When I originally started my story, I had it in my mind and (said it aloud) that I would only write on my beautiful new typewriter which I treated myself to at the local Goodwill at Christmas and carted back home on the plane. I love this idea of writing a novel on the old technology and it allows me to have a reason for actually using her.
However, I decided today and possibly for the next few days, that I want to write some of my story while at my parents and I do not have the typewriter. I will probably retype on the writer when I get home. Anyway, below is an excerpt from my story, I realize that it probably won’t make much sense since it is out of context. There are a few other excerpts on my blog if you feel so inclined to search (they both say MY STORY in the title). Hope you enjoy the strange fantasy world of magical ducks who control your destiny on the island of Vicanosia!
Frida had been flying for what felt like months until she finally could glide herself down towards the tops of Schavles and land amongst the giant nest of twigs and bambam leaves woven together. She flapped as little as possible on her journey, but still her wings had bulked up to nearly twice the size. The brown and black feathers stretched around the muscles and her white body looked like that of a mouse in comparison. Schavles mountaintops and Old Man Henchleys’ plantation were on complete opposite ends of a mostly green oasis surrounded by water on all sides, which meant there were places for Frida to stop for the night but they weren’t usually covered. The weather during Vicanosian nights were often stormy and blustering winds meant flying was near impossible. However, as a loan duck on an island where ducks controlled destinies and were sacred, scavengers wanting to hold her hostage for some piece of a better version of their current daily life made her journey more into a game of 50/50 chance. She often thought about the risks of sleeping for a few hours outweighing those of flying with winds that push her back more than her strength to go forward.
When Frida was chosen to stay with the Henchley family on their plantation, specifically Leroy, the ducks believed that she would be somewhat of a guardian angel and could pass messages on to citizens if necessary. Now that Mr. Stane has gone and the family was left without an explanation, Frida needed to speak directly to the head honcho duck: Pappulus T, “the all-knowing and most special-est of ducks and of the whole bird species.” He was given that formal title from birth when he came out as a eye-closingly shiny silver duckling who immediately knew how to communicate with the ancestors roosting on the mountaintops.