My excitement with Future Learn’s Fiction Course continues. One of the exercises from week two is to turn on the radio and come up with a story or beginning of a story (500 words) based on what you hear. I was skeptical but determined to try, so I set my radio to AM and slowly moved the dial until I heard a voice. The first thing I heard was not only give the rooms of your house warmth, style, and comfort. I quickly changed the tuner to noise, so I didn’t hear anything else. The voice made me think of a door-to-door salesman and I imagined some odd things for him to be selling. I enjoyed it so much, I decided to try a couple more. By the time I developed my idea, all of my radio segments fit right in (they are in italics) and I wrote an idea for a Sci-Fi Flash Fiction story. Enjoy!
Horace Bentley-Jaguar IV felt a bit woozy as he adjusted to the three-dimensionally rendered environment. Wiggling his toes felt real, but they wiggled inside shoes made from animal hide buffed to a glaring shine, the kind “wealthy” people had worn on earth during the times of excessive greed and poverty before the original Moon Colonies. He held a colorful beverage with small white and green spheres skewered by a tiny stick floating in the liquid. Wanting the full experience, he brought the glass to his lips. He felt a sharp tingle on his tongue, then a slight burn in his throat, but he didn’t taste or smell anything. Good try, he thought.
With his first immersed step, a warm, confident voice said, “Welcome to your new BAM-AG Home and the best decision you will ever make.” The voice reminded Horace of a strange history lesson he had once seen as a boy. A man in stiff, off-white polyester (a frightening chemical concoction that was banned on the Moon) with large green and blue horizontal and vertical stripes from shoulder to pant hem had arrived at a woman’s door and used a similar voice in an attempt to convince her that she wanted to exchange his pieces of thick, hairy floor covering for pieces of paper.
The voice of the retro-plaid coercer continued, “BAM-AG appreciates that you love your current BAM-AG Home, but with the overcrowding of the Moon Colonies, violent asphyxiation fatalities have surpassed reports of gun violence and oxygen combustion combined. That is a 600% increase over the last six years. If this trend continues, the Moon will be as unlivable as the Earth in only ten short years. But you already know that, don’t you?”
Horace nodded his head enthusiastically, pushing the gyroscopic centering mechanism of the rendering to its limits.
“Lucky for you, the same visionary company that developed The Moon Colonies understood the market and had the ability to teach me their understanding, so I can share it with you. When you purchase a BAM-AG Home you are getting the best that The Conglomerate of Corporate Super-Powers can offer. In other words, your investment is backed by the leaders you trust.”
Horace admired The Logos of The Great Leaders tastefully rendered along the mantel.
“The mind-blowing Future Tech Sensors covering every surface of your home, respond to your physical and emotional needs before you even know them yourself. The intuitive controls not only give the rooms of your house warmth, style and comfort, but also provide you with complete security: regulating oxygen levels to reduce combustion; controlling perimeter armaments in case of threat; and delivering holographic companionship and entertainment.”
The inspiring tones of The BAM-AG March began to play behind the voice bringing a tingle from Horace’s temples to the top of his scalp.
“Today is the day that you need to remember those lost–not only those on Earth, but the increasing losses here on the Moon—and plan for your family’s future. Don’t wait! Act today and your BAM-AG Home will be ready when your grandchildren arrive on Mars.”
Sometimes things just go right. And when that happens, I get excited and want to share.
I got struck by the spring cleaning bug and in my sorting and tossing, I found a copy of Writer’s Digest that was part of the swag from an author meet I went to last year. Inside was an interesting article on planning your own writing retreat. I liked Steve Holt’s ideas, especially his daily schedule that broke up writing around meditation and exercise.
Believing that I can convince myself that I live in an ideal setting for a writing retreat, I started my retreat this morning and what did I see when I checked my email? Future Learn’s free eight-week fiction course started today. The timing couldn’t be better (except for the fact that I was so excited, I’ve already started week two).
The trouble I’m having in my writing has nothing to do with writer’s block. It is more about bringing new ideas to my table. I know what I want to accomplish with my novel, but an interesting story isn’t enough. Now, I have to make every page interesting, every sentence interesting, every word exactly what I want. And a lot of me wants to run. But I can’t. I have a deadline.
So, why would I take on a fiction class during my retreat? Because within just a few hours, I was inspired to write some interesting paragraphs I wouldn’t have written otherwise. The exercises were harder than I expected them to be. I over-thought them, but that was the thought I needed to write a section of a short story I’ve been thinking about for a couple of years. And I invented three unique character sketches.
What does this have to do with finishing my novel? Each thing I wrote today helped me stretch my imagination and improve my observational skills. You can always build on a strong foundation, so I want everyone to give themselves the gift of free education. The course is self-paced and you don’t have to do it as an eight week course though I personally am going to try to make it last so I can keep the inspiration going over my Spring Retreat.
I just finished my screenwriting class and I got exactly what I wanted out of it. I shared the link to The Black List which is a great resource to read screenplays of popular and recent movies in my last post. That link alone would have made a free online course worthwhile, but I also enjoyed the discussions between the four experienced writers, the five and ten finger pitch, and the exercise to create character outlines. But the one amazing take-away I want to share with you, the resource I took the course, is The BBC Writers Room.
If you’re not from England, like me, you might be asking, but what does it have for me? The quick answer is more screenplays to read, but there is so much more. There are interviews with writers, tutorials on the writing process, genre toolkits with blogs, interviews and scripts for each genre. This site is full of great stuff.
But the piece de resistance, the inspiration that lead me to the screenwriting course in the first place? It was right there all along. Play formatting for both UK stage and US stage. This page includes formatting examples for radio shows, TV shows, movies and stage.
Read screenplays from famous and popular films for free!
If you read my posts about studying suspense and conflict, you may have noticed that I found a lot of useful information in books on screenwriting. I learned about story beats, the hero’s journey, and the purpose of story as an emotion generating machine.
Recently, I told a friend about my frustration with a particular short story’s many rejections. It is a story written completely in dialogue, not even a dialogue tag. He said, “Maybe it’s a one-act play,” and I could feel the light bulbs popping in my head. I ran to the internet and found a free online course called An Introduction to Screenwriting through Future Learn and the University of East Anglia, and I signed up.
The first assignment was to read screenplays–makes sense–and we were provided a link to a wonderful website where you can read over 100 free and legal to access screenplays. The Black List is so easy to use: Just click on the poster of the movie you want to read and it opens the full screenplay as a pdf.
