water in a stick

water in a stick
survival

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

WAKING UP by jan roswold brown

Maggie Campbell smiled, rolled over, and opened her eyes.  Her smile disappeared.  Her husband Hank had the pained expression on his face that told her he had one of his famous migraines, and he would need medications, darkness and quiet, not the helicopter tour they had planned for today.  She wanted to stay with him, he wanted her to go.  They argued and she reminded him that he always said he didn't get married to be apart, but an hour later, after telling him she loved him and giving him one last kiss, Maggie was standing alone in front of the hotel waiting for the tour van to arrive.  Instead of smiling, anger pinched her lips tightly together, guilt turned her forehead into a mass of lines, and worry made tears gather at the corners of her eyes.  Maggie turned away from the street deciding she would forget the tour and go back to the hotel.  A beeping horn stopped her.  The tour van had arrived.  It must be fate, she thought as she climbed aboard the old van that looked like many of the other vehicles here in the South pacific, a rusty relic that was held together with wire and bubble gum, but it made the trip to BuzBee Flight Services safely.
The BuzBee tour hostess, a young woman with red curly hair, announced that one person had cancelled, but another man was eager to go and would be along any minute.  Maggie stared at the helicopter they would be riding in.  To her, it looked like a bright orange ball with a black stinger poking out the back end.  A big orange Bee.  The last passenger arrived, and they began to board the helicopter.  Maggie hesitated.  Hank was supposed to be here with her.
Her hesitation meant she got the outside seat which made her nervous; she was afraid of heights, but she smiled.  She didn't want to come across as a complete chicken, even if she was.
The pilot, Tommy Jensen, gave a quick rundown on safety procedures and handed out headsets that would block some noise, but still allow them to hear him describing the scenic wonders below.
The door next to Maggie was mostly clear.  She would have a great view.  "Oh goody", she thought with a little panic.  The engine came to life, and the helicopter began to vibrate.  The noise, even with the head sets, was really loud.  The dreadful sound continued, and the blades began to turn.  Maggie's stomach clenched.  Everyone but Maggie seemed to be completely at ease.   The helicopter began to rise up slowly and turn at the same time.  In minutes they were off the ground and headed out towards the crystal blue waters of the South Pacific.  It was beautiful, and so exciting that Maggie forgot to be scared and began to enjoy herself.
The water was amazingly clear.  They saw coral, fish, sharks, lagoons circled by little islets, and tiny atolls; some under water with no trees, and others with tropical jungles, white sandy beaches, and aqua colored water.  Most were uninhabited, a few showed signs of life.
The pilot said the people survived without fresh water by drinking a lot of coconut water and catching the daily rain.  Supply boats came every week or so, but mostly the islanders were self sufficient, living on bananas, coconuts, fish roots, the gardens they grew, and pigs and chickens they raised.  He said they had lived this life for generations and were quite happy and content.
Lunch was on a small island, with drinks, fresh fish, sweet fruit, and bread that was like a mildly sweet cake.  During lunch, tattooed men danced to the beat of a loud drum.  They stomped, glared, and looked very threatening, showing they would fiercely protect their island.  Then young women danced gracefully, telling stories with their hands and bodies, taking their guests back to a time where visitors were not always friendly and caution was first, the welcome second.
They gathered in a tiny church, and the islanders sang, sharing the pure joy of the music with their guests.  It was sweet and native and enjoyed by all.  Near the end of the performance the church doors banged open, blown inward by a sudden big gust of wind.  The islanders laughed, saying, big storm, but Maggie was frightened.  As they left, each guest was presented with a beautiful lei and made to promise to return some day.  Maggie envied the islanders.  She thought she could get used to the beauty and the simple, relaxed way of life.
The wind had picked up, and it was chilly by the time they all boarded and got settled.  Maggie was glad she had brought a sweater.  Again, she sat by the door.  She had a perfect view of violent black clouds moving directly towards them.  "Oh shit",  she said to herself, wishing she could stay on the island, and maybe hide in the little church.  The pilot explained that because of the storm, they would take a different route to the wildlife refuge.  He assured them this was common.
