Howdy,
A check in on our Jake Jones story: from “Chapter 2,” a revision.
Here’s just a small piece:
Average height would’ve had his head in the clouds. Such that (and as only he and a privileged narrator of his story would know) pint-sized Jake tiptoed, at times — nighttime, in the dark, unseen to others — down his hallway. Bathroom to bedroom trips. Tiptoe trips. Bolstering height, by the only option he could concoct. Hard to figure when he’d use his tiptoe trick, but Jake built up his balance and stamina, strengthening his height, if such a thing.
Even so Jake stood nowhere near a consideration for reaching, or even jumping, for door headers, and his perspective remained anchored. Grounded, and going for his boost from the floor up. The “growing” boy sought to rise from the floor, though not yet ready to stretch and touch anything up. Deep in old, shaggy, carpet, tiptoes, pressing down hard for everything he could get. For a look at another level and wondering what it be like with a basketball, outside his hallway. Outside the night, like a dream.
He knew, also, he moved slower than the athletic kids — not only the ones older but also his age — who zipped in bursts on the courts he could find: parks, schoolyards, even a friend’s driveway slipping under and behind a garage door marked in streaked dusted dimple marks, a basketball skimming down, gripping what it touched. Like basketball had grabbed Jake, the boy who practically wore dimple marks himself.
(Note: The story’s still a work in progress, but that’s a little of what I’ve been doing. Also, note-to-self, story not duplicated in word count goal.)
—Billy
Reading. Writing. Living.
Word Count: 55,169 / On Pace: 56,100 / Year’s Goal: 200,000
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