“What the hell have I got myself into?” Chris said to himself as he hunched over his desk on the 10th floor.
It was the same view he had come to know and love. He could see all of downtown. He could see the three rivers. Heck, he could even see his house. But none of that mattered right now. He would lose it all if the paper went down, and now, he was the only one who could save not only himself, but the paper as well.
Chris had a pencil and paper, and was trying to scribble down ideas furiously. But all of them seemed out of reach and just too expensive – the rain forests in Africa, the pollution problems, the rare phenomena – the same song and dance had been done before, and he really couldn’t come up with anything new.
Hours went by. Chris thought to himself, “It’s a wonder Dave hasn’t come in here to check on me.”
At 7:00, Dave finally did. Suddenly, he had changed his dour expression from earlier into one of hope and confidence.
“Hey, hey, Saunders! How are those ideas coming along?”
Chris faked a smile and said, “Oh, they’re coming, sir! Fast and furious! I’m bound to find one that stands out and makes people ooh and aah!”
Dave’s looked changed back to a stern one. “You better. Remember – two weeks…I’m out. ‘Night.”
“Night.” Chris said as his office door closed.
How long can I possibly stay here? Chris thought. I have to make this process shorter.
Chris remembered that he was given a long, huge map of the world his first day that he had never even seen and never even put on his wall, because he felt he would never need to use it. Well, this was one of those times to use it!
Chris quickly reached into his bottom door and pulled out the behemoth poster. He also pulled out his extra-large pushpins and tacked it on his wall, placing them about 3 feet apart on the top and bottom.
“Nice,” Chris said as he admired his work. But now Chris was faced with another dilemma: How would he choose the location?
Randomly placing a finger somewhere? Too boring, and he might get dizzy and faint.
Writing down a list and just narrowing it down? No, and besides he had wasted enough paper already.
He had to find some random way to do it. He looked through the doors. Maybe an old worker had left something in there for this type of situation. Suddenly, he felt something pointy in the 2nd left-hand drawer.
“Ow!” Chris said.
Then, he saw what it was: A dart!
“OW!” Chris screamed, now in a more happy, painfree way, as he picked up the dart. This is the perfect way to do it, Chris thought.
Chris looked at the map, staring hard. He had to think about all the different factors: where to aim, how to shoot, and whether or not he should close his eyes.
Chris quickly decided. In order for it to be completely random, Chris decided to close his eyes, aim for the center at first, then do a number of twists, spins, and other crazy moves until he just let it go.
“That way, I won’t know until I’ve opened my eyes,” Chris said, with a slight laugh.
Chris backed up, away from his desk, toward the opposite wall. He zeroed in on the center of the map at first, pointing the dart at it. At the moment, it was zeroed in on Chris’s first choice: Africa.
“Please, dart…pick a place that I can find a story that’s worthy of saving this paper, and my career.”
Chris closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He then moved left, moved right, spun around, flailed all around, and then launched his arm back and forward. He heard the dart quickly sail through the air with a wheeze, but had no clue where it was going, and didn’t know until he heard the dart hit the map and wall with a BOOSH.
Chris kept his eyes closed for a few seconds, then opened them. His mouth dropped.
The dart wasn’t in Africa. The dart wasn’t even in the United States.
It wasn’t in Europe, nor Asia, not even Antarctica where nothing was.
No, the dart had landed, at first glance, in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of South America.
“Are you kidding? That doesn’t help me! I’ve got to throw again.” Chris said with a sigh. Now he knew he was going to be there all night.
But as Chris approached the map, he saw something. The dart hadn’t landed in the ocean – it had landed on a medium-sized island, just off the Brazilian coast. It had landed smack in the middle.
Chris had his eyes right up to where the dart had embedded itself. He saw two bold words in fairly large print: HAVEN CITY.
“Haven City?” Chris said.
He couldn’t believe it. Why would the magic dart land Chris in a place he’d never heard of, and an island he didn’t even know existed until now?
