I need to start with the news that I have officially started querying my middle-grade novel, Marigold and Nox. Which means, I’ve begun my search for representation from a literary agent.

Yes, it’s time!! And it’s ready. This is a story that I have loved from the very beginning.

I can’t wait to find the right person who will fall in love with this adventure and these characters as much as I have, and will help me share it with the world.

Ten-year-old Marigold never wanted anything to change, but when her parents suddenly move from the city to the middle of nowhere, she’s faced with a brand-new everything. On unpacking day, she meets the beautiful black cat Nox, and together they discover a secret doorway that leads to a magical world where Nox can actually speak.

 

In the Rainbow Forest, they stumble upon a wish-granting well guarded by two lovable gnomes, and soon set off on a quest for a coin to make a wish that will set everything right. Along the way, they encounter a quirky cast of characters–including a wily otter-rat, Magnus the obnoxious bird, and a ginormous spider with an equally large personality. Together, they overcome obstacles like a rickety rope bridge on a mountaintop, a roaring Great River, and a pitch-black maze of caverns, confronting their fears on a journey that is both humorous and heartfelt.

It’s funny that my end goal is to be under contract with this manuscript. Funny, because the title of the piece that I wrote today is called “Contract: Signed and Dated”

I need to tell you how I came about writing this, and then I’ll post the story below. It’s a bit outside of my comfort zone, but I’ll get back to that.

So, I’ve mentioned that I’m a virtual member of a Colorado writing group. Virtual, because that’s the way I can continue to participate after moving to Michigan two years ago. And I’m so glad I have that option!

The group gets together once a month to share pieces written from a prompt.

I LOVE PROMPT WRITING.

I know that it seemed like I shouted that at you, and I apologize. But it is something I just need to shout. I love writing challenges so much, and this group allows me to flex my brain in a uniquely challenging way (oh, that sounds weird. There’s probably a better way for me to say that, but that came out just weird enough, and I think I’ll leave it.)

The challenge:

1. You have two prompts to choose from

2. The piece must be under 500 words.

What fun!

I like to be extra, and take it to a new level: trying to incorporate BOTH prompts, and have the piece be EXACTLY 500 words. EEEK! and WOOO!

Side note, this is how my collection of short stories, “Twenty Five Hundred” came to be. (Available on Amazon)

Twenty-Five Hundred 3D book

This month, the prompts are:

“Now and Then,” or “I’ve Had Better.”

I didn’t think I had anything for those. Originally, I heard those prompts and was pretty uninspired, to be honest.

Turns out, I just needed to let it percolate for a while. Let it simmer, until life plopped a situation right into my lap… that happened to fit both of those prompts perfectly. What luck!

And now, we are at the part where I share how this is out of my comfort zone. Yes, this piece is non-fiction. Try not to gasp! I know this type of writing doesn’t show up on here very often. But, non-fiction it is. And a pretty personal, sensitive topic, at that.

Without further ado, here is my 500-word short story, written today, about an experience I actually had–earlier this week.

Contract: Signed and Dated

“How’s your day going?”

The nurse means well. I know she does. But how well can my day really be going when I’m where I am?

“I’ve had better,” I answer. I know it’s not the response she’s looking for.

I’m breaking the rules–didn’t follow the script. The unspoken contract where you must say: ‘It’s going well, how are you?’ Or “Doing okay, you?” You can change it up a bit, but you can’t veer too far from the correct response. The acceptable one. Polite and distant.

And I understand why this is a small-talk moment, I do.

It’s like in line at the grocery store, or going to the bank. I am a stranger, and this is a job for her. Just an everyday, run-of-the-mill mammogram. One boob-press among the others– like whoever was here before me and whoever is next. Strangers on an assembly line.

“The last time I did this, it was cancer,” I say, and it’s too much information. She’s sympathetic, of course she is. You don’t become a nurse because you don’t care about people. But I’m oversharing. I do that when I’m nervous. I’m aware, and yet I can’t help myself. “It was my first one,” I say, because what’s more oversharing when you’ve already started? “They found cancer at my first mammogram—it was a year ago,” I say this while hugging the machine. Half-naked. Exposed.

I know I’m comparing now and then, and there’s no reason to compare. It’s not the same.

“It’s really unlikely there’d be anything now,” I continue. “Surgery, and I finished radiation six months ago.”

We finish the images. More small talk. I make jokes.

“Good thing these are needed when you’re older and floppy. It’d be a lot harder to have done this in my 20s.”

She laughs. I’m following the rules.

I cover up. Leave the room with the big machine. Retreat to the next one to change, and in the dressing room, the mirror is warped. I swap the borrowed robe for a shirt that is mine, and as I come out, someone is waiting– the next in line. I tell her that the mirror in the dressing room is warped in our favor; it’s slimming.

“Silver lining!” I say. “We need to find them where we can.”

She laughs. Small talk. Check.

And I wonder if she needs the distraction. Does this feel mundane to her… or heavy like it is for me? Crushing.

Is she silently suffering and needs reassurance? It’s not my place to ask. We are strangers and must remain so.

Rules.

I leave with my jacket under my arm, and my Kindle I didn’t crack open. The whole thing was completed in a matter of minutes.

I climb into my car. Away from the contracts and rules, I cry. Allow myself to feel it. Grief for something that should be light but just can’t be. Something I must overcome alone.

Then, I start my car and I drive home.

PS: Please get your mammograms done.

And also, cross your fingers for me that I can find a literary agent for Marigold and Nox, so that this story can be read by children everywhere– and they can have a chance to fall in love with the whimsy and magical adventure of a girl and her cat.

Jessica