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What I learned in 2013 (as a person and a writer)

29 December 2013

You probably won't believe me when I say that 2013 has been the best and the hardest year of my life. I'm sure you can see me now, crying into my Starbucks coffee and furiously texting my friends about the typical teenager girl dillemas. "Why doesn't he like me?" "Why don't I have a thigh gap?" "My parents are sooooo strict!" etc. Fortunately for you (and probably everyone I know) I'm not that dramatic, and I ain't just blowin smoke when I reiterate that this has been one of the best and hardest years of my life. Honestly, I wouldn't be sad if 2014 carried on similarly, because I've enjoyed myself immensely these past 12 months. I thought I would go over some of my favorite things of the year, along with ways that I have grown as a person and a writer. Feel free to skip down to the lower section of this post if you don't care about my personal life. Go on, I won't be offended. *cue sappy montage music*

Favorite Book: East of Eden by John Steinbeck. Please, don't do yourself the diservice of neglecting to read this book.

Favorite movie I saw in theatres: I think I'll stick with Catching Fire, although The Desoloation of Smaug is a close runner up. But Monster's University was really good too! Do you see my problem here?

Favorite blog: That's still gotta be thewritepractice. Seriously, if you're a writer, that website will become your new favorite reference.

Ok, now why was this year so awesome? Well, I happened to do a lot of things I never had before. SHARE TIME OMGGGG!!! (sarcasm) but here it goes: I learned how to drive, I got my first car (I know right? Go me!) I went to my first "concert". Yeah, I saw the Pentatonix but I'm not sure you could call it a legit concert since it was free and they just performed at a local pavillion. Either way, it was awesome. I performed in my first "concert". I also put this in quotes, because by concert I just mean that I joined choir and we did a lot of performances. I made lots of new friends, grew closer to ones I have known for a while, and received my first fancy rejection from a publisher! (more later)

And finally, as I writer, well--I learned a lot. As afore mentioned, I received my first rejection regarding my full mauscript, rather than just a query. Meaning, a legit new york agent read my story, and told me what she thought. There were things she liked and of course, things she didn't like. The entire exchange ended up being more encouraging than anything, and I was mostly pumped about the free, yet professional advice. For now, I have laid aside an old story, and dedicated my time to a new one which I have much more faith in. If anything, this year I learned to listen to your literary instincts. Don't do what the current patterns recommend, or what you think is the "proper" thing to to do. You're a writer! You've read tons of books! And by now you should know a thing or two about what you're doing. Stop listening to the masses and start listening to yourself! HOWEVER, I would equally urge you to seek out honest opinions. Try to get a varied audience and learn to sift through their varied opinions.

I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into my year. I would love to hear about your 2013 in the comments!


Book Club Suggestions

Alrighty folks, I have received just enough partcipants to make my online book club happen, HOWEVER, I have only gotten three book suggestions, and I am giving y'all one more day to submit some more choices if you desire! Between the 30th and the 31st I will choose what book we will be reading and discussing in January.  Feel free to comment below or email me at: karolinamazingATgmailDOTcom

Little Things (No, not the One Direction song)

16 December 2013

Little things that make me happy.

When you ask a stranger to take a photo of you and your friends, and they get to share in the moment.

Mixing two different colors together and watching them swirl until a new color is formed!

When boys are polite and chivalrous

Finishing a good book with a smile on your face

Compliements

Communicating with your friend via facial expressions because you know each other that well

Quoting "The Princess Bride"

When the blows in your face from the right direction, and you feel glamorous

Being the only ones in a movie theatre, so you and your friends laugh hysterically at nothing and everything

Getting random presents

When your dog wakes you up by jumping on your bed and licking your face

Feeling inspired

Singing Disney songs in a ridiculous voice

When a guyfriend randomly tells you "you're beautiful" 

Coincidences

When somebody says "your hands are cold" and they press their warm hands around yours

Talking about the future with your friends

And finally, Christmas morning

I hope you enjoyed this post that's a little bit different for me! Oh, and you haven't seen my post about joining my online book club from last week, be sure to check it out! Happy Holidays :)


Do YOU Want to Join my Online Book Club?

09 December 2013

Hello bloggy friends! So, I have a little idea that I'm super excited about, however it will be all for nought if I can't find some worthy participants. SO, if you would like to participate, PLEASE share this on your blog, tweet or do whatever you have to do! On January 1st 2014 I will be starting on online book club! Throughout December I will be responding to whomever wants to participate via email, and I will probably be emailing my followers anyway. This is the list of rules and expected process!

Throughout December I will (probably through email) ask ya'll to each to submit a candidate for the book we will be reading in January. Then, I will choose the "winner", possibly based off of popular vote. I will try to do this before the new year so that ya'll have enough time to go get the book before we start reading.

#1: ANYBODY WHO WANTS TO PARTICIPATE IS WELCOME TO DO SO! However, each month I will pick TWO different people to blog with me here, at asateenwriter to share their thoughts and opinions. I will probably pick at random but this way we will have three different viewpoints. I will pick different people every month. For those of you who are not partcipating in the blogging part, I STILL WANT YOU TO READ WITH US! This way, we can have a compelling discussion both on the blog and in the comments.

#2: You will have approximately one month to read whatever book we pick. I will post the review or whatever you want to call it on the last Thursday of said month. This means I will need you to email me your own little review sometime before then. If you will be blogging with me I shall email some more of the finer details and guidelines :)

WELL, I hope you're as excited as I am! I apologize to my followers who may recieve a repetitive email invitation from me soon. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO PARTICIPATE, PLEASE LEAVE YOUR EMAIL IN THE COMMENTS BELOW! I hope to hear from you soon :) Happy Holdiays and happy reading!

My Favorite Winter Memory

08 December 2013

     It was Valentine's Day in 2004. I was a seven year old with short hair and bangs, sleeping cozy in my bed, unware of the white magic taking place outside my window. My dad gently shook me awake and whispered, "Did you know it snowed last night?" Too ecstatic to reply, I skipped to my window in my pajamas and gasped at the winter wonderland. I had never seen so much snow before, and the world was covered in a 6 inch thick blanket of beauty. I couldn't wait to go and out and play with my brothers.
      "Where are Parker and Luke?" I asked.
      "They're already outside." Daddy smiled. Without another word I began to bundle up in pants and a coat that probably didn't match. Stepping outside, I smiled at the big grey sky and eagerly stomped into the snow, ready to leave my mark upon this rare occasion.
     "You're here." said my brothers, when I found them rolling snow balls in our large front yard. "You can help us make a snowman."
     As always, I followed their command and began making a snowball like I had seen people do in movies. After some minutes, however, I still had nothing to show for my work but a pile of powder in my hand. "Here," Parker crouched down beside me and started mushing a ball together. "Like this." I smiled at him and together, we starting rolling a snowball, back and forth, until all the snow in that part of the yard was gone. Luke rolled another one beside us, and all the while I smiled. I didn't know what my brothers had in mind to build, but I knew it would be marvelous.
     Soon, my dad and other neighborhood kids appeared in our yard to borrow some snow and help with our project. Just when I thought we were done rolling the biggest snowballs I had ever seen, Parker declared that it wasn't done. He and Luke kept rolling, and rolling, until they had two giant wheels. Neighborhood kids gaped in admiration, throwing their snowballs which seemed pathetic in compariosn over their shoulder. My dad and my brothers began stacking up the snowballs into a faint snowman shape. But the project was getting a little out of hand. Our snowtower reached such a great height, we could no longer shape it.
     Yet father came to the rescue and brought out a ladder to finish off the head. We laughed and marvelled when he stepped down to reveal a head carved in the distinct shape of Abraham Lincoln's face; he even placed on a top hat for full effect. Our snow masterpiece reached to twelve feet tall! The creation stood as a beacon of hilarious creativity in the neighborhood. As my brothers and I started on more projects such as a "snow fortress", folks from down the street came over with their cameras.
     We felt like famous architects, posing beside our fabulous creation as strangers took pictures and pointed with open mouths. And every year after that it snowed, folks from all around knew which house would have the greatest snowman.



(My oldest brother Parker posing with the snowman. I couldn't find any pictures with the rest of us, I guess he thought the credit was owing to him ;)

I hope you enjoyed this little anecdote! Do you have a favorite memory? Share them in the comments below!

Look Out Your Window - Writing Prompt

06 December 2013

I may have an unfair advantage when it comes to this prompt, since we are currenlty experiencing abnormal conditions. However, I know what talented followers I have, and I want you to participate! Don't go outside, just take a look out whatever window is near you and briefly describe what you see. My challenge to you is to keep it as short and sweet and possible, while creating a fully-fleshed description. Here's mine:

Frost and fog cover the windowpanes with a smooth, opaque haze. But if I rub my hand and make a wet circle on the glass, I can see the winter wonderland outside. The small tree looks even smaller than normal with ice weighing down its branches and determined leaves from a short lived autumn are still visible through the layer of ice. To my right, three cars sit in the driveway, completely covered with snow: they won't be going anywhere for a while. Across the street, past the lane of chunky slush, I can see houses lined with small icicles. My favorite part are the roofs, clothed in a pristine sheet of white, unmarred by footprints.

Leave your practices in the comments! I'm eager to see how well I can picture the view from your window, based on the descriptions :)

Catching Fire - Movie Review

03 December 2013

I saw "Catching Fire" a few days ago. Because I missed opening night and had to spend a whole weekend of hearing my friends gush about it, I was in a flurry of excitement to finally see the film. As somebody who likes but doesn't love The Hunger Games series, I displayed an uprecedented amount of antcipation to see Catching Fire. I never saw the first movie in theatres and when I finally did watch it, I wasn't blown away. However, Catching Fire I felt, was honestly incredible.

 As afore mentioned, I am a mild fan of the series. For me the first book was just kind of take it or leave it. Catching Fire however, was a different story. The book enthralled me with its plot twists and dynamic circumstances. Katniss too, in my opinion grew as a character and became more likeable. (Also, I totally switched from Team Gale to Team Peeta. Sorry.) The makers of the movie did a pristine job of bringing the story come to life; they only left out a few minor elements. Everything felt so well-paced, it was like reading the book all over again. But you didn't get bored. It was the pefect lenght. In addition, I have officially converted into a Jennifer Lawrence fan. I used to not understand the hoopla and giant fan-base that surrounds her, yet her peformance in Catching Fire totally sold me. She really is a tremendous actress who deserves every ounce of her success. Her speech to district 11 brought tears to my eyes, and that's saying a lot for someone like me. I'll skip my gushing over Josh Hutcherson and Sam Claflin (Finnick) and assure you that they cast all the other tributes perfectly. Beatty and Joanna especially fit the roles to a t. While in the first movie, certain elements did not seem fully explained, with Catching Fire they revealed just enough so that the non readers could understand, while also allowing them to put some of the pieces together.

