WeWriWa—A tiny trick-or-treater

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This year, my Halloween-themed snippets come from Chapter 45, “October Oblectations,” of my WIP, A Dream Deferred: Lyuba and Ivan at University. Most of this chapter is set over Halloween 1949.

This week’s snippet comes right after last week’s, when Bogdana’s cabbie and doctor’s assistant Achilles brought her Halloween-colored roses and her aunt Fyodora asked him to introduce his companion. Achilles, a 28-year-old widower, is taking his 18-month-old daughter Klara for her first trick-or-treating.

This has been slightly edited to fit ten lines.

Achilles gently nudges her forward, smiling the biggest smile Bogdana’s ever seen him use. “What do you say, Klarika?”

“Trick-or-treat,” she says in a voice as tiny as she is, holding out an orange cloth bag with yellow jack-o-lantern cut-outs sewn on.

Bogdana puts an Almond Joy bar in her bag, then adds a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, since the poor girl has no mother, and deserves extra sweets from somewhere.

“What do you say now, Klarika?” Achilles asks.  When Klara doesn’t say anything, he kneels and whispers in her ear.

“Thank you.”

“Can you tell the nice lady that in another way?” He whispers to her again.

“Hvala.”

Achilles is Slovenian–American, though his first name doesn’t reflect that at all. He’s raising Klara to be bilingual. I have a great deal of love, respect, and admiration for the Slovenian people, in part because their beautiful national anthem expresses a hope for the day when all nations of the world will be friends and toast to peace.

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WeWriWa—Halloween roses

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This year, my Halloween-themed snippets come from Chapter 45, “October Oblectations,” of my WIP, A Dream Deferred: Lyuba and Ivan at University. Most of this chapter is set over Halloween 1949.

This snippet opens a few lines after last week’s, when traumatised 20-year-old Bogdana and her young aunt Fyodora heard the doorbell ringing unexpectedly early. Fyodora calls her to look at their first little trick-or-treater, and Bogdana finds her cabbie Achilles, who saved her life in September and who’s also now her doctor’s assistant.

Achilles goes by Les to his friends, and his middle name Zoran to his family and church community. Bogdana always calls him by his full name, since he’s played the part of a modern-day Greek hero to her since she got into his cab the night she was attacked in July. He got that name because his heel was torn up by forceps when he was born, resulting in a lifelong limp.

There stands Achilles, dressed as a bullfighter and holding a bouquet of orange, dark red, and white roses.  Only as an afterthought does Bogdana notice him holding hands with a tiny jack-o-lantern with big brown eyes.

“Happy Halloween.” Achilles extends the roses. “You deserve fresh flowers to make you happy.  I made them Halloween-colored, so they’d really stand out.”

“Thank you.” Bogdana takes the roses.

“I’ll put them in water for you,” Fyodora says. “Mr. Medved, would you like to introduce your companion?”

Achilles is a 28-year-old widower whose wife died last year of a self-abortion gone wrong. While he was in the hospital with a broken leg and bone infection several months after his daughter was born, three thugs broke into the apartment, attacked his wife Sabina, and left her pregnant. Because of what happened to his wife, he’s been drawn to that branch of medicine to help as many women as he can in that predicament.

WeWriWa—An early trick-or-treater

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This year, my Halloween-themed snippets come from Chapter 45, “October Oblectations,” of my WIP, A Dream Deferred: Lyuba and Ivan at University. Most of this chapter is set over Halloween 1949.

Bogdana Sheltsova, age twenty, is the youngest daughter of Lyuba’s third-oldest stepsister Dinara. She went through an extremely traumatic experience in July, and almost killed herself with a botched self-abortion in September. Her cabbie Achilles rescued her and took her to an underground doctor who performed the procedure properly and saved her life.

After she was discharged from the clinic, she moved into the guesthouse of her aunt Fyodora in Ditmas Park, Brooklyn. Bogdana has been dressing in the slouchiest, least attractive clothes possible since she was attacked, and now wears a wig over hair growing back from constant shaving. A nun costume is a natural choice.

Bogdana has been prevailed upon to put on a costume for Halloween and join Fyodora in the main house, though she’s refused to wear the type of fun, revealing costume she would’ve worn in years past.  She’s turned a baggy black sarafan into a nun’s habit, and made a veil and collar with black and white fabrics from Fyodora’s cast-off pile.  A prayer rope and the largest cross she could find hang around her neck.  Bogdana’s hemline drags all the way to the floor, covering the black flats she usually wears on Sundays.

Fyodora looks at the clock when the doorbell rings. “That couldn’t be trick-or-treaters already, could it?  It’s only four.  I’m not taking Ramona and Olik till six.”

“Maybe it’s Gilbert coming to play with me,” Oliver says hopefully, adjusting his firefighter hat. “He’s dressed like a policeman.”

Marie’s New Coat

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I’ve had a bunch of posts for the long-discontinued Sweet Saturday Samples bloghop sitting around in my drafts folder since 2012 and 2013, put together and scheduled well in advance. That hop seems to be on permanent hiatus, but I wanted to move them out already.

