Well, folks, this has been a tremendous week. A week of fantastic art. A week of quirky characters. A week of straight-up fun!
Thank you all so much for joining me during BEWILDER-Palooza, but don't worry! There's going to be more fun when Bewildered releases!
Until then, please enjoy the first chapter...
...and don't forget to get enter the drawing for a free ebook- you have until midnight tonight! *at bottom of post
Presenting...
*SAMPLE*
Written by A. B. Harms
Illustrated by Angie Kwon
In which Prudence Receives an Ill-Fated Telegram
Professor Pinochle's wriggly hand scrawled a collection of
markings on the blackboard at the front of his class of twelve-year-olds. The
students moved uncomfortably in their seats, and beads of sweat sprouted from
their brows. It seemed Professor Pinochle lived under the illusion he still
taught mathematics at the university instead of at a small private school for
girls. After five minutes of chilling squeaks and rapid chalk scratching, he
turned toward the class, his face covered in white dust, his eyes looking as
large as plums through his bottle-glass lenses.
"I need a volunteer," he warbled in his ancient
voice.
A perfectly manicured hand shot into the air. The class
groaned. The only thing worse than Professor P's intense calculations was the
student who never missed a chance to show off her brilliance. A girl whom
everyone knew but nobody liked.
Prudence Parks.
"My prized pupil, do come forward." Professor
Pinochle couldn't hide his pride; his chest puffed out with it. He considered
himself quite the educator, though Prudence was the only student he hadn't
thoroughly confused. With a smirk, Prudence nearly skipped toward the
blackboard.
Professor Pinochle took the time to make the class dislike
her a little bit more. "Take note, girls. Keep up with your studies and
perhaps you can be like Prudence one day."
"And make everyone want to vomit," someone
whispered.
But Prudence didn't hear, and neither did Professor P, who
was too busy watching his shining star work the mile-long equation with ease.
Thirty seconds later, Prudence was on her way to her seat, her nose too high in
the air to notice her classmate's foot crossing the aisle.
Boom. Down went Prudence.
"Ouch!" She scrambled up, rubbing her knees where they'd slammed into
the wooden floor.
"Oops, sorry. Accident," a girl with bright-yellow
curls said with a grin. The other girls snickered.
"Prudence, are you okay?" asked Professor Pinochle,
who had missed the whole thing.
Prudence glared at the girl. She knew it hadn't been an
accident. This kind of thing happened all the time. Gum magically got stuck in
her silky black hair, her shoestrings miraculously tied themselves together under
the dining table, and inkwells couldn't help but spill over her freshly pressed
dresses.
Always, she heard the same line: "Oops. It was an
accident." No, it wasn't. It was on purpose because everyone was jealous.
She hadn't asked to be perfect, but it was a responsibility she took seriously.
Though it won her no friendships, Prudence was proud as peaches of her genius
and wouldn't trade it for the world.
Besides, today was special. Today her father was coming
home.
"I'm fine, Professor. Just clumsy." She glared at
the curly headed girl and took her seat. As she admired her handiwork on the
board, the x's and decimals in all the right places, she beamed. No amount of "accidents"
would bother her today.
It had been months since her father had left for the deserts
of Africa, but she was used to his absences by now. He—Orville Parks—was a
writer and adventurer, and when he got it into his head to do something,
nothing could deter him. His latest quest? To find the Sandman.
"There's no such thing as the Sandman, Father," Prudence
had told him. She suspected he was crazy, but that didn't make her love him any
less.
"We'll see about that," he had replied, his blue
eyes sparkling. Though they had the same eye color, her father's eyes had some
quality Prudence never saw in her own reflection. What it was, she could never
figure out. Eyes were eyes, weren't they?
"It's fairy dust," he told her. She always shook
her head at that. How silly could someone be? There were no such things as
fairies. Or giants, or pixies, or talking animals. Some things just didn't
exist, and the world was fine without them. But still he had left her, in
search of something that wasn't even real. As always when saying good-bye, he'd
kissed her on the forehead, once on each cheek, then on the tip of her nose,
and recited, "My heart, my soul, and even my skin, I'll be broken until we're
together again."
