Poetry Corner: My Hideaway

I was perusing some older poetry I’d written (back in high school!) And I thought I’d share with you some of them. I’ll try to post Poetry once a week… if someone can think up a nice alliterative title for me that’d be awesome… the only thing I’m coming up with is “Metrical Composition Monday,” which I’ll go with if need be, but it’s a little bit awkward…

Anyway, first poem installment:

Welcome to my Hideaway 3-24-97

High upon a mountain peak,
Beside a rushing stream,
Chinked with mud, a roof that leaks,
The house of my own dreams.

Where only eagles fly,
On a mountain’s lonely peak,
Able to touch the sky,
And with animals alone, to speak.

This beautiful little cabin,
Nestled in a nook,
And only I and the mountain,
Know just where to look.

From all else as if not there
Life goes on below, all well,
While only a few might dare,
To find my secret “Rivendell.”

~Jenelle Schmidt

~ jenelle

Second Picture Story Saturdays

Alright, it’s about time someone posted on Saturday – even if nobody will read them because nobody reads blogs on Saturday – !

I’ve been working on a book that is a compilation of short stories for… oh… about 10 years now. Which is sad. Of course, in that time, I’ve also graduated college, gotten married, had a baby, moved a few times, and completed four 100,000+ word novels, so maybe not so sad… anyway, thought I’d share some snippets with you all… and start a regular posting habit (because I’ve neglected this poor writing blog for FAR too long).

So… here’s the story of the inspiration behind my book of short stories:

Second Pictures Stories

     I got the idea for this book at a birthday party for an eight-year-old boy. His name is unimportant, for most of the names in this book have been changed to protect the innocent. And anyway, this is not a story about this particular young boy’s birthday party, so much as it is about a singular occurrence within the birthday party that gave me the idea for the title of this book. Something struck me when the father of the birthday boy told all the kids to get together for a picture: he said something that sounded so familiar it made me smile and almost laugh.
    “We will take two pictures, okay? The first one has to be good. You all have to stand still and smile, no bunny ears or silly faces. Then we can take a second picture and you can do whatever you want.”
    How many times had I heard those words? How many times had I stood impatiently through the “good” picture so that we could get to the “wild” picture? And oh! How incredibly long it had always seemed. The “good” picture always seemed to last for an unbearably long time. I stood back and watched as the father took the two pictures. The pictures were snapped and the two moments were captured for all time in the film of the camera. I smiled, there was no doubt in my mind as to which picture would be sent to family and friends.
     The picture that would surely go into the family albums and be brought out to show to friends was the one where all the children were standing politely in two rows and smiling beautifully like little angels. However, it was the second picture that most accurately portrayed the reality of the children at the party. In the second picture each child twisted his or her face into the most grotesque image possible, then he grabbed his neighbor’s throat and jumped up into the air. The light flashed as the second picture was taken, capturing for all time the wild antics of these young children.
     That picture would be taken out as well as the first one, and everyone would laugh over it in a few years. The children would be grown up and laugh at it too, wondering if they had truly ever been so silly. Yes, they would laugh, but deep in their hearts, they would remember the glorious beauty of childhood, and they would each secretly long for such a time again.
     And so, this book is a compilation of “second picture stories,” stories that reveal the true nature of childhood. These stories are exclusively about children, some of them young, some of them not so young. Some of these stories really happened, some of them are from friends, and some of them are even drawn from my own childhood, but it does not matter whether the stories are true or not, or which ones belong to who, what matters is the smiles that they bring. What you do with these stories is entirely up to you, but I would hope that they would help to inspire memories of laughter and fun, and remind us all of a time when we were just a little bit younger, a little bit less mature, a little bit more innocent, and a whole lot wiser.