2-9-2017 Sadly, when I went to The Black List site yesterday, it was not at all what it was when I wrote this post. There is an informative blog, so I’m leaving the link up, but you now have to sign up and pay to read scripts. But, Good News! I found another great site for reading scripts called Simply Scripts. It has a great selection of all kinds of scripts: Movies, TV, Unproduced, Radio, and more.
Our assignment was to pick a film we had seen and one we had not. I chose Gone Girl because I had read the book then seen the film and the author of the book, Gillian Flynn, also wrote the screenplay. I found this choice very boring (probably too familiar) and quickly switched to my next choice, The Bling Ring by Sofia Coppola. Though I had no interest in seeing this film, reading the screenplay was fun and informative. I especially enjoyed seeing some scenes replaced with the word Omitted. I felt like I was in on part of the process.
Our next assignment is to evaluate the screenplays we read for three act structure. This morning, I’m reading The Way Way Back, a film I have not seen yet and Despicable Me 2 which I have watched several times.
You can learn so much from reading these screenplays: script format, story structure, character development, dialogue and so much more. Plus, it’s a lot of fun to get a glimpse at the process of a movie beginning with words on a page.
I hope you enjoy this resource as much as I am. Let me know which scripts you choose in the comments. Do you like reading films you’ve seen or films you haven’t seen?
Discovering that the links in this post no longer went where intended was a good reminder to check your blog every three to six months to make sure posts are still current and relevant.
When we last joined Moxie, her head was swimming because the King’s murder she witnessed was apparently death by natural causes . . .
After Officer Ormerod excused himself, Harry Hawkshaw handed his card to both Moxie and Nettles.
“Sounds like this is all wrapped up,” he said, “but, Nettles, I would still like a copy of Sir Gerald’s letter and if either of you remember anything you would like to tell me,” he looked Moxie in the eyes, “please give me a call.”
“I’ll fax it over first thing in the morning,” said Nettles.
“It was nice meeting you both. I hope the rest of the fair goes smoothly. This place has brought such joy to my family. Speaking of, I need to go find them. I bet they’re standing by the car in the parking lot. Oh gosh, and I have the keys. Be good you two.” Harry Hawkshaw dashed down the steps and across the joust field.
Not wanting to be left alone with creepy-smile Nettles, Moxie followed on Harry’s heals and hurried up the hill. Moxie expected a crowd of gawkers, but any gatherings must have dispersed when the police left. The only people left on the grounds were a few crafts people closing up their booths.
Moxie heard her name whispered as she walked past the buildings towards the forest. She wondered if she was still under some sort of suspicion, or if she was being mocked for causing the false report. Either way, she felt very alone. Her definition of the worst gig possible was quickly plummeting to previously unexplored depths, the kind of depths where the pressure will make your head explode and horrifying, mega-teethed fish lure their prey with appendages of biological light-bulbs.
The forest was surprisingly empty. She had expected a flurry of people returning home from work, but it was as if everyone from the fair just disappeared when the fair ended like some kind of Renaissance Brigadoon. She sat at her camp carefully watching and listening for skunks and listened to the never-ending chirp of the frogs. Before she could relax in any way, she felt someone’s eyes on her neck. A chill like the long finger of the reaper himself traced her spine and she jumped up looking for the threat.
Moxie didn’t see anyone, but heard an ethereal voice floating through the forest. She followed it to a tiny tent at the other end of the campground between a motor-home and the parking lot. Moxie recognized the costume girl who dressed her that morning.
“Wow. You got a crappy campsite,” Moxie said when the girl stopped singing.
The girl jumped and banged the body of her guitar against the ground creating a dissonant resonance. She looked up and smiled. “Well I’ll be. Miss Moxie Sharped come to pay me a visit.” She held up her hands to show Moxie’s signature hadn’t come off. “The site’s not so bad. Dana here is quiet and keeps to herself and the parking lot’s only a problem on fair days. The rest of the week, I like the quiet to work on my songs.”
She smiled again but looked down at the ground and drew a symbol in the dirt with her index finger. Moxie recognized the symbol. It was from the cover of her first album.
“I’m going to be the next Moxie Sharpe.”
“For your sake, let’s hope not,” said Moxie.
The girl looked up with frightened rabbit eyes.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Moxie. “It’ll do you good to ignore 99% of everything I say.”
“How will I know when it’s the one percent?”
“You won’t. So what have you been working on?”
The girl patted the ground which Moxie took as a sign to sit.
“This song’s about how love and hate are two sides of the same coin and the times when you have to flip that coin.”
From the first note, Moxie lost herself in the song. She rode the syncopation and wave-like melody through her many love-hate relationships, her thoughts drifting to summer before summer at Scandrum and landing squarely on her father’s long-faded grin.
When the song ended, the girl put down her guitar and said, “So what do you think?”
“What’s your name?” asked Moxie.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m Chancy Grave.”
“Chancy, that song touched me deep. You’ve got a unique style. And your voice. I rode your voice right out of my body. You got another one?”
“I’m trying to figure out what to play for the King’s wake tonight. It’s between that one and some 80’s pop cover. Her really liked 80’s synth songs.”
“Wait a minute. Someone already planned a wake? He’s barely been dead an hour.”
“Not like news had anywhere to travel. It’s nothing formal. A bunch of us usually gather on the bluffs by the lake after work. We didn’t change our plans, just added a theme.”
“Don’t you think this ‘show must go on’ attitude is a little dark? I mean, your star just died.”
“Maybe, a little bit, but you have to keep in mind, this show is a huge money maker. For most of these people, this is the majority of their income for the year. For some, it’s their entire income. If they don’t rally and keep the fair going, they might starve come winter.”
Moxie chewed on Chancy’s words. She knew what it was like to really need a paycheck. She hadn’t worried if she lost this job because Pearl said she would get paid either way, but not if the fair shut down. Plus, she always assumed that Pearl had her next gig lined up, but what if she didn’t? If Pearl was taking gigs like this, maybe things were worse than Moxie had imagined. Gigs had steadily become sparser with each passing year.
“Moxie, you okay?”
“Sure, Chancy. Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything.”
“Do you think Sir Gerald just ran off? Decided to settle down with a new lady friend?”
Chancy laughed. “Who told you that?”
“That’s Nettles’s story. He said Gerald wrote him a letter.”
