The Birth of Playground Treasures

Tonight is the night I become a real author...okay, I know I said that like months ago. But seriously, tonight is the night my first novel comes out. I've been working on Playground Treasures for almost five years. It started off as a project I did with my students as they worked on their own fiction stories. Then summer started, and I ached to finish Lorelei and Kendall's story. It's been through so many revisions...you wouldn't believe how it looked in the beginning.

This book means so much to me. It accomplished a few things:

-I can do whatever I put my mind to

-Some stories beg to be told

-Anything worth doing is going to be hard

-Friendship is incredibly important

Reflect on friendship this weekend for me. This book is so much about the importance of having special people in your life. Kendall and Lorelei are just one of the many billion friendships that started because two people decided to let down a few walls. 

The Leadup to my Launch for Playground Treasures

So up until my launch date, I am going to share a photo and something about one of the two main characters...and then tie it back to a personal experience about me. This story is very close to my heart and I hope you love it just as much as I do!

Lorelei and Kendall are two eleven-year-old kids that meet each other on the playground. They both love to swing, but by the end of the book you find that have much, much more in common than a simple love of the swings.

This story is based from the South Elementary playground that I went to Elementary school in Thomaston, Georgia. One of my favorite things about this massive playground was the amount of swings it has. Seven years ago, I took Fred to this playground to show him how incredible it was and to prove that, yes, there were almost fifty swings. I was incorrect. We counted 64....and there were even more when I was younger. In Playground treasures, there are also 64 swings. 

Kendall runs away from the Jaspers' house and finds a home in the storm drain on the elementary playground. Sitting on the jungle gym is one of his favorite places to think. It gives him a chance to look across the playground and decide what he needs to do next to accomplish his goals: find a permanent home to live and save his brother.

What is your favorite place to go to think? 

I grew up with big magnolia trees is my backyard...huge ones, limps that reached further than the top of my house X3. I loved climbing its arms and sitting there to think.

It is also a key event in Playground Treasures. Kendall finds that the old magnolia tree on the school playground is an excellent lookout from the Jaspers'. One time the Jaspers' are even directly under the tree when he is hiding...tense scene. Definitely one of my favorites to write.

When Kendall runs from the Jaspers, he goes to the only safe place he remembers, the elementary playground. There he remembers an abandoned storm drain he hid in once in first grade to hide from Roseanna's relentless kisses. He thinks it will make a great hideout. What do you think?

Although my book is a children's book, it has some serious situations mentioned. Kendall has dealt with heavy loss, including emotional and physical abuse from his dad and adopted parents and eventually runs away from home when it becomes too much. Lorelei has had her own issues, feeling lost after the death of her father years ago and now her mom is dating someone new.

Despite these issues, I feel Playground Treasures shows that friendship helps heal those little holes we have in our life and makes things worth living again. Lorelei and Kendall have a friendship that starts off rocky after a misunderstanding becomes so strong that Lorelei does something unfathomable that will change Kendall's life forever.

Anyone have an amazing friendship like that? Any that have helped heal those little holes in your life?

Playground Treasures takes place in the small town that I grew up in, Thomaston, Georgia. It's about an hour from Atlanta and about an hour's drive to anywhere important...other than Walmart, which the town does have. It's a mill-town and was hit hard when the mill closed its doors. The city averages about 10,000 people in and outside of Upson County boundaries. There's two public elementary schools, one of which Lorelei and Kendall attend.

 

During one chapter of the book, they do visit another city in Thomaston, which happens to be my next-favorite city, Peachtree City, for the annual 4th of July parade. These were the really fun parts of my book to write. The experts say, write about what you know about...and I know Georgia :) It feels good to write about this part of my history, especially since I live in Utah now. I guess I'll always be a Georgia Peach. :)

This cat necklace is special to both Kendall and Lorelei. In chapter one, you'll find out why this necklace is so important to Kendall and why he'll be willing to risk everything to keep Lorelei's lost cat necklace a secret.

Ever have something that is so important to you, you're willing to keep it secret?

