One Page for 4/20/2019

I could’ve sworn I’d posted something (or had written a one pager to post) between March 27 and today, but it looks like I overestimated my willingness to think through even a page before going on vacation and visiting family. Today I’m happy with myself for finally being over my jet lag and having slept through a night without waking up in the middle of it. Even happier, I coaxed myself to write a page with another genre in mind–fantasy!

This was difficult for me, as I realized it’s been a while since I’ve even read fantasy or even YA fantasy, and also because lately I’ve worried that I’ve begun to lose my imagination. That’s of course not the biggest problem in the grand scheme of things, but for someone whose life goal is to publish a novel–I’ve already achieved my goal of writing one, technically :)–it is a real concern. However, I’m also beginning to believe that it’s truly a muscle everyone can work on. Although speed is not the most appropriate metric to measure myself on, I’d like to eventually write some fantasy without telling myself I can’t and then getting up to check my phone, take a sip of my tea, fix my cuticles, organize my stationery…you get the drift! This time, I thought back to the first episode of the last season of Game of Thrones, which I watched having watched well, two episodes of the first season ages ago. Here goes.


The words:

Prompt: After three days, the storm let up and the winds died down. But there were dark clouds on the horizon, and we knew we didn’t have long. They’d be out looking for us, so we had to load up on supplies, hit the road toward…

Response: …my cousin Silmka’s settlement further down the river. To be honest, I couldn’t be sure that she would welcome us, let alone protect us from the [Driftlings] we’d gotten off our tracks–up until now. Of course, I couldn’t tell the rest of my party any of this. Party isn’t even the right word for us either. We’d banded together out of a lack of alternatives: me, a former tutor in the castle, then other castle residents fighting now to survive alongside the less privileged settlement dwellers who were suspicious of us and always would be. Like Silmka was of me, or became so after I had to start keeping my correspondence with her plain and unspecific, when she’d wanted to press me about my students or their families. She, in turn, made it plain that I’d become one of “them” now, and our letters had ceased. But when one from her arrived three weeks ago, asking if I’d heard anything about recent Driftling sightings–before they turned into massacres–and whether as blood family I would honor our bond and share information, I’d told her. That the security and military ministry heads had gathered some survivors to [“]study their immunities.[“] I’d risked a random search of outgoing letters from the castle. Silmka hadn’t replied, but I’d hoped she honor our bond in exchange now.

One Page for 3/27/2019

Hello 🙂 It seems indulgent to, but I’m adding a smiley right off the bat in this post because I’ve written another one-pager before March ends, thus preserving my once-a-month streak…for now. 🙂 (Thanks for indulging me that second smiley!)

This one ended up being a sad one as well; perhaps I’m a glutton for this kind of emotional pain? Kidding, half. I’m quite happy about this one-pager honestly. It’s been one of my most cathartic ones, and I’ll keep my preface brief today by saying it’s grounded in the very real experience of losing my father before I felt like I was a complete person. Consequently in the years since, it’s been a lot of reaching backwards for memories, much as I always try to live my life moving forward.


For ambience:

The words:

Prompt: I looked up at the night sky and thought of the stories he used to tell about the stars, the constellations, and it seemed sad that I couldn’t remember a single one of them. There’s a string of stars called Orion’s Belt, and I think Orion is known as a hunter, but I’m not sure of what. It’s funny to think that, because in a way I’m a hunter, too, only I hunt…

My response: …for memories of him. In some ways, it isn’t hard to because we have several shelves in the gameroom full of photobooks my dad stuffed with important and not-so-important records of our time as a complete family. I prodded at him as a kid, trying to find out why he insisted on including the photos that didn’t make sense to me to include: ones in which my chin was tilted so I had chins, ones where the sun’s glare had caused overexposure, ones where my mom’s hand stuck out, because she wasn’t ready. “These are also important to remember,” my dad had said. “And besides, we have plenty of room in the books to fill.” And so, it’s those “in-between” pictures that make the memory-hunting hard again. They remind me that every moment then, we were living and creating home in our minds. When the photos aren’t enough to sustain me and soothe the ache of knowing home is a place i have to recreate without my dad, I try our home videos, or more like the ones he taped. When those fail, I lie down, close my eyes, and have to do the devastating work of waiting patiently and actually making my mark: hitting upon a moment I’d thought I’d lost forever and will stay lost to a home of the past, once I open my eyes again.

