recovering

I don't have much to talk about today, my apologies. I'm just starting to really get over a violent bout of food poisoning from earlier this week. So honestly, I'm just glad I'm actually at work today. It's my body's birthday present to me :)

Throwing up is pretty much the worst thing in the world to me, as far as illnesses go, so today I'm thinking a lot about the stuff I'm grateful to have since I'm not doing that now. Being at work. Feeling better on my birthday. Having to take of from work for two days because I was sick being a super simple process because I have awesome coworkers. Having a husband who is a worthy priesthood holder who can give me blessings when I feel like my body is trying to kill me [and other times too]. Having a husband who, when I requested cheesecake for my birthday cake, immediately declared that he would make me one from scratch - which neither of us have experience with. Having a job that doesn't require a lot of manual labor so I can come back to work this soon without fear of hurting myself. Clorox wipes - which are wonderful tools for quickly disinfecting anything that might have come in unfortunate contact with the rejected elements of your stomach. Finally having my hands on the next books in the Wheel of Time series so I could read over two hundred pages in one go when I started feeling better. African Cats playing on the Animal Channel when I was dying on the couch on Tuesday [I still get super sad over the cheetah cubs and the mother lion :( ]. And a wonderful husband who came home early from work to take care of me, even though, for him, that largely entailed sitting on our second couch and listening to me moan pitifully while trying to encourage me to ingest more fluids.

I can't begin to list all the things I'm grateful for today and I encourage you to make your own list. Even if it's just in your head. Illness and accidents can gear our minds toward thoughts of gratitude pretty quickly but we shouldn't stop noticing those wonderful things and people in our lives just because we aren't in the middle of a crisis.

The world needs a little more gratitude and love :)

chapter one part two!

For those who may be coming upon this post without having read the first portion of this chapter that was posted last week you'll want to go here and read before proceeding with this post.

As promised, this is part two of the first chapter of my current novel in progress. Half way through the week I was looking at this and wondering why the heck I had promised to have this ready for today when this half is pretty brand new material that needed all kinds of work on top of just getting written. But here we are, and here it is, and hey, I'm actually pretty happy with what came out. This chapter is by no means perfect but for the moment I am satisfied.  : )

Remember, comments, questions, criticisms, accusations, and random offers of publication are all welcome.

**    **    **    **

Time began to slow down and then jump forward in spurts, leaving Mona a silent spectator as her world unraveled. She knew Gareth had left the room in the same vague way that she registered that her parents had both shifted away from her. As a Guardian, Gareth was even more duty bound than the rest of her family to report what she was. Her eyes were still focused on Lauren whose grip on her arm didn't slacken until the Guardians Gareth summoned arrived, but Mona couldn't feel it. The sudden shuffle of feet and sound of voices as uniformed figures entered the room came to Mona as if from some great distance, faint and distorted. Meaningless.

All at once she was outside, there was a brilliant flash of sunlight before the cool dim interior of a transport vehicle. It was the first time Mona had ever been inside one but she barely registered the stark, windowless interior. She wouldn't be able to help Auna and Meggie finish their group project for class. Another flash and then she was walking under the artificial lights of an Order Facility.

Mona had toured an Order Facility with her class last year. She remembered the pristine uniforms and tech-visored helmets the Guardians wore. These public service personnel who had been friendly and reassuring during the tour of students were now cold and condemning. Chatter filtered through the haze in Mona’s mind but it was all directed around her, not at her. She caught pieces of conversations about grocery lists, a health appointment to check out a rash, and several technical sounding terms that she didn't understand.

The unbroken grey floors of the Facility were cool under her bare feet. She watched her toes with each step as the walls of the main lobby, postered with public service reminders, were replaced in her periphery by their blank counterparts when they left the public area. Quiet rippled in her wake as she was guided and sometimes pushed down hallways.

