Ch.1: Cassandra
Today is the first day of National Novel Writing Month. Unfortunately for me, NaNoWriMo insists that all participants begin their novels today, November 1. Writing my novel takes a lot of emotional space, and I only have three weeks free this month to work on it, and I certainly am not going to spend those three weeks writing some other novel than the one I have already started. Still I want to do something in honor of the lovely name National Novel Writing Month, and toward that end I will post the first chapters of my novel. For the sake of having a title, let's call it Golden Beach. It is a modernization of Jane Austen's first novel, Northanger Abbey, loosely inspired by Bridget Jones's Diary, which is a modernization of Pride and Prejudice.
Cassie Morton, our reluctant heroine, was brushing her shoulder-length, dark brown hair, while carefully inspecting every pore on her face for the slightest sign of an encroaching pimple. It was not that she was vain; it was merely that pimples are of the utmost importance. As soon as she had assured herself of her clear skin, she diverted herself by wishing she could grow her hair longer, into a sleek, glossy mane like Joey’s on “Dawson’s Creek.” Unfortunately, the moment her ends grazed her shoulders, they split.
No, Cassie had no particular personal vanity, only a love of media. She anxiously monitored advertisements, magazines, and appropriate television for teenagers, and she understood what was expected of her in terms of personal appearance and demeanor. Cassie had no special desire to be a heroine, but she was convinced that heroism would one day be thrust upon her, like it was thrust upon Liz in “Roswell,” when Liz was just working in a cafe but almost died and was saved by an alien, after which her whole life changed.
Cassie grew up in Pennsylvania with parents who loved each other. After the divorce, they remained in the same city, Bala Cynwyd, so that they could both participate in raising Cassie and her older brother Jim, who was now a freshman at Princeton. Their parents were always there for them--separately.
Now 15, Cassie had for three years been gradually leaving behind the tomboyish ways of youth. She still secretly loved to run through the small wood behind her house and wade in the creek, but now she immediately ran home and bathed afterward. She shaved her legs; she tried whatever hair treatment Seventeen was recommending that month; she wore the latest shades of make-up; and she always smelled like one or another Bath & Body Works scent. However, she was well aware that she was not beautiful or exotic! Her hair resisted every application of honey or hot oil or henna, or even substances not beginning with h, such as olive oil or oatmeal; the smooth hairlessness of her legs could scarcely compensate for their perfectly commonplace shape and length; and her make-up appeared to lean awkwardly against her clear skin in an unnatural fashion, as if it did not belong there.
Still, although she was not striking, and she had never inspired a great passion in anyone, and no famous director would ever accost her in a coffee bar and insist that she audition for his next production, nevertheless, she was not unattractive. She had a pleasant expression reflecting her kind disposition. She often smiled with genuine delight, making her brown eyes squint in a manner that was individual and interesting. There was neither an oversized nor an undersized feature on her face or body. She was simply ordinary in appearance, the sort of girl who would be quite unappealing if she were sour in temperament, but who in this case happily possessed such a good nature that she was almost pretty.
In addition to being unremarkable in appearance, Cassie was not accomplished in any area. She was not stupid or dull, merely undisciplined. Her mother and father had tried to give her opportunities to develop skills, but nothing had come of it. When she was five, her mother offered her piano lessons, and she eagerly accepted, but within a year it was clear that she would never practice unless pressed. Her parents were not the type to press, so the piano lessons were dropped. Her father then took her to voice lessons for half a year, but again, her initial enthusiasm quickly faded, and her parents did not force her to continue. Still, she retained the confidence that she could have sung well. Perhaps some day she will audition for “American Idol” and become a surprise sensation.
At nine she was allowed to try soccer, but she had no natural talent for sports, and no will to acquire an ability. So she continued to ride her bicycle to the park and the pool, to sing to herself in the shower, to cheerfully pluck out “Chopsticks” on the piano with a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment, and to watch TV and read magazines for young women.