The arena, the woods, the corocupia, all appeared exactly as I had imagined them. That credit may be due to Suzanne Collins, yet nevertheless it was a treat to see. And just as I expected, the monkeys were absoloutely terrifying.

Even though I would give the movie a 4.7 out of 5, there are probably a few negative elements I should warn the die hard fans about. While the relationship between Finnick and Mags was wonderfully executed, they barely touched on Annie and didn't explain what she meant to Finnick. Also, Peeta and Katniss' score from the gamekeepers is never mentioned, which to me seemed to defeat the purpose of showing their skills at all. Even so, those are minor touches and I thought the film was excellent. You can bet I would pay to go see it again. It gives me hope that maybe they can actually make Mockingjay into a good story.

Have you seen Catching Fire? What did you think? Let me know in the comments!

Books I'm Thankful For

24 November 2013

Whether you devour words daily and spout them forth on paper, or whether you simply like reading a good book every now again, all readers have at some point encountered that one story, or maybe several, that changed them. We are forever thankful for those stories. Perhaps they influenced your writing style, or even altered the way you think and act when it comes to daily life. I thought I wouuld share with ya'll some of the books I am most thankful for, which seemed especially pivotal at the time I read them. Enjoy!

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S Lewis. This was the first book I fell in love with. Yes, you CAN fall in love with stories, sometimes much more easily than you can fall in love with people. I remember starting it one week day night when I was seven. The next day I brought it to school to read between classes or when the teacher wasn't looking. When my mother picked me up I was standing outside my elementary reading the last chapter. I especially identified with Lucy, and for many years after I would day dream of and pretend I lived in Narnia. A part of me still belives that somewhere a magic wardrobe does exist, and all I have to do is tread through it with faith to find Narnia.

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. I bought this book when I was ten years old, and read it aloud to my mother. As someone with no sisters who has always longed for them, that book enhanced my thirst while at the same time quencing it. The way the March sisters lovingly related to each other and practically approached their problems showed me at a young age how much more enjoyable life could be if I approached it with a thankful persepctive instead of focusing on the petty things. I've never really identitifed with the modern culture of teeange girls who seem permanently preoccupied with fashion, boys and the latest Starbucks drinks. The March sisters demonstrated how to enjoy the material things while never forgetting what was truly important. Furhtermore, Jo March mirrored me exactly, even down to the fine physical details. It's a little creepy.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Now this is kind of a weird one, considering this book is quite the downer. I read it for the first time when I was 14, and didn't fully understand it. Even so, the writing is beautiful and I remain in awe of Fitzgerald's clever cadence and knack for creating one-liners that stick with you even after one reading. Yes, all the characters are selfish and not all of them get what they deserve, but the fact that a book which leaves such a bad taste in your mouth could also remain so cherished, taught me a valuable lesson. Classic stories are not necessarily the most happy ones, or the ones that satisfy the reader. On the contrary they cause you to reflect, and maybe shake your head at the story.

What books are you thankful for? Let me know in the comments!

Taking a Break from Writing

14 November 2013

For these next couple of weeks, I will be taking a break from writing in my book. I've recently completed the second draft, so I'm taking a leave of absence in order to be able to look at my manuscript with fresh eyes. And what am I doing in the meantime? A couple of things, but mainly, reading.

Yes, I read all the time anyways, but now I'm reading with more intention. For example, currently I'm reading Huckleberry Finn, and revisiting To Kill a Mockingbird. Why? Well I'm so glad you asked. In order to better understand first person, I will be reading and studying those famous books written in first person voice. If you need to take a break from writing, I would encourage you to spend that time in reading books that are similar to your story.

And what else?

I'm doing a lot of observing, and day dreaming-two things I am very good at. As romantic minded people, writers oftentimes find more romance and story material when we isolate ourselves from the indulgent outlet of writing. What I mean to say is, seperating yourself from the creative and imaginative process of writing, will force you to channel those same strengths into daily life. Let me give you an example.

A few days ago, my friend and I watched the BBC version of Great Expectations. It was fanastic by the way. And it just so happened the actor who played Pip (Douglass Booth) is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Okay, you caught me red handed. I can be a giddy teenage girl sometimes, but I would wager than few women would be able to keep their cool around that face. (Can you tell I have a little crush on him?) Consequently, whilst reading Huckleberry Finn and occasionally thinking about Pip's beautiful face, a story began to form in my mind. That which I read and that which I thought about melded together and gave me an idea which I have been excitedly mulling over ever since. It's been a while since something like that has happened.

While writing regularly is wise and advisable, writing incessantly can drain the very thing you are attempting to sharpen. Therefore I would encourage you to step back for a little while and start looking at the world through your writer's spectacles, and see what you find.

Do you need to take a break from writing? What have you done in the past to help you become a better writer? Let me know in the comments!

A Day in the Life of a Teenage Writer

10 November 2013

I saw this feature on some other blogs and it looked like fun, so I'd thought I would give ya'll a little taste of what goes on in my life. DISCLAIMER: I am not Batman, Wonderwoman, or anyone else equally interesting. The ensuing activites will most likely not throw you off your seat with the awesomeness of it. That being said, enjoy :P

7:30 am Wake up. (That's when you open your eyes and moan at your alarm clock, get up, look in the mirror and scream at your dishevled appereance.) Eat breakfast, get dressed, walk dog.
8:00 Make a cup of coffee or tea (depends on the mood. But if you make me a chai latte I will love you forever. I also really like coffee, but only if there's creamer in it. Otherwise, it tastes like the tears of abused puppies. That's just my opinion.) Then I usually read my Bible for a little while.
8:30 Start school. By far, the most least interesting part of my day. I like to start with my favorite subjects and gradually move on to the more boring stuff. For example: governement, british literature and world geography
11:30 Lunch time. Yeah, I eat before noon sometimes. WHATCHA GONNA DO ABOUT IT?!? Then I make a super healthy smoothie because according to my friends I'm "super healthy." Fun fact.
12-12:30 Go the gym with my dad and work out. It's just about as fun it sounds.
12:45 Get ready for chemistry class. I have a few minutes to spare before take off, so I read some Sherlock Holmes
1-3 Chemistry class. At the end of class, the teacher has us play this little science trivia game and somehow, I always win. Not because I'm smart...ew, no me gusta scienco. There's this guy in my class who likes to doodle, so when I said that if I had a band I would call it "The Weasel Nostrils" he drew me a hilarious flyer. Then I left it in the folder for the teacher to find hee hee.
3:30 Get home and finish school a.k.a do geometry. Blech
4:00 FREEDOM! I immediately pick up Sherlock Holmes and read for about half an hour.
4:30-5 I read "Mutiny on the Bounty" to my mom who works from home. This is a fun tradition that we've had for many years now. At a certian age, she stopped reading aloud to me and I started reading to her instead. It's very much a man's book, but I'm enjoying it.
5-6 Write in my book <3 I'm currenlty working on my second draft--this is the stage where all the writing is re-writing. Somwhere during that time my brother who lives three hours away at college called to talk me. My favorite part of our conversation was when he said to me, "Hold on, I need to put down the phone so I can pour my second pancake." Me: "College sounds really hard."
6:15-6:45 Eat dinner with da fam
6:45-7:15 Write a little bit more, and put on my choir uniform
7:30-9 I go to choir and ya know...I sing, cause apparently that's what you do. We practice for our concert on Monday. It's getting me into the Christmas mood a litlte prematurely with all this festive music. Carol of the Bells is my favorite :) I also drove there, and driving in the city at night when it's raining is sort of scary! 
9:30 Arrive home. I shower, put on my pj's and romp with my adorable corgi for a few minutes.
10:00 I write for a little while and browse all ma social media websites.
 10:30-11 Read some more. This time it's "Vienna Prelude". That's right, I read multiple books at once. Can you tell that I like reading?
And at 11:15 I finally hit the hay.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into the life of a teenage writer. Even though on this blog it may seem as though I take my writing very seriously which I do, as you can see, I have to squeeze that into everyday life.

What is your life like as a teen/student writer? Let me know in the comments!

Let's Explore Jane Austen: Why Do People Still Love Her Books So Much?

31 October 2013

I'm sure I have mentioned before on this blog that Jane Austen is my favorite author. She was a master of dialogue, subtle wit, mystery in love and creating characters who stay with us forever. Even though her books were written in the 1800's they are still versatile and applicable enough to be relevant today. I'm not just talking about the movies such as Pride and Prejudice starring Kiera Knightley; Jane Austen's books have been translated into different forms. The movie "Clueless" retells the story of Emma in modern times by tweaking a few little things. Last year on YouTube, a fantastic webseries telling the modern version of Pride and Prejudice gained thousands of followers and even won an Emmy! I don't know about you, but I think it's pretty amazing that people not only still read Austen's books, but that there was enough interperation in those stories for it to be told in different ways. And chances are, if you're a writer, you want your stories to be remembered long after you are gone. Even though many of us may never achieve her state of lasting fame, we can at least examine some of the timeless elements she incorporated.

#1 Morals That Transcend Time: This is something you have probably observed in some of your favorite books, or even those classic Disney movies that charm audiences of all ages. Jane Austen's stories, however clever or lovely, always contained a lesson or concept that was and is releveant. Pay especial attention to the "was and is" part. You might write a thrilling story about the zombie apocolypse, but let's face it, nobody is going to be interested in that theory 100 years from now, despite its current fame, unless you communicate something that is relevant to mankind as a whole. This is why sticking to whatever is popular is not necessarily wise. Remember, all trends must come to end (hey, do you like my little rhyme) and so will your story unless you imbed a relevant lesson. In Pride and Prejudice we learn not to judge books by their cover or say "never" when it comes to love. And of course, who can forget the valuable lesson gleaned from Lydia Bennet that constant, foolish flirting will ruin you in the end. 

#2 Letting the Reader Put the Peices Together: Something I'm guilty of us is constantly assuring my reader of what my protoagnoist is thinking, or offering too much foreshadowing. But I'm convinced that too much clarity is worse than not enough. At least if it's a little vague, the reader can still think for themselves. However, when you lay out everything word for word, your audience will feel ostracized and most likely become frustrated with the simplicity. Jane Austen found the perfect balance of letting the reader realize what was happening without writing it in red letters. Do you know she only mentioned a couple of times that Mr. Darcy was handsome? In the first half of Pride and Prejudice, Austen mostly concentrated on Lizzy's dislike for Darcy, and it wasn't until she wanted the reader to begin to like him, that his true and kinder character began to be revealed. In other words, she didn't really propose that Mr. Darcy was a potential suitor until it was relevant to the plot. Had she stated from the start, "Lizzy was intruiged by Mr. Darcy, and even though he was little bit of jerk, he was awfully good looking", we would spend the next 300 pages knowing the outcome. One rule is, don't explain things (or introduce characters) until it is relevant, or you want to change the reader's mind.