Chancy stopped laughing and a shadow fell across her smile. “This is only my second summer here. To be honest, I don’t know much about Sir Gerald. Nettles would know more about it than me.”
“But what made you laugh?”
“Nothing. I just . . . I mean it’s hard to imagine it is all.”
“Imagine what?”
It looked like Chancy was trying to eat her own tongue, but then blurted, “Imagine Gerald spending more than one night with anyone. And I mean anyone. He was a non-discriminate super-slut and proud of it. I can’t imagine a person on this green earth that could pin him down or would want to.”
“Sounds like you knew him pretty well.”
“When he wasn’t entertaining company, we would jam sometimes. He was really talented.”
“You keep referring to him in the past tense. Do you think something bad happened to him?”
“I don’t know. The past tense thing is just the way we talk about people who are not at the fair this year. This life is really transient. It’s about living in the now. If you’re here you’re here, if not, you’re past tense. Make sense?”
“Yeah. Sounds familiar actually. So anyone else you expected to be here that’s suddenly past tense?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Can I ask you something else?”
“I said you can ask me anything. But I’m running out of time to prepare for the wake.”
“What’s up with the King and Queen?”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard them fighting, but I couldn’t figure out what exactly they were fighting about.”
“Oh, they’re always like that. Always bickering like an old married couple.”
“What do you mean? How long have they been married?”
Chancy laughed again, this time loud enough to scare some birds overhead to flight. “The King and Queen married? You must have witnessed better acting than I ever did. No. They hated each other. I mean, I know hatred and marriage aren’t mutually exclusive, but if those two were married, they liked to break their vows, a lot. And it would be news to everyone here.”
Once again, Moxie was more confused than when she started. She tried to replay the King and Queen’s exact conversation in her head, but everything was a blur of confusion at this point. She couldn’t seem to rely on any of her senses to give her correct information.
“Hey, Moxie?” Chancy had grabbed a guitar case out of her tiny tent. “Do you want to come to the bluffs for the wake?”
Moxie started to sift through probable excuses, but Chancy continued.
“I bet that’s where Dana is. Usually she’d be sitting outside her trailer hummin’ along with me about now. She’s been here every summer for the past twenty years. She’ll have the answers you’re looking for. Besides, you’ll get a chance to see your fellow re-enactors outside the fair. You’ll see some drastic changes when they get out of costume. I think you’ll be surprised.”
“I guess I can’t say no to that,” said Moxie.
“Do you mind if I call my mom and tell her I’m hanging out with The Moxie Sharpe? She’ll be so jealous.”
“You get reception out here?”
“No. Not here, but about a half mile down the road toward the bluffs there’s a sweet spot. Is it cool if I tell her? You were the first concert she went to. She’s gonna freak.”
“Sure. Just don’t let the other rennies know.”
“Oh, don’t worry about them. None of them have ever heard of you.”
Moxie felt irritated, like it was St. Patrick’s Day and she had forgotten to wear green in a place where pinching was the norm. She wanted to curl up in her tent and sleep until someone came to their senses and cancelled the fair, but curiosity overwhelmed her. She needed to see the uncostumed mourn and celebrate their fallen King.
Was someone watching Moxie at her campsite? Will she get her answers at the bluffs? Tune in next week for another spine-chilling misadventure.
When we last caught Moxie, Nettles had just accused her of wrong doing . . .
“What do you mean what did I do? What did you do? You just contaminated a crime scene! I saw someone in dark clothing with green eyes run out the back.” Moxie waved her arm up and down pointing out Nettles dark attire and green eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just got here and I didn’t see anyone leaving the castle. But never mind that. Call 911,” said Nettles.
“With what? I don’t have a phone,” said Moxie.
“Right. Stay here. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll run up to the front office. I’m going to tell everyone I see that you’re in here with the King’s body, so don’t even think about running.”
“But I—”
Nettles ran past the thrones, down the steps and straight up the hill.
Moxie felt adrenaline soaring through her body, her fight or flight response revved up to max. She did want to run and keep running all the way back to her apartment, but instead walked over to King Terrence’s lifeless body, careful not to touch anything. She tried to piece together what she had heard. She had expected a pool of blood and some bloody blunt object, but there weren’t any signs of an attack. The King’s face was slack. He looked peaceful like he was only resting. She really wanted to bend down and shake him, wake him up, but she didn’t dare touch him. At the moment, not having her fingerprints on anything at the scene was all she had going for her.
Nettles burst through the door then rested his hands on his knees breathing hard. “This,” he started but then took a few more breaths, “This is Harry Hawkshaw. He’s a detective.”
Moxie admired the tall, thin man; his black curls peeking out from under his floppy velvet hat framed his strong features. “Wow. That was fast,” she said.
“I was already here enjoying the fair with my family. Okay. Where’s the King?” said Detective Hawkshaw in a deep, buttery voice.
Nettles guided Mr. Hawkshaw to where the King lay crumpled next to his overturned throne.
“Did you rent that?” asked Moxie pointing at the detective’s fancy doublet.
“I am afraid not. My wife is really into this whole medieval life thing. She made it herself. It took her weeks.” Mr. Hawkshaw tugged at one of his thighs. “I really wish those poor blokes hadn’t worn tights.
“This is Moxie Sharpe,” said Nettles. “I caught her in the act. She almost bludgeoned me with that lute.”
“That is absolutely not true, Nettles. Well the lute part is, but I was defending myself from the real killer.”
“Ah, so you saw who did it. That’s great. A witness. It will be a while before the boys from the nearest precinct can get here, so take your time and tell me what happened. Let’s start at the beginning. What were you doing when the killer arrived?” Harry, to Moxie’s great surprise, pulled a small notebook and pen from a brown leather, drawstring bag hanging from his belt. He began to take notes. “Go ahead,” he said.
“I don’t think I was here when he arrived. I mean I think he was already here.”
“Wait. Back up. So you left and then came back?”
“Right. My fellow musicians left very quickly after the show. Nettles said a quick ‘On the morrow’ and was gone. I was excited about some free time, so I was hurrying back to camp through the woods when I noticed I didn’t have my jacket.”
“Didn’t you need to return your costume? I recognize it from the rental. We used to rent before my wife made our costumes. My wife wore that one a few times.”
Moxie looked down at her bodice and long skirt and imagined the hundreds of sweaty people who had worn this costume before her. Suddenly her skin crawled like she was standing in an ant hill. She unconsciously took a couple steps to her left running into a music stand.