Chris knew that there had to be a reason, though. Without thinking, he grabbed his briefcase, darted out of the room, went down the elevator, and out the front door.
He had to do some research on this Haven City. What made it so mysterious and interesting, if anything?
(Word Count at this point: 2,440 - a mere 4.8%)
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Chris and the Ottsel: Chapter 2: The Situation
Chris burst through the front doors of the Pittsburgh Picayune main office building. Everything was inside that building – his office, the printing presses, the sweet smell of flowers at the main desk – it was his home. He couldn’t bear to see it go.
He usually said hi to Butch, the main security guard in the morning, but all Chris could get out was, “Sorry Butch, emergency!”
But Chris heard nothing. Butch wasn’t there.
He stopped in his tracks.
“Hello?” his voice echoed.
It seemed as if nobody was there. Damn it, I’m too late! He thought.
Then he heard a faint moaning from an upstairs room.
But it wasn’t just any room. It was the editor’s room.
“Dave,” Chris said with a sigh, as he slowly made his way toward the elevator, to head up to the 20th floor.
Dave Jansen had been in journalism for 30 years. He also started out at the Picayune when he was Chris’s age, and quickly made his way up the totem pole to the editor’s desk. No paper in the Pittsburgh area had been finer, had been run more efficiently, under his direction. But with the Internet and other media outlets taking over, it wasn’t a surprise to see several papers littered around the Pittsburgh streets.
But Chris still knew that the paper was popular. It hadn’t been completely discarded from people’s minds. In reality, it was the only paper in Pittsburgh that really received recognition.
Chris had thoughts racing through his mind as he continued to go up, up, up to the top. What do I say? What will Dave say? I have to sell myself.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, he finally made it.
He slightly rapped on the door. He heard a faint noise from under the desk.
“Who…who is it? Nobody should be here; I sent a company wide e-mail to give everyone the day off.”
Chris knew it was Dave. “Dave, it’s just me. Saunders. I don’t check my e-mail in the mornings.”
Dave slowly popped his head up. “Oh, Chris. Well, you should start.”
Chris quickly got to the point.
“Dave, you’ve been here for 30 years. I’m just starting out, but journalism is my life. I love this building. I love this town. I love my desk-“
“Spare me the details, Saunders!” Dave screamed so that the entire floor could hear.
Chris quickly shut his mouth.
Dave took a deep breath and sighed. “Look, Saunders. We’ve done all we can. All our other reporters are telling me day after day they’re running out of story ideas and that we can’t compete with the other media anymore. Pretty soon, it’s going to be advertisements on every page. It’s over, okay? I can’t drag a newspaper in the dirt like this.”
Chris understood how Dave felt. But he had to think of something to be a savior.
“But sir, people still subscribe. They still read it. We’re still the most read paper in Pittsburgh.”
Dave looked hard into Chris’s eyes. “Saunders, we’re the ONLY read paper in Pittsburgh! And our subscriber number is dwindling! And have you noticed all the litter on the streets? That’s OUR work being thrown out for no reason!”
Chris knew the situation was becoming really dire. He knew that he couldn’t convince Dave unless he really threw him a curveball.
“Face it, Saunders. It’s over. I’m selling the building to a condo company in two weeks and we’re shutting down then. For now, we’ll just be putting in reruns of our best stories. Find a new job, move, something. I don’t want to take you down with me. You’re such a hard worker.”
Chris knew this was his chance.
“Then why don’t I try and find a story to save us?”
Dave stared, then chuckled, then busted out laughing. He even shed some tears.
“Seriously, Saunders? You? Not that I don’t have any faith in you, but I just can’t imagine a 21-year-old like yourself picking some random place, finding a random story, and getting enough people interested to make profit and save our paper.”
“What do I have to lose? This is my life, your life, the paper’s life, and the information that our city needs’ life at stake here. Do you really want condos taking over the lifebreath of our medium?”