She cultivated a knowledge of appropriate quotes from popular songs and films, to be dispersed sparingly to display her wisdom and good taste. From Des’ree, she learned,
You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser
and from Britney Spears,
I’m not a girl
Not yet a woman
All I need is time
A moment that is mine
While I’m in between,
and from Avril Lavigne,
Uh-huh,
Life’s like this
Uh-huh, uh-huh
That’s the way it is.
From her reading and her lively interest in music and television, Cassie knew about all the classes of people she would encounter in life: the jocks, the geeks, the artists, the snobs, sometimes even the dangerous criminals. At least she felt forewarned and prepared.
As she grew older, Cassie did not defy her parents. She did not have a secret life, did not fill notebooks with artwork or heartfelt journal entries. She never went to work at a fast food restaurant, a coffee bar, or indeed anywhere at all.
There was little to recommend Cassie as a heroine. Heroism would have to find her by chance. She would have to be like all those ordinary girls in movies who suddenly meet the right guy, get total makeovers, and become the most beautiful girl at the prom, after a few embarrassing but touching misadventures.
Cassie’s greatest obstacle to heroism was probably Bala Cynwyd. Long lost heirs to thrones reside in San Francisco. Movie moguls find starlets in Los Angeles. Handsome aliens grow up in New Mexico. How would adventure find her in Pennsylvania? Bala Cynwyd had produced a famous drag queen, but as she had been born female, that path was barred from her. Besides, even the drag queen had needed to leave town to find adventure. It was still conceivable that Cassie might catch the eye of a loner basketball player, but it was a long shot. Although she remained convinced that destiny would find her anywhere, the fact remained that an exotic location would greatly improve her chances of becoming a heroine.
As things worked out, a potential story was not far away. Cassie’s father Brad, an insurance executive, had won the acclaim of his firm and the use of a company condominium for the month of July, a month that, in Miami, could be regarded as arguably more desirable than August. Naturally he was not to be on vacation during this month, merely enjoying a more scenic and exotic location while working on his laptop and paying occasional visits to the Miami office of the bureau. He and his girlfriend had invited Cassie to join them, and her mother had graciously consented to let her go. She would have a whole month to find adventure, romance, and with any luck, intrigue.
Cassie Morton, our reluctant heroine, was brushing her shoulder-length, dark brown hair, while carefully inspecting every pore on her face for the slightest sign of an encroaching pimple. It was not that she was vain; it was merely that pimples are of the utmost importance. As soon as she had assured herself of her clear skin, she diverted herself by wishing she could grow her hair longer, into a sleek, glossy mane like Joey’s on “Dawson’s Creek.” Unfortunately, the moment her ends grazed her shoulders, they split.
No, Cassie had no particular personal vanity, only a love of media. She anxiously monitored advertisements, magazines, and appropriate television for teenagers, and she understood what was expected of her in terms of personal appearance and demeanor. Cassie had no special desire to be a heroine, but she was convinced that heroism would one day be thrust upon her, like it was thrust upon Liz in “Roswell,” when Liz was just working in a cafe but almost died and was saved by an alien, after which her whole life changed.
Cassie grew up in Pennsylvania with parents who loved each other. After the divorce, they remained in the same city, Bala Cynwyd, so that they could both participate in raising Cassie and her older brother Jim, who was now a freshman at Princeton. Their parents were always there for them--separately.
Now 15, Cassie had for three years been gradually leaving behind the tomboyish ways of youth. She still secretly loved to run through the small wood behind her house and wade in the creek, but now she immediately ran home and bathed afterward. She shaved her legs; she tried whatever hair treatment Seventeen was recommending that month; she wore the latest shades of make-up; and she always smelled like one or another Bath & Body Works scent. However, she was well aware that she was not beautiful or exotic! Her hair resisted every application of honey or hot oil or henna, or even substances not beginning with h, such as olive oil or oatmeal; the smooth hairlessness of her legs could scarcely compensate for their perfectly commonplace shape and length; and her make-up appeared to lean awkwardly against her clear skin in an unnatural fashion, as if it did not belong there.
