo! East Bay!"

"Oh."

"What on earth do you think you're doing!!"

"Well, you were busy further up..."

"You still didn't have any right! It's February! This month is mine! And so is most of March and at least some of April! Just because you're mother's favorite -"

"Forgive me for being born the eldest! Look, I didn't mean to - to - infringe on your territory or anything. I just thought a little bit of sunshine -"

"A little bit of sunshine? That girl is wandering around, outside, in a short sleeved shirt!"

"There are crazy people who do that sort of thing -"

"Not that one."

"Okay. Fine. I"m sorry. I didn't think you'd get so - aw man, hail? What are you, a child? And wind? Windy hail?"

"You gunna scold me for throwing a temper tantrum?"

"No, but I really thought you were older than that."

"We can't all be mother's favorite."

"But you don't have to act like a spoiled brat!"

"Fine. I'll soften it to snow."

"Good lad."

"And it will snow half the night and into tomorrow, to make sure you don't get any ideas."

"If you must be that way."

"I must. Now get out of here."

Subject: whatever yourself

To: writerboy@mmail.com

From: rockjosh@mmail.com

July 6

all i know is that she's a decent girl and unhappy because of you. and she's hot. can't forget that. you're being at least a little bit of a jerk, you must admit. especially with the whole 'lost phone' business.

and maybe i prefer my letters lowercase. to hell with conformity, especially where grammar is involved.

josh

Subject: I'm like lightning

To: ForTheMountain@mmail.com

From: writerboy@mmail.com

July 6

I'll admit it; I do check my email obsessively and respond quickly. Responding quickly is the part of being a writer that gets in there and does what needs to be done, writes what needs to be written, and proofreads what doesn't really need to be proofread. Checking email every five minutes is the part of being a writer that tries to put off any actual writing as long as possible. However, no matter how neurotic I might be, I don't care if it takes you a while to respond. I really don't, I promise.

I'm going to argue about number 2 with you next time I see you in person. Be prepared.

I have to admit that I am only a mild fan of the Bard myself. That's how I know I'm a little insane for being in the English major for any length of time. Musicals, though... what is so cool about a play that has everyone bursting into song all the time? I don't get it.

My dreams are odd, too, but I cut out most of the really odd stuff before I actually start trying to put it to paper. You should see some of my summaries if you're looking for 'odd.' And I keep trying to spell 'odd' with two o's for some reason.

I can well believe you got some pictures of me last night - you got pictures of everything last night - but I doubt that they're good. Unless your use of the word 'good' really meant something along the lines of 'hilariously bad.'

I don't suppose you and your friends could plan to have an impromptu party on Friday and then invite me? I have some friends I'd like to avoid.

Matt

Subject: Surprised

To: writerboy@mmail.com

From: ForTheMountain@mmail.com

July 5

Well that was quick. Severe is my chastisement; I don't get back to you for a week, and then you reply in under half an hour. And I hope 'posthaste' means 'as soon as you get this' and not 'immediately,' because I am not one to check my email obsessively. Sorry. You'll just have to wait a few hours/until the next day after work for me to read things.

Of course I'm not kidding about number 2. ; ) And yes, everyone is a little bit crazy, so I suppose that is normal. If you must be so specific.

Psh, who needs classics? I must admit that I have never been really fond of Shakespeare. I mean, yeah, great writer, but man they're hard to get through on paper. And only a little less hard on stage. Give me a flamboyant musical any day of the week and leave Shakespeare to those who are stuffy like that. ; )

Okay, how on earth do you plan an impromptu party? Just asking. Though I am glad you like my friends. I'll drop you an email next time we plan to get together - it's usually spontaneous, but you're so on top of your email that it probably won't matter that I don't have your phone number.

Dreams? Really? I mean, I'd heard that ideas come from there, but... I dunno... my dreams are always pretty odd. Your ideas are odd, too, but not nearly as odd as my dreams.

And speaking of photography, I got some great ones of you last night. Remind me to show them to you sometime. Well, I suppose I could send them to you... nah. Too lazy. ; D

Abby

Subject: *sigh*

To: writerboy@mmail.com

From: the_cute_one41@gotmail.com

I know you've never been a phone person, but you have always been an email person. You can't live without checking at least once an hour. So I'm starting to think that you're ignoring me. I feel loved.