No one but Maggie looked nervous.  Couldn't they see how rough the water was getting?   She wondered.  "Have faith Maggie."  She told herself.  "They have these little storms out here all the time."  She was not reassured.  All she knew about 'little storms' came from scary headlines on the TV news.  Like, 'huge wind gust causes plane to go down' or 'surprise storm batters beach homes, killing three.'  No, Maggie was not convinced that this 'little storm' was not going to become one of those stories.  She was really scared.  Soon the helicopter was bouncing around and the other passengers had stopped making jokes and were looking unsettled.  The pilot came on the headphones and said the storm was being uncooperative.  It wasn't following the rules or the weather forecast, but he still sounded calm.
Maggie wished she had stayed at the hotel with Hank, and gone down to the pool and read, maybe ordered one of the tropical drinks with the little umbrellas and the piece of fruit on the side.
The sky was now rolling black clouds, flashes of lightening, and horizontal rain.  If this was on TV, Maggie would struggle close to Hank, with a handful of popcorn, knowing the 'bad thing' was about to happen.  The passengers looked scared, and Maggie watched the pilot carefully.
He wasn't using the radio.  Was it broken or just the storm?  The helicopter was bouncing and turning violently, and he was having trouble keeping it under control.  He had stopped talking with the passengers, who were now looking at each other with fear in their eyes.  One couple was holding hands.  Maggie loved Hank's strong comforting hands, and she missed them right now.
Suddenly the copter made a sharp turn and dropped what seemed like a few hundred feet, really more like thirty feet, but it was terrifying.  Everyone screamed, and the sweaty smell of fear filled the cabin.  The pilot's hands were white knuckled.  On my God, thought Maggie, we're in bad trouble.  The helicopter was moving up and down and twisting around without any sense of purpose.  It seemed to be moving with whatever gust of wind blew its way.  Sometimes the water, which had become very rough and scary, seemed very close.  Other times they bounced way up, almost into the darkness of the clouds.  The pilot didn't seem to have any control at all.
Finally, the man closest to the pilot asked what they all wanted, or didn't want to know. What happened to the radio? Were they going to crash?  You could see each passenger straining to get the answers, holding their breaths.  The pilot paused for a minute, and then came on the headphones.  "A...the radio is not work..."  he said, static breaking up his words, "I haven't had contact....base for half an hour now,.... we are way off course.  Something is wrong with.....or the storm..I don't....I am.......trouble controling.... trying to.....a spot to land, remember.....safety procedures".
No one in the helicopter moved, they were frozen in fear.  The wife of the young couple began to cry.  Her husband didn't seem capable of comforting her.  One of the other men was looking around his seat as if he would find an eject button with a parachute and life raft, or something, a miracle perhaps.  His movements were panicky.  The man next to Maggie was cursing.  Maggie couldn't hear what he was saying, but she could read his lips and see the anger in his eyes.  He had been the 'lucky' one to get Hank's seat.  Seconds later, to Maggie's dismay the young husband was losing his lunch all over the floor of the copter.  The smell was disgusting.  Maggie didn't know whether to curse or to pray.  She choose prayer.   "GOD?  I THINK IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO SAVE US NOW!  I THINK WE'RE ALL ... A ..  MORE THAN READY DOWN HERE."
They were bouncing up and down, turning, twisting, the fear apparent on their faces.  God did not answer the prayers.  A few minutes later the helicopter tipped over to one side and began a rapid decent that the pilot was unable to stop.  The blades hit the water first, and amidst the screams, which Maggie could hear even through all the other noise, she heard the ripping metal, saw the cracking glass, and felt the rush of cold air filling the cabin.  She knew the door next to her was going to shatter; she had watched in horror as it hit the water and changed from clear to an intricate spider web.  Maggie knew it would be only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before the door disintegrated and water would begin to pour into the cabin.  Before she could finish the thought, it was happening.  Water was spilling into the copter.
She had no idea what to do.  She couldn't remember anything in the safety procedures giving instructions for this situation; but something, maybe the survival instinct deep in her brain, told her she needed to release her seatbelt and get out.  The copter was going down.  She struggled to find the buckle that would release the belt; which side was it on?  She found it and managed to undue the buckle; suddenly she felt free.  Then a hand grasped her arm and she could see the fear in the man's face.  She tried to reach down and undo his buckle, but he was so panicked that he began grabbing at her arms and face.  Maggie slapped him, hoping that would bring him to his senses; he paused, then began fighting again.  Maggie realized that inside the copter the water was quickly rising.  They were sinking!  She had to get out.  She let go of the man and tried to push him away.  Suddenly she found herself flung from his grip and sucked out of the broken door.  She felt a moments blazing pain, then blackness.