#3: Show, Don't Tell: I'm sure you have heard this advice before. Such phrases as, 'show me with dialogue and body language how your character feels, don't tell me', are very popular in the writing world. And for good reason. As stated in point 2, readers don't like being pandered to. Let them notice instead of being told everything. Once again, Jane Austen was proficient in this art. She mainly dedicated descriptive passages of illustrating a place, or a literal occurence such as somebody going to a party. The internal
thoughts and a character's opinion of another character, were all communicated through dialogue. This method also provides more opportunities for humor.

The next post will be stritcly non Jane Austen related, I can assure you. :) I hope these tips were helpful nonetheless.

What have YOU learned from Jane Austen? Did I leave anything out? Let me know in the comments!

How to Profile Your Characters

26 October 2013

Writers seem to place a lot of emphasis on getting to know your characters and making sure they are fully fleshed out before you attempt to write a story about them. Sometimes, this advice seems silly considering that, since I'm the one who created this character, shouldn't I know them inside and out already? Yes, you should. And that's the reason why you creating a character profile will not only benefit your story, but enhanse your understanding and awareness of these figments in your head.

After taking the time to put write a mini biography on your character, aspects of their life which you already imagined, can become more fleshed out and ultimatley, play a bigger or more important part in the story than you previously imagined. Even if you know that the love interst in your story has piercing, dark blue eyes that seem to seize every woman's heart with their gaze, little details like that can get lost in the writing process unless you invent a way to commit those things to memory. Which brings us to, profiling your characters.

My suggestion would be to include everything imaginable without going overboard. Include the major things and the minor things. But maybe not things so miniscule as their crooked pinky toe...unless for some strange reason that fact that manifests itself in the story. Think about the facts about yourself that could help a stranger understand the way you are. Something fun I did, was take the Myers Briggs Personality Test from my character's point of view. (By doing this I discovered that my latest protagonist and I share the same personality: ESFP. Extraverted, sensing, thinking and percieving.) I then proceeded to write down every physical attribute and personality trait that seemed poignant to a real person. Here is one I made for my protagonist.


Ella Lockhart: Role: Protagonist. Age: 18. Physical Traits: Auburn hair, medium green eyes with flecks of yellow, porcelain skin with lots of brown freckels, rosy cheeks, dark pink lips, imperfect nose and medium height. Best feature: Hair. Worst feature: Big forehead. Personality: Extraverted, impulisve, practical, blunt, talkative, opinionated, people person, witty, perceptive and observant. Hobbies: Painting, singing and being with friends. Her problem: (this is the part where you insert the entire reason your character is in this story. What is happening to them? How does it endager them? What must they do to resolve it?)



So why not go ahead try it? :)

Have you ever made a character profile? Let me know of anything different that you did in the comment below? 

Written by: Karoline Kingley 

My Favorite Quotes

22 October 2013

I saw this feature on the magic violinist's blog, and I thought I would do the same! Listed below are some of my favorite lines/quotes from my new novel "A Season in Summerton". Each line is taken from a different scene and just to let you know, this story is written in first person :)

His eyes were full of so many things, that it felt like everything.

But perhaps honesty is scarcer than I think, and empathy is something we could all use more of.

Nobody notices the delicate turn from twilight to dusk, but everyone is familiar with the black and blue of night, notwithstanding the many colors and changes between morning and evening. 

I pulled off my bonent and shook the rain out of my hair, feeling a little dirty; the rain does that, makes my skin feel icky and my heart feel more liberated than it does under the warmth of the sun. 

Charles Turner was the only person who could make the present seem more important than the future.


Those were a few snippets from my new, in-progress book! Of course, I couldn't reveal all my cherished tidbits. Let me know what you thought of them in the comments!

Written by: Karoline Kingley



Update/Reminder

15 October 2013

Did you get a chance to see the first chapter of my new book "A Season in Summerton"? Check out last Sunday's post here!

Happy reading my fellow bloggers :)

Chapter One of "A Season in Summerton"

13 October 2013

The following is the first chapter of my new project. This is only the first draft, so it is by no means flawless. Therefore, it would be much appreciated if you left your thoughts and opinions in the comments below! My main concern is whether I have introduced too many characters for the first chapter. Let me know what you think! I apologize for the weird formatting.