Dave shook his head. Chris’s face moved closer so it almost met Dave’s.
“Then, sir, I will do whatever I have to ensure that this paper stays intact.”
Dave knew there was no other option. He knew he couldn’t make Chris change his mind now.
Dave sighed again. “Alright, Saunders. I’ll give you the two weeks to find something juicy, report it, write it, and print it. But you’ve got to do it all by yourself since no one else will be allowed in here during that time.”
Chris could figure out how to run everything else. He was a quick learner, after all.
“Yes, sir,” Chris said. “Thank you, sir.”
Chris began to walk out and head toward the elevators, down to his office on the 10th floor.
Dave stopped him. “Saunders?”
“Yes, Dave?”
“If you pull this off, not only will you earn a promotion and a raise, but you will earn the respect of me and the entire city of Pittsburgh.” Dave saluted him. “Good luck, son.”
Chris smiled. His mission had begun, and there was no turning back now.
He usually said hi to Butch, the main security guard in the morning, but all Chris could get out was, “Sorry Butch, emergency!”
But Chris heard nothing. Butch wasn’t there.
He stopped in his tracks.
“Hello?” his voice echoed.
It seemed as if nobody was there. Damn it, I’m too late! He thought.
Then he heard a faint moaning from an upstairs room.
But it wasn’t just any room. It was the editor’s room.
“Dave,” Chris said with a sigh, as he slowly made his way toward the elevator, to head up to the 20th floor.
Dave Jansen had been in journalism for 30 years. He also started out at the Picayune when he was Chris’s age, and quickly made his way up the totem pole to the editor’s desk. No paper in the Pittsburgh area had been finer, had been run more efficiently, under his direction. But with the Internet and other media outlets taking over, it wasn’t a surprise to see several papers littered around the Pittsburgh streets.
But Chris still knew that the paper was popular. It hadn’t been completely discarded from people’s minds. In reality, it was the only paper in Pittsburgh that really received recognition.
Chris had thoughts racing through his mind as he continued to go up, up, up to the top. What do I say? What will Dave say? I have to sell myself.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, he finally made it.
He slightly rapped on the door. He heard a faint noise from under the desk.
“Who…who is it? Nobody should be here; I sent a company wide e-mail to give everyone the day off.”
Chris knew it was Dave. “Dave, it’s just me. Saunders. I don’t check my e-mail in the mornings.”
Dave slowly popped his head up. “Oh, Chris. Well, you should start.”
Chris quickly got to the point.
“Dave, you’ve been here for 30 years. I’m just starting out, but journalism is my life. I love this building. I love this town. I love my desk-“
“Spare me the details, Saunders!” Dave screamed so that the entire floor could hear.
Chris quickly shut his mouth.
Dave took a deep breath and sighed. “Look, Saunders. We’ve done all we can. All our other reporters are telling me day after day they’re running out of story ideas and that we can’t compete with the other media anymore. Pretty soon, it’s going to be advertisements on every page. It’s over, okay? I can’t drag a newspaper in the dirt like this.”
Chris understood how Dave felt. But he had to think of something to be a savior.
“But sir, people still subscribe. They still read it. We’re still the most read paper in Pittsburgh.”
Dave looked hard into Chris’s eyes. “Saunders, we’re the ONLY read paper in Pittsburgh! And our subscriber number is dwindling! And have you noticed all the litter on the streets? That’s OUR work being thrown out for no reason!”
Chris knew the situation was becoming really dire. He knew that he couldn’t convince Dave unless he really threw him a curveball.
“Face it, Saunders. It’s over. I’m selling the building to a condo company in two weeks and we’re shutting down then. For now, we’ll just be putting in reruns of our best stories. Find a new job, move, something. I don’t want to take you down with me. You’re such a hard worker.”
Chris knew this was his chance.
“Then why don’t I try and find a story to save us?”
Dave stared, then chuckled, then busted out laughing. He even shed some tears.