This post was originally scheduled for 31 August 2013, and comes from an older, unedited version of this WIP.

***

This week’s excerpt comes from a hiatused WIP called The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. The book follows a group of young Shoah survivors returning to the world of the living and trying to navigate their way through the early postliberation years. This particular scene takes place in Budapest in November 1945, shortly before nine of the characters are to be smuggled across the border, with another going on a train with their pet mouse and rabbit, before the Soviets completely take over.

While they were at a furrier’s on the famous Andrássy Út recently, the hopelessly smitten Artur secretly bought a fur coat for his crush Marie after he saw her admiring it. Marie’s main character trait is how sweet, innocent, and naïve she still is, even after everything she’s gone through. Just as she truly believes her entire family might still be alive, she really has no idea her secret admirer is so close to her. And Artur is afraid to tell her how he feels.

***

The next day, while Csilla was cutting up a blanket and starting to fashion it into a coat for herself, a knock sounded on the door.  Half-fearing it was someone from the authorities who’d discovered their plan, or someone who’d found out there were fourteen people living in an apartment meant for only four at most, she tiptoed to the door and looked through the keyhole.  A strange man was standing there with a box.

“I work for Szűcs Furs on Andrássy Út and was asked to deliver this package to a young woman living in this apartment.  I didn’t want to send it through the mail for fear the Soviets might confiscate it for their own.  Is there a woman named Maria in this house?”

“We have a Marie, if that’s who you’re looking for.  Her surname is Sternglass.”

Marie came up to the deliveryman. “Yes, that’s my name on the package.  Who is it from, and who would know that my middle name is Zénobie?”

“There’s a note inside the box that might explain it.  Enjoy the gift.” He tipped his hat and went back down the stairs.

Marie carefully opened the box and saw a note on top, written in Hungarian.  Her command of written Hungarian was even weaker than her command of the spoken language, so she called Eszter over to translate it.

“It says, ‘To the beautiful Marie from her secret admirer.’” Eszter gave Artur a meaningful look out of the corner of her eye. “I wonder who could have sent it, particularly since you don’t know anybody outside of our own little group.”

“This is so exciting!  Maybe it’s a handsome young fellow who saw me in the street the other day, or any time since we’ve been here!  I hope he’s tall, dark, and handsome.  It would be so romantic if he were a sophisticated man of the world as well.  Someone who’s my age would never be so romantic and thoughtful.  I bet it’s an older man.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Eszter said, giving Artur another furtive look.

Marie pulled away the tissue paper. “What a beautiful coat!  I think I was admiring this coat yesterday more than any of the others!  It stood out in the store because it was so exotic.  None of the other furs had prints or exotic colors.  Is it leopard?”

“The furrier told me it was ocelot when I admired it myself,” Mirjam said. “Looks like whoever is secretly admiring you wants you to keep warm as the winter begins.”

“Oh, if I only knew just who this suave mystery man is, I’d kiss and embrace him right now!  I hope it really is someone tall, dark, handsome, and older, not some middle-aged ugly fat social reject.”

“That is a beautiful coat,” Aranka said. “You’ll surely stand out when we get to Italy.”

“Pierre will be so happy and surprised when he sees me again and sees I’ve become a young lady, someone old enough for furs and such a beautiful elegant coat.  If my mother and sister are still alive, they’ll be so happy too, and impressed I caught the eye of this mystery man.”

Advice from one young monarch to another

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’ve been sharing from my alternative history, And Aleksey Lived, which released 17 July, on my primary protagonist’s real-life 100th death anniversary. Once I’ve earned enough money from sales, I’ll use some of it to make donations to the National Hemophilia Foundation and the National Hemophilia Federation, in memory of Aleksey.

I’m skipping ahead to Part IV, which is set during WWII, and focuses on Aleksey and his wife Arkadiya’s successful efforts to rescue almost the entire Jewish population of occupied Europe and bring them to safety in the Russian Empire. It’s now June 1944, and Aleksey’s second-cousin once-removed, the very young King Mihai of Romania, has come with his uncle Nicolae to discuss plans for Romania’s defection to the Allies. When Aleksey and Mihai are alone after dinner, Mihai asks if it’s okay to ask a somewhat personal question.

This has been slightly tweaked to fit 10 lines.

King Mihai, the last true surviving WWII head of state (25 October 1921–5 December 2017)

“No, it’s nothing prying.  I wanted to know when I should start feeling like the real King, and not an overgrown little kid playing at being King.  At my age, I don’t feel like I deserve to rule in my own right.  Is there a certain age or point where you began feeling you were fully in charge and entitled to make important decisions?”

Aleksey put his hand on Mihai’s shoulder. “If you’re any sort of good monarch, you’ll never have that feeling.  This is a role we were born into, not elected to; but for an accident of birth, we might’ve been much further down the line of succession, or peasants.  You should never forget this is a precious trust you were chosen by God for, and do everything in your power to prove yourself worthy.  Most people want to like, trust, and believe the best of their monarch, particularly at the start of his reign.  Never give them a reason to believe their trust is mislaid, because therein lies the road to revolution.”