Eventually, the Guardians slowed and ushered her into a room that was almost entirely taken up by a tall rectangular device with a door on one side. She was made to strip and step into the box, an analyst, meant to examine her for hidden items or other unreported marks while her clothing was inspected. The door was swung shut and darkness enveloped her. The air was stale and chill and Mona shivered, her still damp hair brushing against her bare back. The sound of her breath and pulse grew in her ears until it threatened to deafen her.

Without warning, beams of light began to flash from unseen recesses, crisscrossing her body in bursts that briefly illuminated her skin and the smooth walls around her. By the time the door opened again, Mona’s eyes were blurred with ghostly lines. The bundle of her clothing was pressed into her arms and she dressed by feel as her eyes adjusted to the light of the room.

In another room, a large hand, clad in a white glove, held her arm steady while her left wrist was scanned, cataloging the malmark in the Populace Database where every citizen’s marks were archived. She watched the red light of the scanner sweep back and forth across the mark and though there was nothing to feel, it burned. Once the mark had been recorded, “Malmark” overwrote her last name in bolded red letters on the tech interface. They were erasing her identity as part of a family.

Another transport vehicle, this time seated in the back with two Guardians stationed on either side of the door. Mona, in her distant thoughts, wondered if they actually believed the listless fourteen year old girl in front of them to be a threat. She didn't like looking at them but if she didn't, the lack of color and dim light that didn't seem to come from anywhere threatened to make her sick with vertigo.

The absence of bumps in the road only added to her sense of disembodiment. She knew from the tour and other school lectures where she was being taken now. The Threshold, one of many, was a gateway into and out of Orsandum, built into the great barrier wall that encompassed the nation. Taller than anything grown or erected within  its borders, the wall was meant to protect everyone inside from the dangers that lurked without. Mona’s house had been within sight of its eastern boundary and she’d always taken comfort in its enormous, ever present embrace. Now, it loomed, heavy and cast in shadow in the moment she paused outside the Threshold.

The halls and rooms inside were just like those at the Order Facility but on a larger scale. A maze whose twists and turns Mona would have no hope of remembering even if she’d been able to try. But the Guardians never hesitated and Mona was quickly swept through locking doors with a sign that read “Malmark Processing” above them. Another pair of visored Guardians, these with an added black band around their right upper arm that Mona didn't recognize, relieved those that had accompanied her in the transport. Their grips on her upper arms were even less friendly and held at such a height that Mona had to walk on tip-toe as they guided her down yet another hallway and through a heavy door.

A man stood inside the room which was empty aside from a table tall enough for him to use while standing. Mona barely glimpsed the surface of the table and the glow of a tech interface before the Guardians released their hold and her heels slammed to the unforgiving floor.

“Another.”

The man at the desk only nodded in acknowledgment, not looking up, and the Guardians left. The door closed behind them with a deep thud.

Mona stood, not breathing, and watched the man as he recorded something on the interface before turning his attention to her. He wore a different version of the Guardian uniform than she had ever seen before. Recognizable, less restrictive and yet more formal looking at the same time. He wore a small black cape, only long enough to cover his shoulders, that hung from a black cord attached at the shoulder seams. A hood, attached to the cape, covered his head in place of the visored helmet but it was not long enough to hide his face when he looked up.

His face was blank as his dark eyes appraised her for a moment before he straightened, taller than her father, and moved around the table to stand in front of her.

“Do not move. This will not hurt.” He hadn't spoken to her exactly, but to the room at large.

Mona’s muddled brain didn't have time to wonder what “this” was or why it might hurt before the man had raised his hands, gloveless, and placed them firmly on either side of her face. A soundless gasp opened her mouth as a tingling sensation filled her body, passing from her head to her chest and then each of her limbs.