~ jenelle

Freebie Friday

Here’s an excerpt from the revised version of King’s Warrior – coming soon to a bookstore near you (hopefully) ;)

Kamarie, Oraeyn, and Darby meet Yole for the first time in the Mountains of Dusk:

     “What is your name?” she asked gently as she walked towards him with an outstretched hand.
     The boy shrank from her hand as if it were deadly poison. He glanced up at her and their eyes locked. A shock went through Kamarie as she felt a recognition of something long forgotten shoot into her. The youth seemed to experience the same thing, for he went rigid, and he looked at her sharply. His face suddenly looked too old, too wise for his apparent youthful age.
     “My name is Yole,” the boy said hesitantly, “who are you? I didn’t know there was anyone else in these mountains.”
     “I am Kamarie, and my two companions are Oraeyn and Darby,” Kamarie said, still puzzling over what she had seen in the youth’s eyes. It had seemed as though she was looking through a window and seeing a very different world than the one she had expected. There was something strangely familiar about this youth, like a part of a dream that has faded with time but was never completely forgotten.
    Oraeyn stepped forward, “What are you doing out here alone?” his voice was concerned, and a little bit suspicious.
     Yole glanced at his feet, “I was working for a man in the village of Peak’s Shadow.”
     Kamarie’s eyes met Oraeyn’s in startled recognition; he nodded and touched the hilt of his sword as if expecting an attack. Yole continued without noticing their reaction to the name that he had uttered, “I fell asleep while I was watching the herd, I know I shouldn’t have, but I was listening to the other shepherds’ playing their pipes and the music just made me feel drowsy and tired and I couldn’t help but fall asleep.
     “The next thing I knew, Brant was waking me up and telling me that I had to leave, that I should be more careful around people. I think he was accusing me of stealing sheep or something, but I didn’t. I don’t have any use for sheep of my own. I wouldn’t know what to do with them. I certainly don’t have any place to put them,” Yole’s tone was open and slightly confused, “I’ve been wandering through these mountains trying to find my way out for a long time now. I don’t have any food left, and I think I’m lost.” He sniffed, and wiped his nose with his grimy hand.
    Kamarie winced and said, “We have some food.”
    At the same time, Oraeyn asked, “Did you say Brant?”
    The boy looked at Kamarie gratefully, then turned to Oraeyn, “Yes sir. The man I worked for was named Brant.”
    “Well, now, that’s just the man that we need to find, isn’t it?” Darby said, causing them all to jump. It was sometimes fairly easy to forget that Darby was even there she spoke so little.
    “Yes, Darby, it is,” Kamarie said, surprised that she had not been as quick as either Darby or Oraeyn to make that connection.
    “He’s a good man,” Yole said quickly, darting a look at them as if he thought they would start accusing him of being ungrateful, “looks out for his people, he’s not really the leader of the village or anything, but everyone looks up to him. Whenever there’s trouble, it’s brought to Brant, and he deals with it, never saw anyone more fair in his treatment of others. And his family is nice too: kind, generous people. I don’t hold a thing against them. I don’t know what I did, but I know I probably deserved to be kicked out, because Brant wouldn’t ever issue a punishment if it weren’t deserved.”
    “Does he still bend knee to his King?” Kamarie asked thoughtfully.
    Yole stared at her, “Of course he does!” He exclaimed. “I told you, he’s a good man, follows the rules. Fair. Of course he bends knee to King Arnaud, he thinks very highly of him, he always speaks of the king with respect and admiration. He’s a man of character, Brant is, loyal to the end.”
    “Alright, alright!” Kamarie held up her hands, “I was not questioning his character. We just have to be careful in these difficult days.”
    The defensiveness went out of Yole’s eyes, “I’m sorry too, but Brant, he was good to me. Paid me more than I deserved, sent me out with plenty of food, well, it would have been enough food if I hadn’t gotten lost. Most of the other people I worked for used whips when they sent me away. I was chased out of one town by the villagers, they threw rocks and threatened to kill me if I ever came back.”
    Oraeyn stared at him, “What did you do?”
    “I don’t know, really,” he said, “but it must have been something awful.”
    “Did you ever consider, young man,” Darby suddenly spoke up, “that perhaps they were in the wrong?”
    Yole’s eyes got big, and he looked scared, “No! Never! I wouldn’t even let the thought enter my head. I just broke some rule and had to be punished for it, that’s all.”

~ jenelle