Harry Hawkshaw tapped his notepad with his pen. “Miss Moxie?”
“When I came here for the second joust I had my helmet and my leather jacket on. I walked through the woods so no one would see me. I was taking them back to my tent the same way. Then I was going to return the costume. Well, actually, I hadn’t thought about returning the costume. Since I had to wear it tomorrow you know.”
“Had to wear it tomorrow? So you think you won’t have to wear it tomorrow, now that the king is dead? Don’t you think the show must go on?” Nettles needled. He turned to Harry, “She never wanted to be here. She probably did it just to get out of her contract. I think she’s here under false pretense. I don’t think she ever even touched a lute before this morning.”
“You never complained while we were playing,” said Moxie, surprised that she hadn’t fooled Nettles after all. “But since you brought it up, what really happened to Sir Gerald, Nettles? I spent some time out on his patio and rock wall at his campsite. He put a lot of time and care into that space like he planned on spending time there. I don’t think he would just run off.” She turned to Harry. “The lute player I replaced has been missing for almost a week and no one seems to be looking for him.”
“Moxie doesn’t know what she is talking about. Gerald was a flake and a womanizer, Nettles said suddenly very professional. The previous whine in his voice had vanished. “When he didn’t show up for rehearsals, I was disappointed, but not terribly surprised.”
“How long had Gerald worked with you?” asked Harry.
“Eight years,” said Nettles.
“Seems a little strange to me,” said Harry, “just not showing up after showing up for eight years. Did you fill out a missing persons report?”
“No. Like I said, I believe he’s holed up in some motel with his latest fling.”
“Right,” Harry said lifting one eyebrow and tilting his head. “Well, I’ll talk to the local police about that as well, when they get here.”
“No,” Nettles exclaimed too quickly and too loudly. “I mean. There’s no reason for that. After I sent him a breach of contract complaint, Sir Gerald sent me a letter of apology. I have it on file in the front office.”
“And what did this letter say?”
“Oh, the usual. He’s sorry he let me down. He met this great girl and wants to make it work, so he’s giving up the minstrel life. He’s too old to live in a tent in the woods. That kind of thing.”
“I’ll need to see that letter,” said Harry. “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll follow you to the front office and get a copy.”
“The front office will be closed and locked by then. I’m afraid I don’t have a key. Do you want me to run and get it now? You can stay here and get Moxie’s story and I’ll run and get it before they close up.”
“No. That’s okay. You can send me a copy tomorrow. I’m more interested in getting both of your stories of what happened here while they’re still fresh. Since Sir Gerald isn’t actually missing, he is not my concern.”
Moxie heard Nettles’s huge sigh of relief. She wondered if Harry had heard it too. If he was any sort of detective, he had to know Nettles was lying. And if Nettles was lying about Sir Gerald. . . . Moxie had a sinking feeling that she was in more trouble than she could imagine.
“Moxie, let’s get back to your story. You came back to get your jacket and . . .”
“I didn’t notice anything until I had already walked to the other side of the room by that trunk. I put on my jacket and was ready to leave when I heard loud voices and a crash. I stayed hidden behind the wall, so I didn’t actually see anything.” Moxie suddenly realized that she didn’t know what had happened at all.
“But you saw the killer,” said Harry.
“Now that I think about it,” said Moxie, “I don’t know if that person killed the King. All I saw was someone in dark clothing with green eyes leaving the building. I think they saw me, but I’m not sure. They could have been looking at a shadow in the dark just like I was.”
“You keep saying ‘they’. Was it a man or a woman?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tall or short?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You said he or she was near the door. What was their height compared to the door?”
Moxie walked over to the door. She put her hand on the door to mark her height then stepped back and looked at it. “Taller than me,” she said. Then she looked at Nettles. “I would say Nettles’s height.”
“Oh shut it, Moxie.” Nettles walked to Moxie in two long strides. “Hold your hand still,” he said and stood up against the door.
The top of his head lined up barely an inch past her hand. “So you’re saying you can tell the person you saw was taller than you, but barely an inch taller, from across the room, but you couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman?” said Nettles like he was the prosecutor at her trial.
“Guess I’m not much a witness,” said Moxie. She walked back to Harry. “Sorry I can’t be of any help.”
“Actually, Moxie, you’ve been a great help,” said Harry. “Nettles, why did you say ‘On the morrow’ after the joust? Don’t the minstrels usually end the day after the evening parade?”
“That’s right. Nettles told me there was an evening parade, but I forgot all about it,” said Moxie.
“She must have misunderstood me,” said Nettles. “She had absolutely no familiarity with the vernacular.”
“Is this true, Moxie? Are you not familiar with Old English?” asked Harry.
“Not really. But I know an ‘On the morrow’ when I hear it.”
“I should fire you right now. Missing afternoon wandering and planning to skip the parade. I think I smelled alcohol on your breath at second joust.”
“I’m curious, Nettles,” said Moxie, “I came back to get my jacket, but what brought you back here after leaving in such a hurry?”
“I—”
Nettles was interrupted by the arrival of the police. Moxie, Nettles and Harry were quickly corralled into the musicians’ section. Once all of the new arrivals had entered and gotten to work marking the scene and removing the body, Harry introduced himself to the officer in charge leaving Moxie and Nettles to watch in silence.
Moxie expected they would be invited down to the station any moment, but the longer they waited, the more they seemed forgotten. Harry and the officer were talking casually, laughing and smiling. Their behavior didn’t seem appropriate for a homicide investigation.
Finally, when the other officers had cleaned up and left, Harry brought his colleague over to speak to them. “Moxie, Nettles, this is Officer Ormerod. He has some very interesting news for you. Go ahead, Jim, tell them.”
“I think the only crime here is a false report,” said Officer Ormerod, “but we’re not worried about that. You were just over-zealous. We’ll have to wait on the medical examiner’s results, but it appears this man died of a heart attack, or maybe an aneurysm or something. I would say natural causes. There aren’t any apparent signs of foul play.”
Harry patted Moxie on the shoulder. “Sorry you got such a fright, my lady,” he said with a wink, “but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“What?” Moxie exclaimed. “Are you sure? What about the person I saw?”
“Probably someone who saw him die or came across the body and was just as afraid as you were. Hopefully that person will come forward once he or she knows they are not a suspect.”
Moxie wasn’t convinced. She looked at Nettles.