1

            It has been nearly a decade since the last eligible bachelor worth mentioning came to Summerton. Or at least, so Ms. Helen Baines claims. She has lived in the same cottage on Downing St. for seventy years, and those in the village consider her memory of local events more reliable than a historical document.                                                                                                                               Of course, other young available men have passed through before, yet none of them captured my fancy. Not that I had their heads turning; when it comes to the game of catching men, I certainly have my work cut out for me. For example, last spring, a well-endowed fellow happened to pass through, and Cecilia Carmichael had him in her clutches in less than a fortnight.                                                                                                                              Don’t ask me how.                                                                                                                   The fact that Cecilia’s face could have been carved by angels might have had something to do with it, yet I prefer to think he saw something more in her than a pretty face. Her dowry, held in envy by all, could also have been what induced him to propose.  For the next three months nothing was spoken of but the cancelled wedding. She mourned like a proper widow, however, a leisurely spell in London quickly restored Miss Carmichael.                                                                                           Needless to say, when my best friend Katherine Roskin came to report the arrival of Mr. Charles Turner, I, though excited, could not dare to hope for my own success. I could easily ascertain from Katherine’s description of his handsome face and even handsomer fortune, that brazen flirting from every eligible young lady and painfully obvious insinuations from their mothers, would ensue.  “But is he a man of admirable character?” I asked, arm in arm with my friend.                                                                                                                                                         “I haven’t met him.” She confessed with a sigh. “I only saw him arrive in town, though he had a pleasing smile, and welcoming eyes…I think you and he would make a divine pair.”          “Nonsense.” I scoffed. “If Cecilia or some other rich, available woman does not have him wrapped around her finger before he has a chance to call at Windemere House-- you will.”                           “Of course I could.” Said she, with a playful toss of the head. “But so could you. You always get on so well with the men.”                                                                                                              “Yes and I think that is just my trouble. Men don’t look among their chums for romance—that I have learned the hard way. No, this time around I intend to try something new.”                                          “Oh?” she winked teasingly. “I hope you don’t mean to turn into an aloof peacock for mere attention.”                                                                                                                               “Of course not. And whatever I do shall not be for sheer pleasure. I have designed an experiment, and Mr. Turner sounds like just the proper proponent for my equation.”                                                      “And this “experiment” as you put it, is highly scientific I am sure?”                                                  We both smiled.
    “Indeed! You know I would work with nothing other than the latest developments of science.”          “But honestly,” She continued, “What do you intend to change?”                                              “Now,” I stopped, and held up one hand. “This change is only to take place around acquaintances. There is no need to act the part of someone not myself around old friends like you.” Katherine nodded, the dark brown curls in her up-do bouncing a little. The corner of my pink lips twitched as I suppressed a smile. “You, and I daresay everyone in the parish know me to be what we shall label as…bold.”       “Outspoken,” She continued, touching the tips of her fingers as though counting. “Giggly.”                                                                                                                                   “Yes.”                                                                                                                         “Untraditional.”                                                                                                                      “Agreed.”                                                                                                                            “Prone to clumsiness,”                                                                                                            “Alright I get the idea.” I laughed, shaking back my auburn hair which had fallen loose during the course of the day. “But I mean to act completely different. No outlandish speeches, or too many smiles.”                                                                                                                                    “It won’t be easy for you.”                                                                                                          “I know. But that is what makes it a challenge. I always wanted to be one of those quiet, witty, yet cunning sort of women who always seem to so readily grasp the attention of the admirer in question.”                                                                                                                                   “Well not all men prefer the same type. What if this Mr. Turner or another man comes along who would prefer your true character?”                                                                                                 I raised one eyebrow and stared down my friend, whose luminous blue eyes danced in reply. “Seeing as that has never happened I doubt it will. The facts cannot be avoided; I’m not woman enough for most men and it is high time I grew up anyway.”                                                                                  When we reached the front door of Windimere House I knew it would be supper time soon for clanging pots clamored through our modest house. A summer breeze that came swelling through the apple orchard filled my lungs with a warm fragrance and illuminated every nerve. “I would invite you to dine with us, but mother has already invited guests.”                                                                       “Who?” she asked. No question is rude with old friends.                                                                                                                                    And Katherine could conclude from my lack-luster mouth and sarcastic gaze that whoever they were, they were not anticipated. “The Bromwells.” I rolled the name off my tongue like a bratty child being forced to apologize.                                                                                                                          She nodded and clasped her hands behind her back. “Yes, I have heard of their daughter Penelope.”                                                                                                                                      “Have you heard that she is dreadfully giddy as well as flirtatious?”                             “Rumors have circulated. But they only came to Summerton three weeks ago I am certain, so I would not consider local gossip reliable.”
            “No.” I huffed, untying the ribbon on the back of my dress as I knew I would be forced to change clothes.  “I’ll give her a chance to prove herself. However, if the rumors prove true, this will not be an enjoyable meal.”                                                                                                                 Katherine smiled and kissed my cheek. “Farewell friend. You must call soon.”                           I gallantly waved one hand behind me, stumbling through the front door and I found the cook rushing in and out of the kitchen while Mrs. Lockhart tidied the sitting room. “Hello mother.” I absently kissed her cheek and slowly approached the stairs.                                                                   “Ella Lockhart.” I tensed and slowly turned my head; anytime mothers address their child by their full name, it never seems to entail anything pleasant.                                                                   “Yes mamma?”                                                                                                                       “Your hat.”                                                                                                                         “Yes?”                                                                                                                                     She put both hands on her hips and tilted her head, batting her eyes expectantly. “Where is it?”                                                                                                                                      Despite being eighteen years of age, I nervously bounced on my feet like an awkward child. “Uh,” I stammered. “I didn’t wear it out today. T’was such a lovely spring afternoon I didn’t want that shadow covering me.”                                                                                                                            “The shadow is to save you the pain of further freckles, and sunburn. You forget how fair your complexion is, you might soil it forever!”                                                                                        I relaxed and laughed, slipping my arms around mother’s waist. “Oh mamma, the freckles on my face are numerous enough as it is, I don’t think wearing a hat would help.”                                       “Only because you refused to wear it as a child.” She lifted her nose and proceeded to fluff every cushion in sight.                                                                                                                       “Do you really dislike my speckled complexion so much?” I teased, yet mother felt the need to reconcile herself and thus she cupped my face in her hands, delicately murmuring,                         “My child it is not that I dislike it. However, society dictates that women should have nice, pale, clean faces.”                                                                                                                                      “I am afraid mother, that Ella will never be considered by society as what a woman should be.” said Edmund, who came bounding down the stairs with one coat-tail tucked in his trousers. Mother squinted her eyes in disapproval as Edmund joined our embrace, wearing a goofy grin.                             “Now is not the time for your smart remarks, son.” She slapped his shoulder with her handkerchief. “And you have no room for teasing either. Look at you! Nearly one and twenty years old and you couldn’t care less about your appearance! Both of you, go upstairs and change into your supper clothes and try to look respectable for our guests at least.”                                                                           My brother and I giggled to each other as we climbed the stairs two at a time, and when we reached the second story where no ears were listening Edmund leaned into my ear and whispered, “Who are these Bromwells anyway?”                                                                                            “Newcomers. They are not reputed to be entirely agreeable.”                                                      “Then why did mother invite them?”                                                                                              I raised my eyebrows and licked my lower lip. Edmund threw back his head and groaned, viciously running his fingers through his thin brown hair. “Ugh! They have a daughter my age don’t they?”          “Presumably.”                                                                                                                        “Father arranged this didn’t he? Why can’t they let me find a wife in my own time? Even if this Bromwell girl whoever she is proves to be worthwhile, I can catch a woman without their help.”                                                                                                                                        “Indeed?” I haughtily waltzed past him. “Are you really so sure of your own charm that you consider the game already won?”                                                                                                         “Well look at me!” He faced his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall and straightened his coat with pride. “Have you ever seen a finer fellow?” We faced each other, and burst out laughing at the same time, for boasting in our own vanity was a constant joke. I entered my small bedroom to find several gowns spread across the bed, and the ladies maid fluffing each with care.                                                                                                                                                “Good evening miss.” She curtsied. “Your mother asked me to give you a choice of these gowns to wear tonight.” I bit my lip to refrain from any improper remark, and grunted under my breath. With skeptical gaze I viewed the options: black, butter-cream yellow and rose pink. I turned towards the wardrobe with lustful eyes, sighing longingly after my favorite green and blue gowns, but I knew they would not please mother.                                                                                                           “Alright.” I sighed, gesturing towards the pink muslin. “That will do.”                                            I knew the routine, though I had not grown to like it any more with time. Grasping the bed post I sucked in while the corset was being tightened and sighed when the heavy material touched my skin. I wobbled over to the vanity, and exhaled when sitting down. As always, Beth, my maid, glared at my thick auburn locks which could not hold a curl for their life.                                                           “I know I am a disappointment to you Beth. You do not know how many nights I lay awake as a little girl wishing for pretty hair like my friends.”                                                                            “Nonsense miss! You do not know how many women envy your hair. The color is unmatchable and the thickness is a blessing.”                                                                                                            “You are good to me Beth.” I kissed the lady’s wrinkled hand. “A simple braided bun will do.” As the maid fixed my hair, I took to groaning over facial imperfection which to me seemed ghastly. Pink was not my favorite color, simply because it made my hair look more ruddy than usual and it didn’t do my skin any favors. But goodness knew it was better than yellow or black! I would have wished for my green silk, as it matched my eyes and contrasted my hair, but mamma thought it an unfavorably vibrant frock. Critically running my finger along my nose that had just the slightest bump in the middle, I gave my head a shake, choosing not to despair over my physical shortcomings and instead rose and fled downstairs as soon as my hair was presentable.                                                     Mother must have been in the kitchen, for her cries could be heard across the house, though she was nowhere to be seen. Mr. Lockhart sat in a chair in the corner reading, very slowly as it took him nearly ten minutes to comprehend an entire page. “Hello papa.” I was his youngest child and especial pet, so I sat down next to him and snuggled under his arm, unashamedly reading over his shoulder.         “Hello my dear.” He kissed the top of my head. “Where is your brother?”                                                                                                                              “Coming!” Edmund shouted as he scrambled down the stairs, shaking every item in the house that weigh less than him. Swish went the door and mamma appeared, fanning her flushed cheeks. This gesture served as queue for her family, for my father, brother and I promptly stood and assembled beside her.                                                                                                                                        “Welcome!” mother stepped forward with outstretched hands and Mrs. Bromwell, a fat, unassuming woman took them with a smile. “We are positively delighted to have you dine with us this evening! And is this the Miss Bromwell?”                                                                                                               When a young lady close to my age appeared with big brown eyes and a ridiculous smile, Edmund coughed lightly and mumbled into my ear, “And is this, my supposed conquest?”                                “Shh!” I warned, trying not to laugh.                                                                                                       The young adults stared and smiled as the parents introduced themselves to one another, and I knew that me and my brother were thinking the same thing when the rapturous young woman approached, the feathers adorning her hair flickering as she drew forward. “Miss Lockhart! What a delight! I’ve heard so many good things about you.”                                                                         I smiled, and took the young lady’s hand in my usual manner that gave adults the impression that I was older than I really was. “You must be Miss Bromwell. Do you like Summerton so far?”                                                                                                                                    “Oh please, call me Penelope!” Penelope’s brown eyes were entrancing. I could not pinpoint the reason why, I could only admit that they were lovely, and drew the observer in. Perhaps because they contrasted her blonde hair. The young lady did not even answer my question; instead, she swept past with open mouth towards my brother.                                                                                            “Hello.” Edmund bowed and politely took her hand. “It is nice to meet you Miss Bromwell.” I stifled a giggle. Only I could detect the under-lying condescension in his tone of voice.                                                                                                                                               “Well hello Mister Lockhart!” Penelope held a hand to her breast and smiled. “Your name is Edmund if I am right?”                                                                                                                    “Mister Lockhart if you please.”                                                                                                       I linked arms with the young woman and swiftly led her into the dining room; an act of kindness Edmund later thanked me for.                                                                                                         I knew my brother was attractive.                                                                                             For as long as I could remember, female passersby and even friends had to stop themselves from staring at him. It used to irritate me. But not anymore. Now, I just smiled and laughed over the fact that women thought him a prince in disguise, when I knew, oh how I knew, that he could be as silly as a young boy.                                                                                                                            “How old are you Penelope?” I asked, pouring her a glass of wine.                                              “Seventeen.” She replied with a little titter, as her eager hand stretched out to the shiny glass. I looked down at the red liquid, and then up at the fervent eyes of our young guest. I coughed and sipped the wine myself, giving Penelope a glass of tea.                                                                                       “How long have you been in Summerton?”                                                                          “Only a fortnight.” She sighed, running a loose lock of hair between her fingers as she batted her eyes at Edmund. “My grandmother who lives in the area is ailing, so we have moved here in order to be close to her.”                                                                                                                        “Ella!” Mrs. Lockhart called from the opposite side of the room, where the two hens were discussing the accomplishments of their children. “Why don’t you show Miss Bromwell to the drawing room?”                                                                                                                          Uncertain how to entertain our guest, I obeyed. Among my friends I was known as a general jokester--skilled in the art of making people split their sides. Yet in formal situations, I was out of my element, and I didn’t know what to say. “Do you play the pianoforte?” I asked, as Penelope ran her white fingers over the exposed keys.                                                                                                               “Oh yes.” She said it as though everybody were aware of the fact. “Do you?”                           My head shifted uncomfortably on my neck. “A little. I am more fond of painting than music.” Presently, Mr. Lockhart announced that supper was served, and family and guest immersed the dining room.                                                                                                                                             Miss Bromwell sat beside me, and I sat beside Edmund. As such, for the course of the dinner Penelope continued to awkwardly lean over, and smile at Edmund. The adults talked of what adults do.                                                                                                                                              The weather.                                                                                                                           Politics.                                                                                                                                   And prospective marriages.                                                                                                           “Are you engaged Mister Lockhart?” Mrs. Bromwell asked. She had been chewing a single bit of beef for the past five minutes, as her saggy jaw jiggled in a definable rhythm.                                      “No ma’am.” He replied with an elusive grunt. “I have no woman in my life.”                        “There’s no shame in that.” Mr. Bromwell laughed, cradling his wine glass between his middle and ring finger, as though he fancied himself a connoisseur. “Better to take your time finding the right one.”                                                                                                                                          “Speaking of beaus.” Penelope thought she was whispering as she leaned toward me, although the whole table could hear. “Have you heard about Charles Turner?”                                                      “No.” I tried not to smile. “Pray tell, who is this man?”                                                                  “Ahh!” Penelope lifted up elated eyes to the ceiling and giddily stomped her feet. “Such a catch! Handsome, wealthy, reportedly kind,”                                                                             “Reportedly?”                                                                                                                         “Well,” Penelope dropped her head and shoved around her food with her fork. “I haven’t met him, see.”                                                                                                                                          “It seems no one has.” I mumbled.                                                                                          “What?”                                                                                                                                  “Nothing.”                                                                                                                              “But I have seen him and he is divine. We must arrange a way to meet him.”                              Edmund and I almost snorted into our glasses with laughter. “And…how would we do that?”                                                                                                                                        Penelope’s eyes were starry again, as her pink lips slowly stretched into a smile. “Don’t you think a neighborly call would suffice?”                                                                                                  “If you think it is appropriate for a young woman to call upon a single man.”                              Miss Bromwell was ecstatic when she grasped my hand as though she had known me for many years. My green eyes widened as she leaned toward my face, her blonde curls quivering with excitement. “You must come with me Ella!”                                                              “What?”                                                                                                                                  “I am new in town, Mr. Turner is new in town and you have lived here your whole life! And since we are practically friends it only makes sense for us to go together.”                                                       I turned my gaze to the head of the table, where I could see father slicing his steak with twitching lips. When I shifted my eyes to mother, I found her busily engaged in chatting with Mrs. Bromwell, presumably arranging her son’s marriage.                                                                                          I tried not to sigh. “I’m not sure if that is the best idea, Penelope,”                                        “Perfect!” The lady nearly shouted, leaving Edmund to bury his face in his hands. “I will send you a telegram whenever I am sure he is all settled in.”                                                                                The rest of the evening passed as you might imagine. Father learned to put with up his companion the best of his abilities, the Mrs.’s continued their matrimonial speculations, and when Miss Bromwell was not too busy flirting shamelessly with Edmund, she carried on to me about how she missed all of her old friends but was sure Summerton would be prove to be, “ ‘a nice, picturesque alternative.’” When my family stood together in the front lawn, waving our guest goodbye as the carriage wheels turned over pebbles, mamma grabbed the arm of her son and raptured, “Was not Miss Bromwell a delight?”                                                                                                                                  To which he winked at me and said, “I have never seen the likes of her.”  
 


