Or rather, I'm writing up the first few chapters of a novel. It's a middle grade novel, an extension of the Jeremy Wilderson, twelve-year-old retrieval specialist, story. Therefore, the chapters are a little shorter than what I would write for a YA novel. It's also more about the story arc and less about what Jeremy thinks of it, although he does think a little of it. This story has Becca calling in her favor. She asks Jeremy to go undercover for her on a boy's football team that has a high number of middle school criminals on it. It's fun because I can show more of Jeremy and Becca's relationship, how his classmates see him, and more of Jeremy's home life. AKA, what makes Jeremy who he is. This scene with Rick, Jeremy's brother, shows a little of that.
Mom picked me up like she said she would, and the first thing I did when I got home was take a shower. After that, I wanted to watch some TV, but instead I had to field my brother’s snarky remarks.
“Uh-oh, here comes the track star. But wait! New bruises on the arms, a little mud that survived the shower dripping down your hair. These are not the signs of the sprinter, oh no. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we had a badly groomed football player entering the room.” Rick sauntered past me into the living room, a plate of reheated pizza in his hand.
“Maybe I tried out for the First-Tackle Football League,” I grumbled, flopping down onto the couch. I reached for the TV remote, but Rick was closer.
Rick held the remote in the air. “The FTFL? I thought you hated football.” He was running back for the high school varsity team, which was apparently a big deal since he was fifteen.
“I figure I have so many brain cells I need to get rid of a few before my head explodes.”
Rick smirked. “Yeah, I’ve heard faulty wiring can lead to overheating. Keep it cool, little brother; I don’t want you to end up in prison.”
“I’m not going to end up in prison.” I jumped for the remote but Rick, curse his name, is six feet tall and his arms reach another two feet.
“Yes, you are. You’re a regular little Dr. Evil.” The remote scraped the ceiling.
I groaned and shook my head. “If I were, you would never know it.”
“Does Mom know you’re a criminal mastermind?”
“I’m not a criminal mastermind!” The phone rang, and I stood. “I’ll see who that is.”
“See?” Rick said. “Aren’t you glad that phone call didn’t interrupt your regular scheduled programming?” With a short burst of static some teen angst show’s poorly written dialogue filled the living room.
It's still the rough draft. I'm hoping to add hijinks galore to this story. I already know what the football team is planning and how Jeremy and Becca will stop it and dole out justice. It's going to be one fun ride writing this.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.