Want more..........let me know......

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

My first reading

today was memorable.  I visited my youngest daughter and while she slaved away mudding some sheetrock in her dining room, I sat at the table and read her part of my novel, WAKING UP.  She said she liked it.  I enjoyed reading it.  We only got to page 17, but there will be another day.
Then I went to my oldest daughters house and visited her.  She served us pear pie with a cheddar struessel topping.  Yum.  Really yum.  We had a great visit.  Then.......my sweet husband took me to our favorite restaurant, Molto Bene in Burlington.  If you haven't gone there you should, it's awesome.  I ate way too much.  We did our grocery shopping then went home.  What a lovely day.
Now I get to watch a little tv, write on my blog, then work on novel number 2.  I have a good life.  Thanks God.  Thanks to my two daughters for being such good people.  You make me proud.  And thanks to my husband for knowing when I didn't want to cook without my even having to say a word.  Yeah.  Now THAT is a memorable day.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Monday, monday

It's a monday.  What is it about mondays?  For me, it can't be the beginning of my work week because I am retired and set my own work schedule.  Maybe it is because mondays are fire meeting days.  My 'espouso' is a volunteer fireman and they train every monday night.  So I have to cook dinner early.  That's it!  I have to think about what to cook for dinner earlier than usual, it ruins my 4:17 beer time!  Has to be it.
But today isn't so bad, I have been writing since I got up this morning, and it is going well.  I am working on NOVEL #2.  YAY.  NOVEl #1 is ready.  As soon as I have my English teacher friend review my synopsis and query letter, then off they go to the literary agents.  And here I will be, waiting, impatiently to hear how awesome my work is.  Yeah.  Uh huh.  Well, hopefully I will get at least one positive response.  I am sending out over 30 queries.  But if not.....there are many more agents on my list.  I shall not give up.  I may, however, move beer time to 4:10 each day.
Ahhhhh, the joys of having flexibility in scheduling.  Of course, if I do not succeed, I may have to cancel beer time completely.  Even my one bud light a day costs moolah.  So far my husband has generously supported me, but I think he would like it if I brought home money instead of clothing or household items.  He does like the cookies though.  Well, rambled enough for today.  Must think about what to cook for dinner. hmmmm.  It would probably help if I was hungry, but I just ate a HUGE handful of potato chips.  Big mistake.  Have a nice night.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

eeuw, yuck, pain with a ganglion cyst

I have been having pain in my left hand for about a month after I fell and landed on my wrist.  Today I finally went to the doctor to make sure it wasn't serious.  X-rays showed nothing broken.  Doctor said it's a ganglion cyst.  Probably from when I fell.  He said sometimes injuries can cause a cyst to appear.  It is fluid from the joint in my wrist and overuse makes it worse.  Guess I'm not doing anymore painting.  At least not of buildings.  Anyway, treatments - splint it so it doesn't move.  Drain it. eeuw.  surgery. oh no. or wait and hope it goes away.  Doctor said he had one, it lasted fifteen years.  Boo hiss.  So, I will splint it when I am going to do something that would cause it to bend a lot, and I will wait.  Such a day.  Visited both my daughters today. Courtney was tired and she has to work tonight.  Kristin was on the computer.  Not the best visit.  Think I'll go home and eat worms.  Tomorrow is another day.  Thank God.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

<Wingssail Images-Cruising Photos from Around the Pacific>

children

Its sunday, sept. 6th.  Today I got to help one of my kids.  As a parent I want to see all three of my children happy, content, and with enough money to pay their bills.  I don't care if they are rich, I just want them to be able to pay the bills at the end of the month.  And I want them to be able to smile at the end of the day.  And to look at their children and be glad they get to sit on the floor with them for a little bit and build a lego castle, or read them a book, whatever.  And I want them to be able to sit down on the couch with their husband or wife and look around the room and feel relaxed.  That most of the daily chores are done.
But.....as a parent I can't do these things for them or make them happen.  And it hurts when you see one of you 'babies' unable to 'get there'.
Today I spent a couple of hours at my youngest daughters helping her catch up on some household cleaning.  They have been working on a huge project on the house and little by little, every day the things she normally took care slipped between the cracks until it was overwhelming.  She didn't say that.  But her eyes did.  So together we swept, and vacumed, and mopped and cleaned counters, stove, sink.  Dusted, put toys away, de-haired the couch, and got the kids room cleaned.  When we were done I was sweaty, but I felt good.  I'm not too sure about her.  She said she had a headache and a stomach ache.  I hope it wasn't because I helped her.  I just wanted to do something to make a little part of her day better.  I wanted to see her smile.  I didn't see the smile, but I did get a hug.  I hope she feels better tonight.  I wish I could help her more.  I will hope for the smile when I see her next.  It's hard to be a parent. Even when your 'babies' are parents themselves.  Maybe harder.  I want them all to smile.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

It is a dark and stormy day....