 

What I learned in 2013 (as a person and a writer)

You probably won't believe me when I say that 2013 has been the best and the hardest year of my life. I'm sure you can see me now, crying into my Starbucks coffee and furiously texting my friends about the typical teenager girl dillemas. "Why doesn't he like me?" "Why don't I have a thigh gap?" "My parents are sooooo strict!" etc. Fortunately for you (and probably everyone I know) I'm not that dramatic, and I ain't just blowin smoke when I reiterate that this has been one of the best and hardest years of my life. Honestly, I wouldn't be sad if 2014 carried on similarly, because I've enjoyed myself immensely these past 12 months. I thought I would go over some of my favorite things of the year, along with ways that I have grown as a person and a writer. Feel free to skip down to the lower section of this post if you don't care about my personal life. Go on, I won't be offended. *cue sappy montage music*

Favorite Book: East of Eden by John Steinbeck. Please, don't do yourself the diservice of neglecting to read this book.

Favorite movie I saw in theatres: I think I'll stick with Catching Fire, although The Desoloation of Smaug is a close runner up. But Monster's University was really good too! Do you see my problem here?

Favorite blog: That's still gotta be thewritepractice. Seriously, if you're a writer, that website will become your new favorite reference.

Ok, now why was this year so awesome? Well, I happened to do a lot of things I never had before. SHARE TIME OMGGGG!!! (sarcasm) but here it goes: I learned how to drive, I got my first car (I know right? Go me!) I went to my first "concert". Yeah, I saw the Pentatonix but I'm not sure you could call it a legit concert since it was free and they just performed at a local pavillion. Either way, it was awesome. I performed in my first "concert". I also put this in quotes, because by concert I just mean that I joined choir and we did a lot of performances. I made lots of new friends, grew closer to ones I have known for a while, and received my first fancy rejection from a publisher! (more later)

And finally, as I writer, well--I learned a lot. As afore mentioned, I received my first rejection regarding my full mauscript, rather than just a query. Meaning, a legit new york agent read my story, and told me what she thought. There were things she liked and of course, things she didn't like. The entire exchange ended up being more encouraging than anything, and I was mostly pumped about the free, yet professional advice. For now, I have laid aside an old story, and dedicated my time to a new one which I have much more faith in. If anything, this year I learned to listen to your literary instincts. Don't do what the current patterns recommend, or what you think is the "proper" thing to to do. You're a writer! You've read tons of books! And by now you should know a thing or two about what you're doing. Stop listening to the masses and start listening to yourself! HOWEVER, I would equally urge you to seek out honest opinions. Try to get a varied audience and learn to sift through their varied opinions.

I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into my year. I would love to hear about your 2013 in the comments!


Book Club Suggestions

Alrighty folks, I have received just enough partcipants to make my online book club happen, HOWEVER, I have only gotten three book suggestions, and I am giving y'all one more day to submit some more choices if you desire! Between the 30th and the 31st I will choose what book we will be reading and discussing in January.  Feel free to comment below or email me at: karolinamazingATgmailDOTcom

Little Things (No, not the One Direction song)

Little things that make me happy.

When you ask a stranger to take a photo of you and your friends, and they get to share in the moment.

Mixing two different colors together and watching them swirl until a new color is formed!

When boys are polite and chivalrous

Finishing a good book with a smile on your face

Compliements

Communicating with your friend via facial expressions because you know each other that well

Quoting "The Princess Bride"

When the blows in your face from the right direction, and you feel glamorous

Being the only ones in a movie theatre, so you and your friends laugh hysterically at nothing and everything

Getting random presents

When your dog wakes you up by jumping on your bed and licking your face

Feeling inspired

Singing Disney songs in a ridiculous voice

When a guyfriend randomly tells you "you're beautiful" 

Coincidences

When somebody says "your hands are cold" and they press their warm hands around yours

Talking about the future with your friends

And finally, Christmas morning

I hope you enjoyed this post that's a little bit different for me! Oh, and you haven't seen my post about joining my online book club from last week, be sure to check it out! Happy Holidays :)


Do YOU Want to Join my Online Book Club?

Hello bloggy friends! So, I have a little idea that I'm super excited about, however it will be all for nought if I can't find some worthy participants. SO, if you would like to participate, PLEASE share this on your blog, tweet or do whatever you have to do! On January 1st 2014 I will be starting on online book club! Throughout December I will be responding to whomever wants to participate via email, and I will probably be emailing my followers anyway. This is the list of rules and expected process!

Throughout December I will (probably through email) ask ya'll to each to submit a candidate for the book we will be reading in January. Then, I will choose the "winner", possibly based off of popular vote. I will try to do this before the new year so that ya'll have enough time to go get the book before we start reading.

#1: ANYBODY WHO WANTS TO PARTICIPATE IS WELCOME TO DO SO! However, each month I will pick TWO different people to blog with me here, at asateenwriter to share their thoughts and opinions. I will probably pick at random but this way we will have three different viewpoints. I will pick different people every month. For those of you who are not partcipating in the blogging part, I STILL WANT YOU TO READ WITH US! This way, we can have a compelling discussion both on the blog and in the comments.

#2: You will have approximately one month to read whatever book we pick. I will post the review or whatever you want to call it on the last Thursday of said month. This means I will need you to email me your own little review sometime before then. If you will be blogging with me I shall email some more of the finer details and guidelines :)

WELL, I hope you're as excited as I am! I apologize to my followers who may recieve a repetitive email invitation from me soon. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO PARTICIPATE, PLEASE LEAVE YOUR EMAIL IN THE COMMENTS BELOW! I hope to hear from you soon :) Happy Holdiays and happy reading!

My Favorite Winter Memory

     It was Valentine's Day in 2004. I was a seven year old with short hair and bangs, sleeping cozy in my bed, unware of the white magic taking place outside my window. My dad gently shook me awake and whispered, "Did you know it snowed last night?" Too ecstatic to reply, I skipped to my window in my pajamas and gasped at the winter wonderland. I had never seen so much snow before, and the world was covered in a 6 inch thick blanket of beauty. I couldn't wait to go and out and play with my brothers.
      "Where are Parker and Luke?" I asked.
      "They're already outside." Daddy smiled. Without another word I began to bundle up in pants and a coat that probably didn't match. Stepping outside, I smiled at the big grey sky and eagerly stomped into the snow, ready to leave my mark upon this rare occasion.
     "You're here." said my brothers, when I found them rolling snow balls in our large front yard. "You can help us make a snowman."
     As always, I followed their command and began making a snowball like I had seen people do in movies. After some minutes, however, I still had nothing to show for my work but a pile of powder in my hand. "Here," Parker crouched down beside me and started mushing a ball together. "Like this." I smiled at him and together, we starting rolling a snowball, back and forth, until all the snow in that part of the yard was gone. Luke rolled another one beside us, and all the while I smiled. I didn't know what my brothers had in mind to build, but I knew it would be marvelous.
     Soon, my dad and other neighborhood kids appeared in our yard to borrow some snow and help with our project. Just when I thought we were done rolling the biggest snowballs I had ever seen, Parker declared that it wasn't done. He and Luke kept rolling, and rolling, until they had two giant wheels. Neighborhood kids gaped in admiration, throwing their snowballs which seemed pathetic in compariosn over their shoulder. My dad and my brothers began stacking up the snowballs into a faint snowman shape. But the project was getting a little out of hand. Our snowtower reached such a great height, we could no longer shape it.
     Yet father came to the rescue and brought out a ladder to finish off the head. We laughed and marvelled when he stepped down to reveal a head carved in the distinct shape of Abraham Lincoln's face; he even placed on a top hat for full effect. Our snow masterpiece reached to twelve feet tall! The creation stood as a beacon of hilarious creativity in the neighborhood. As my brothers and I started on more projects such as a "snow fortress", folks from down the street came over with their cameras.
     We felt like famous architects, posing beside our fabulous creation as strangers took pictures and pointed with open mouths. And every year after that it snowed, folks from all around knew which house would have the greatest snowman.



(My oldest brother Parker posing with the snowman. I couldn't find any pictures with the rest of us, I guess he thought the credit was owing to him ;)

I hope you enjoyed this little anecdote! Do you have a favorite memory? Share them in the comments below!

Look Out Your Window - Writing Prompt

I may have an unfair advantage when it comes to this prompt, since we are currenlty experiencing abnormal conditions. However, I know what talented followers I have, and I want you to participate! Don't go outside, just take a look out whatever window is near you and briefly describe what you see. My challenge to you is to keep it as short and sweet and possible, while creating a fully-fleshed description. Here's mine:

Frost and fog cover the windowpanes with a smooth, opaque haze. But if I rub my hand and make a wet circle on the glass, I can see the winter wonderland outside. The small tree looks even smaller than normal with ice weighing down its branches and determined leaves from a short lived autumn are still visible through the layer of ice. To my right, three cars sit in the driveway, completely covered with snow: they won't be going anywhere for a while. Across the street, past the lane of chunky slush, I can see houses lined with small icicles. My favorite part are the roofs, clothed in a pristine sheet of white, unmarred by footprints.

Leave your practices in the comments! I'm eager to see how well I can picture the view from your window, based on the descriptions :)

Catching Fire - Movie Review

I saw "Catching Fire" a few days ago. Because I missed opening night and had to spend a whole weekend of hearing my friends gush about it, I was in a flurry of excitement to finally see the film. As somebody who likes but doesn't love The Hunger Games series, I displayed an uprecedented amount of antcipation to see Catching Fire. I never saw the first movie in theatres and when I finally did watch it, I wasn't blown away. However, Catching Fire I felt, was honestly incredible.

 As afore mentioned, I am a mild fan of the series. For me the first book was just kind of take it or leave it. Catching Fire however, was a different story. The book enthralled me with its plot twists and dynamic circumstances. Katniss too, in my opinion grew as a character and became more likeable. (Also, I totally switched from Team Gale to Team Peeta. Sorry.) The makers of the movie did a pristine job of bringing the story come to life; they only left out a few minor elements. Everything felt so well-paced, it was like reading the book all over again. But you didn't get bored. It was the pefect lenght. In addition, I have officially converted into a Jennifer Lawrence fan. I used to not understand the hoopla and giant fan-base that surrounds her, yet her peformance in Catching Fire totally sold me. She really is a tremendous actress who deserves every ounce of her success. Her speech to district 11 brought tears to my eyes, and that's saying a lot for someone like me. I'll skip my gushing over Josh Hutcherson and Sam Claflin (Finnick) and assure you that they cast all the other tributes perfectly. Beatty and Joanna especially fit the roles to a t. While in the first movie, certain elements did not seem fully explained, with Catching Fire they revealed just enough so that the non readers could understand, while also allowing them to put some of the pieces together.

