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One Step Over
By Charlotte Parr
I bravely opened the car door and stepped outside. I left my shoes behind. I wanted to feel the grass under my feet before I left this world. The strong sea breeze caught in my hair and tore at my clothes. I took a deep breath. I loved the sea. It was a huge part of me.
Memories of flying kites on the beach with my parents flooded into my head. Our cries of laughter. The smiles on our faces. We couldn’t have known what would follow. The pain and the tears and the heartache. I didn’t know what to do when he died. I was the one who found him. Blood pooling around him all over the kitchen floor. It was my fault; I know it was. I drove him to his death.
The wind continued its assault on me, tearing at my hair and clothes and pulling me closer and closer to the edge. The sky was impossibly blue; there wasn’t a cloud to be seen. This reminded me of the long endless blue-skied summers I had spent at home. Playing in the garden with my friends, our screams ringing out over the fields.
Lazing around with my books, my closest friends. Only they could tell you what I was really like. Just by lifting the covers and reading them you could see into my world. A world full of dashing heroes and beautiful heroines and happy endings. Endings I wish could be mine. Endings that could never be mine.
A tear trickled down my cheek. I reached up to brush it away. It was warm on my fingertips. Another tear fell. Why was I crying? It was for the best; I knew it. It was for the best. I thought of all those nights I had spent crying, as a child and an adult. Silly things like my mother shouting at me or because I’d lost a favourite toy.
There were serious reasons too. Like the night after my father died. I was there all night crying into my pillow. I had cried so much that the pillow was soaked through, and my mother had scolded me for being so weak. She didn’t cry. Not in public at least. She said it wasn’t right for people to show such violent emotions.
But she cried in secret, after I was in bed. She would go to her room and take out his picture. I saw her once. She didn’t see me. Tears were pouring down her face, so she couldn’t have been able to see anything properly. It was a week after the funeral.
Even though I was only ten, I knew from then on I had to be brave. I wish I could have helped her. I didn’t know what I could have done to help ease the aching pain that wouldn’t go away. She needed someone. But that someone wasn’t me.
The grass was refreshing against my feet. So cool and soothing. I thought of the picnics in the park I used to have with friends. There was nowhere else to go, so we would take some sandwiches and sit on the grass for hours watching the sun slowly drift across the sky. I remembered my first picnic with Robbie.
It was a beautiful afternoon; the sun was shining, and it was warm. I felt as if I didn’t have to care about anything anymore. Nothing else in the whole world existed—just him and me. We talked for hours about things that didn’t matter. I wish I could go back to those days, before we got in too deep. But you can’t go back; you must never look back. The only way to go is forward.
I could see the edge of the cliff now. I was so close I could feel the spray from the waves crashing on the rocks below. A small lonely cottage stood on the opposite cliff looking at me, its windows like eyes staring into my soul. A sad and lonely stare.
I’d stayed at a cottage like that once. Another summer long ago. It had been the holiday cottage of one of Robbie’s aunts. We had gone there for a weekend. It had rained solidly from the moment we arrived, but I didn’t care. We were together. Nothing else mattered. We read books by the fire and played cards and chess. His presence alone made me feel safe, like nothing would ever happen to me when he was there.
Standing at the top of the cliff I felt so alone. It was just me, the grass and miles and miles of open water and crashing waves. The constant pounding of water throwing itself at the base of the cliff was like a drum beat walking me towards peace. I closed my eyes and felt the spray of the sea on my face. I was going to do it.
My wedding day. I was dressed in white standing at the altar. The music started, and I turned to see his smiling face. But he wasn't there. He'd left me. I had been abandoned by the only man I had ever loved, and I felt empty. Now my dress billowed around me as I stepped towards the edge of the cliff. A car was coming up behind me. I stopped. It was him.
'I'm sorry!' he said, but I couldn't look at him. My face was streaming with tears, and at last I felt a stab of pain, of loss. How could he have done this to me? 'I love you.' I could have laughed. How can he say that when he left me there, humiliated and broken in front of all my friends?
'It's too late. There's nothing you can do.' The horror on his face almost melted my heart. Almost.
'I can explain. Just let me talk to you...'
'There is nothing you can possibly say that I would want to hear now!' My feeling of loss was replaced by hate and anger. 'You were all I have ever wanted, and you left me as if I meant nothing to you!'
'It wasn't—'
'Shut up! It's my turn. Today I have lost the most precious thing in the world to me. You. You treated me like a was nothing. And you know what's the funny bit ... I still love you, and this is the only way I can deal with the mess that my life is.' I turned towards the edge of the cliff.
'I love you.' I said it so quietly I don't think he heard me. I looked back. 'Goodbye Robbie.' Though my face was streaked with mascara stained tears, my heart broken and my life about to end, I smiled.
'Don't jump!' I walked to the very edge of the cliff. I could hear Robbie running towards me, but I knew he wouldn't make it. I closed my eyes and listened to the crashing of the sea and felt the wind in my hair, savouring my final memories. I whispered it one last time.
'Goodbye, Robbie. I love you.'
And I fell.
Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult
Book Synopsis
(taken from blurb of book)
Sterling is a small, ordinary New Hampshire town where nothing ever happens - until a student enters the local high school with an arsenal of guns and starts shooting, changing the lives of everyone, inside and out.