One Page for 2/10/2019

Looking at the gap between today’s date–when I’m posting this one-pager–and the date on which I’m claiming I wrote the one-pager, you’d be right to wonder, “Did she post-date so that it looks like she’s keeping up a good, almost monthly cadence?” :] I’m happy to say that I did not do such a deceptive thing, though I do wish I could keep up a more frequent cadence. (I’ve got a week left to get a March one-pager in…) This time, I simply forgot to post this one-pager after I wrote it.

I wonder if it’s a sign that I’m finally not writing for attention. Because honestly, no matter how many times before when I’ve tried to convince myself I don’t, I do in fact crave people’s eyes on my writing. It’s why I have and still try to maintain a cadence on this blog, no? (Though above all, it is for me to see my growth, or have a laugh!) Alright, I’m through being self-analytical now, I swear. Just always trying to stay honest.

For February’s one-pager, I was inspired after reading a book from a genre I have put on the backburner for a while: romance! (Why on the backburner? Perhaps a little disillusioned with the lack of romance in my life…nah. :]) And the book: One Day in December by Josie Silver. The story starts, as the title suggests, on a cold day in December, and my mind naturally drifted towards ice skating, the sport I was enamored with throughout my childhood and teens. To be honest, I still am, and I love the idea of trying to tell stories around ice skating and specifically ice rinks. They seem like cold, confined places, but there are characters and stories to be found everywhere in them, from the people who work in the shop to the coaches and skaters themselves–figure or hockey, though I wrote this one-pager around figure skating.

Here’s what I came up with…


For ambience:

Photo credit: Bethany Knipp at Community Impact Newspaper

The words:

Prompt: She has this gentle laugh that sounds like running water. I’ll do almost anything to amuse or entertain her, just so I can hear it. But she’s not laughing all that much anymore, is she? Ever since…

My response: …the figure skaters had their winter ice show, she hasn’t been to the rink. Or if she has, somehow I’ve missed her every time. I’d like to think I have better luck than that. Even before she stopped showing up on Saturday night public skate sessions, I saw the shadows under her eyes. When we exchanged our usual groans about the past week of work, the corners of her smile barely bulled up. There was something more than her joke of a manager or workmates not picking up the slack. Those things seemed to be easily forgotten when she did a spin the way she wanted or I purposely wiped out in a funny way so I could hear her laugh. The thing is, I had a chance to ask. I knew she had a boyfriend; he’d come skating once or twice with her, with us. But mostly, she came alone. She hung out with me, talked with me, a guy who’d taken skating group classes with her since we could only toddle around and just hoped not to fall and break ourselves. We exchanged numbers at her suggestion when we set up semi-private lessons for a few months. Those stopped because–she said–for budget reasons. For my good, I erased her number after that. We talked on the ice. Maybe they moved away–for one of their jobs. Maybe she misses me too somehow, and I’ll find her again.

One Page for 1/6/2019

Wow. The gap between this post and the last one-pager goes to show how easy it is to look at my red story prompt notebook each night, week, month and say, “I’ll write later.” Today I walked myself to a Starbucks and am trying to set a good tone for the rest of this new year.