Still, although she was not striking, and she had never inspired a great passion in anyone, and no famous director would ever accost her in a coffee bar and insist that she audition for his next production, nevertheless, she was not unattractive. She had a pleasant expression reflecting her kind disposition. She often smiled with genuine delight, making her brown eyes squint in a manner that was individual and interesting. There was neither an oversized nor an undersized feature on her face or body. She was simply ordinary in appearance, the sort of girl who would be quite unappealing if she were sour in temperament, but who in this case happily possessed such a good nature that she was almost pretty.
In addition to being unremarkable in appearance, Cassie was not accomplished in any area. She was not stupid or dull, merely undisciplined. Her mother and father had tried to give her opportunities to develop skills, but nothing had come of it. When she was five, her mother offered her piano lessons, and she eagerly accepted, but within a year it was clear that she would never practice unless pressed. Her parents were not the type to press, so the piano lessons were dropped. Her father then took her to voice lessons for half a year, but again, her initial enthusiasm quickly faded, and her parents did not force her to continue. Still, she retained the confidence that she could have sung well. Perhaps some day she will audition for “American Idol” and become a surprise sensation.
At nine she was allowed to try soccer, but she had no natural talent for sports, and no will to acquire an ability. So she continued to ride her bicycle to the park and the pool, to sing to herself in the shower, to cheerfully pluck out “Chopsticks” on the piano with a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment, and to watch TV and read magazines for young women.
She cultivated a knowledge of appropriate quotes from popular songs and films, to be dispersed sparingly to display her wisdom and good taste. From Des’ree, she learned,
You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser
and from Britney Spears,
I’m not a girl
Not yet a woman
All I need is time
A moment that is mine
While I’m in between,
and from Avril Lavigne,
Uh-huh,
Life’s like this
Uh-huh, uh-huh
That’s the way it is.
From her reading and her lively interest in music and television, Cassie knew about all the classes of people she would encounter in life: the jocks, the geeks, the artists, the snobs, sometimes even the dangerous criminals. At least she felt forewarned and prepared.
As she grew older, Cassie did not defy her parents. She did not have a secret life, did not fill notebooks with artwork or heartfelt journal entries. She never went to work at a fast food restaurant, a coffee bar, or indeed anywhere at all.
There was little to recommend Cassie as a heroine. Heroism would have to find her by chance. She would have to be like all those ordinary girls in movies who suddenly meet the right guy, get total makeovers, and become the most beautiful girl at the prom, after a few embarrassing but touching misadventures.
Cassie’s greatest obstacle to heroism was probably Bala Cynwyd. Long lost heirs to thrones reside in San Francisco. Movie moguls find starlets in Los Angeles. Handsome aliens grow up in New Mexico. How would adventure find her in Pennsylvania? Bala Cynwyd had produced a famous drag queen, but as she had been born female, that path was barred from her. Besides, even the drag queen had needed to leave town to find adventure. It was still conceivable that Cassie might catch the eye of a loner basketball player, but it was a long shot. Although she remained convinced that destiny would find her anywhere, the fact remained that an exotic location would greatly improve her chances of becoming a heroine.
As things worked out, a potential story was not far away. Cassie’s father Brad, an insurance executive, had won the acclaim of his firm and the use of a company condominium for the month of July, a month that, in Miami, could be regarded as arguably more desirable than August. Naturally he was not to be on vacation during this month, merely enjoying a more scenic and exotic location while working on his laptop and paying occasional visits to the Miami office of the bureau. He and his girlfriend had invited Cassie to join them, and her mother had graciously consented to let her go. She would have a whole month to find adventure, romance, and with any luck, intrigue.
Labels: Cassie
posted by Margo at 9:14 AM
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