Magic. It had to be. This man was an Analyst, one of the magic users that the devices in Order Facilities, created to imitate examinations performed with magic, were named after. Mona felt like she’d forgotten how to breath. Magic. The trait was unbelievably rare and she’d never encountered someone who held it before. She’d certainly never felt it and her mind didn't know how to process the sensation. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't comfortable either. This inspection made her feel much more exposed than stripping naked had, as if he were seeing every part of her, even her secrets.

And then the tingling was gone, leaving Mona more hollowed out than before.

The man’s face was still blank, but there was greater apathy in the lines around his eyes. He turned away without a word and moved back around the table. Chills began to ripple through Mona as his fingers flew across the interface with rapid strokes. The door opened into the room and the black-banded Guardians entered. Each reestablished their grasp on one of her arms and they led her, on tip-toe again, out of the room. The Analyst never looked up from the table.

The hallway they walked down now seemed miles long but Mona wished it was longer when she read the sign above the door at the end of it: Banishment Portal. An involuntary flinch shook her and she had a faint impression of gratitude for the hands pulling her along. Their pressure felt like the only thing holding her together.

They paused at the door as the Guardian to her right entered several codes into a small tech interface on the wall. Mona heard several loud clicks that echoed down the hallway and then they were pushing the door open and her through it. The chamber she stumbled into would only have admitted one more beside them and three suddenly felt like a very large crowd. The walls and floor were as bare as everywhere else she’d seen but there was another door, set in the opposite wall with a small window in it that gave a narrow view of a corridor one person wide that ended in another very solid looking door. There was no window in the door at the end of the passage.

Mona turned at the sound of the door closing behind her. In the confined space the clicks were even louder as the door locked itself again. The Guardians shifted and the one on her left released her arm then, in one fluid movement, tore off the left sleeve of her shirt, leaving her arm completely bare. He stepped away from her, turning to deposit the sleeve into a little metal chute that Mona had not noticed. Once a small glow had flared up, leaving behind the acrid scent of burned fabric, the Guardian nodded to his companion who turned to the portion of wall beside the windowed door. The wall lit up where he touched it. More codes, but on an interface that was not designed to be used by anyone who happened to stumble upon the room.

After a moment, the door swung open into the room, deathly silent, introducing air from the corridor that smelled musty and a bit like dirt. The ragged threads trailing from her shirt shifted in the small puff of air. Both Guardians gestured to her to enter the narrow hall.

Mona did not want to step through the doorway. Every fiber of her being screamed out against it. She took a step, and then another. Panic welled in her stomach, heavy and present for the first time since the leather strap had fallen to the table top just a few hours ago. How could that be? Another step and she was through the door, which was immediately shut on her heels. The tiny hall was silent, like the analyst, but there was enough light for her to watch, numb, as the door yet ahead of her began to open by some command she did not see or hear. First a crack of bright sunlight, the opening soon widened until the door gaped, an afternoon sun spilling into the space and making it impossible for Mona to see what lay beyond it. But she could hear wind, and the rustle of grass, or maybe leaves. The sound terrified her.

Maybe she wouldn't go. Maybe she would stay in the corridor. What would they do? Would they push her out themselves? Or would they leave her in this tight corner until night fell and some animal decided to investigate this new cave for a sleeping place?

The thought had her feet flying toward the doorway before she could register the fear. She exploded out of the passage and into a clearing spotted with clumps of short grass. The ground beneath her feet was dry and dusty; trees and bushes in the distance swayed in a breeze she couldn't feel. The glare of natural light after so long inside made her squint. No buildings, no roads, no people. The foreignness  of the wild landscape felt like an assault on her senses and she whirled around, searching through slitted eyes for the doorway to go back to the hall. But the only thing she saw was a large, unforgiving slab of metal that must be this side of the door. There was no handle, no edge for her fingers to grip but she ran to it anyway, banging on the surface until her hands we scraped and bruised. It wasn't until she slowed that she realized she was shouting, begging to be let back inside. It wasn't until she felt the burn of salt on her hands as she wiped her face that she realized she was sobbing.