~Millie

Subject: Whatever

To: rockjosh@mmail.com

From: writerboy@mmail.com

July 6

You must be kidding me. Do you even listen to/read yourself? "[S]ure, she offended you. [S]he offends everyone. [S]he doesn't really mean it." First of all, have you ever heard of the shift key? Secondly, doesn't the fact that she offends everyone rather contradict you saying that she doesn't really mean it?

I don't care how much she likes me; I do not appreciate her attitude. And I'm surprised to see you standing up for her like that.

Matt

Subject: you child

To: writerboy@mmail.com

From: rockjosh@mmail.com

July 5

okay, jasmine is not leaving me alone. she keeps calling me, wanting to know what is wrong with you and why you're lying to her and avoiding her... not cool, bro. get her off my back. and quit sulking. sure, she offended you. she offends everyone. she doesn't really mean it. and she really does like you, a lot. also, if you don't get your butt in gear and talk to her, she's going to hunt you down at your apartment.

don't say I didn't warn you.

josh

Subject: ...

To: writerboy@mmail.com

From: the_cute_one41@gotmail.com

July 5

Oh, that is so not going to cut it, sweetheart. Explaining why you weren't answering your phone was only a part of my email, and a very small part at that. Why did you leave the party? And where on earth did you go? I drove past your apartment on my way home at four in the morning and your car wasn't there.

EXPLAIN.

~Millie

Subject: Huzzah for answers!

To: ForTheMountain@mmail.com

From: writerboy@mmail.com

July 5

You must be kidding about number 2. Please tell me you're kidding about number 2!

Also, it seems that you consider the 'normal' people to be the ones that realize they're a little bit crazy. Am I right?

See, that's what I've been thinking. So I suppose I'm right, now that you're independently backing me up. I love writing, but all those theories... and then there's the fact that I've never really been a fan of most of the so-called classics. Call me a heathen, but I just don't go for those things.

I suppose I should have never even considered the English major. I am a little insane.

Never mind about the situation I was asking about - I've scrapped the idea for now.

I actually loved your friends, by the way. I seem to have gotten myself mixed up in a crowd that thinks the amount of fun being had depends on how much noise is being made. Your friends know how to have fun at a reasonable volume. I wouldn't mind getting to know them better - I don't suppose you have any post-Fourth parties in planning? Even impromptu ones?

I get my story ideas from everywhere. Most mornings I get on my computer soon after waking up to write down a brief summary of my dream. Some great stories have come from my subconscious. I sometimes find a person that I think is really interesting, turn them into a character, and build a story around them. Sometimes they just pop into my head. I remember one day I was wandering across campus listening to some music and suddenly got an idea for a story. When you're a writer, story ideas are everywhere. It's just like photography - you see things that other people don't.

Don't worry, I forgive you for not answering. I know life can get crazy.

That said, I expect an answer to this email posthaste!

(Just joking.)

Matt

Subject: Answers (finally)

To: writerboy@mmail.com

From: ForTheMountain@mmail.com

July 5

I hope my friends haven't terrorized and traumatized you too much. They're a rowdy bunch. As you now know firsthand.

Anyway, seeing you is finally getting me to answer your last email. And may I say you ask the oddest questions.

1. You've met my parents. You be the judge.

2. Sixteen.

3. In my mind, there are three degrees of crazy: where you think you're sane, where you know you're insane but go with it, and where you're beyond help. It's best to realize you're a little insane and go with it. When I first met you, you certainly thought you were sane, but you seem to be slowly realizing and accepting how wacky you are.

4. All I have to say is, "My eyes are fully opened to my awful situation..." ; )

5. Why would you want to major in English? Too much non-fun writing. I say go for directing. If that's what you want, that's what you should do.

6. I'm a what? And I'm talking to a what? And why? You're going to have to explain this one a bit better if you really want me to give you any sort of answer. Right now I'm a little lost.

And with that last question of yours in mind, I want to ask one: where on earth do you get those odd ideas for stories?

Feel no need to write back soon - if I can go a week without answering, I deserve a week or more without an answer. ; )

Abby

Subject: right

To: writerboy@mmail.com

From: sassychick@mmail.com

July 5

you liar. youre ignornig me arent you. sulking just like josh says.

come on you know i love you. i wish you would quit taking everything i say so seriously and personally.

_jas_

Subject: (no subject)

To: sassychick@mmail.com, the_cute_one41@gotmail.com

From: writerboy@mmail.com

July 5

I've misplaced my phone. That's why I'm not answering texts or calls. Also, I only woke up an hour or so ago. I was up really late last night.

