Post Number One

 This is my first post here

My name is Grace and since this is my first post.  To put things most honestly, I'm not sure what things are usually posted in blogs on the first day, but I'll tell you that I like writing very much, I play music on the piano and organ, and sing a little (I am soprano but I like singing alto parts really.)  If you are interested in this aspect of my life in particular, you can watch me on my channel, but I'll warn you that I don't put out videos with much semblance of consistency.  Here is the link: https://www.youtube.com/@GraceEHall

I mentioned that I like writing.  I wrote a short story about someone who discovered that they also liked writing, which I will put after this.  Please Note:  The main character in the story is fictional, and was also the result of my first attempt to write anything in first person viewpoint.

Emma’s Swamp

When I first saw my Ma coming out into the yard, my thoughts immediately jumped to the usual conclusion. “Oh no, what have I done now?” My thoughts searched my previous doings anxiously but saw nothing amiss.

I looked around the tiny fenced-in area, dirty and plain, since the climate did not allow grass to grow in this blazing heat, only a few scraggly bushes. In the realm of my imagination, however, I overlooked the yard’s shortcomings and had, over the years, turned it into a perfect wonderland of opportunity, where my adventures of more or less chaotic disaster took place. My siblings (I had two) had both long since abandoned the yard and left that territory to me, as I was always warning them to stay off certain of the more dangerous kingdoms lest they should be considered suspicious activity, or bouncing with anxiety when they unknowingly invaded the Land of Peace, scattering its borders into unrecognizable disarray.

My ma trudged with remarkable bravery right though the middle of the Swamp of Desolation and approached me. “Emma, I must—”

Suddenly, I became aware of a great host of the overlord (a.k.a. a lot of big red ants from the massive anthill by the fence) marching in full armor down to a small Black Ant Colony (Dentville); to besiege it, most likely. I should have known, of course. The unsuspecting Dentville was in a terribly defenseless spot, a small dip in the ground which had given it its name. Fleeing would be out of the question; it was surrounded by the Great Plain where they could be seen and overtaken easily.

“Ma wait a minute please this is urgent.” I managed, while thinking quickly, but calmly, as I had grown accustomed to in moments of such great need. Ma, being also accustomed to my ways, smiled gently and said, “That’s fine, Honey. Just take your time and I’ll come out again later.”

Relieved, I thanked her, then, when I had the yard to myself, I ran to the Land of Peace over at the other end of the yard, through its pleasant fields and cool shady forests without even pausing to glance at the suggestive side-quests they might contain. This was an emergency.

Finally, after a laborious journey of about ten feet, I stumbled panting into the Palace of Peace at the corner of the fence. I pictured myself running up its shining stairways and into the throne room of the queen, where I stopped for a moment to stare in wonder at her gorgeous crown and jewels.

The queen, who knew me quite well from some of our previous escapades, greeted me with welcome and told me to be seated. I did, on a clump of prickly bush.

“My queen, you must listen closely. I fear the overlord’s hosts are marching on Dentville this very moment.”

The queen turned pale. “Then its position is desperate. I have feared this event many times, but there is nothing we can do.”

“Nothing!” I burst out. “We must do something. Even now the attackers may be closing in.”

I peeked out a shimmering window to see how our time was. Yes, the ants were nearing the colony.

Just then I remembered something that sent a terrified chill down my spine. “Didn’t you say that you had sent some of the talented ants to Dentville?”

The queen remembered too, and leapt off her throne, exclaiming, “Dentville must be saved, it must! Guards, take the best horses and run to tell the army to return to Dentville immediately. Emma, thank you for this message.”

The three talented ants were remarkably smart, and were living in Dentville currently. I was concerned for their safety, since they could be valuable assets. I also didn’t think that the guards would be fast enough, so I sprinted down the stairs and out the huge doors to warn the army myself.

Many impatient minutes later, as I was in the process of convincing the army to move in the right direction (they had a tendency to stray from their original goal) I suddenly saw that the red ant army was taking Dentville to pieces and carrying the materials back to the overlord’s kingdom. Black ants were being decimated! Horrified, I stared for a moment, then yelled, “STOP!” or something like that, gave up on the army, and hurled a clump of dirt at the war. The invaders were undeterred, so I flung myself into the defense effort with a loud scream that was meant to be intimidating. My huge hands became the strange weapons of some inventor that had never been recognized, put into use only because there was nothing else. However, they were the cause that eventually rescued Dentville from entire destruction, and the red ants retreated into their kingdom to alert their overlord of this strange new development. I sat back on my heels to examine the wreck.

Dentville would have to be rebuilt; but I knew the citizens would do that quickly. What I was more worried about was the safety of the smart ants. But how could I know that they were even still alive? They could have been dead for all I knew; they looked just like all the other ants! I asked some of the colonists, but they didn’t know.

