Thank Goodness I Grew Up

I regret a lot of things. Like cutting my own bangs, forgetting to tie my shoelaces on June 20th of 2008, and buying my dad that Mr. Peanut sculpture for Christmas. Mostly, I regret giving up, so here. A revamp, for the eight year old that would hate to have watched me stuff The Tomb Will Be Your Doom in a corner. Yes, I am completing a novel with a title that rhymes.
Enjoy the exerpt.

I could feel my face flush as I entered the train compartment. It was filled with about ten boys and five or so girls, all wearing neat grey suits and gowns that would be the uniform at Dorbin Boarding Academy. My own hair was in a tangled nest; my frock still the same wrinkled one I’d worn the night before.

I took another deep breath and wiped at my eyes, trying to lift my bag into the overhead compartment.

“Need a hand?” I jumped at the voice as a light haired boy stood up. Like all the other boys in the compartment, he was dressed in a stiff gray suit that matched the sky outside.

“Thank you, but I should be-” The boy ignored me. He scooped up my carpet bag and set slid it onto the top shelf. “Fine,” I muttered. “I should be fine.”

Governess Williams would be appalled at my manors. Absurdly, a small smile almost crossed my face as I thought of one thing that I would not regret leaving behind on this train: Governess Williams’ disapproving frown at my behavior. “Rebecca!” she would have exclaimed, were she here with me. “A lady always accepts a gentleman's assistance!” But I didn’t need the boy’s help, and I didn’t wish to speak to anyone either, not in this crowded compartment. The boy’s friends were already scrutinizing my mussed up hair and red-rimmed eyes.

The boy turned back to me, a grin on his face. He was taller than me, and didn’t seem to have had any trouble sliding my carpet bag into place. “I’m Benjamin,” he said, holding out a hand to shake.

If you are thouroughly confused, click to read the original.

Five years makes a VERY big difference.

Thank Goodness I was Eight Once

In a lot of ways, there's quite a jump between eight year old Lauren and me. But some things never, ever change.

I still wouldn't be caught dead in a haunted house and I still am an ice cube addict. I still sneak into the neighborhood woods to see if we can find a severed hand to match the one the legends say was found in 2000. I still wish I could swing on vines and I still pray for red hair sometimes. And apparently, I still write corny ghost stories.

The first novel I ever tried to write was titled, "The Tomb Will Be Your Doom", and the entire neighborhood thought it was exceptionally clever, (Well, three of its occupants, anyway). Keep in mind this is coming from the studios that brought you "The Evil King" and "The Country Nutcracker", so you have to give us some credit- this one rhymed.

We came up with the story in a swimming pool in the summer of 2006. It involved ghosts, angels, demons, death- not to mention a toy room suite and a maid named Mary. After triumphantly penning five pages, "The Tomb Will Be Your Doom" was stuffed in a drawer.

I doubt anyone will get as much satisfaction out of this as I will, but I had to post it.

Goodbye, Mother, Father," 15-year-old Rebecca said when the train pulled out of the station. She was going to the boarding school (a.k.a Dorbin Manor).

When she got on the train, she sat down in a compartment. She found two girls, one of them said, "Hello, I'm Jane Woodson (Eyre). What's your name?"

"Rebecca," she answered.

"And I'm Marissa," the other girl said.

Finally the train stopped at Dorbin Manor. The headmistress, Madame Rose, greeted each child at the door. When Rebecca and Marissa reached the door, Madame rose greeted them warmly and ordered the Maid Mary to show them their room.

The suite was beautiful. It was the only suite in the house. It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, one kitchen, one living room, and one playroom. The students ate dinner and then went to bed.

That night Rebecca was in her bedroom, when suddenly, she heard someone speaking. She turned around and standing their was a ghost. It flung at her screaming, "The tomb will be your doom!"

The next thing she knew, she was on her bed and Jane, Marissa, and Maid Mary were standing over her.

To follow Jane, Marissa and Rebecca on their adrenaline-pumping-grammatically-incorrect adventure, click HERE.