Nettles gaze held Moxie. The pierced lips of his regular, strained expression slowly curved up at the ends into a sinister grin.
What really happened to the King? What is Nettles hiding? Tune in next week for another twisting, turning, action-packed misadventure.
Episode Four: She Only Tastes What She Wants to Taste
When we left Moxie, she was buying shoes and overheard Nettles making mysterious plans . . .
Moxie signed her receipt with her well-practiced illegible scribble and hurried around the side of the tent, but Nettles and his conspirator were nowhere to be seen. She didn’t have an appetite for greasy fair food, so she decided to spend the rest of her break relaxing at her tent. She enjoyed the new spring in her step as she followed the footpath. The trees and underbrush thickened around her until it was almost dark in the mid-day sun. The first couple of tents she passed were obviously new and temporary employees—small tents with no sign of life around them. The further she walked, the larger the tents and more elaborate the living space. The camp across from hers had a full wood dining area with a table, shelves, two walls and a roof.
Moxie’s tent had been set up where Sir Gerald, the missing lute player, had lived every summer for the last eight years. The entrance of her three room, eight-person tent opened to a stone patio with a rock wall with little nooks for candles and outcroppings for coffee cups or bowls. Moxie imagined him spending all of his free time wandering the area alone searching for the perfect large, flat stones to plant in his patio and collecting shiny treasures for the wall. Then she remembered Nettles had said Sir Gerald liked the wenches, so maybe rock gathering walks was how he drew in his conquests. She now saw each of the prettiest rocks as a notch in Sir Gerald’s bedpost.
Moxie dove into her complete mess of a living space. Her bags had exploded, throwing her possessions everywhere, the moment she opened them. A slight smell of musk made her think that Pearl must have stuck her with some old, used tent. She grabbed her motorcycle helmet and put it on, buckling her chin strap just to feel normal. She unburied her leather jacket and hugged its thick leather to her chest before slipping her arms into the silky lining. The smell of motor oil and the grime of the road embraced her like a friendly hug.
Moxie believed that to be the best she had to always push her boundaries. That philosophy had led to many gnarly spills, so now she lived in constant pain. Walking up and down the hills of the fair on uneven ground wasn’t helping. She set up a folding chair on the stone porch and sank into it. The sound of frogs chirping in ecstasy bounced off the trees from a distant unseen pond. She popped a couple Tylenol 3 and washed them down with a swig from her flask. The warm burn finally loosened the knot in her shoulder and she took a deep breath of clean forest air which instantly threw her into a coughing fit.
Finally feeling like herself again, Moxie took another swig from her flask and contemplated the events of the day. Sure, she was a stranger to the ways of the renaissance fair, but this place and these people seemed extra strange. She wondered what Nettles was up to. And the King and Queen were certainly worried about something. Maybe the Queen was the one talking to Nettles by the shoe tent. Or maybe it was Megan. Megan and Ryan were involved somehow. What about the angry jouster? What did the King do to make that actor so angry? Does any of it have to do with Sir Gerald’s disappearance?
Moxie caught herself imagining Sir Gerald looking similar to the angry jouster, flowing blonde mane, perfectly groomed facial hair, muscular arms and those abs. . . . Wait a minute. The jouster was wearing armor. She was fantasizing about the lead singer of Sex With Helmets. He was so hot. And she should be spending this weekend with him at Scandrum. Why Pearl, why?
from hww.ca
Moxie’s thoughts were interrupted by a little grunt that sounded like a tiny pig under her chair. She froze when she saw the black and white critter waddle out only inches from her foot. She imagined she was a statue and held her breath. She had heard many horror stories of the consequences of startling a skunk. This place was bad enough without having to bathe in tomato juice for the next few days. The skunk sniffed and grunted along the little rock wall, circled her chair and waddled back under her tent. As it ducked under the pallets she saw a little family of eyes and noses welcome it home. Oh great, thought Moxie, not only do I have to worry about my fellow musicians, the King and Queen and a violent jouster, I get to live in fear of stepping on a skunk every time I’m near my tent. What if I have to pee in the middle of the night?
Moxie took a long swig from her flask and with a big sigh got up and left her camp. She walked down the path to the bottom of the hill near the frog pond and tromped through the woods to the back of the joust field. Her helmet protected her head and face from branches and leaves and her leather jacket protected her arms from brambles and thorns. She was thinking how well her motorcycle gear prepared her for life in the woods when she opened the door at the back of the castle.
“My lady, hast thou lost thine God given mind?” Nettles shrieked. He ran over to Moxie and tried to yank her helmet off of her head.
She pushed him away with one hand while undoing her chinstrap with the other. She calmly put her helmet under her chair and put her jacket on a trunk along the wall. “Calm yourself Nettles. I walked the back way. Nobody saw me, except a skunk and maybe some frogs.”
Nettles scowled and returned to his seat. “You were supposed to join us earlier as a wandering minstrel. Where were you?”
“I needed to buy shoes and then I needed to set up my camp. I’m sure you understand.”
“Indeed. However, you will be expected on the morrow.”
“Whatever you say Nettles.”
During the second joust, the angry knight was nowhere to be seen. He was replaced by his squire who could barely stay on his horse and yet managed to win his joust. Everyone stuck to their script and their lines were stilted and emotionless. She wondered what happened to the King and Queen. They had been such amazing actors this morning, now they might as well be wooden cut-outs. She also wondered where the angry knight had gone. The show was completely lacking without him.
She planned to ask her fellow musicians after the joust, but they were packed up and out the door as soon as the last note finished resonating. She took Nettles’s brisk “On the morrow” to mean they were done for the day, so she grabbed her helmet from under her chair and hurried out the back of the castle. She happily skipped back along the path she had made through the woods thinking that this gig was actually not that bad. Then she felt a stinging, itching sensation and noticed scratches on her arms. She had forgotten her jacket.
Moxie hurried back the way she had come. She didn’t want to give up a minute of her free time. She didn’t notice that she wasn’t alone until after she put on her jacket. She recognized the King’s voice. He sounded nervous.
“Look. I made a mistake. What do you want me to do?” he said.
She didn’t hear another person, but then something heavy scraped across the floor and she heard thuds and a crash like something or someone falling over.
Then the King begged, “Please, don’t.” She heard a grunt like someone was punched or kicked in the gut and then the King yelled, “Oh God. No.”