Then I remembered that the ants in question would come out of the town when I called to them. I leaned down and called gently, “Hellooooo.”

Only two of the ants stopped working and came up to me. They came slowly, for each were missing at least one leg, I could tell. I felt tears start up in my eyes.

“I’m so sorry. . . if I had been here sooner. . .”

I imagined us standing in the battlefield, with the smoking ruins of the town on the horizon. The first citizen spoke quickly. “It’s alright, Emma. You couldn’t have done all that much-- they came so fast.”

The second added, “And, all of us three are alive. The third was taken to the hospital underground. He’s going to be alright too.”

I knew I was trying to convince myself that this was true. I couldn’t help it; even though I was becoming more and more sure that the clever ant was killed. I didn’t even know if ants had hospitals.

I then became aware of a hand on my shoulder, and Ma’s voice saying with concern, “Emma, Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’m okay,” I replied, wiping my eyes. “What did you want to tell me earlier?”

Then I saw how worried she had been. I took the time to imagine what the event would look like from her point of view, with me yelling out like that and then sitting on the ground crying.

“Really I’m fine.” I assured her. “It’s just the the ant. . .”

“The talented ones that you told me about?” asked Ma, relieved. “I thought you were hurt. Please don’t do that again.”

“I’ll try.” I said, and I did. It was true that the family had gotten used to most of my antics by now. The problem was, as I grew, so too did my adventures, and they were not only getting harder for me to figure out but they were also getting louder and more involved. Even the neighbors, who were the friendlier type, did not appreciate the yells of “Look out, they’re after us!” or “CAREFUL! That goes straight down the cave!” issuing over the fence.

Despite my good intentions, in the yard the next day after school, when I was exploring the dangerous swamp with an expedition the queen had sent out, a great lizard-like creature had burst out at us, and even I couldn’t help but give a shriek. Thankfully, I managed to collect myself in time to discover that the creature disliked a certain type of tree, and, as we all stood underneath one, we were saved for the moment. Unfortunately, the creature did not go away, but stood about three yards from our tree. Now this was a difficult situation.

What made it more difficult was that the potency of the tree would wear off in about five minutes. I kept glancing at my watch, as the minutes went by, but I couldn’t think of anything, and the monster was getting closer to our spot. In the middle of the last minute, I shouted, “RUN! It’d be better than waiting here!” and took off. I had a split second to wonder what would happen if I got eaten in my imagination. It scared me, and, though it seemed silly to me afterward, I was terrified. The lizard thing, and the importance of this expedition, were all too real to me, and I went up and over the fence, out the lane, and down the dusty street before the thirty seconds were up. The swamp creature was taken by surprise by our sudden move, but wasted no time in pursuing us, and it was catching up way too fast. I ran and ran.

Suddenly, I heard the whir of a car engine, and I saw Ma’s car slow beside me.

“Emma? What are you doing way out here?”

Yes! Safety! I thought, and plunged headlong into the backseat, breathing like I had run twenty miles. “Hi, Ma.” I said, grinning with pure relief. Of course the monster could not get into this vehicle which was on the side of the queen of peace. The expedition had been saved.

Ma repeated the question. “So. . . what were you doing way out here? I was just coming from the grocery store after getting a few Milk and Greens.”

I thought about my reply. She might think it odd if I told her about the strange creature, and, as I stopped to think about it myself, it even sounded a little odd to me. It hadn’t been real. But, it had seemed so vivid, the experience was like a memory, like I had actually done it. “I was um. . . running from a dangerous swamp reptile.”

“Interesting.” said Ma, trying not to laugh, I knew. “Next time, stay in the yard.” She smiled at me.

“Okay,” I responded. I made a resolution never to do anything dangerous in real life again.

However, that night, as I sat on my bed holding a book (I wasn’t reading; I was too busy thinking of my backyard realm outside to follow the plot of other books) I tried and tried to think of some way we could get through this troublesome swamp to the unknown territory beyond. There had to be some way. . .

“Hi SweetHeart.” Ma sat down beside me, smelling of floral perfume and tropical hair shampoo. “What are you reading?”

I had to look at the cover to remind myself. “’Shadow of the Stone.’ Well, I was thinking about the swamp, really.”

“I see.” Ma stroked my head soothingly. It felt nice. “You know you don’t have to make it so hard on yourself.”

“Ma, it’s so much more exciting that way. It makes me think.”

“. . .and jump over fences. Emma, I love you, but there are some things we need to talk about.”

I wondered if I hadn’t done all my homework.

Ma continued, “You’ll be seventeen this spring. Your pa and I have been worried; you don’t seem to be showing a particular interest in anything, and your school life will end soon. Have you even considered college and your grown up life?”

