I started a novel about three, four years ago called Starfall. I got frustrated with it upon finishing it because it didn’t feel complete, so I wrote another version that became a novella that will be included in my story collection (and will be featured in WIPs Journal later this month). I looked back at the two and realized they were different facets of the same thing. I decided to group them together as a pair of novellas with a mirror theme — but the project still didn’t seem complete, and anyway they were too different to really be reflections.
Then I realized, This is a history of a world and the girls who pass through it.
And I realized upon looking at previous blog posts that that was what I wanted to do from the start. I had just forgotten.
Now I’m viewing them as parts of a novel and things are clicking. I’ve started writing the third part. I’m planning for it to be the final part, but it really depends on how complete things feel when it’s done. Here’s the first bit so far:
Write about going back to school after summer vacation.
I was very surprised when I came back, not only back to school but back to this world. This world is bright and bloody. My body came into this world through blood. My body is full of blood. But I had forgotten all that while I was away. When I came back I had to be very careful. No glass. No corners. I was the whole surface of me bruises.
“You’ve got to be a bitch,” my aunt always says. She is my guardian. She knows how to be tough.
The girls at school steal my pencils. Last week, Roxy took my favorite eraser and threw it into the trash and laughed. In the halls, they push me. At recess, they spit on me.
I have seen all the worlds. I chose to come back to this one. Well, I’m lying. I did choose, but I had to because I was growing up. There was no other thing for me to do.
“You’ve got to go up to their faces and tell them to fuck off,” my aunt says.
I am twelve years old in this world. I will be thirteen soon.
During my time away I hardly ever wrote, though I read a lot. So excuse me, Miss Ng, for how klutzy I sound.
I can tell you have a great imagination! 🙂 Next time, tell a teacher if anyone is mean to you. And don’t worry, you don’t sound klutzy at all!