Some things are just not made like they were used to-

This picture of a plastic playground is evidence of that. Instead of sturdy metal material that might rust, burns when it's too hot outside, but holds up under any kid abuse, we have now switched out playground to be colorful, made of plastic, and easy to draw graffiti on. Sad how childhood has changed.

This kind of equipment is in the newer part of Kendall and Lorelei's playground...but let's be honest, both of them prefer the metal giants of the playground and not this crayon pile of plastic. Even though these two kids are 11, they've been through a lot of hard life situations- loss of family members, abuse, and running away. They're not only smart kids, but they've adapted well to whatever life has thrown at them.

Okay everyone, I know you've been waiting on the edge of your seat for today's post :)

Remember these slides? The heat slide of death? Burns your legs nicely on the way down? Yeah, these were on the playground that Kendall and Lorelei played at almost every day. Have you ever stopped and watched kids play on the playground? Or anywhere really? It's so fun to see their minds work. There is so much innocence in real child's play. 

I love Playground Treasures because small things mean a lot to Kendall, who has had basically nothing his whole life. One of my favorite parts of the book is when Lorelei finds out all that Kendall has missed out on in life, she desires to right all the wrongs she can. Movie-watching marathon, trying to teach him how to swim, filling him with his favorite treats. She really is a stand-out kid! Their friendship is special and is what makes this book uuhhhmazia...(Freddy and Cameron love to say that). 

There should be a sign somewhere that says, "All because two kids rode down the slides together."

Okay this is not my exciting post of the day, yet...but it's just as exciting. John M Olsen shared this picture with me and now I'm really dreaming of playgrounds of the past. What do you think?

Share with me in the comments your favorite playground equipment.

Playground Treasures Book Launch

I am launching my book, Playground Treasures, next Friday August 25th. I am so excited to share Kendall and Lorelei's stories with the world! Come join me!

Writing as an Outlet

There are alot of thoughts in my head, too many actually. It's overwhelming. I've always been the type of person that wants more than I can have, but won't stop trying until I get it to some degree.

Case and point-
I always wanted to be a BYU dancer. I saw them perform when I was very young and even though they did not have ballroom dancing in Georgia, I wanted more than anything to learn and be on a team one day. I was in tap, ballet, and jazz for most of my growing up years, but it was basically learn routines and perform in front of parents. Nothing too exciting.

In high school, I applied to BYU and BYU-Idaho. I had no doubt I would at least get into one. When my BYU rejection came, it was sad. Really sad. How could I become a BYU dancer if I wasn't AT BYU. When I received my BYU-I acceptance letter, my light started to shine a little brighter. I could still be a BYU-I dancer. And so I was. I had never taken a ballroom dance class in my life, but I had the heart of one, and by the end of my senior year, I had made the ballroom tour team. Guess where we toured that year....You guessed it. Stateside. Burly Idaho of all places. But I loved it. And I accomplished my seemingly impossible dream.

I also have dreams of becoming a novelist, a professional speaker, a principal. I'm a dreamer. But I am also a dream catcher and I try like the dickens to accomplish what I want.

Now, what does this have to do with an outlet? Yes, I have dreams to become a famous writer that makes a mark in the world for good. But I also want to write because it is an outlet of peace in relieving these swirling thoughts in my head. In that case, everyone is a writer. It bothers me when famous or seemingly famous according to some standards discourage young writers against writing because they don't want to fill them false hope that they will make it. Because most don't. But to me, writing should be done because it is a means of expressing yourself and not because you are sure it will take you places that others will want to see, too.

So if you've ever thought of writing and then thought of the mass amount of weight that statement carries, realize there are no expectations of writers to succeed. Only that you write.

Three Reasons You Should Write

There are a lot of books in this world. A LOT. And it can seem daunting to a new author who is just going to add a few to the list of no-name books that no one remembers after a few years. The big question is, should those books not be written? Should a writer not write because someone has already said, in one way or another, what they are about to write?

The only answer here is- Heck no!

