HappyHorse13
08-20-2006, 08:37 PM
Alright, I love writing! I'm writing a couple of stories right now, hoping to make them longer and to publish them.
Here's a couple pages of one, please nicley tell me what you think. I'm only 13 and writing this so I might stink I don't know, that's why I need people's HONEST opinions.
Motley and Miranda
It all began with a horse named Motley.
Yea, sure to a lot of people he was ugly and mean, but to me Motley was everything. He was the horse that would walk through fire just to please me.
I first saw Motley on the Internet. In my eyes, I saw a gorgeous grulla Quarter Horse. In others eyes, they saw a mean broken-spirited gelding who was way too wild to do anything with. I guess it’s just how you look at things.
I had always wanted a horse, ever since I was a little kid. I had took lessons for eight years, and every year I asked my parents if I could get a horse, and every year it was “no.” And it’s not like they didn’t have any money, because they do. I asked them why I couldn’t get a horse one time and they said because they thought I might not be dedicated to it. Please. They’re telling me this after I come home from mucking twenty stalls and exercising five unruly horses at my lesson barn.
So, back to Motley’s ad. I sit there and read it over, and I can’t believe what I’m reading. This guy is trying to sell Motley after five years of no riding, and plus, he was badly abused by the man that had Motley before this guy did. But for some reason, I like Motley. I print out the ad because I want to show my parents, who are eating breakfast.
I rumble down the steps (are house is old and the steps are loud and creaky) and waltz into the kitchen. Dad is groggily making a pot of coffee and mom is making waffles for my little brother, Evan.
“Mom, look what I found.” I slide the ad toward her.
“A horse, how did I know.” She reads the ad and flips over a burning waffle. “He sounds insane. No way.”
“But, Mom,” I argue, “I could retrain him. Fix him up, you know. Change his life.”
“Don’t use reverse psychology on me, young lady.”
I sigh because Mom’s right. She’s a motivational speaker for youth groups and stuff like that, and she probably knows the words “change his life” and “fix him up” inside and out.
“Well, what if I could help Motley?”
Mom turns around and looks at me. “I thought your father and I told you no horses. They’re dangerous.”
“But you’ve let me ride for eight years?” I ask curtly.
Dad and mom both sit down with Evan, so I do to. Waiting for mom’s answer, I glance around our spacious kitchen, studying the horse mural on the back wall. The grulla on it looks just like Motley.
“But you ride on gentle, well trained school horses,” Mom says.
I laugh. “No I don’t! Wings just bucked me off yesterday, and maybe you’d know that if you’d come and watch me ride every once in a while.”
“Honey, your mother and I work very hard to support your riding lessons and Evan’s activities,” Dad cut in.
“Dad, I get free lessons because I do barn chores and I ride my bike down to the barn every day. You’re not even using money on gas!” Ah! Why are my parents so clueless?
Evan laughs and I look over at him. He’s only five and I feel bad that he has to sit here on a perfect Saturday morning and listen to us argue.
“I’m going to the barn,” I announce. Mom and Dad nod okay.
I go to the garage and get out my old blue bike. Hopping on, I start pedaling to the barn.
I’m there in five minutes and see my best friend, Dave Reynolds, weeding the unconquered garden. He’s shy and soft-spoken.
“Hey, Dave,” I say, putting my bike in the bike holder.
“Hi, Miranda.” Dave puts down his shovel and takes a drink. “Hot out, isn’t it?”
“It is. Is Mrs. B around?” I’m asking about my trainer.
“No. She’s at a show, it was at the last minute notice. She’s showing a stud who requires a really experienced rider, and she’ll be at the show all day, so no one can ride. Wings and everyone are outside already.”
I sat down next to Dave, leaning my head on the cool brick wall. “Why are you here, then?”
“Nothing better to do,” he replies.
I look over and see that his eye is bruised. Now, it wasn’t bruised yesterday, so why is it bruised today?
“Dave? Are you okay?”
He turns his face around. Only one eye is bruised, like someone had punched him or something.
“Yea, I’m fine.”
He seems oblivious that I’m staring at his bruised eye.
“Oh, that. I fell down…and my eye got hit on something. No biggie.”
I know he’s lying, but he would never admit that someone was bullying him, since Dave’s a big guy.
“Look at this horse.” I pull the crumpled ad out of my jean pocket and give it to him as he sits down next to me.
Dave studies the ad, and then smiles. “I bet you could really fix him up, Miranda.”
“I know! I told my mom that and she doesn’t believe me! She thinks that I’m riding gentle school horses. Did you see the way Wings freaked yesterday?”
