NaNo Notes and Chapters 4-5

NaNo Notes:

It's hard to write consistently on a daily basis. Especially when you're forcing yourself to write the same content for a specific amount of time. My latest craze to boost my writing mo
tivation is the writing sprints via Twitter @NaNoWordSprints. There's so much pressure to write freely for a length of time. By then end of the sprint, you feel exhausted but confident that you've completed something. I'm averaging 500 words per sprint. When my daily word goal is only 1,000 words, that's a major contribution.

Before I post my latest chapters to the world wide web, I would like to add that there is a time and place for each process in writing. There is no space for editing in my current time and place. Without further ado:

Here's my latest chapters.

Chapter 4: Elisa's Perspective

I'd given up long ago, never anticipating that my life would be different from here on out. No one ever asked, but I'd been in this house for the past twenty-two years, and I'm only sixty-seven. Years and years ago, I was only forty-five.

Aaron's been around everyday. We started out in my dark living room. Then she opened all the windows up. I stammered about the neighbors being able to see in and spy on me, but this young girl had enough polite and simple talk to bring the best out of me.

As it always was, my memory was never worth much. In particular, though, these past 22 years, my memory seemed non-existent. I didn't know much of anything about my first 45 years. The days after never had much of significance, but my memory was never solidified enough to determine one week or month or year from the next.

This Aaron girl was changing my world. She had a vast amount of information and was willing to share. She literally was opening up my world.

One day, Aaron and I were sitting out on the back porch eating a picnic lunch. Joe was scheduled to stop by any minute now. Aaron had been going on about this video on her computer that was hysterical. She kept going on about how she loved to watch the 'you tube' videos and how they were done by real people without the television studios or producers.

This kind of fascinated me, especially since most of my paranoia was a result of conspiracy theories with big companies.

When she showed me the first video on her computer, I was excited. It was fun and exciting. The video was hysterical and I enjoyed it very much.

It was three video's later that the darn thing began ringing. Aaron got really excited, "Ooh! It's a call from Emma, a friend from back home."

I didn’t mean to flip when I saw, but I couldn’t help it. Images of camera spying on everyone flashed before my eyes. Arrests and these things called ‘human deletion’ kept crossing my mind. I couldn’t imagine what all of this was about. I just knew that a video of someone from far away was not private.

“Stop,” I whispered and ducked out of the video camera view.

Aaron did nothing, “It’s alright Elisa, it’s only Emma. It’s a private call.”

“Nothing is private when it invades the content of you individual’s home,” I hissed quietly, “Stop. It. Now.”

Aaron still did not turn off the computer. Instead, she continued to argue, “No, Elisa, I a gave it permission.”

I couldn’t help myself, “this device deceives both the beholder and the begotten, cease now, or I shall be called to enforce my civil rights.”

Aaron, “But… Elisa…”

“Aaron is everything ok?” I heard from the laptop.

With that, I fiercely slammed the device closed. “Go. Home.”

Aaron stood in a huff and ran off the porch to her home.

Chapter 5: Aaron:

I’d never imagined how terrible Elisa could be. Her words were so venomous and scary. I could hear the words she was saying, but I wasn’t connecting them to the right emotion. I kept thinking that she didn’t want to meet Emma, because she was an outsider. To me, Emma at would be a great person to meet and help Elisa.

I think, however, that it was really the computer that scared her. She was terrified when she discovered that it could video record us both and someone else far away. I’m not quite sure what she is so afraid of, or why. It’s not like anything is so terrible with a video conversation. I hope that she can forgive me, but I fear that I have lost her.

“Go. Home. Now.” she’d said. That scared the life out of me. So mean and determined. I ran with fright and fear. I can’t help but see that she’s hiding something. Or maybe, she’s hiding something from herself. Something that she can’t seem to find in herself. How else could she begin to explore her past and present self.

Elisa is always so closed in with her little home and small perspective. She’s lost much of what has made her unique and specials as I know she is. How can I bring the best out of her?

I couldn’t go back for a few days. Joe came knocking every afternoon wondering where I was. I finally answered on the third day and told him I was sick.

“I hope you feel better little miss, because ol’ groucho over there is not nearly the same without you. You bring out the best in her Aaron,” he smiled.

The next day I knocked on the door. That was strange, because I usually just barged right in.

Joe answered with a puzzled look, “Feeling better Aaron? We’ve missed you, aren’t you coming in?”

“Joe can we talk?” I pleaded.

“Of course, come on in,” he smiled.

“Privately,” I begged.

“Ahh…” he said, “Elisa told me she’d been cross with you that last day.”

When the door was finally closed behind him, I folded my arms and told him everything Elisa had said and my ignorant reactions to each of it.

“She didn’t understand,” I sobbed.

“She might never understand,” Joe consoled, “but you’ve got to keep trying.”

“What if she’s a reason for these thoughts and feelings…” I huffed.