Matt

Subject: ?

To: writerboy@mmail.com

From: the_cute_one41@gotmail.com

July 5

First you leave the party early without saying anything to anyone - we only know you left because Josh caught you in the doorway - and now you won't you answer my calls? You had better explain yourself, dear boy.

~Millie

Subject: silly boy

To: writerboy@mmail.com

From: sassychick@mmail.com

July 5

you wont answer my texts so im emailing you. perhaps you will answer me now.

josh says I offended you. really? what did I say? it seems like im always offending you. i dont mean to. and you know it.

_jas_

Part Five: Names

Some part of me was rebelling. “You never do this,” it was saying. “Never. Why start now?”

“Because I may burst with curiosity if I don’t,” I replied.

The rebellious part of me considered this. “Nah. I don’t think so.”

“I’m doing it anyway,” I said.

“You’re not sure about that.”

Blast me for knowing all my secrets. “I’m going to,” I replied firmly. “Kindly shut up.”

The girl was packing up, still scowling a little. “Excuse me,” I said, rather quieter than I had meant to.

She glanced over.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” She looked a little surprised.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I got bored with the lecture and read a bit of what you were working on.”

She flushed. Oops. “I liked it,” I said hurridly. “I’m a fantasy reader, and from the bit I read, I’d like to read your book.”

“Not in its current state, you wouldn’t,” she said, but she looked a little less embarrassed.

“Have you been having trouble with it?”

“Yeah.” She finished putting her laptop away, zipped her backpack, and stood up. I followed her example as she continued talking. “I do first drafts really easily, ‘cause with the first draft, anything goes. But then I have to use my other drafts to fix the major problems of the first, and usually that isn’t nearly as much fun.”

“What draft are you on?” I asked, following her to the door of the classroom. This ‘conversation’ stuff wasn’t nearly as hard as I’d thought.

“Third,” she said. “For some people, that means they’re starting to get to the polishing stage. I’m still making huge changes. I was stuck a couple of days ago, until I added another character – though now I have to re-write most of the book. She’s a somewhat important character. I don’t know how I managed to get this far without her, but now that she’s here, I’m dreading the work I have to do to fit her in.” She sighed. “And I have no way of knowing if she’ll be the last huge change.”

Well then. Now there’s only one missing piece to the puzzle. “My name’s Kate, by the way,” I said.

She smiled. “Kate. I love that name.”

“Really? I think it’s kinda plain.”

“Not all names need to be exotic.”

“Even in fantasy?” I remembered that her characters had mostly normal names.

“Even in fantasy. Oh, and I’m Kendra.”

I grinned. Jackpot. “Your name is much prettier than mine.”

“If you say so.” She shrugged, but she was still smiling. “Where are you off to?”

“Just lunch,” I said. “You?”

“FA building. I’ll see you in class.”

“See you.”

And I would. Having found her, there was no way I was going to give up the opportunity to become better acquainted with Kendra Sondson, eventual author of Red-Nosed Dragon.

Part One: Existing
Part Two: Frustrated
Part Three: Wondering
Part Four: Writer

Part Four: Writer

The girl next to me in class was distracted.

Normally, I would be too distracted myself to notice, but trying to keep my mind off of the mysterious book had resulted in one of my first efforts to pay complete attention to the lecture.

She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be paying the least bit of attention. She was staring intensely at her laptop screen, sometimes typing, sometimes scrolling, sometimes clicking, always looking a little unhappy. Her notebook was left neglected, with a pen lying across it as if she meant to try to take notes.

Her laptop was slightly turned in my direction. Sitting forward, I could almost see what she was writing. I casually leaned back, lightly tapping my pen on my notebook, trying to act as if I was still listening to the lecture.

Ah. Now I could see what she was writing.

And it was very, very familiar.

Part One: Existing
Part Two: Frustrated
Part Three: Wondering
Part Five: Names

Part Three: Wondering

I was right. This was the book, the very same book, that I had read before. The title, the cover, the characters, the author, the setting, the magic system - all was the same. So why hadn't the employee found it on the computer? Why hadn't I found it in my trawls on the internet?

Well, I suppose things can exist even if they aren't on the internet, even in these days. And sometimes there were mistakes with inventory.

But...

Something seemed wrong.