It's windy out, the clouds are really on the move.  Dark gray and looking heavy with rain.  No drops yet though.  I had to turn on a light just to make it seem more like daylight.  
I am back at the computer.  Just re-wrote the first few pages of THE NOVEL.  Again.  Something about it wasn't right and was bothering me so I fixed it.  I wonder how many more times I will do this.  
I like the wind, the sound it makes whooshing through the trees.  Sometimes there is a gust hard enough to shake the 21 foot van we live in during the summer.  That's cool.  I don't even mind the darkness too much.  But when the rain comes, then it gets miserable.  I don't like rain, except at night, then I love the sound it makes, pitter pat on the roof.  Soothing.
Finished my breakfast and now will get back to writing.  Going to work on the synopsis.  I mean, what if someone actually reads my query letter and requests chapters and the synopsis.  Better have it ready.  Of course, I haven't sent out the query letters yet.  Fear.  I just hope that THE NOVEL is good.  The thought of someone laughing at my efforts, wondering why on earth I wasted my time writing, makes me ill.  I have no experience at writing, no contests, not even any writing groups.  I don't have the fancy piece of paper that says I am smart, that might make me qualified to be a 'writer'.  I just write.  The words just come.  The stories whirl around in my head until I put them on paper.  I cannot stay away from the writing.  Most days I begin at 9 or so in the morning and write until 11 or so at night.  I do take a nap.  I might do some laundry.  At 4:17 pm I have a beer.  I cook dinner for my husband.  But mostly, I write.
Does this make me a writer?
I haven't always done this.  I began writing just 6 months ago.  Before that I painted, sewed, knit, made costumes for a living, all sorts of artsy stuff, but the only writing I did was two plays, which I did write, produce, and direct.  Successful and profitable even.
But one day, while I was trying to nap this story just settled in my head.  I had to get up and write it.  So I did.  And now, 6 months later, I have re-written it many times, written another novel and begun a third.  I guess the worst that will happen is my great grandchildren will find a box of manuscripts someday and have a good laugh.  The best is that my work will get published and I can go on doing what I can't not do, and get paid for it.  oooooh.  That would be good.  Yeah.......I think I will end this blog on that bright note.  Writing AND money.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Writing THE NOVEL

 I am a writer.  Sometimes you want something so bad it makes your heart actually feel like it is swelling when you think about getting what you want.  I think this way about writing.  The words flow faster than I can type and I can't wait to find out what happens next, I don't plan much in advance, I just let it roll.  I am in heaven.  Then I read it.  Uh oh.  And the re-write begins.  But the second time it is better, and by the fifteenth re-write I feel I can ask someone else to read it.  That is a real issue.  You want the truth, but you want the truth to be something like: "Oh my God!  This is such a great story!  I feel like I am inside the book, and I can't imagine why you haven't written before."  Yeah.  You don't hear that often.  Maybe never.  But in your heart, it's there, just waiting for the right series of letters to come together into the words that will make your writing great.  Currently, I am somewhere around the twenty-fifth re-write and it is getting better.  I am a writer.     Jan Roswold Brown

12:11 pm 9-4-2009

Yesterday I tried to set up a blog page.  I have decided that I am about as technically smart as a frog.  No, he is probably smarter.  I have managed, by accident, to get onto my site twice, to put a picture of me, actually two pics, and write a few words.  That's it.  Argh!  Until I have semi mastered this my blogs will be full of, wait I can't use those words, hmmm.  Let's just say I will be using words like *+!^%#^*+ peachy to describe my mood.  
I continue to work on my novels, that is much more rewarding and the writing goes quickly, the editing, not so much.  But we press on.  Well, it's time for lunch.  Yay!  Banana bread and swiss cheese.  Maybe more coffee.  Life is so tough.  See you later.