“Please! Open the door!” She gasped. “Anyone? Don’t do this to me! Let me in! Gareth! Father! Please!”

Shadows had cast over the clearing by the time she stopped pleading with the door and slid, hiccuping with tears, to the ground and curled up into a ball. A slight, one-sleeved figure, completely alone for the first time in her life. As the shadows lengthened, fears whispered about the coming night but her world went dark long before the sun set.

sharing is caring

Hey look, something I wrote!  And I'm sharing!

So, this is part of the first chapter of the novel I'm working on. I recently decided to add  to the end of it and I'll be working to finish that in time to post next week. I'm including a little into  with the hope of providing some helpful context  for the premise. I won't be posting all chapters in the future but I think I will post some excerpts for your enjoyment and to keep myself on track, haha. So yeah, I hope you enjoy it! [And please forgive any formatting issues as I'm  posting this from my phone.]

Intro

        People are born with their destiny in their skin, marks like black tattoos that aren't visible at birth. The marks reveal themselves after the onset of puberty but the exact timing, their position on the body, and their order are completely unpredictable. Each person has two marks, one that indicates a primary talent or skill and a second that divulges a person's defining character attribute.  Children grow up knowing about these marks that will define them, show them the path their lives will take and illuminate to them their own character. As they learn about the different marks, all recorded in the Mark Index, they scrutinize their arms and legs, lifting shirts to carefully examine smooth stomachs and wonder what marks will paint that canvas in time. They chatter about the marks they'd most like to have, dreaming about the potential sleeping in their skin that they may not fully understand until years after their marks have manifested and been recorded in the public record. Citizens are required to record all marks in the public record for census purposes but this procedure also functions as a means of  identifying and tracking those that manifest marks that indicate them to be a threat to others and the community at large. In a proactive effort to ensure the safety of the community, individuals with such marks, called Malmarks, are banished as soon as their threatening mark is known regardless of age or situation. Marks are part of each person and yet foreign because they foretell their future. How they will play out over the course of the person's life and how constant their influence will be is not always clear, but these uncertainties aren't ones the authorities care to gamble with.  Not all marks are good but all of them come true.

Chapter 1

The excitement that had flashed across her skin moments before was gone and Mona felt suddenly cold in its absence. She stared at the black figure, nestled next to the freckle on the inside of her left wrist. She had been waiting for a mark to manifest for seven months, since her New Growth started but she had never imagined that it would be one like this. Her breathing hitched and it felt like her throat was closing up. She had waited eagerly to see the first glimpse of her future, to join others her age in the thrill of knowing more about the person she would become. She had never considered that she might manifest a malmark.

        Mona could feel the mark, a small symbol like a black tattoo, being etched into her eyes but she had stopped seeing it.

        Don't panic.

        Breathe in.

        Where had all the air gone?

        Don't panic.

        "Mona. Mona, are you done yet?" Lauren called from the hallway, banging on the door and making Mona jump. She choked back a scream and instinctively clasped her right hand over her wrist. The door handle jiggled back and forth and she exhaled, relieved that she had locked it. She was so tightly wound that the breath came out in a strangled squeak .

        Don't panic.

        "Other people need to wash too, you know!"

        Mona could hear Lauren's foot tapping on the other side of the door, impatient as always. She scrambled to pull her shirt and tunic back over her head with hands made clumsy by shock. The cloth pulled at her wet hair and scraped against her neck. "I'm coming!" She cringed at the tremble in her voice and almost reached out a hand as if to catch it back but her older sister had sharp ears.

        "Are you okay?" Lauren's voice had taken on a concerned tone that sounded unusual coming from a mouth more accustomed to scorn and sarcasm. Mona wished she had kept yelling. She grabbed her damp towel off of the floor and tossed it in the wash basket before turning to the door. She didn't want to leave the bathroom, to risk anyone seeing the mark branded on her wrist, but it would be worse if Lauren burst in and saw the panic that painted her face. In her hurry to open the door and escape to her room she knocked into Lauren, standing as she was a breath away from the door.