“Seriously, Saunders? You? Not that I don’t have any faith in you, but I just can’t imagine a 21-year-old like yourself picking some random place, finding a random story, and getting enough people interested to make profit and save our paper.”
“What do I have to lose? This is my life, your life, the paper’s life, and the information that our city needs’ life at stake here. Do you really want condos taking over the lifebreath of our medium?”
Dave shook his head. Chris’s face moved closer so it almost met Dave’s.
“Then, sir, I will do whatever I have to ensure that this paper stays intact.”
Dave knew there was no other option. He knew he couldn’t make Chris change his mind now.
Dave sighed again. “Alright, Saunders. I’ll give you the two weeks to find something juicy, report it, write it, and print it. But you’ve got to do it all by yourself since no one else will be allowed in here during that time.”
Chris could figure out how to run everything else. He was a quick learner, after all.
“Yes, sir,” Chris said. “Thank you, sir.”
Chris began to walk out and head toward the elevators, down to his office on the 10th floor.
Dave stopped him. “Saunders?”
“Yes, Dave?”
“If you pull this off, not only will you earn a promotion and a raise, but you will earn the respect of me and the entire city of Pittsburgh.” Dave saluted him. “Good luck, son.”
Chris smiled. His mission had begun, and there was no turning back now.
Chris and the Ottsel: Chapter 1
My novel is a slightly fantasy, slightly real story about a young journalist beginning to live his dream as a writer for the Pittsburgh Picayune, and how first he must save it, then save himself from the tribulations of having a character from another world thrust into his life. He's been at the paper for 3 years and is trying to make his way up, but it's hard since he lost the love of his life in a car crash. Then one day, he discovers that the paper is on its last legs and may go under. Feeling that he is the only hope, he convinces his boss to let him be the savior. His adventure takes him to a remote, bustling city on an island he's never heard of. What will happen there? Will the young journalist save the paper? And just who is this character from another world? You'll have to read to find out...
Chapter 1: The Morning
“GOOD…MORNING, PITTSBURGH!!!”
“Ow!”
Chris Saunders banged his head on the empty bed above him as his bedside alarm went off, to the not-so-soothing talk radio station he had put on every morning since…well, the unfortunate accident.
“Gosh dang alarm. Oh well, it gets me up every morning,” he said with a sigh as he stretched and pulled the sheets off, not making his bed.
He had never made his bed again after what had happened. It was too hard for him to have a normal routine, a normal sense of feeling, and even somewhat of a normal life since what happened three years ago.
Three years ago, Chris and his girlfriend, Loretta, had somewhat of a wild and crazy night when Chris finally graduated from high school.
Chris had received his degree in journalism, something he had always strived for. He loved writing and the passion he felt when he wrote. He had actually met Loretta during his sophomore year, as he moved up on the newspaper staff’s totem pole. He was now the sports editor; Loretta was the paper’s manager.
Loretta always welcomed Chris every day with, “There he is, Mr. Writer Extraordinare.” Chris loved Loretta’s sense of humor; it was just as good as his own, if not better.
Eventually, the two would become co-managers during Chris’s senior year. They always would bounce ideas off of each other and a great story would develop and follow, then the whole student body would see it the next day. The two would get their share of amazing compliments, and they always took them in stride.
But the night that Chris Saunders just could never forget was that night. Loretta decided to pop open some champagne to celebrate and have a “night on the town”. Chris didn’t know what that meant, so he went.
And Loretta drove.
And they had a terrible crash where the car flipped multiple times.
And somehow, Chris’s life was spared with only minor cuts and bruises, while Loretta was instantly dead.
“Loretta…God, how I miss you,” Chris said as he ended his flashback. He hated doing it every morning, but that was the way it was as the talk radio blared the morning news.
Like he needed to know anyway – he was a reporter!