The arena, the woods, the corocupia, all appeared exactly as I had imagined them. That credit may be due to Suzanne Collins, yet nevertheless it was a treat to see. And just as I expected, the monkeys were absoloutely terrifying.

Even though I would give the movie a 4.7 out of 5, there are probably a few negative elements I should warn the die hard fans about. While the relationship between Finnick and Mags was wonderfully executed, they barely touched on Annie and didn't explain what she meant to Finnick. Also, Peeta and Katniss' score from the gamekeepers is never mentioned, which to me seemed to defeat the purpose of showing their skills at all. Even so, those are minor touches and I thought the film was excellent. You can bet I would pay to go see it again. It gives me hope that maybe they can actually make Mockingjay into a good story.

Have you seen Catching Fire? What did you think? Let me know in the comments!

Books I'm Thankful For

Whether you devour words daily and spout them forth on paper, or whether you simply like reading a good book every now again, all readers have at some point encountered that one story, or maybe several, that changed them. We are forever thankful for those stories. Perhaps they influenced your writing style, or even altered the way you think and act when it comes to daily life. I thought I wouuld share with ya'll some of the books I am most thankful for, which seemed especially pivotal at the time I read them. Enjoy!

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S Lewis. This was the first book I fell in love with. Yes, you CAN fall in love with stories, sometimes much more easily than you can fall in love with people. I remember starting it one week day night when I was seven. The next day I brought it to school to read between classes or when the teacher wasn't looking. When my mother picked me up I was standing outside my elementary reading the last chapter. I especially identified with Lucy, and for many years after I would day dream of and pretend I lived in Narnia. A part of me still belives that somewhere a magic wardrobe does exist, and all I have to do is tread through it with faith to find Narnia.

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. I bought this book when I was ten years old, and read it aloud to my mother. As someone with no sisters who has always longed for them, that book enhanced my thirst while at the same time quencing it. The way the March sisters lovingly related to each other and practically approached their problems showed me at a young age how much more enjoyable life could be if I approached it with a thankful persepctive instead of focusing on the petty things. I've never really identitifed with the modern culture of teeange girls who seem permanently preoccupied with fashion, boys and the latest Starbucks drinks. The March sisters demonstrated how to enjoy the material things while never forgetting what was truly important. Furhtermore, Jo March mirrored me exactly, even down to the fine physical details. It's a little creepy.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Now this is kind of a weird one, considering this book is quite the downer. I read it for the first time when I was 14, and didn't fully understand it. Even so, the writing is beautiful and I remain in awe of Fitzgerald's clever cadence and knack for creating one-liners that stick with you even after one reading. Yes, all the characters are selfish and not all of them get what they deserve, but the fact that a book which leaves such a bad taste in your mouth could also remain so cherished, taught me a valuable lesson. Classic stories are not necessarily the most happy ones, or the ones that satisfy the reader. On the contrary they cause you to reflect, and maybe shake your head at the story.

What books are you thankful for? Let me know in the comments!

Taking a Break from Writing

For these next couple of weeks, I will be taking a break from writing in my book. I've recently completed the second draft, so I'm taking a leave of absence in order to be able to look at my manuscript with fresh eyes. And what am I doing in the meantime? A couple of things, but mainly, reading.

Yes, I read all the time anyways, but now I'm reading with more intention. For example, currently I'm reading Huckleberry Finn, and revisiting To Kill a Mockingbird. Why? Well I'm so glad you asked. In order to better understand first person, I will be reading and studying those famous books written in first person voice. If you need to take a break from writing, I would encourage you to spend that time in reading books that are similar to your story.

And what else?

I'm doing a lot of observing, and day dreaming-two things I am very good at. As romantic minded people, writers oftentimes find more romance and story material when we isolate ourselves from the indulgent outlet of writing. What I mean to say is, seperating yourself from the creative and imaginative process of writing, will force you to channel those same strengths into daily life. Let me give you an example.

A few days ago, my friend and I watched the BBC version of Great Expectations. It was fanastic by the way. And it just so happened the actor who played Pip (Douglass Booth) is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Okay, you caught me red handed. I can be a giddy teenage girl sometimes, but I would wager than few women would be able to keep their cool around that face. (Can you tell I have a little crush on him?) Consequently, whilst reading Huckleberry Finn and occasionally thinking about Pip's beautiful face, a story began to form in my mind. That which I read and that which I thought about melded together and gave me an idea which I have been excitedly mulling over ever since. It's been a while since something like that has happened.

While writing regularly is wise and advisable, writing incessantly can drain the very thing you are attempting to sharpen. Therefore I would encourage you to step back for a little while and start looking at the world through your writer's spectacles, and see what you find.

Do you need to take a break from writing? What have you done in the past to help you become a better writer? Let me know in the comments!

A Day in the Life of a Teenage Writer

I saw this feature on some other blogs and it looked like fun, so I'd thought I would give ya'll a little taste of what goes on in my life. DISCLAIMER: I am not Batman, Wonderwoman, or anyone else equally interesting. The ensuing activites will most likely not throw you off your seat with the awesomeness of it. That being said, enjoy :P

7:30 am Wake up. (That's when you open your eyes and moan at your alarm clock, get up, look in the mirror and scream at your dishevled appereance.) Eat breakfast, get dressed, walk dog.
8:00 Make a cup of coffee or tea (depends on the mood. But if you make me a chai latte I will love you forever. I also really like coffee, but only if there's creamer in it. Otherwise, it tastes like the tears of abused puppies. That's just my opinion.) Then I usually read my Bible for a little while.
8:30 Start school. By far, the most least interesting part of my day. I like to start with my favorite subjects and gradually move on to the more boring stuff. For example: governement, british literature and world geography
11:30 Lunch time. Yeah, I eat before noon sometimes. WHATCHA GONNA DO ABOUT IT?!? Then I make a super healthy smoothie because according to my friends I'm "super healthy." Fun fact.
12-12:30 Go the gym with my dad and work out. It's just about as fun it sounds.
12:45 Get ready for chemistry class. I have a few minutes to spare before take off, so I read some Sherlock Holmes
1-3 Chemistry class. At the end of class, the teacher has us play this little science trivia game and somehow, I always win. Not because I'm smart...ew, no me gusta scienco. There's this guy in my class who likes to doodle, so when I said that if I had a band I would call it "The Weasel Nostrils" he drew me a hilarious flyer. Then I left it in the folder for the teacher to find hee hee.
3:30 Get home and finish school a.k.a do geometry. Blech
4:00 FREEDOM! I immediately pick up Sherlock Holmes and read for about half an hour.
4:30-5 I read "Mutiny on the Bounty" to my mom who works from home. This is a fun tradition that we've had for many years now. At a certian age, she stopped reading aloud to me and I started reading to her instead. It's very much a man's book, but I'm enjoying it.
5-6 Write in my book <3 I'm currenlty working on my second draft--this is the stage where all the writing is re-writing. Somwhere during that time my brother who lives three hours away at college called to talk me. My favorite part of our conversation was when he said to me, "Hold on, I need to put down the phone so I can pour my second pancake." Me: "College sounds really hard."
6:15-6:45 Eat dinner with da fam
6:45-7:15 Write a little bit more, and put on my choir uniform
7:30-9 I go to choir and ya know...I sing, cause apparently that's what you do. We practice for our concert on Monday. It's getting me into the Christmas mood a litlte prematurely with all this festive music. Carol of the Bells is my favorite :) I also drove there, and driving in the city at night when it's raining is sort of scary! 
9:30 Arrive home. I shower, put on my pj's and romp with my adorable corgi for a few minutes.
10:00 I write for a little while and browse all ma social media websites.
 10:30-11 Read some more. This time it's "Vienna Prelude". That's right, I read multiple books at once. Can you tell that I like reading?
And at 11:15 I finally hit the hay.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into the life of a teenage writer. Even though on this blog it may seem as though I take my writing very seriously which I do, as you can see, I have to squeeze that into everyday life.

What is your life like as a teen/student writer? Let me know in the comments!

Let's Explore Jane Austen: Why Do People Still Love Her Books So Much?

I'm sure I have mentioned before on this blog that Jane Austen is my favorite author. She was a master of dialogue, subtle wit, mystery in love and creating characters who stay with us forever. Even though her books were written in the 1800's they are still versatile and applicable enough to be relevant today. I'm not just talking about the movies such as Pride and Prejudice starring Kiera Knightley; Jane Austen's books have been translated into different forms. The movie "Clueless" retells the story of Emma in modern times by tweaking a few little things. Last year on YouTube, a fantastic webseries telling the modern version of Pride and Prejudice gained thousands of followers and even won an Emmy! I don't know about you, but I think it's pretty amazing that people not only still read Austen's books, but that there was enough interperation in those stories for it to be told in different ways. And chances are, if you're a writer, you want your stories to be remembered long after you are gone. Even though many of us may never achieve her state of lasting fame, we can at least examine some of the timeless elements she incorporated.

#1 Morals That Transcend Time: This is something you have probably observed in some of your favorite books, or even those classic Disney movies that charm audiences of all ages. Jane Austen's stories, however clever or lovely, always contained a lesson or concept that was and is releveant. Pay especial attention to the "was and is" part. You might write a thrilling story about the zombie apocolypse, but let's face it, nobody is going to be interested in that theory 100 years from now, despite its current fame, unless you communicate something that is relevant to mankind as a whole. This is why sticking to whatever is popular is not necessarily wise. Remember, all trends must come to end (hey, do you like my little rhyme) and so will your story unless you imbed a relevant lesson. In Pride and Prejudice we learn not to judge books by their cover or say "never" when it comes to love. And of course, who can forget the valuable lesson gleaned from Lydia Bennet that constant, foolish flirting will ruin you in the end. 

#2 Letting the Reader Put the Peices Together: Something I'm guilty of us is constantly assuring my reader of what my protoagnoist is thinking, or offering too much foreshadowing. But I'm convinced that too much clarity is worse than not enough. At least if it's a little vague, the reader can still think for themselves. However, when you lay out everything word for word, your audience will feel ostracized and most likely become frustrated with the simplicity. Jane Austen found the perfect balance of letting the reader realize what was happening without writing it in red letters. Do you know she only mentioned a couple of times that Mr. Darcy was handsome? In the first half of Pride and Prejudice, Austen mostly concentrated on Lizzy's dislike for Darcy, and it wasn't until she wanted the reader to begin to like him, that his true and kinder character began to be revealed. In other words, she didn't really propose that Mr. Darcy was a potential suitor until it was relevant to the plot. Had she stated from the start, "Lizzy was intruiged by Mr. Darcy, and even though he was little bit of jerk, he was awfully good looking", we would spend the next 300 pages knowing the outcome. One rule is, don't explain things (or introduce characters) until it is relevant, or you want to change the reader's mind.