He nods. “Yup, good old Wings. Not all school horses are gentle, I hope your mom knows that.”
An ugly scowl stampedes across my face. “No, she doesn’t. Her or Dad probably wouldn’t care if Wings or one of the other horses bucked me off. All’s they care about is work.”
“My parents are the same way.”
We sit together in a comfortable silence. Then Dave asks, “Wanna go do something?”
“Like what? We’re thirteen with no car or money. Bikes can’t take us that far, Dave.”
“The bookstore is pretty close by, probably only thirty minutes by bike.”
“And the money?”
“I have a fifty in my pocket. Mom gave it to me in case I ordered something while I was here.” Dave shows me the bill.
“I don’t know. My parents would spaz out if they knew I went to the bookstore on a busy highway, with someone they don’t know, especially a guy. They might think we’ll do something ‘bad’ as Mom always tells me.”
Laughing, Dave remarks, “Yea, okay, because we’re just juvenile delinquents.”
“We should go to my house. Let’s get out of the heat, c’mon.”
We both grab our bikes and pedal onto the road. As I see my house, agitation boils up inside of me. My parents left again without telling me! I hate it when they do that, because I’m always worried that they left Evan alone or something.
Parking our bikes against the garage door, I unlock the door to the house and we go inside. Evan is at the babysitters, I soon find out as I read a note that Mom left.
“Nice house,” Dave comments.
“Thanks. Here, come and sit, Dave.”
I sit down but don’t turn on the TV. I hate TV; I’d rather read or ride than spend hours watching some dumb show.
“I’m tired,” I yawn loudly. “The heat always gets my energy.”
“Me too.”
Before we know it, I’ve fallen asleep in the armchair, and Dave is crashed on the couch.
*
I suddenly awake, three hours later, to shrill screaming from my mother.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING MIRANDA EMILY TUCKER?!”
Dave wakes with a start and falls off the couch.
Mom begins to yell again as I spot groceries sprawled out on the floor. Evan starts to run around like a heathen because of all the yelling and excitement.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Mom yells again.
“Mom, Mom, it’s okay we just fell asleep…” I try to explain.
“Oh, I see now, I can’t believe you would do this!”
Dad runs in now because Mom has been yelling so loud it seems like the roof shook. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Miranda just invited some stranger into my house!”
This is only like the first three pages, please tell me what you think!
Here's a couple pages of one, please nicley tell me what you think. I'm only 13 and writing this so I might stink I don't know, that's why I need people's HONEST opinions.
Motley and Miranda
It all began with a horse named Motley.
Yea, sure to a lot of people he was ugly and mean, but to me Motley was everything. He was the horse that would walk through fire just to please me.
I first saw Motley on the Internet. In my eyes, I saw a gorgeous grulla Quarter Horse. In others eyes, they saw a mean broken-spirited gelding who was way too wild to do anything with. I guess it’s just how you look at things.
I had always wanted a horse, ever since I was a little kid. I had took lessons for eight years, and every year I asked my parents if I could get a horse, and every year it was “no.” And it’s not like they didn’t have any money, because they do. I asked them why I couldn’t get a horse one time and they said because they thought I might not be dedicated to it. Please. They’re telling me this after I come home from mucking twenty stalls and exercising five unruly horses at my lesson barn.
So, back to Motley’s ad. I sit there and read it over, and I can’t believe what I’m reading. This guy is trying to sell Motley after five years of no riding, and plus, he was badly abused by the man that had Motley before this guy did. But for some reason, I like Motley. I print out the ad because I want to show my parents, who are eating breakfast.
I rumble down the steps (are house is old and the steps are loud and creaky) and waltz into the kitchen. Dad is groggily making a pot of coffee and mom is making waffles for my little brother, Evan.
“Mom, look what I found.” I slide the ad toward her.
“A horse, how did I know.” She reads the ad and flips over a burning waffle. “He sounds insane. No way.”
“But, Mom,” I argue, “I could retrain him. Fix him up, you know. Change his life.”
“Don’t use reverse psychology on me, young lady.”
I sigh because Mom’s right. She’s a motivational speaker for youth groups and stuff like that, and she probably knows the words “change his life” and “fix him up” inside and out.
“Well, what if I could help Motley?”
Mom turns around and looks at me. “I thought your father and I told you no horses. They’re dangerous.”
“But you’ve let me ride for eight years?” I ask curtly.
Dad and mom both sit down with Evan, so I do to. Waiting for mom’s answer, I glance around our spacious kitchen, studying the horse mural on the back wall. The grulla on it looks just like Motley.