        "Sorry," Mona said as she pushed past her, keeping her eyes on the floor so all she saw was the bottom edge of her sister's blue tunic and her bare feet. She tugged her sleeves down to her fingertips and willed her voice to be clear and unwavering. "I’m fine. Bathroom's all yours."

        She hurried down the hall before Lauren could respond. The slap of her own bare feet on the wood floor echoed back from the walls and water from her hair dripped down her back. She had forgotten to dry it in the bathroom and the towel was in the wash basket. She couldn't go back for it now.         

Mona forced herself to close the door to her room slowly. Lauren slammed doors routinely but Mona was the quiet one and she didn't want anyone else to suspect that today was not a normal day.

        Eyes squeezed shut, she tried to calm herself as she leaned against the wall. This couldn't be happening to her. It had to be a mistake. She wasn't a Malmark. She often didn't feel like she knew who she was, but she had been sure of that one thing. She wasn't a Malmark.

        A quick glance at her left wrist told her that conviction was now a lie. Her breath caught in her throat and she clapped her right hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She scanned the room for a more permanent method of concealment than her loose sleeves. She couldn't risk anyone seeing the mark, not yet. She would check the Index of Marks later when no one else was home, there was a chance she was mistaken about the mark's meaning. Something told her she wasn't.

        Mona was grateful now more than ever that her parents did not inspect their children personally every day after the New Growth began like some of her friends' parents did. The moment of First Mark was supposed to be a happy one, she thought desperately as she rummaged through her drawers for a scarf, a strip of cloth, anything. First Mark was the moment everyone waited for as kids, the day when the first of your two Life Marks appeared and gave you a look into your future, your fate. It was an important moment that marked the real beginning of your life in the community, an event that was often celebrated with parties and gifts. Half of the kids her age had already manifested their first mark. Mona's parents had taken to asking her each morning, in various ways, if her first mark had come yet. They weren't trying to pry, they were just eager for the opportunity to show her off the way they had Lauren three years ago and Gareth two years before that. How disappointed they would be, Mona thought, as she seized a length of leather cord and began wrapping it around her wrist, if they knew their second daughter hadn't been Marked with something as nice as Teacher or as noble as Defender.

        Her vision blurred as she tightened the knot, adjusting the strips to make sure they completely covered the mark. Her thin mattress rustled as she sank onto it, taking shaky breaths and wiping the tears out of her eyes. Even when she closed them, Mona could still see the mark glowing against the inside of her eyelids. Rebel. No. She shook her head. She had to have it wrong. That wasn't her. It couldn't be. She had never done anything purposefully wrong or the least bit rebellious in her life.

        "Mona?" Her mother's tap on the door was much softer than Lauren's pounding had been but Mona jumped all the same. "Breakfast is ready. You best get some before Gareth eats it all."

        "Yes, mother." She held her breath as her mother's soft footsteps faded down the hallway. She stood and pulled her sleeves down again with violent yanks before opening the door to follow her to the kitchen. She glanced back into her room before closing the door behind her. It looked much like her siblings' bedrooms but there were her books for school piled neatly on the desk and small craft projects on top of her dresser, a ceramic bowl and a woven basket, that identified the room as hers. If she was right about the mark, how long could she keep it hidden? How long should she? If she was right, then wasn't she a danger? She should report herself instead of waiting for someone to see it. A lump rose in Mona's throat when she realized that this might be the last time she saw this room.

        Gareth and her father sat in the kitchen at the smooth wooden table having some sort of philosophical argument that her father seemed to be winning primarily because Gareth kept taking another mouthful of flour cakes between sentences. Anyone who saw her father and brother together could see that they were family with their shared prominent jawlines and tousled brown hair. Lauren and Mona had inherited their mother's darker coloring and sharp cheekbones. Mona sat across from her brother, making sure to keep her hands under the table.