“She might not,” Joe reasoned, there’s so much to learn from Elisa, but we have to be willing to listen at all times. You taught me that my dear!

"Well, is that how she will be or is that the extent to wich you can improve youself over itme?" Aaron winned.

"I'm just looking for something that's bright and important in my life," Joe whispered.

We sat down for dinner later that night together, like some sort of suedo family. For the first twenty minutes, Elisa said nothing more than pass the potatoes. Joe tried to make small talk about this and that. I responded curtly. After we’d finished the main course, Joe brought out the biggest chocolate cake I’ve ever seen.

Usually, he makes Elisa eat like a nutritionist. The boy himself is barely a scarecrow. I couldn’t imagine how he could manage to cook something so foreign to him. Yet, here before us was the most magnificent cake you could ever imagine. There were little chocolate sprinkles decked across the most velveteen icing you could ever picture.

“Oh my,” Elisa giggled.

“You can say that again,” was my response.

At that, it was as if nothing had ever come between us. We moved on with a greater understanding of one another. Elisa, that I could not bear to lose the faith of my friends and that she was indeed one of my greatest friends. And I, that Elisa could not bear to be brought completly into my current world. She must remain tethered to some extent to her own past and challenges.

Joe sighed with relief. “If I’d known that chocolate cake could make women this happy, I’d have never lost a girlfriend yet.”

“If this cake’s as good as it looks, I’ll marry you myself,” Elisa laughed.

“Not if I get to him first,” I giggled.

Joe smiled and with great haste, dished us out each our own thick slice. I enjoyed the cake with all of the ecstacy a girl could muster. Each bite seemed to decompress and take away every ache and worry. I felt free and happy all at once.

“There’s a secret ingredient,” Joe laughed, “I found it from a friend back in nursing school. It’s proven to naturally increase endorphins.”

“What’s that?” Elisa and I both gave Joe a puzzled look.

“Chocolate,” he laughed.

And it was as simple as that. Our relationship, the three of us became just the same as chocolate. There was no other goal in our lives than to boost endorphins and make us feel better.

Elisa began to wonder then, I could see it in her face. Her paranoia seemed to be kicking in.

“Might this ingredient have been altered by any foreign or federal government. They tend to use such devices to achieve mastery over our individual decisions. I feel violated,” she huffed and pushed the cake away.

“Elisa,” I pleaded, “this ingredient was not made by some foreign or local government, the cake was created in your own kitchen by Joe himself.”

“Joe?” she questioned, “In my own kitchen?”

“Yes, Elisa,” I replied hastily, “and you trust the safety of your own kitchen, do you not?”

“I indeed make sure to excuse all items of questionable authenticity and authority from the home. That which is not safe must not live in the same dwelling as my family and livelihood. It is my constitutional right to choose from a variety of offers, which best serves my family.”

“And you trust Joe, Elisa. Don’t you?” I prodded in an attempt to see her through the end of her tangent.

“He is, most sincerly, the only man I have managed to trust in these past twenty-two years,” she harumphed.

“Then do you suppose this cake is poisined?” I asked.

“I do not…” she resolved.

With that, we both broke into the grandest smile. Elisa understood what I had done for her. I provided her brain with that which it was lacking, logic.

We toasted with a piece of cake. At first bite it seemed so hopeful. The texture was perfectly pleasing to the pallet. It was the flavor that revolted us.

Elisa and I took a deep gulp and looked to Joe, “Did someone poison your food… It tastes funny…”

“I made it myself!” harumphed Joe, “it looked just as it was supposed to in the book. I read the whole recepie and everything!”

“I don’t suppose you remembered the sugar dear,” smiled Elisa.

“Well, you were out, so I brought some from home.. but now that I think of it, the sugar did have a very odd consistency.”

“I do suppose we’ve been drugged!” Elisa squealed with laughter, “with moldy sugar!”

Because the statement was so completly outrageous and hysterical, we all burst out into the loudest gafaw you could imagine. We were practically rolling on the floor, when my aunt knocked at the door.

Joe let her in as he wiped happy tears from his face.

“Come in please, we were just trying my desert… it seems I’ve…” Joe began to explain but I quickly cut him off.

“Auntie,  dearie, Joe’s being modest. We’re laughing because he’s made simply the most delicious cake we could imagine. Only he’s deemed to name the cake something horrible. We’ll tell you only after you’ve tried it.” I tried to be cute and cunning.

“Ok…” she cautiously took a very large bite. At first, she plunged the cake into her mouth with confidence. I could see the reaction play across her face. First, she showed joy and happiness at eating some yummy piece of food. Then I saw as she found that the texture didn’t seem to hold right, disinegrating in her mouth. Finally, to her horror she got the last of the aftertaste in which the sour cake flavor was simply unbearable.

“Delicious…” she choked.

That put us over the edge, my aunt practically had to carry me home and I laughed the whole way.