“But you ride on gentle, well trained school horses,” Mom says.
I laugh. “No I don’t! Wings just bucked me off yesterday, and maybe you’d know that if you’d come and watch me ride every once in a while.”
“Honey, your mother and I work very hard to support your riding lessons and Evan’s activities,” Dad cut in.
“Dad, I get free lessons because I do barn chores and I ride my bike down to the barn every day. You’re not even using money on gas!” Ah! Why are my parents so clueless?
Evan laughs and I look over at him. He’s only five and I feel bad that he has to sit here on a perfect Saturday morning and listen to us argue.
“I’m going to the barn,” I announce. Mom and Dad nod okay.
I go to the garage and get out my old blue bike. Hopping on, I start pedaling to the barn.
I’m there in five minutes and see my best friend, Dave Reynolds, weeding the unconquered garden. He’s shy and soft-spoken.
“Hey, Dave,” I say, putting my bike in the bike holder.
“Hi, Miranda.” Dave puts down his shovel and takes a drink. “Hot out, isn’t it?”
“It is. Is Mrs. B around?” I’m asking about my trainer.
“No. She’s at a show, it was at the last minute notice. She’s showing a stud who requires a really experienced rider, and she’ll be at the show all day, so no one can ride. Wings and everyone are outside already.”
I sat down next to Dave, leaning my head on the cool brick wall. “Why are you here, then?”
“Nothing better to do,” he replies.
I look over and see that his eye is bruised. Now, it wasn’t bruised yesterday, so why is it bruised today?
“Dave? Are you okay?”
He turns his face around. Only one eye is bruised, like someone had punched him or something.
“Yea, I’m fine.”
He seems oblivious that I’m staring at his bruised eye.
“Oh, that. I fell down…and my eye got hit on something. No biggie.”
I know he’s lying, but he would never admit that someone was bullying him, since Dave’s a big guy.
“Look at this horse.” I pull the crumpled ad out of my jean pocket and give it to him as he sits down next to me.
Dave studies the ad, and then smiles. “I bet you could really fix him up, Miranda.”
“I know! I told my mom that and she doesn’t believe me! She thinks that I’m riding gentle school horses. Did you see the way Wings freaked yesterday?”
He nods. “Yup, good old Wings. Not all school horses are gentle, I hope your mom knows that.”
An ugly scowl stampedes across my face. “No, she doesn’t. Her or Dad probably wouldn’t care if Wings or one of the other horses bucked me off. All’s they care about is work.”
“My parents are the same way.”
We sit together in a comfortable silence. Then Dave asks, “Wanna go do something?”
“Like what? We’re thirteen with no car or money. Bikes can’t take us that far, Dave.”
“The bookstore is pretty close by, probably only thirty minutes by bike.”
“And the money?”
“I have a fifty in my pocket. Mom gave it to me in case I ordered something while I was here.” Dave shows me the bill.
“I don’t know. My parents would spaz out if they knew I went to the bookstore on a busy highway, with someone they don’t know, especially a guy. They might think we’ll do something ‘bad’ as Mom always tells me.”
Laughing, Dave remarks, “Yea, okay, because we’re just juvenile delinquents.”
“We should go to my house. Let’s get out of the heat, c’mon.”
We both grab our bikes and pedal onto the road. As I see my house, agitation boils up inside of me. My parents left again without telling me! I hate it when they do that, because I’m always worried that they left Evan alone or something.
Parking our bikes against the garage door, I unlock the door to the house and we go inside. Evan is at the babysitters, I soon find out as I read a note that Mom left.
“Nice house,” Dave comments.
“Thanks. Here, come and sit, Dave.”
I sit down but don’t turn on the TV. I hate TV; I’d rather read or ride than spend hours watching some dumb show.
“I’m tired,” I yawn loudly. “The heat always gets my energy.”
“Me too.”
Before we know it, I’ve fallen asleep in the armchair, and Dave is crashed on the couch.
*
I suddenly awake, three hours later, to shrill screaming from my mother.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING MIRANDA EMILY TUCKER?!”
Dave wakes with a start and falls off the couch.
Mom begins to yell again as I spot groceries sprawled out on the floor. Evan starts to run around like a heathen because of all the yelling and excitement.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Mom yells again.
“Mom, Mom, it’s okay we just fell asleep…” I try to explain.
“Oh, I see now, I can’t believe you would do this!”
Dad runs in now because Mom has been yelling so loud it seems like the roof shook. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Miranda just invited some stranger into my house!”
This is only like the first three pages, please tell me what you think!