There’s a good Utah answer for you, right there. Heck no. Here are some valuable reasons why authors should get their writing out there:

1. It is your writing and no one can say it exactly how you would say it. No matter if the situation or the information is the same, there is no one that can write that book or that story or paper the way you would write it. It’s like your DNA strand of writing, and luckily, no one will say verbatim what you would say…unless they plagiarize, and then they should be shot. Kidding. Kind of.
   
2. There are so many valuable lessons learned during the process of writing a book: hard work, humility, perseverance, researching, writing, editing, and finishing skills, people skills, and so many more. The juice is worth the squeeze, no matter how many have squeezed before you.
3. Someone out there needs what you write. Most books are not for all audiences. They’re meant to reach targeted readers. Because of that, there is only a select group that will read your book to begin with. One or more of those readers will find something significant in something you have written, and that will make everything worth it for the one reader.

So writers, or soon to be writers, when you feel overwhelmed by the sure mass of books that are available at your fingertips, remember that…that fact should have no bearing on whether you choose to write. Write because you love to, because it’s a way of expressing yourself. And whether you become great or not, worry not about that. That’s just the cherry on your delicious cake anyway!

Flash Fiction is Amazing!

Ok seriously, I thought short stories and flash fiction were a joke. But the real joke is, you don’t become a good writer until you can write a concentrated, shortened version of a story. I have learned so, so much from writing a Flash Fiction piece as an exercise in one of my writing groups. It is not perfect, yet, but I like it.

Quick list of things I learned:

-Limited words means a tighter scene, quicker pacing, and better word choice

-Cut, cut, cut

-Writing in present tense is fun, but hard

-You can say so much with so little

The theme for this flash fiction piece was “Something Lost.” For those who have had trouble with abuse in the past, just a forewarning, there are some subtle PG hints to abuse and I don’t want to catch anyone off guard. Tell me what ya think. 

* * *

The Unnamed One

by

Jenny Flake Rabe

Today will never be like yesterday. But the next few thousand tomorrows will look a lot like today.

Thoughts of yesterday filter through my mind.

Church. Family. White Dress. A perfect day, really. And then he shows up.

He catches my eye and winks. I smile. It has been too long. Unwanted butterflies flutter in my heart, but I push them away and look forward. My betrothed is here, focusing his attention on the doors. I look away from Michael, only to find him staring at me.

“Come with me,” he mouths.  He looks at me with those chocolate-melting eyes, pleading for me to stall.

My heart thumps inside at the possibilities. I sneak out when no one is looking and we go to a room where I can’t hear the organ play.

He backs me into a wall and whispers long-forgotten sweet things in my ear.

Memories. Feelings. Promises.

He kisses me, and something in me leaves. Something pure and right. We have too much past together.

I shake my head and head for the stairs. Michael is waiting, the one that fills me with hope and reminds me I have value.

“Michael deserves more than what you can give him,” he says to me. He fills me up with words and more stolen kisses. He reminds me of what I am, of what we’ve done. I crumble at the truth, the mascara making a mess on my face.

I look for a path to freedom, but feel his steady gaze. I can’t escape the past. He won’t let me disappear again. I nod and agree to leave with him.

On the short drive, my heart breaks over and over. I can’t bear to look at the person who made me leave my one, true love. I imagine Michael staring down the aisle, waiting with eager anticipation. Our relationship had been unlike any other in my life— no settling, no broken promises, no betrayal.

Until now. I ruin everything I start.

He whispers, “We’ll do it right this time, baby. You’ll be mine forever. Things will be better.” I flinch when he runs a hand over me, like I’m an actor in his next play.

We find a wedding venue, and they marry us on the spot. He pays for a cheap hotel room, the only one he can afford. “Money is tight,” he says, “but we’ll make it.” And I smile because Michael told me this once. We had planned on being poor and happy.

Once alone, he takes what I have repaired so long ago. My body aches and I feel empty inside. I try to smile and ignore the thoughts of what could have been. But it is done. I have chosen. When it is over, we find a no-name burger joint and he refuels.