#3: Show, Don't Tell: I'm sure you have heard this advice before. Such phrases as, 'show me with dialogue and body language how your character feels, don't tell me', are very popular in the writing world. And for good reason. As stated in point 2, readers don't like being pandered to. Let them notice instead of being told everything. Once again, Jane Austen was proficient in this art. She mainly dedicated descriptive passages of illustrating a place, or a literal occurence such as somebody going to a party. The internal
thoughts and a character's opinion of another character, were all communicated through dialogue. This method also provides more opportunities for humor.

The next post will be stritcly non Jane Austen related, I can assure you. :) I hope these tips were helpful nonetheless.

What have YOU learned from Jane Austen? Did I leave anything out? Let me know in the comments!

How to Profile Your Characters

Writers seem to place a lot of emphasis on getting to know your characters and making sure they are fully fleshed out before you attempt to write a story about them. Sometimes, this advice seems silly considering that, since I'm the one who created this character, shouldn't I know them inside and out already? Yes, you should. And that's the reason why you creating a character profile will not only benefit your story, but enhanse your understanding and awareness of these figments in your head.

After taking the time to put write a mini biography on your character, aspects of their life which you already imagined, can become more fleshed out and ultimatley, play a bigger or more important part in the story than you previously imagined. Even if you know that the love interst in your story has piercing, dark blue eyes that seem to seize every woman's heart with their gaze, little details like that can get lost in the writing process unless you invent a way to commit those things to memory. Which brings us to, profiling your characters.

My suggestion would be to include everything imaginable without going overboard. Include the major things and the minor things. But maybe not things so miniscule as their crooked pinky toe...unless for some strange reason that fact that manifests itself in the story. Think about the facts about yourself that could help a stranger understand the way you are. Something fun I did, was take the Myers Briggs Personality Test from my character's point of view. (By doing this I discovered that my latest protagonist and I share the same personality: ESFP. Extraverted, sensing, thinking and percieving.) I then proceeded to write down every physical attribute and personality trait that seemed poignant to a real person. Here is one I made for my protagonist.


Ella Lockhart: Role: Protagonist. Age: 18. Physical Traits: Auburn hair, medium green eyes with flecks of yellow, porcelain skin with lots of brown freckels, rosy cheeks, dark pink lips, imperfect nose and medium height. Best feature: Hair. Worst feature: Big forehead. Personality: Extraverted, impulisve, practical, blunt, talkative, opinionated, people person, witty, perceptive and observant. Hobbies: Painting, singing and being with friends. Her problem: (this is the part where you insert the entire reason your character is in this story. What is happening to them? How does it endager them? What must they do to resolve it?)



So why not go ahead try it? :)

Have you ever made a character profile? Let me know of anything different that you did in the comment below? 

Written by: Karoline Kingley 

My Favorite Quotes

I saw this feature on the magic violinist's blog, and I thought I would do the same! Listed below are some of my favorite lines/quotes from my new novel "A Season in Summerton". Each line is taken from a different scene and just to let you know, this story is written in first person :)

His eyes were full of so many things, that it felt like everything.

But perhaps honesty is scarcer than I think, and empathy is something we could all use more of.

Nobody notices the delicate turn from twilight to dusk, but everyone is familiar with the black and blue of night, notwithstanding the many colors and changes between morning and evening. 

I pulled off my bonent and shook the rain out of my hair, feeling a little dirty; the rain does that, makes my skin feel icky and my heart feel more liberated than it does under the warmth of the sun. 

Charles Turner was the only person who could make the present seem more important than the future.


Those were a few snippets from my new, in-progress book! Of course, I couldn't reveal all my cherished tidbits. Let me know what you thought of them in the comments!

Written by: Karoline Kingley



Update/Reminder

Did you get a chance to see the first chapter of my new book "A Season in Summerton"? Check out last Sunday's post here!

Happy reading my fellow bloggers :)

Chapter One of "A Season in Summerton"

The following is the first chapter of my new project. This is only the first draft, so it is by no means flawless. Therefore, it would be much appreciated if you left your thoughts and opinions in the comments below! My main concern is whether I have introduced too many characters for the first chapter. Let me know what you think! I apologize for the weird formatting.