I tuned the book over in my hands, inspecting the pages and the cover. It all seemed normal, but something was missing... ah ha! The back cover had no bar code! It must be some sort of preview copy... a preview copy that didn't say it was a preview copy? I checked the covers and the first few pages - nope, no indication that it was a preview copy.

Then what was it?

Feeling oddly guilty, I took the book to a chair instead of a register. I was afraid they'd take the book away from me if I tried to buy it, and I had to read the ending. I flipped through, trying to find my place. It had been in the middle of chapter seven somewhere. Or at least I thought it had been. Seven seemed familiar, but I didn't remember reading the scenes it contained. And there was a character I didn't remember at all. Curious, I skimmed backwards, trying to find where this new character had come from

It wasn't until chapter three that she was introduced, but I knew I had read further than that. How had I missed an entire character, specially one that was in every other scene or so? What had this supporting lead come from?

I turned to the front of the book and read the first paragraph, holding my breath. It was how I'd remembered. As was the next paragraph, and the next... I relaxed as I read, feeling better now that I recognized everything. Until I hit chapter three where that new character was introduced. What was that?

I wandered back to the fantasy shelves and put the book back. Right now I was too confused to worry about never knowing the ending.

Part One: Existing
Part Two: Frustrated
Part Four: Writer
Part Five: Names

Part Two: Frustrated

I was getting more worried every moment. I couldn't find the book. I'd tried Googling the title, the author; I searched archives of books old and new; I even tried variations - maybe that employee had been right, and I really hadn't had the title and author correct.

Nothing.

So either it was a dream, or I was going insane. Neither option really appealed to me, though the first was considerably better than the other. But how could that happen? I'd read the book. I had held it, flipped through it, read half of it, and then had run off to class with the firm idea of coming back when I had time and money to buy it and finish it. It had been a rather good book, too; fantasy, but not cliché; there was originality put in to the magic system, the characters, the plot. Thank heavens that was becoming a slightly more common occurrence on the fantasy shelves.

And the writing had been good, too. Not amateur as some books seemed to be, not outright bad as a certain couple of series that Must Not Be Named were, just good writing with original ideas and great characters and...

Blast! I really needed a new book to read, and I wanted to finish this one! I had left at a good part, just when the main character was about to start this master plan of his.

Oh, well. Back to the bookstore. Perhaps I would find something else. I mean, the place was full of books; surely I'd be able to find one to interest me? A part of me grumbled about never finding the ending of the other, but I tried to ignore it. Never mind that I'd never been able to leave a book alone, even one that Must Not Be Named, until I knew how it ended. Never mind how loose ends and as-yet-unobtained goals haunted my mind.

I winced at entering the bookstore - there were, as had there been for months now, entire displays dedicated to the few books of the Must Not Be Named variety. How could these monstrosities take up all this space when better books were stuffed spine-out on out-of-the-way shelves? They should be ashamed, books, authors, and book shelvers alike.

I idly wondered if the non-existent book I wanted had somehow voluntarily disappeared, unwilling to share the same space with those that Must Not Be Named.

I made my way to the fantasy shelves, as usual, taking care to avoid the information desk and any employees. Salespeople frighten me, especially when they want to sell me something I desperately want to buy. Once to the shelves I put on my 'absorbed' face, which usually kept people from talking to me, and scanned for something good. Something great.

There were a few that looked interesting. I pulled one out and glanced at the cover.

Wait a minute... I thought this book didn't exist!

Part One: Existing
Part Three: Wondering
Part Four: Writer
Part Five: Names

Part One: Existing

"I'm sorry, miss; that book doesn't exist."

I stared at the bookstore employee. "Wha - what do you mean? It has to exist! I read it!"

"Are you sure you got the title right?"

"Yes! I remember the cover, clear as day!" I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. No one was going to want to help me if I became hysterical. Not to mention that getting hysterical over a book was a little odd.

It seemed he was trying very hard to stay absolutely polite. "We don't have any record of it. Are you sure you saw it here?"

"I'm pretty sure..." I was suddenly horrified. It hadn't been a dream, had it? Me seeing the book here?

"I suggest you do a bit of research online. If you find it, come back and we'll be happy to order it for you if we can."

"All right." I walked away feeling very odd - embarrassed by how I had reacted, yes, a good deal embarrassed, but also wondering. How could a book that I was so sure I'd read be non-existent?

Part Two: Frustrated
Part Three: Wondering
Part Four: Writer
Part Five: Names