        "Ah, Mona, here you are." her father smiled.

        "You haven't seen your sister, have you?" Her mother asked from the stove where she was flipping more cakes.

        "Good morning, papa." Mona hoped he wouldn't notice the weakness of her grin as she responded. "Lauren is in the bathroom, mother."

        "I am not." Lauren sailed into the room and dropped into the chair next to Gareth. Their father chuckled.

        "We were beginning to wonder if you'd drowned," Gareth somehow managed to say around another mouthful of breakfast.

        Lauren glared at him and opened her mouth to retort.

        "We're very glad you didn't." Mother interrupted the brewing battle, reaching between the two to place fresh plates of hot food on the table. Mona generally disliked Lauren and Gareth’s bickering as much as her parents did but for once she wished her mother hadn’t intervened. An argument between her older siblings would have kept any attention away from her.

Wisps of steam rose from the plates of flour cakes and eggs that sat next to the pitchers of milk and juice. The food smelled amazing, as always, but Mona didn't have the stomach for it this morning. A voice in her head told her to eat as much as she could because who knew if she'd ever eat her mother's cooking again, but the thought of food in her mouth made her nauseous.

        Mother sat at the end of the table on Mona’s right and her family took turns scooping breakfast onto their plates. Gareth's work required him to leave earlier in the morning than the rest of them so he had already finished eating, not that that stopped him from grabbing another flour cake as he stood to leave. He had just turned to take his dishes to the sink when Father noticed that Mona hadn't put any food on her plate.

        "What, not hungry, Mona?" He was looking at her over a fork full of eggs, his eyes narrowed in concern. Gareth paused in rinsing his plate. A member of the family feeling unwell was worrisome for any of them but Gareth had always been protective of her.

        Mona twisted in her seat before she could stop herself. She couldn’t tell her father that she didn't want to eat because then he'd ask why and she definitely didn't want to answer that question or those that would come from the rest of her family. So she smiled. And she lied. Was that how all Malmarks started out, she wondered. Little lies to the people they loved?

"Oh, I guess my mind was just elsewhere. Those flour cakes do smell good."

        He smiled and set his fork down. "Here, I'll put some on your plate for you."

        He picked up her plate and began filling it with flour cakes that she knew would sit like sand in her stomach, if she could swallow them at all. As she watched him she noticed the fine lines around his eyes and mouth that came from the frequent smiles and quiet laughter that her father was known for. Anxiety swelled in her chest, squeezing her heart until it hurt at the thought of being banished. The idea terrified her, but she was more afraid of how he would react to seeing what the malmark said she was, or would be. She couldn't imagine whether it would be fear, anger, hurt, or embarrassment in his eyes but she didn't want to find out.

        She blinked and forced herself to smile again to mask the distress she felt when he looked up and held the plate, now heavy with food, out for her to take. "Thank you." Mona automatically extended her left hand, the closest to him, to take the plate. Her sleeve pulled back just enough to reveal the wound leather at her wrist, the ends dangling in midair. The meal would probably have continued uninterrupted if Lauren had been absent but unlike the rest of her family, her attention to details was acute and she knew that Mona wasn't one for wearing bracelets.

        Before she could set the plate down and hide her wrist again under the table, Lauren's hand shot out and caught her arm just below the leather thong. The movement was so sudden that Mona almost dropped her plate.

        “What are you wearing?"

        "Lauren!" Mona’s mother said with an admonishing tone, but her sister didn’t release her grip.

Sweat broke out on Mona’s skin at Lauren’s touch and it felt like the mark was going to burn through the leather around her wrist. It was all she could do to not jerk her wrist out of Lauren's grasp but that would only make the situation more noteworthy.

“What?” Lauren asked, glancing at their mother. “Mona never wears anything she doesn’t have to. I just want to know why,” she reached out her other hand and tugged at one loose end of the cord and Mona flinched, “she’s wearing this today.”