The daughter of the judge sitting on the case should be the state's best witness - but with her boyfriend dead and her childhood friend charged with murder, she's struggling to remember what happened in front of her own eyes....
Number one bestselling author Jodi Picoult brings us her hardest-hitting and most involving novel yet. NINETEEN MINUTES asks what it means to be different in our society, who has the right to judge someone else - and whether a person is ever whom they seem to be...
Nadia's Rating
Mature Content
Nadia's Review
The style of narration was very good, and as always Jodi Picoult managed to hook me with her theme. I particularly like the alternating chapters between the present and the past. The plot and characters were complex, leaving me unable to pinpoint exactly how the story or each character would turn out.
For those who love court dramas and complex themes, Jodi Picoult’s novel “Nineteen Minutes” will not disappoint. A story based around the nineteen-minute school massacre by Peter Houghton, a seventeen-year-old, bullied victim, “Nineteen Minutes” explore the themes of love, change and revenge through the eyes of several different narrators.
Peter Houghton had been the target of bullying ever since his first day at kindergarten. He made it through most of elementary school with the help of his best friend, Josie Cormier. But things got worse for Peter as Josie abandoned him in the fifth grade.
But the story between the Houghtons and the Cormiers went back further than that. Peter’s mom, Lacy Houghton, was once best friends with Josie’s mom, Alex Cormier. Lacy was Alex’s midwife when she gave birth to Josie, and their children were great friends until that day when Alex found a five-year-old Peter showing Josie how to hold a gun. “Nineteen Minutes” showed the point of view of both of these women as well as others, such as Peter, Josie, Patrick Durcharme (avid Picoult fan will recognise him from “Perfect Match”) and Jordan McAfee (again, Picoult fan will remember him from “The Pact”).
As always, Picoult has provided an excellent court drama with witty twists and turns and surprisingly detailed witness testimony. Although there were a few errors with the computer language (pressing “ctrl-alt-delete” will not allow Peter to turn his computer screen blank), Picoult had managed once again to provide a gripping read. When Picoult puts ordinary life under a microscope, she winds up with life that is still ordinary. It's just bigger.
Writer's Block—A Novelist's Nightmare
By Charlotte Parr
1) Write Through It
I think this is one of the hardest techniques I use, but I always give it a go before I try anything else. Sitting down and forcing yourself to write the chapter can be a painful and demoralising experience, especially when you read it back and think 'why on earth did I write that?' But I find it's one of the best ways of conquering writer's block and showing it who's boss. Even if you end up having to go back and re-write the section you've just written, it's worth it just to prove you can do it.2) Try Writing Something Different
Been writing the same story for weeks and just can't think where to take it next? Try writing something new. Maybe revive an old story you never finished or do a bit of flash fiction, something to clear your mind of the story you've been writing for so long. When you come back to that chapter you've been struggling with, it should all feel a lot easier.3) Try Writing By Hand
I find writing with pen and paper quite soothing, especially if you have a favourite pen that's really nice to write with. Or if you can use different colours. I also find it makes the words come easier, and it feels very satisfying when you've written four or five pages when it would only have been one and a half on a computer.
4) Take A Break
This can often be a very frustrating thing to do, especially if you really want to finish the section you're struggling with, but sometimes you just have to indulge yourself by getting up from your computer, making a cup of tea and watching some rubbish on TV. If you're tired then take a nap, even if it's in the middle of the day. Sleep can really help to clear your mind and give you more focus.5) Change Of Scenery
If I've been cooped up in one room for too long, I start to go completely insane. Get outside if you can. If it's sunny sit on the grass and write in the sun; it's a much nicer environment than sitting in a stuffy room staring at a screen.6) Talk To Someone
Writing is a solitary pastime, so picking up the phone and having a chat with a friend or going and finding someone else in the house to talk to is really nice. If they write too, tell them about the problem you're having; they might have an idea to help you solve it.Did any of these techniques help you? Do you have any others that you think are better?
The Time Machine by H.G. Wells
Book Synopsis
(From Amazon.com's product description)
In the heart of Victorian England, an inquisitve gentleman known only as the Time Traveler constructs an elaborate invention that hurtles him hundreds of thousands of years into the future. There he finds himself in the violent center of the ultimate conflict between beings of light and creatures of darkness.
Mark's Rating
Mature Content
Mark's Review
I absolutely love time travel stories. Because I had already seen the two movies that were based upon this book, I had a pretty good idea about the plot and so forth. Though the story was a little simpler than either of the big screen renditions, this book did not disappoint. Since it was written before the start of the 20th century, the reasons for the Time Traveler wanting to go into the future were slightly different than in later versions.
The character's take on the social structures of his time and the ideas of how these would be transformed in the distant future is a major theme of the book. Those interested in history will enjoy this because the reader gets to peer into the mind of someone who had no knowledge of the major changes that would befall mankind during the 20th century. A lot has changed in the last one hundred years; thus, the hypothetical view of mankind's future has changed—not necessarily for the better.
Depending on their age, I often find classics hard to understand because of the author's use of archaic language. Though there were a few instances of this in The Time Machine, there weren't enough of them to bog me down. Sometimes it is even refreshing to read something that doesn't use modern slang. The Time Machine is one such occasion. It allows you to take a step back in time without having to run to the dictionary for every other word.
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