She was broken, too. Like a little part of her heart was
missing, and though it could still beat and pump her blood as it was supposed
to, there was always a tiny ache deep inside. Thankfully, it would feel normal
again soon. And just in the nick of time, too. She wasn't sure how much longer
she could stand undiluted time with Mrs. Godfrey, her plump and excitable
nanny. Mrs. Godfrey meant well, Prudence knew, but still, she was worse than Prudence's
father—blaming late-night creaks on ghosts, missing socks on gremlins, and her
stories of wish-granting fish? Well, it was all more than Prudence could bear
most days.
"Ms. Parks?" Professor Pinochle said, "Prudence
Parks!"
Prudence started. The room was empty. Had she been
daydreaming? Her cheeks went hot at the very idea.
"Class is dismissed," he said, clearly annoyed.
"Yes, of course. Good day, Professor." Prudence
scooped up her books and left the room with as much dignity as she could muster.
Finally it was time to go home.
Ah, home. Where she could be herself. Where she hung her
clothes according to weather and hue. Where her dressing table held her
grooming tools in the order she used them each day. Home. Where even her plate
was a place of order with exactly the right amount of food from each of the
food groups, never mixing, and always eaten in clockwise order.
Prudence stepped into the foyer, which was much quieter than
usual, and went down the hallway. Mrs. Godfrey was at the large wooden table in
the breakfast nook, sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with a scrap of paper.
Prudence tried to tiptoe past. Probably some neighborhood news had sent her
into a tizzy. Or maybe her prized roses had been used as a litter box again.
Prudence knew better than to get involved, but the woman's
eyes missed nothing. Mrs. Godfrey rushed to the doorway and clutched Prudence
to her oversized bosom.
"Oh, Prudy . . . " She could barely speak as she
handed over a soggy telegram. In Mrs. Godfrey's suffocating embrace, Prudence
read the message.
Prudence twinged. "This can't be right. No, Mrs.
Godfrey. It's a mistake."
Her father? Dead? It didn't make sense. But her nanny only
cried louder.
In her room, she assured herself he would be back in three
hours, as scheduled, and her routine would go on as usual. French on Friday,
study sessions all day Saturday, and a father/daughter picnic at the park on
Sunday.
Three hours came and went. Then a day. And another. Still, her
father didn't come.
Prudence moved about her life in a trance. Professor
Pinochle couldn't rouse her from her seat, no matter how difficult his
equations became. She didn't notice when she drank salt in her tea instead of
sugar, much to her classmates' dismay. Then on Sunday, instead of sitting on a
blanket while her father reenacted his adventures, she followed Mrs. Godfrey
around the market in a confused and awkward silence. Four days passed.
On the fifth day, Prudence paced in her room. She stared at
her personal library, not seeing the thousands of books. There was no pleasure
in riding the ladder around the perimeter of the shelves. Even the Prudence-shaped
imprint in her favorite study chair couldn't make her feel right. Everything
was . . . off.
The staff bustled in, out, and around. They hung white
sheets over the handcrafted wooden furniture and packed a trunk on Prudence's
behalf, which sat leering at her from the middle of the floor like a dark
stranger. Where was he? Why hadn't he come back?
The house became a revolving door of weepy-eyed visitors
offering head pats and "poor little dears." Words like "condolences"
and "loss" were uttered in hushed tones. But Prudence wasn't pitiful.
She was too strong for that! She was angry.
How could something frail and papery cause so much destruction?
That witless telegram.
How dare it presume anything!
She was forced to skip Latin class on Monday to sit in a depressing
parlor filled with portraits of her father and listen to people she rarely saw as
they spoke of his greatness.
Not great. Selfish,
that's what he was. If he were great, he wouldn't have left her. He would have
come back.
By the time she missed chess on Tuesday, she was furious—but
things were going to get worse.
In a law office downtown that reeked of furniture polish and
hair oil, Prudence sat in a cold leather chair and was informed that, with no
living relatives, she had to leave her house of bricks and sensible cream rugs
to live in a home for foundling children.
An orphanage? Prudence's
fuming mind pictured unruly monsters with frayed hair and unkempt dress,
fighting over bowls of gruel.
Her life, her home, and her perfect schedule were ripped
away. In her mind, her screams shattered glass, but outwardly she was stone.
Without a word or so much as a solitary tear, she accepted a passenger ticket
and a small, rectangular box wrapped in brown paper—her only inheritance.
***The End of Chapter One***
Thank you for joining me this week for BEWILDER-Palooza! Look for the release of the ebook by 2/14/14 and the print versions (hardback and paperback) by 2/28/14.
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A Bewilderness Tale, Book One
Release Date: February 2014.
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