I didn’t realize it until I was about a third of the way down the page, but I was inspired by two Netflix finds I’ve consumed. One is a short two-season (god please let there be more) series called “can’t cope won’t cope,” about two Irish twentysomethings in a codependent friendship that is falling apart fast. At first, it seems like it’s the fault of Aisling, a girl who won’t admit to her alcoholism and almost complete lack of direction in life, leading her to lean precariously on her friend Danielle, who’s trying to get somewhere in life with her art. But then it becomes clear that despite her frustration, Danielle can’t let Aisling go either.

The second find was a short (for a feature at least) film called Six Years, executive produced by the Duplass brothers. The title comes from the length of the relationship that Mel and Dan, two young Austin-ites, have been in. About to join the workforce post college, they’re on the cusp of deciding whether to stay or go their separate ways, literally too. Their love is young despite the length of time they’ve devoted to each other, and therefore rash and impulsive, leading to a night in jail, stepping on broken glass, and a bloody crash into a dresser drawer. It’s a movie with seemingly low stakes and an everyday problem people might face, but it’s because of that and because it’s done so well that I didn’t check the time until I was twenty minutes from the inevitable ending.

So you can see where my inspirations for Harold’s motivations came from. 🙂 Here goes.


Ugh I hate this new block editor.
No idea how to rotate this while editing on my phone.

Prompt:

Someone wrote that insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result each time. By that definition, Harold was surely insane. Once again, he was…

My response:

…sitting in his car in the guest parking spot outside Hannah’s block of apartments. Or townhouses. She was the stickler for describing things accurately. She did it with her feelings, too, and the last conversation they’d had—or spiel she gave—had made it clear there was no reason to believe she’d answer her phone now and come out and take him back in with her. At least, relieve him of the awkward wave and smile he directed at one of her neighbors, who’d always, and also now, flared at him for parking (taking up) a spot meant for guests. Goddamn. He was an interloper now. That’s what her neighbor’s look had said no matter how much he wanted to rebel against it. An intruder. Harold raised his free palm and drove it into his steering wheel, narrowly missing the horn. Thankfully Hannah’s neighbor was out of earshot, unable to hear the growl that escaped Harold. Harold and Hannah had been together for five years. Her slap to his face last week was not the end-all to them. They had been through worse—bruises, cold shoulders, doors slammed so loud his ears rang for hours afterward—and didn’t react like this: pretending the other didn’t exist. His existence depended on hers, and she would come out. He always made the first move.

YA Book Review: The Truth About Forever

Hey y’all, this short review attempts to crystallize the major things I loved about Sarah Dessen’s The Truth About Forever. For those not as into YA lit, she is better known as Queen Dessen for the breadth of her work (at least 20 books) over her career. And of course, each one sells like hotcakes! See below for why this should be your first Dessen book if you haven’t read her before. As before, this review can also be found on my Goodreads page.


ttaf cover
Cover image from Goodreads. I do not claim any rights.

*No spoilers here!*

This was not my first Sarah Dessen book, but it’s probably my favorite. I’ll be honest. I tend to view long books, especially in YA, with apprehension because I’m afraid there will be too much filler. Some other reviewers did feel this way with TTAF, but I’m of the opposite camp. What attracts me to Dessen’s writing is her ability to weave a vibrant, realistic story with characters that could’ve been pulled from your life, though of course maybe dramatized in some way. That’s what she’s done here (again) with Macy, her mom, sister Caroline, love interest Wes, new friends from her summer Kristy, Monica, and Burt. You get the picture. I felt the length here was justified to give enough color to Macy’s backstory (recounting when her father was alive, the recurring “gifts” that keep showing up on her doorstep) and set her up for her character’s growth throughout the book. Most of the detail is necessary for understand her or other major figures in her life, like her mom, so please bear with it if it feels like it’s dragging.

As for the ending? Wow, so much emotional payoff! While there are lots of readers who wanted to see more of Macy’s now-happier life, I appreciate how the ending just leaves us with her turning a corner. Personally, it’s more satisfying for me to imagine what’ll happen than to have all the resolution of angst explained to me. Hope that makes sense!