Book #2 finally has some words on [electronic] paper! It’s already a huge challenge for me to write from a male perspective. Plus, I chose to make my main character 14. I envision him as a smart, sarcastic kid–think Dear Mr. Henshaw with a little more bite–but I don’t want to write another introvert. In terms of interests, he’s a swimmer and probably I’ll have him do something artistic as well…maybe drawing. I’m having a little trouble envisioning what will make this character unique and more interesting than another character I’ve thought up. A cardinal rule of writing is never to have a minor character that’s more interesting than your mc. Below is chapter one, which will likely undergo some revisions, but it just felt good to get something down. What do you guys think? 
Chapter One
“Get your purple face out of here!”
The owner of the purple-popsicle-streaked face, my little sister Sarah, stuck out her tongue in response before saying a final “Mom says to watch her,” but she did what I asked. She slammed the door behind her with as much gusto as I imagine her six-year-old frame could muster. It was ok, I knew she wasn’t really mad.
I sighed and turned my attention back to gazing out the window—I couldn’t even bring myself to call it my window yet—in the new bedroom I was to occupy at Grandma’s house. Not yet my room…it didn’t even have my entire-wall-sized ocean wallpaper up yet. Until it did, it was just a room like any other.
The view from the window was…just ok. I mean, not to sound spoiled or anything, but we used to live right near the ocean in Huntington Beach, California. I used to be able to look out my window and see the deep blue line of the Pacific…see clear blue sky and the sunshine filtering through the palm trees in our front yard. It always made me feel like the world was such a big, free place and that there would always be room for me to be me.
You see, space is something I’ve really come to appreciate. I’m 14 years old and six-foot-four. I feel like this shapes my life events and my feelings about the world more than anything else about me, like how some people are hugely fat and can’t go to the movies because they don’t fit in the seats…kinda like that. Only with me, I have a hard time folding myself to fit comfortably in our teeny Geo Metro. Honestly, every time I’m in the passenger’s seat with my crazy-driver mom I pray to God that we won’t get into some sort of collision that would involve my kneecaps busting against the glove compartment. It wouldn’t take much, and I’m too young to be in a wheelchair.
I also can’t stand the little phrases people throw in my general direction. Yes, I’m tall. I get it. Probably I should seriously consider getting a tattoo on my forehead that would tell people my height so they wouldn’t have to ask. Maybe I’d add “No, I do not play basketball” on there. I’m sure it would be a real time-saver, actually. But then again, most people probably wouldn’t be able to read something up this high, and those who could wouldn’t care.
Sigh.
A slow creaking on the stairs snapped my attention away from the not-my-window…the boring window that only afforded views of green, green, green Canyon City, Oregon as far as the eye could see. Oh, and an occasional glimpse of splotchy gray sky through the towering trees.
“Ethan?”
The papery voice warbled its way up the stairs and through the thin walls. Another prolonged creak reverberated through the house and I finally recognized what must be the labored sounds of my grandma making her way up the stairs. Which she is NOT supposed to do, Mom says.
I covered the length of the room in approximately 1.5 strides of my grasshopper legs and pulled the door open. Sure enough, I spotted Grandma Lynn clutching the banister with both hands as she raised her foot unsteadily near the bottom of the stairwell. She looked small and lost as she searched for the stair, and I rushed down to her before she could lose her balance. Grandma Lynn had an accident three months ago that involved her, the stairs, some balance issues, and a resulting broken hip. Now we’re supposed to watch out for her and especially always help her up and down the stairs. She usually forgets that she’s supposed to ask one of us for help.
With one arm I cradled Grandma Lynn and guided her back down the stairs and into her favorite chair by the sliding-glass door. These days I try not to think about how much smaller she seems than last time we visited. She looked up at me and seemed surprised.
“George? What are you doing here?” she asked, reaching up with one moist hand to pat my cheek.
“No Grandma, it’s me, Ethan.”
Confusion darkened her features and she started to try out a response, and then stopped. After a few seconds she looked up at me again and just winked. She does that a lot, always has. Only, when I was little I think she did it more to make me feel special or when we had a secret. I’m not sure what to make of it anymore, though. Grandma really hasn’t been Grandma for a few years.
Alzheimer’s. The first time I heard it I didn’t know what it was, but I googled it later and didn’t like what I found. Didn’t like it at all. Grandma had been going to a new doctor who ran some memory tests and diagnosed her with moderate Alzheimer’s. Sarah calls it “Old Timer’s.”
All I know is that Grandma isn’t really the person she used to be. That’s why we moved up here, to help take care of Grandma. It happened to work out that Mom lost her job at her big fancy law firm and we were about to lose our house—which I’m not supposed to know about—but I’d like to think that wasn’t the only reason they sold the place to come to Grandma’s aid.
Don’t get me wrong, it was pretty much awful leaving the beach behind and all my friends with it. We’d lived in Huntington Beach since I was a baby, and I honestly can’t imagine any other place feeling like home. Ever. Not to mention, my best friend Patrick is there. When I first found out we were moving, Mom practically lost her voice yelling at me, night and day, the key phrase involving “MAJOR ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT, MISTER!” Probably after that our neighbors were glad to see us go.
Now, looking into Grandma Lynn’s face, I hope she never knows how much I hated the decision to come here.