Then nothing, complete silence, so Moxie peeked around the wall. She saw the King lying in a heap on the ground and a dark figure at the back wall about to open the door. Before she could duck back behind the partition, the figure turned and stared through her with piercing green eyes. The figure paused. Had he seen her? Was he coming to get her? Moxie didn’t dare to look. She grabbed the lute, holding the body of the instrument to use the tuning pegs as deadly weapons. Just as she was sure the figure would be upon her, she saw Nettles.
“Lady Sharpe, what doest thou?” he said.
Moxie screamed and almost impaled him, but caught herself and put down the lute. She peeked around the corner. No one was there, except the motionless king.
Nettles followed her gaze. “What’s going on in here? Is that King Terrence?”
Nettles hurried forward and checked for a pulse. “Oh the realm is lost. The king is dead.”
“Really Nettles? This is real life. Could you stop?”
Nettles turned sharply. His green eyes bore into her like daggers. “Moxie what have you done?” he said.
Is the king dead? Who was the shadowy figure? Is Moxie a suspect? Tune in next time for another heart-pounding, thrill-a-minute misadventure.
Episode Three: She Only Smells What She Wants to Smell
When we last joined Moxie, she thought she had witnessed a jewel heist, but when the dust settled nothing appeared to be missing . . .
During the rest of the parade Moxie felt accosted by stench. Every few feet brought a wave of yet another foreign smell. A hint of honey or beeswax lofted over the sawdust and dirt, but was overpowered by baskets of over-ripe tomatoes as they passed the fool in the stocks. Then they passed the food booths wafting of all kinds of edibles crisping in boiling oil. Moxie could feel a coating of thick burnt fat forming in her nostrils. As they rounded the bend near the lower theater she smelled damp moss, or was it mold and fungus? And finally, the stinging she recognized from this morning as the smell of horse dung marked their arrival to the jousting field.
At this point the parade disbanded, the majority of participants preparing for their next show at one of the theaters or the town square. Some went to work a shift at a booth. Moxie followed her fellow minstrels to the castle to play background music for the joust. The King and Queen with their court continued their regal show gliding up the front steps to their thrones.
Moxie slipped through the back of the castle and took her seat. It felt good to sit. The thin, black slippers from the costumer let every sharp pebble leave a mark on her foot. She would need to find some real shoes as soon as she got a break. She removed her music from the joust music envelope and quickly looked over all of the pieces. She felt a pang in her gut when she saw a bunch of sharps and flats, but quickly recognized a simple D-minor B pattern. Once she felt sure of the music, she looked up and saw the crowd.
There were people everywhere. It looked like a tsunami of moving colors had hit the front gate and poured down the hill. Moxie was shocked. She couldn’t believe this many people would want to spend the day re-enacting the Middle Ages. From all the people in t-shirts and jeans, she realized they were actually people watching other people re-enact the Middle Ages. She couldn’t decide which was stranger.
The jousters’ introductions caught her attention. There were four knights in shining armor. Each had a squire who introduced him to the King and Queen and to the crowd. A knight on a horse with a light colored blanket had been challenged by a dark knight on a horse with a dark colored blanket. A straight forward battle of good vs. evil, but one light colored knight seemed to have lost his script and was picking a fight with the King.
When Sir Ivan was introduced to the King, he rode his horse to the very edge of the building holding his sword to the King’s nose. The Queen’s cheeks blushed. She looked prepared to leap from her perch.
“The King abuses his power,” shouted Sir Ivan. “He takes what is not of his kingdom. He does not respect the boundaries of the land and does not repay his debts.”
The King quickly stood and moved closer to the Queen. “I believe you have become overzealous in the spirit of battle. It is not I who have brought you challenge,” he said looking to the Queen for support.
“Yes, dear knight. Save thy blood lust for the joust,” she said.
“I cannot hold my tongue any longer, my lady. The King is a tyrant and his moments for this earth are at an end.” The knight lunged forward but his horse and the building kept his blade far from the King who now stood behind his throne.
The crowd gasped and rose to its feet. Moxie was enthralled. That was some incredible acting. She really believed that knight wanted to kill the King and that the King and Queen were afraid. She would never have expected this caliber of talent at a renaissance fair. This place must pay serious bank to get that kind of talent. That reminded her that Pearl had never told her what she was getting paid. In the future, she would have to ask Pearl more questions before taking a gig.
Moxie felt a kick in her calf. Nettles said, “One, Two, Three, Four.” And the first song of the joust began.
photo from prweb.com
The first joust went as expected. Moxie couldn’t watch very closely because she had to follow her music, but it looked like the good knight was hurt, but then he rallied and won. No surprise there. The second joust, however, the joust between Sir Ivan and The Black Knight, Sir Shadivan, took a strange turn. In the middle of the second run at each other, Sir Ivan took a right turn and went straight for the King. The King lunged out of the way a second before the jousting lance pushed his throne over and put a hole in the back wall.
Megan screamed to Moxie’s left. The floor shifted like an earthquake under Moxie’s chair and she worried that the building was coming down.
An announcer came over a loud speaker saying, “There you have it, folks. Wasn’t that an exciting joust? Please exit the grounds in an orderly fashion. The next joust is at 3:30. Enjoy the fair.”
“Wow,” Moxie said. “You guys really know how to put on a show. That was my kind of joust. I’ve only seen motorcycle jousting which is, of course, way cooler. But that was better than expected.”
Megan and Ryan had disappeared. Nettles laughed nervously.
“So what now?” Moxie asked.
“It be the time of the midday repast. Returnest of an hour and a half. Then we will wander the grounds playing until the second joust. Again, I wonder if thou hast read thy prepared materials.”
Moxie ignored everything but that they had a break. “Perfect. Where can I get some shoes?” Moxie held out one of her feet to display the pathetic slipper.
“The cobbler’s booth is next to my jeweler’s booth. I’m headed that way. Prithy walk with me.”
“Sounds good.”
The cobbler wanted to measure Moxie’s foot and make her custom, leather knee-high boots, but that would take a week and $600 and she needed shoes now. Her smallish feet were just the right fit for a sample pair the cobbler had on hand. They were an unattractive pea-green short boot, but they felt like hugs for her feet. Moxie hated dropping $100 for shoes she would never wear outside of this place, but she was desperate and the cobbler had a monopoly.
While Moxie waited for the cobbler to run her credit card, she smelled the sweet smell of honey and overheard Nettles, on the other side of the tent flap, talking to someone in hushed tones.