1

            It has been nearly a decade since the last eligible bachelor worth mentioning came to Summerton. Or at least, so Ms. Helen Baines claims. She has lived in the same cottage on Downing St. for seventy years, and those in the village consider her memory of local events more reliable than a historical document.                                                                                                                               Of course, other young available men have passed through before, yet none of them captured my fancy. Not that I had their heads turning; when it comes to the game of catching men, I certainly have my work cut out for me. For example, last spring, a well-endowed fellow happened to pass through, and Cecilia Carmichael had him in her clutches in less than a fortnight.                                                                                                                              Don’t ask me how.                                                                                                                   The fact that Cecilia’s face could have been carved by angels might have had something to do with it, yet I prefer to think he saw something more in her than a pretty face. Her dowry, held in envy by all, could also have been what induced him to propose.  For the next three months nothing was spoken of but the cancelled wedding. She mourned like a proper widow, however, a leisurely spell in London quickly restored Miss Carmichael.                                                                                           Needless to say, when my best friend Katherine Roskin came to report the arrival of Mr. Charles Turner, I, though excited, could not dare to hope for my own success. I could easily ascertain from Katherine’s description of his handsome face and even handsomer fortune, that brazen flirting from every eligible young lady and painfully obvious insinuations from their mothers, would ensue.  “But is he a man of admirable character?” I asked, arm in arm with my friend.                                                                                                                                                         “I haven’t met him.” She confessed with a sigh. “I only saw him arrive in town, though he had a pleasing smile, and welcoming eyes…I think you and he would make a divine pair.”          “Nonsense.” I scoffed. “If Cecilia or some other rich, available woman does not have him wrapped around her finger before he has a chance to call at Windemere House-- you will.”                           “Of course I could.” Said she, with a playful toss of the head. “But so could you. You always get on so well with the men.”                                                                                                              “Yes and I think that is just my trouble. Men don’t look among their chums for romance—that I have learned the hard way. No, this time around I intend to try something new.”                                          “Oh?” she winked teasingly. “I hope you don’t mean to turn into an aloof peacock for mere attention.”                                                                                                                               “Of course not. And whatever I do shall not be for sheer pleasure. I have designed an experiment, and Mr. Turner sounds like just the proper proponent for my equation.”                                                      “And this “experiment” as you put it, is highly scientific I am sure?”                                                  We both smiled.
    “Indeed! You know I would work with nothing other than the latest developments of science.”          “But honestly,” She continued, “What do you intend to change?”                                              “Now,” I stopped, and held up one hand. “This change is only to take place around acquaintances. There is no need to act the part of someone not myself around old friends like you.” Katherine nodded, the dark brown curls in her up-do bouncing a little. The corner of my pink lips twitched as I suppressed a smile. “You, and I daresay everyone in the parish know me to be what we shall label as…bold.”       “Outspoken,” She continued, touching the tips of her fingers as though counting. “Giggly.”                                                                                                                                   “Yes.”                                                                                                                         “Untraditional.”                                                                                                                      “Agreed.”                                                                                                                            “Prone to clumsiness,”                                                                                                            “Alright I get the idea.” I laughed, shaking back my auburn hair which had fallen loose during the course of the day. “But I mean to act completely different. No outlandish speeches, or too many smiles.”                                                                                                                                    “It won’t be easy for you.”                                                                                                          “I know. But that is what makes it a challenge. I always wanted to be one of those quiet, witty, yet cunning sort of women who always seem to so readily grasp the attention of the admirer in question.”                                                                                                                                   “Well not all men prefer the same type. What if this Mr. Turner or another man comes along who would prefer your true character?”                                                                                                 I raised one eyebrow and stared down my friend, whose luminous blue eyes danced in reply. “Seeing as that has never happened I doubt it will. The facts cannot be avoided; I’m not woman enough for most men and it is high time I grew up anyway.”                                                                                  When we reached the front door of Windimere House I knew it would be supper time soon for clanging pots clamored through our modest house. A summer breeze that came swelling through the apple orchard filled my lungs with a warm fragrance and illuminated every nerve. “I would invite you to dine with us, but mother has already invited guests.”                                                                       “Who?” she asked. No question is rude with old friends.                                                                                                                                    And Katherine could conclude from my lack-luster mouth and sarcastic gaze that whoever they were, they were not anticipated. “The Bromwells.” I rolled the name off my tongue like a bratty child being forced to apologize.                                                                                                                          She nodded and clasped her hands behind her back. “Yes, I have heard of their daughter Penelope.”                                                                                                                                      “Have you heard that she is dreadfully giddy as well as flirtatious?”                             “Rumors have circulated. But they only came to Summerton three weeks ago I am certain, so I would not consider local gossip reliable.”
            “No.” I huffed, untying the ribbon on the back of my dress as I knew I would be forced to change clothes.  “I’ll give her a chance to prove herself. However, if the rumors prove true, this will not be an enjoyable meal.”                                                                                                                 Katherine smiled and kissed my cheek. “Farewell friend. You must call soon.”                           I gallantly waved one hand behind me, stumbling through the front door and I found the cook rushing in and out of the kitchen while Mrs. Lockhart tidied the sitting room. “Hello mother.” I absently kissed her cheek and slowly approached the stairs.                                                                   “Ella Lockhart.” I tensed and slowly turned my head; anytime mothers address their child by their full name, it never seems to entail anything pleasant.                                                                   “Yes mamma?”                                                                                                                       “Your hat.”                                                                                                                         “Yes?”                                                                                                                                     She put both hands on her hips and tilted her head, batting her eyes expectantly. “Where is it?”                                                                                                                                      Despite being eighteen years of age, I nervously bounced on my feet like an awkward child. “Uh,” I stammered. “I didn’t wear it out today. T’was such a lovely spring afternoon I didn’t want that shadow covering me.”                                                                                                                            “The shadow is to save you the pain of further freckles, and sunburn. You forget how fair your complexion is, you might soil it forever!”                                                                                        I relaxed and laughed, slipping my arms around mother’s waist. “Oh mamma, the freckles on my face are numerous enough as it is, I don’t think wearing a hat would help.”                                       “Only because you refused to wear it as a child.” She lifted her nose and proceeded to fluff every cushion in sight.                                                                                                                       “Do you really dislike my speckled complexion so much?” I teased, yet mother felt the need to reconcile herself and thus she cupped my face in her hands, delicately murmuring,                         “My child it is not that I dislike it. However, society dictates that women should have nice, pale, clean faces.”                                                                                                                                      “I am afraid mother, that Ella will never be considered by society as what a woman should be.” said Edmund, who came bounding down the stairs with one coat-tail tucked in his trousers. Mother squinted her eyes in disapproval as Edmund joined our embrace, wearing a goofy grin.                             “Now is not the time for your smart remarks, son.” She slapped his shoulder with her handkerchief. “And you have no room for teasing either. Look at you! Nearly one and twenty years old and you couldn’t care less about your appearance! Both of you, go upstairs and change into your supper clothes and try to look respectable for our guests at least.”                                                                           My brother and I giggled to each other as we climbed the stairs two at a time, and when we reached the second story where no ears were listening Edmund leaned into my ear and whispered, “Who are these Bromwells anyway?”                                                                                            “Newcomers. They are not reputed to be entirely agreeable.”                                                      “Then why did mother invite them?”                                                                                              I raised my eyebrows and licked my lower lip. Edmund threw back his head and groaned, viciously running his fingers through his thin brown hair. “Ugh! They have a daughter my age don’t they?”          “Presumably.”                                                                                                                        “Father arranged this didn’t he? Why can’t they let me find a wife in my own time? Even if this Bromwell girl whoever she is proves to be worthwhile, I can catch a woman without their help.”                                                                                                                                        “Indeed?” I haughtily waltzed past him. “Are you really so sure of your own charm that you consider the game already won?”                                                                                                         “Well look at me!” He faced his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall and straightened his coat with pride. “Have you ever seen a finer fellow?” We faced each other, and burst out laughing at the same time, for boasting in our own vanity was a constant joke. I entered my small bedroom to find several gowns spread across the bed, and the ladies maid fluffing each with care.                                                                                                                                                “Good evening miss.” She curtsied. “Your mother asked me to give you a choice of these gowns to wear tonight.” I bit my lip to refrain from any improper remark, and grunted under my breath. With skeptical gaze I viewed the options: black, butter-cream yellow and rose pink. I turned towards the wardrobe with lustful eyes, sighing longingly after my favorite green and blue gowns, but I knew they would not please mother.                                                                                                           “Alright.” I sighed, gesturing towards the pink muslin. “That will do.”                                            I knew the routine, though I had not grown to like it any more with time. Grasping the bed post I sucked in while the corset was being tightened and sighed when the heavy material touched my skin. I wobbled over to the vanity, and exhaled when sitting down. As always, Beth, my maid, glared at my thick auburn locks which could not hold a curl for their life.                                                           “I know I am a disappointment to you Beth. You do not know how many nights I lay awake as a little girl wishing for pretty hair like my friends.”                                                                            “Nonsense miss! You do not know how many women envy your hair. The color is unmatchable and the thickness is a blessing.”                                                                                                            “You are good to me Beth.” I kissed the lady’s wrinkled hand. “A simple braided bun will do.” As the maid fixed my hair, I took to groaning over facial imperfection which to me seemed ghastly. Pink was not my favorite color, simply because it made my hair look more ruddy than usual and it didn’t do my skin any favors. But goodness knew it was better than yellow or black! I would have wished for my green silk, as it matched my eyes and contrasted my hair, but mamma thought it an unfavorably vibrant frock. Critically running my finger along my nose that had just the slightest bump in the middle, I gave my head a shake, choosing not to despair over my physical shortcomings and instead rose and fled downstairs as soon as my hair was presentable.                                                     Mother must have been in the kitchen, for her cries could be heard across the house, though she was nowhere to be seen. Mr. Lockhart sat in a chair in the corner reading, very slowly as it took him nearly ten minutes to comprehend an entire page. “Hello papa.” I was his youngest child and especial pet, so I sat down next to him and snuggled under his arm, unashamedly reading over his shoulder.         “Hello my dear.” He kissed the top of my head. “Where is your brother?”                                                                                                                              “Coming!” Edmund shouted as he scrambled down the stairs, shaking every item in the house that weigh less than him. Swish went the door and mamma appeared, fanning her flushed cheeks. This gesture served as queue for her family, for my father, brother and I promptly stood and assembled beside her.                                                                                                                                        “Welcome!” mother stepped forward with outstretched hands and Mrs. Bromwell, a fat, unassuming woman took them with a smile. “We are positively delighted to have you dine with us this evening! And is this the Miss Bromwell?”                                                                                                               When a young lady close to my age appeared with big brown eyes and a ridiculous smile, Edmund coughed lightly and mumbled into my ear, “And is this, my supposed conquest?”                                “Shh!” I warned, trying not to laugh.                                                                                                       The young adults stared and smiled as the parents introduced themselves to one another, and I knew that me and my brother were thinking the same thing when the rapturous young woman approached, the feathers adorning her hair flickering as she drew forward. “Miss Lockhart! What a delight! I’ve heard so many good things about you.”                                                                         I smiled, and took the young lady’s hand in my usual manner that gave adults the impression that I was older than I really was. “You must be Miss Bromwell. Do you like Summerton so far?”                                                                                                                                    “Oh please, call me Penelope!” Penelope’s brown eyes were entrancing. I could not pinpoint the reason why, I could only admit that they were lovely, and drew the observer in. Perhaps because they contrasted her blonde hair. The young lady did not even answer my question; instead, she swept past with open mouth towards my brother.                                                                                            “Hello.” Edmund bowed and politely took her hand. “It is nice to meet you Miss Bromwell.” I stifled a giggle. Only I could detect the under-lying condescension in his tone of voice.                                                                                                                                               “Well hello Mister Lockhart!” Penelope held a hand to her breast and smiled. “Your name is Edmund if I am right?”                                                                                                                    “Mister Lockhart if you please.”                                                                                                       I linked arms with the young woman and swiftly led her into the dining room; an act of kindness Edmund later thanked me for.                                                                                                         I knew my brother was attractive.                                                                                             For as long as I could remember, female passersby and even friends had to stop themselves from staring at him. It used to irritate me. But not anymore. Now, I just smiled and laughed over the fact that women thought him a prince in disguise, when I knew, oh how I knew, that he could be as silly as a young boy.                                                                                                                            “How old are you Penelope?” I asked, pouring her a glass of wine.                                              “Seventeen.” She replied with a little titter, as her eager hand stretched out to the shiny glass. I looked down at the red liquid, and then up at the fervent eyes of our young guest. I coughed and sipped the wine myself, giving Penelope a glass of tea.                                                                                       “How long have you been in Summerton?”                                                                          “Only a fortnight.” She sighed, running a loose lock of hair between her fingers as she batted her eyes at Edmund. “My grandmother who lives in the area is ailing, so we have moved here in order to be close to her.”                                                                                                                        “Ella!” Mrs. Lockhart called from the opposite side of the room, where the two hens were discussing the accomplishments of their children. “Why don’t you show Miss Bromwell to the drawing room?”                                                                                                                          Uncertain how to entertain our guest, I obeyed. Among my friends I was known as a general jokester--skilled in the art of making people split their sides. Yet in formal situations, I was out of my element, and I didn’t know what to say. “Do you play the pianoforte?” I asked, as Penelope ran her white fingers over the exposed keys.                                                                                                               “Oh yes.” She said it as though everybody were aware of the fact. “Do you?”                           My head shifted uncomfortably on my neck. “A little. I am more fond of painting than music.” Presently, Mr. Lockhart announced that supper was served, and family and guest immersed the dining room.                                                                                                                                             Miss Bromwell sat beside me, and I sat beside Edmund. As such, for the course of the dinner Penelope continued to awkwardly lean over, and smile at Edmund. The adults talked of what adults do.                                                                                                                                              The weather.                                                                                                                           Politics.                                                                                                                                   And prospective marriages.                                                                                                           “Are you engaged Mister Lockhart?” Mrs. Bromwell asked. She had been chewing a single bit of beef for the past five minutes, as her saggy jaw jiggled in a definable rhythm.                                      “No ma’am.” He replied with an elusive grunt. “I have no woman in my life.”                        “There’s no shame in that.” Mr. Bromwell laughed, cradling his wine glass between his middle and ring finger, as though he fancied himself a connoisseur. “Better to take your time finding the right one.”                                                                                                                                          “Speaking of beaus.” Penelope thought she was whispering as she leaned toward me, although the whole table could hear. “Have you heard about Charles Turner?”                                                      “No.” I tried not to smile. “Pray tell, who is this man?”                                                                  “Ahh!” Penelope lifted up elated eyes to the ceiling and giddily stomped her feet. “Such a catch! Handsome, wealthy, reportedly kind,”                                                                             “Reportedly?”                                                                                                                         “Well,” Penelope dropped her head and shoved around her food with her fork. “I haven’t met him, see.”                                                                                                                                          “It seems no one has.” I mumbled.                                                                                          “What?”                                                                                                                                  “Nothing.”                                                                                                                              “But I have seen him and he is divine. We must arrange a way to meet him.”                              Edmund and I almost snorted into our glasses with laughter. “And…how would we do that?”                                                                                                                                        Penelope’s eyes were starry again, as her pink lips slowly stretched into a smile. “Don’t you think a neighborly call would suffice?”                                                                                                  “If you think it is appropriate for a young woman to call upon a single man.”                              Miss Bromwell was ecstatic when she grasped my hand as though she had known me for many years. My green eyes widened as she leaned toward my face, her blonde curls quivering with excitement. “You must come with me Ella!”                                                              “What?”                                                                                                                                  “I am new in town, Mr. Turner is new in town and you have lived here your whole life! And since we are practically friends it only makes sense for us to go together.”                                                       I turned my gaze to the head of the table, where I could see father slicing his steak with twitching lips. When I shifted my eyes to mother, I found her busily engaged in chatting with Mrs. Bromwell, presumably arranging her son’s marriage.                                                                                          I tried not to sigh. “I’m not sure if that is the best idea, Penelope,”                                        “Perfect!” The lady nearly shouted, leaving Edmund to bury his face in his hands. “I will send you a telegram whenever I am sure he is all settled in.”                                                                                The rest of the evening passed as you might imagine. Father learned to put with up his companion the best of his abilities, the Mrs.’s continued their matrimonial speculations, and when Miss Bromwell was not too busy flirting shamelessly with Edmund, she carried on to me about how she missed all of her old friends but was sure Summerton would be prove to be, “ ‘a nice, picturesque alternative.’” When my family stood together in the front lawn, waving our guest goodbye as the carriage wheels turned over pebbles, mamma grabbed the arm of her son and raptured, “Was not Miss Bromwell a delight?”                                                                                                                                  To which he winked at me and said, “I have never seen the likes of her.”  
 


 
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