When things resurface...

So I was scavenging through some of my old notebooks this morning, looking for some empty pages, when some old scribbles caught my eye.

I never told anyone this, because I was afraid I would fail (which I totally did, apparently!) but a while ago, just for fun, I was working on a YA novel. I never finished it, and eventually got distracted by other things, but when I came across the pages the other day I couldn't believe I'd forgotten about them!

I was never really confident in my writing, but as I was reading through some of these it just brought back to me everything I was going through 2 years ago. My main character, Mabel, has her voice stolen from her one day and essentially goes on a mission to retrieve it... I know, not the most creative sounding storyline, but it pretty much reflects where I was at this time. :p

Here are some bits and pieces! Maybe they won't make much sense without any context, but I thought I might share anyway. :p

"I know," wrote Mabel.
"But what do you want?"
Her fingers quivered as she placed the bottle on the table, but when she looked up he'd already turned away.
"A conversation," said the Djinn.
"I need a conversation. For the love of my Master, give me just one... where for a minute, you need not the earth to shake nor the oceans to rise. Where you're not thinking about all the mistakes you've made or need to erase. Where the flowers can die and the kingdoms can fall and for just that minute, everything is how it is and how it needs to be. Tell me that your only wish is to say this to me. Look at me girl... and tell me this isn't all for nothing."
Mabel felt the hope dying on her lips as she looked down at the crippled creature. How could she tell him she was happy, when she'd spent all this time seeking him out.

*

"So that's you huh? That girl. They've been saying much about you they have. The girl with hair like fire..." He eyed her thoughtfully. "You want your words back."
It wasn't a question. He knew who she was.
"Powerful magic, not to be messed with."
"But you can do it. We were told that you could," said Flynn.
"Perhaps," he said with a shrug. 
"There's just one thing. You see, you humans can't be trusted with words. I mean, you hardly even think about them, do you? I notice these things, sitting on the sidelines. You live your lives hoarding them up in those little brains of yours, then just throw them around without a second thought. You could hurt yourself! And do! You choose bad ones and wrong ones and go about playing with them like it's the most insignificant thing in the world. But it's not you know. We make our words. They mean things."
He eyed her carefully.
"Powerful magic, not to be messed with."
Mabel looked back at him. She understood. She'd seen it walking through her neighborhood. Cars beeping at each other and their drivers screaming out their windows to go a bit faster. Families bickering during their yearly get-togethers and school kids spreading hurtful rumors about their friends. He was right, it wasn't fair. But neither was this, and so Mabel decided in that moment, she would never again misuse her words. She knew their power.

*

"Interesting,"
He pried it from her fingers and she listened tentatively.
"So, you left them then."
She nodded.
"They needed help,"
"They needed to trust in someone."
She watched as he understood.