A girl’s voice said, “Went off without a hitch. No one will ever know.”
“Are you sure? She didn’t see you?” Nettles replied.
“So what if she did? Nothing’s missing.”
“Right. So when’s the exchange?”
“Don’t you worry your little head. I have everything under control.”
“Yeah like last time?” Nettles hissed. “I think I’ll take the lead this time.”
“Sure, Nettles. Whatever you want. But I think this guy could be trouble.”
“Yeah, I think he made that clear to everyone.”
“Fine. You asked for it. He said directly after second joust.”
“So where’d you stash it?”
“Where I stash everything.”
“Guess that’s convenient enough.”
What is Nettles up to? Are the re-enactors just great actors or is the King in real trouble? Tune in next week for another hair-raising, action-packed misadventure full of twists, turns, anachronisms and . . . skunks?
Our exploration of conflict and suspense sprinted out of the gate in the first month of 2016. We have great books to read, a study plan, tools for evoking emotion and Moxie Sharpe is having weekly misadventures to put it all into practice. Exciting!
So what’s in store for February? Application.
Writing Moxie’s misadventures is a fun exercise, but, for me, this study is about turning my novel into a page turner. This month, we’ll be diving into aspects of revision where we can apply our new tools for creating conflict and suspense.
I began this focused study based on advice from a friend who said I needed to work on my chapter endings. So let’s start there. Chapter endings are convenient places for readers to put a book down and come back to later, right? Wrong! We don’t want the reader to ever put the book down, so chapter endings are tricky. We want to create a satisfying conclusion to the chapter, but also keep the reader in suspense so they will have to read the next page.
How do we create suspenseful, cliff-hanger chapter endings without being too obvious?
First, take a look at how your favorite authors do it.
I made a simple chart for exploring chapter endings. The left column is the number of the chapter; the next column is for checking if the chapter ends in a cliff-hanger and a quick note of how the cliff-hanger is accomplished followed by a column for the conflict at the end of the chapter and the fourth column is for the chapter’s final emotion and whether it is positive or negative. I have filled it in for Fear the Worst by Linwood Barclay
Chapter
Cliff-hanger
Conflict
Emotion
+/-
1.
No.
Occupational death
Sarcastic/Bored
–
2.
Yes. “Something’s happened”
Ex-wife and new boyfriend
Concern/Guilt
–
3.
Yes. “Is our girl still alive?”
Daughter left things in room
Hope
+
4.
Yes. “Your daughter’s car”
Found car
Surprise
+
5.
Yes. “It’s blood, isn’t it?”
Possible physical death
Fear
–
6.
No.
Daughter’s bad-girl friend
Humor
+
7.
Yes. “I’m pretty sure your daughter is alive”
Is email telling truth? And Kate’s mental health
Hope
+
8.
Yes. Yolanda legit. Daughter on other side of country?
Psychological death- it trust Yolanda, more mystery
Trust
+
9.
Yes. Picture of Syd
Will picture arrive and be Syd
Joy
+
10.
No.
Airplane ride
Hope
+
11.
Yes. Yolanda not answer phone
Yolanda not work at shelter
Confusion/Disapp-
ointment
–
12.
Yes. Left stuff in diner (not resolved)
Psychological death – thinks sees Syd in every blond girl
Frantic
–
13.
Yes. The house had been trashed
No luck in Seattle went home
Defeat
–
14.
Yes. “I think we found what you were looking for.”
Psychological death. Scarf from Seattle pic found in room
Betrayal
–
15.
No.
Can’t stay at home-crime scene
16.
Yes. Ian carrying blonde girl over shoulder like a sack
Question of physical death
Curiosity/Fear
–
17.
No.
Not Syd
Relief/Humor
+
18.
Yes. Found cell phone
Conflict w/x’s boyfriend
Curious
+
19.
Yes. A new clue
X’s boyfriend’s son
Surprise
+
20.
Yes. Syd might be pregnant
Fist fight at car lot
Surprise
–
21.
No
Evan’s sorry not good enough
22.
Yes. Car-napped
Threat of physical death
Fear
–
23.
Yes. Jumped from car
Threat of physical death only temporarily avoided
Humor
+
24.
Yes. A girl’s voice said, “help me”
Phone woke him up in middle of night
Concern/Fear/Hope
–
25.
No.
Daughter’s friend
Tired
–
26.
No.
27.
No. Drive-by but okay
Attempted physical death
Relief
+
28.
Yes. Patty’s missing
Police suspicion
Dread
–
29.
Yes. Andy from work connect
Recent dealings with Andy
Surprise
–
30.
No
Police suspicion
Anger
–
31.
Yes. Sets up going to bar to find Gary
Conflict with Andy from work
Anger
–
32.
No, but intrigue
Human trafficking
revelation
+
33.
Yes. Place where Syd’s pic taken was hotel
Saw something shouldn’t have
Weird
discovery
–
+
34.
Yes. Dead Kate in house
Physical and psychological death -He will be a suspect
Discovery
–
35.
Yes. “For being Patty’s father”
Psychological death
surprise
–
36.
No
Two daughters missing
revelation
–
37.
No
Patty’s dad
humor
+
38.
Yes. The bad guys reveal
Imminent death
Betrayal
–
39.
Yes. Has a plan
Imminent death
Hope
+
40.
No.
41.
Yes. Leaving for Stowe
Ex’s boyfriend Bob coming along
Humor
+
42.
No
Hands over wheel to Bob
43.
Yes. Is Patty alive?
Syd still missing
Surprise
–
44.
Yes. Bob has Syd
Patty knew where Syd was whole time
Relief
+
45.
Yes. Woman with gun
Imminent death
Surprise
–
46.
Conclusion
That was a great exercise! I am going to add it to the reading study plan. A quick glance at the table shows that the majority of chapters end in some kind of cliff-hanger. Mr. Barclay uses an array of techniques to keep the reader turning pages past the end of a chapter.
End of chapter techniques:
Split dialogue
Middle of action
Surprise
Revelation
Character has a plan
While filling out the table, I also discovered that when I read a chapter that did not end with a cliff-hanger, I had trouble identifying the emotion and/or the conflict. These are the chapter endings I will look for in my own work and try to increase the conflict and suspense.
Now it’s time to apply this chart to my own work and see where I can improve my chapter endings.
I hope you’re excited for Moxie’s next thrilling, chilling, spine-tingling, action-packed misadventure coming this Sunday. Oh, the suspense!