Somehow, Chris had managed to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart and earn a job at the Pittsburgh Picayune, the most popular paper in the city. They had seen Chris’s work on the school paper before and were very impressed by his abilities. But Chris had remained in the same house, slept in the same bed, and had the same clock go off since Loretta had died. He felt he couldn’t get rid of them, because if he did, he would feel like he was throwing her away altogether. He couldn’t do that.
Chris got dressed, brushed his teeth, and got himself ready for work when a phrase on the radio caught his attention.
“…the newspaper media industry may take a huge hit. There is talk that the Picayune may be shut down due to lack of interest and stories.”
Chris accidentally swallowed his toothpaste and saliva mix, looked into the mirror and screamed, “WHAT???”
This job was all Chris had now. He had dealt for three years with losing the love of his life; he could not bear the stress of having to lose his pride and joy passion – writing.
Chris flew out the door, realized he had forgotten his briefcase, went back in, grabbed it, and then left in a rush, running past people with looks on their faces as if to say, “You’re through, Saunders.”
He couldn’t let that happen. Not this time.
Chapter 1: The Morning
“GOOD…MORNING, PITTSBURGH!!!”
“Ow!”
Chris Saunders banged his head on the empty bed above him as his bedside alarm went off, to the not-so-soothing talk radio station he had put on every morning since…well, the unfortunate accident.
“Gosh dang alarm. Oh well, it gets me up every morning,” he said with a sigh as he stretched and pulled the sheets off, not making his bed.
He had never made his bed again after what had happened. It was too hard for him to have a normal routine, a normal sense of feeling, and even somewhat of a normal life since what happened three years ago.
Three years ago, Chris and his girlfriend, Loretta, had somewhat of a wild and crazy night when Chris finally graduated from high school.
Chris had received his degree in journalism, something he had always strived for. He loved writing and the passion he felt when he wrote. He had actually met Loretta during his sophomore year, as he moved up on the newspaper staff’s totem pole. He was now the sports editor; Loretta was the paper’s manager.
Loretta always welcomed Chris every day with, “There he is, Mr. Writer Extraordinare.” Chris loved Loretta’s sense of humor; it was just as good as his own, if not better.
Eventually, the two would become co-managers during Chris’s senior year. They always would bounce ideas off of each other and a great story would develop and follow, then the whole student body would see it the next day. The two would get their share of amazing compliments, and they always took them in stride.
But the night that Chris Saunders just could never forget was that night. Loretta decided to pop open some champagne to celebrate and have a “night on the town”. Chris didn’t know what that meant, so he went.
And Loretta drove.
And they had a terrible crash where the car flipped multiple times.
And somehow, Chris’s life was spared with only minor cuts and bruises, while Loretta was instantly dead.
“Loretta…God, how I miss you,” Chris said as he ended his flashback. He hated doing it every morning, but that was the way it was as the talk radio blared the morning news.
Like he needed to know anyway – he was a reporter!
Somehow, Chris had managed to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart and earn a job at the Pittsburgh Picayune, the most popular paper in the city. They had seen Chris’s work on the school paper before and were very impressed by his abilities. But Chris had remained in the same house, slept in the same bed, and had the same clock go off since Loretta had died. He felt he couldn’t get rid of them, because if he did, he would feel like he was throwing her away altogether. He couldn’t do that.
Chris got dressed, brushed his teeth, and got himself ready for work when a phrase on the radio caught his attention.
“…the newspaper media industry may take a huge hit. There is talk that the Picayune may be shut down due to lack of interest and stories.”
Chris accidentally swallowed his toothpaste and saliva mix, looked into the mirror and screamed, “WHAT???”
This job was all Chris had now. He had dealt for three years with losing the love of his life; he could not bear the stress of having to lose his pride and joy passion – writing.
Chris flew out the door, realized he had forgotten his briefcase, went back in, grabbed it, and then left in a rush, running past people with looks on their faces as if to say, “You’re through, Saunders.”
He couldn’t let that happen. Not this time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