He talks, but I still don’t hear. I’m in a daze.

The night is long and I feel I’m on a rinse-repeat cycle. When he finally collapses, I breathe a sigh of relief and cry into my pillow. Eventually I sleep.

The bed shakes and I cower. I freeze and pretend I don’t care. Though in all honesty, I guess there is nothing worse that could happen. I have hit rock bottom and will be here when the layers of earth settle on top of me for years to come.

He reaches over and finds mine. My guilt chokes me. I hope that my slight touch will be enough to appease him for now. I stare down at myself and wince.

“Morning, baby,” he says to me, in that lovey-dovey voice male characters in movies use after their one night stands. This was neither a good morning or a one-night stand.

I turn on my side. Did he see my eyes? We do what he wants all morning, and I find some reprieve in a restaurant bathroom during a break. I cry and cry until no tears are left. I want to call Michael and apologize, but my new husband has stripped everything from me. I come out of the stall and a lady so dark I could have drawn her with a lead pencil stares at me.

She looks at my arms, my legs, my face. Purple and blue are not my colors. Compassion shows in the crinkles in her eyes. I try to smile, and her frown deepens. I wash my hands and go to leave, but she stops me with a hand.

She hands me a cellphone, nods, and blocks the door. I stare at the numbers and then I call. Michael picks up right away and I cry quietly in the phone.

“I’ll be there in a couple of hours,” he says. “Don’t move.”

I hang up the phone and give it back to her. “Violet,” she says, introducing herself. I nod, but remain quiet. I can’t stay in the bathroom for long. He’ll know.

I walk closer to the door, but she doesn’t budge. She dials a number on her phone and I frantically rush at her. “You can’t,” I whisper, fighting against her with my tiny fists. She takes each blow, catching them with her wide hands.

The fight in me leaves after a while. Her hazel eyes calm me, and I focus on them when I feel a scream rising. Soon, I hear loud noises outside, but she continues to bar the door. Other people try to enter, but she refuses to move.

A knock comes to the door. I hear Michael’s voice. I nod, and she releases me into his arms. I look at her over my shoulder and hope my look tells her everything I feel.

Michael holds me and a joy indescribable fills me to my toes. I weep in his arms, and he kisses each tear away.

An officer waits, but Michael waves them away for now. I squeeze his hand and he kisses my forehead. I don’t deserve him, but every day I try to prove myself wrong.

When You're Done, You've Just Begun...

So here I am, a shiny new copy of my novel in my hand, and what do I see? A big, big mistake. Good thing it was a proof, huh?

I’ve decided to invest the eight extra dollars to order a proof of the book and take the time to…uh read my novel  Guess how many mistakes I’ve found? Uh, yeah, don’t ask. A few on every page.

AND I PAID AN EDITOR.

It just goes to show, there will be errors even after you go through multiple beta-reading rounds, hire a professional editor, and edit it yourself.

For nine years, I taught at a charter school in Ogden, and we taught writing through the Lucy Caulkin’s curriculum. I LOVED it. Seriously. It retaught me how to write. Like for reals, and I was teaching that crazy stuff to FIFTH graders. Amazing!

Anyway, one of their mantras is, “When you’re done, you’ve just begun. Return to your work.” Do you know how many times I would say that to students? Like a lot. So much so that I finally decided to print it out on a piece of paper and hold it up whenever an eager writer told me, “Mrs. Rabe, Mrs. Rabe, I’m done. I’m done.”

No one ever told me they were done after about a month of teaching them, and it was amazing. Not because I wanted to crush their writing spirits, but because in writing, you learn, there is something we can always improve. But at some point, you gotta put the dang thing down and share it with someone. And that’s what I’m going to do, after I edit it one more time. 

Put yourself out there! It’s an amazing feeling. And who cares if you suck and wrote “of” instead of “off” (Just found that tonight). Big deal. Should that stop you from putting something really great out? Absolutely not.

Be brave.

Put yourself out there.