“How doth it smell? It holds the appearance of the sauce of the Turkey Leg.”
“I am not going to smell it,” said Moxie wrinkling her nose.
“Prithy, how doth it taste?”
“I am not going to taste it.”
“Shall I taste it for thee?”
“No. That’s gross.” Moxie lifted her fingers closer to her nose. It did smell like a sweet barbecue sauce.
Moxie rubbed her hand with her skirt then offered it to her companion. “Okay. Now that I don’t think this lute is a deadly weapon–Hi. I’m Moxie Sharpe.”
He did not take her hand. “Oh, you can call me Nettles as I am known by all in the realm. Simon Nettle is my given name, as was provided in your preparatory materials. I hope you are prepared. The parade piece is rather lively.”
“No worries. I’m a professional.” Moxie went back to tuning the lute.
“Moxie Sharpe is an unusual title. But it seems to be apropos. That A-string is certainly sharp.” He laughed at his joke.
Moxie’s jaw tightened as she held her tongue. She thought the name Nettles very fitting as well.
“My duty to the king extends beyond leader of the Midsummer Minstrels,” he said. “I am also her ladyship’s jeweler. I am the shaper and setter of semi-precious stones. I made the Queen’s crown and necklace. If e’er you want to add some sparkle to that glare of yours, I am at your beck and call. My servants run the booth betwixt the costumes and the hair braiders.”
Moxie ran a hand through her own hedgehog-esque coif while wondering how Nettles thought she could tune and listen to him at the same time.
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s cute. The pixie cut, right? Or is it elfin?”
Moxie’s jaw began to ache. She found herself wanting to slap someone for the second time this god-awful, early morning.
“I’ll leave you to your warm-ups then. Sir Ryan and Lady Megan will meet us at the parade line up in,” he pulled a small watch from his pocket, “twenty minutes. They will undoubtedly be sprinting and out of breath. They have a habit of barely making it, in all things. Don’t forget to take off your watch. Wouldn’t want to frighten the peasants with contraptions from the future.”
“No worries. I don’t wear a watch.”
“Then how wilst thou knowest when to line up for the parade?”
“It’s twenty minutes, dude. I can figure it out.”
“Perhaps I should tarry.”
“I think I’ll be more prepared if you leave.”
“Thus, I take my leave.” Nettles bowed and took his leave.
Moxie figured he was standing directly outside the plywood door, but at least he was no longer talking. She removed her music from the large manila envelope labeled “Midsummer Minstrels Parade Music” in Old English calligraphy. The other envelope, labeled “Midsummer Minstrels Joust Music”, she put on the music stand. As she did so, her fingers ran across something rough in the metal.
She took a closer look at the music stand. Something was scratched into the thick black rectangle (the music stands were probably “borrowed” from the local high school) but only enough to be felt and not seen. She traced her fingers over two letters S and N. She checked the other music stands. None of the others had any marks. This must be Simon’s, she thought. I wonder why the lute player was using it. I guess Simon didn’t want it anymore.
The four selections looked straight forward enough, a lot of A and D, simple repetitive lines. She wasn’t sure which one Nettles had referred to as the lively parade piece. They all looked like dirges to Moxie—not a thirty-second note in the lot. While playing through the liveliest looking bit for the second time, she noticed a very slight incorrect shape to one of the notes. Is this hand written? she thought, now that is obsessive behavior. Oh Nettles, you need to find yourself a ren-friend.
Feeling confident the Minstrels wouldn’t be throwing her any musical curve balls, Moxie left for the parade. She opened the door slowly expecting to hit Nettles, but he was nowhere to be seen. The eerie silence of the joust field and lower theater worried her, so she quickened her pace. At the top of the hill she heard the rumbling of parade preparation and relaxed. Nettles waved from the front of the line near the fair entrance. It appeared that the Midsummer Minstrels played directly behind the King and Queen.
Nettles positioned her behind the King and then went back to his conversation with a jester lined up behind them. Moxie stared at the thick textured faux-gold pattern in the long train of the Queen’s gown and pretended not to listen to the heated argument in progress in front of her. Moxie couldn’t help but overhear the angry whispers between the Lord and Lady.
“You can’t keep doing this,” said the Queen. “People don’t respect you or your IOUs in the real world. When they catch up to you, we could all be out on our asses or worse.”
“What the hell do you expect me to do? We’re all in too deep,” said the King.
“You could at least pay closer attention to who you take behind the castle for a little grab-ass. The woods aren’t sound-proof you know.”
“Yeah, I really messed up this time.”
“This time?”
“The show must go on. We’ll talk about this later. No one can hear us once the joust starts. Here we go.”
At that moment people began to stream in the front gate. Suddenly Moxie heard panting. As Nettles predicted, Ryan and Megan barely made it. They didn’t have time to introduce themselves before Nettles said, “One two three, four five six,” and the Midsummer Minstrels started into the “lively” parade music.
Moxie felt incredibly clumsy at first. Playing the lute was bizarre enough, but walking in a long skirt, on uneven ground, while stumbling through new music, was hazardous. She felt she was getting the hang of it when she had played through the melody a couple of times, so she looked up and saw the costume dresser smiling at her. She smiled back.
She heard a scream and turned her head just in time to see Megan falling forward onto the Queen. Megan had stepped on the train of the Queen’s gown causing the Queen to choke and then fall. Moxie bumped into the back of the King. Ryan grabbed her arm in an attempt to stop his own fall and pulled her to the ground. Moxie instinctually held the lute above her head. Luckily, the people behind her were able to stop in time to avoid a catastrophe.
During the commotion, Moxie saw something glimmer through the dust cloud. She thought she saw Megan rush forward and grab the Queen’s necklace and crown and hand them off to Ryan. Nettles had said they were semi-precious stones; they must be worth a lot of money. But when the dust settled, Ryan was helping Megan up from the ground. The Queen stood, dusted herself off and straightened her crown and necklace.
What in the world just happened? Moxie thought.
“One two three, four five six,” said Nettles.
Moxie plucked the strings of the lute and the parade continued its path to the joust.
It seems there’s something sinister happening in the Kingdom of Scandium. Was Moxie seeing things? What were the King and Queen fighting about? What has Pearl gotten Moxie into? Tune in next week for the electrifying continuation of Moxie’s startling, amazing and weird misadventure!
Sometimes things just go right. And when that happens, I get excited and want to share.
Experience Writing 