“Lauren, let go of her.” Gareth said at the same time that Mona lied for the second time.

“I just felt like doing something different today.”

Lauren ignored their Gareth and grinned at Mona. “No, no. You were acting weird earlier. There’s something you don’t want us to know.” She tugged at the ends of the leather again and the knot Mona had tied in her panic began to loosen. Mona, eyes wide, gave a small shake of her head, silently trying to plead with her sister to, just this once, let it go. But Lauren had never known how to let something go. It was a mystery to everyone how she would ever turn out to be a teacher.

By now, both Mona’s parents and Gareth were reproaching Lauren for her rude behavior but she was ignoring them the way she ignored most criticism. Her eyes held Mona’s as she pulled the knot completely loose and quickly unwound the length of the leather cord before Gareth’s outstretched hand could pull hers away.

Mona felt like she had frozen solid in the eternal seconds it took Lauren to remove the binding, like she had been hollowed out. She couldn’t make herself move after the length of leather had settled onto the table, her left hand, still holding her plate, extended over the table, wrist up. A small part of her brain knew the malmark was in plain sight and registered the abrupt hush in the room. The quiet was more than surprise, it held the weight of law  and confirmed Mona's fear. Malmarks were  not to be spoken to.

Lauren’s eyes had dropped to see the mark, triumph plain on her face, but they met Mona’s again and she could see the recognition in her eyes. But now neither of them could look away. Mona watched, feeling like a stranger looking through her own eyes, as Lauren’s expression bled from victory, to confusion, to understanding, to horror, to fear, and then, to Mona’s surprise, to anguish.

“I’m sorry.” Lauren’s voice echoed in Mona’s mind as if she had actually spoken the words. The only sincere apology Mona had ever heard her sister give and it would never be said out loud.

a day late, a novel short

The second half of the title for this post has two meanings. The first interpretation, of course, is that I have been abysmal at writing this week and novels don't write themselves, unfortunately. The other if that I finally finished the volume I was on for WoT after not reading it for several weeks. But that was Tuesday and I haven't had an opportunity to get the next one until tonight. Suddenly reading something again only to then run out of reading material for several days makes me a little edgy.

Since Tim read the series [as much as was out] in high school, we end up discussing a lot of events and plot points as I get to them for the first time. He started rereading the series shortly after I began it but he has yet to make it through the first volume and I thought the reason was interesting.

He's struggling with some of the characters and how immature and annoying they can be. Now, the MCs of this series start out in their late teens so immaturity kind of comes with the territory. I definitely struggled with one character in particular until she finally grew up a little but for me it just felt like a realistic reflection of her age and experience. For Tim, it's a block that's completely deterring him from finishing the book. He told me that the first time he read the books he didn't even notice the extent to which some of the characters can get on your nerves. This brought up a few questions.

Obviously our own context and knowledge changes as we grow and affects the way we view things. I know there are several books that I read as a teenager that I'm not exactly proud of, looking back on them. On the other hand, there are books I read that I still love and can read over and over. So, what makes the difference between books that can transcend age and different periods of your life, and those that don't? Is it always a case of poor writing recognized as you become more knowledgeable with age? Are there some books that don't cross the barriers of time but are still well written for their audience?

For myself, I think it's probably a blend of everything. [But I'd love to hear other perspectives!] I've definitely read my fair share of poorly written books but I also think that there are those that were written for that age range and were well executed, touching and influencing me when I needed them to. Some themes must be reinterpreted for different age groups because the situations, images, and metaphors that we might connect with change, and that's alright.

That being said, how do books like The Giver and Bridge to Terabithia transcend? Is it their themes? The quality of their characterization? Or do the authors somehow manage to make a mysterious connection with their readers - an unbreakable bond that draws them in again and again? How can we write stories that will last the tests of time?