I didn’t quite get that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life in the little backyard, with my friends the “ants of peace” and all the rest. When I had to go to college, I would find a yard there to create a world.

Ma picked up “The Happy Day” from my nightstand and idly fingered its brightly-colored pages. “Just something for you to think about, Dear. Now sleep well.”

“You too,” I said. When she left, I turned out the light, set the book on my nightstand, and closed my eyes.

I couldn’t sleep. Usually, I went to sleep without delay. This time it was only too clear that it was going to be awhile.

I was the middle of three siblings, and I was proud of their every success, rejoicing when my brother participated in a piano recital or my sister passed a science test. Yet I never tried to do anything like that myself, wishing only to continue my escapades in the yard. I did my school work well, but as one who lacks interest, and I was the least ambitious member of my class. Slowly, I began to realize the meaning of what Ma had said.

 
My siblings and classmates had at least some idea of what they wanted to do with their lives, and they were preparing for that life with skillful patience. They had a future; I had a dirty backyard full of imaginary places, imaginary people, and imaginary occurrences. That would not sustain me for a lifetime, for I could not play forever, and now I realized that that was what I had been doing: playing, a simple game that I should have grown out of long ago. I should have been thinking of my own life; not the lives that I had created out of thin air and ants. I should have been preparing myself, not fleeing from imaginary wingless dragons or crying over the wreck of an anthill. I felt lost. Everything that had seemed so important to me I now saw as a childish fancy, empty and unreal. The future loomed large before me, like a real swamp of desolations, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I was not particularly good at anything in school, and I showed no skill in drawing or any art; cars and engines were uninteresting to my simple brain, and music was downright confusing.

I had no ambition.

What Ma and Pa was worried about had been to me a mystery until now, and now I shared their disconcertion, only more so. My instinct was to go to them and ask for advice, as I did when there was anything I just couldn’t figure out. But, what could they say? They could offer comforting words, but they could not give me a talent or a passion. I couldn’t make myself enjoy something.

I remembered the saying, “ambition and inspiration are two things”, but when the next thought came, it was both.

I had an imagination. I had spent my whole life developing it. All I had to do was use it, but not to endlessly waste my time in the yard. There must be another way to harness my ability.

I turned on my reading-light and took up a pencil and paper that I had used to write my homework math problems on. I stared at it for a moment, then, almost without thinking, I wrote,

“Once upon a time there was a swamp. . .”


I kept writing for the rest of my life. Though my first book, “The World Beyond the Swamp” was anything but successful, I continued until I had accumulated several more books in the series. Then, when I thought I had exhausted the swamp idea for awhile (even my parents were wondering how many more books I would get out of this swampy obstacle) I wrote a book about myself and my unusual childhood entitled, “Backyard Adventures.” I did not think that the book would be very good, for it was not exciting and that was what I thought that a good book should be, but much to my shock, it sold more in a week than all my other books combined. I suppose people enjoyed reading the account of my life more than about the swamp, which consternated me greatly. Maybe they pitied my mom. Anyway, no matter the cause, it was more of a success than the other books, and I decided that if they liked it so much, it was okay with me. I liked the swamp ones best, and even as I grew in my writing, exploring into much deeper and even stranger worlds than the swamp, I still respected the first series of books that, as I wrote them, convinced me that I was I writer, and always had been, only instead of writing on paper, I had written my stories in the backyard; and instead of a pencil, I wrote with ants and dirt and bushes. Not only that, but the kingdoms I made in the backyard still continue to shape the way I write now, for example, the “Plains of Prosperity” in the book I am working on vaguely resembles the Land of Peace, and I even named a town after Dentville.

Yes, the day I started writing marked the end of my backyard adventures, at least in the physical sense. I had found another, more useful way to vent my imagination, and I did not miss the old times in the yard. Writing was the same; only better, for I did not have the boundaries that the fence imposed, or the limitations of only having one person—myself. With writing, I could make more characters than ever, more places than ever, and more plot lines that would have been impossible with my limited resources outside. Even better, writing was a career that I could spend the rest of my life doing; and that is just what I did.

The End.

 

 If you made it this far and are still reading, thank you very much.  I hope you enjoyed it.  It was interesting to write in the different setting and viewpoint than I normally do, since I usually write in fantasy or science fiction worlds and in third person.  This story started a couple of other stories in the same modern time-frame and also in first person.  To me, I found that the writing style was easy to write. . . easier, in fact, than what I am accustomed to.  That said, my devotion to the imaginative realms remains, and nearly all of the large books I want to write are not modern or first person.  But for a short story this style is fun.

Thank you for reading!  I hope to write more in the future!  Have a blessed day,

Grace