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Book update and chapter 2

Posted by  on Thursday, July 26th 2012     

First things first – a huge thank you to everyone who has shown such positive support for this project.

As this story has developed in the past months, I’ve shared some of my excitement with close friends and family.  Their support has been overwhelmingly positive.  This year has been one where I’ve been on the receiving end of Romans 12:15 in its entirety: “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”  I’ve been overwhelmed by the love of those around me who have shown deep and true concern for me during a dark patch this year and the rejoicing with me with this latest project.  I never expected others to be as excited as I was, but many of my closest friends have mirrored my joy.  I can’t begin to explain how wonderful that is!  When one is filled to overflowing with excitement, it’s difficult to reign it in and not babble on about all the intricate elements that make my joy so huge. Having friends and family who want to know every detail, every progression, every new experience and talk to how excited they are about it all is … well, I have no words to describe my heart’s joy.

But, I can say that it’s a joy that I want to record here in our family journal.  It’s a joy that I want to revisit in my old age.  It’s a joy that deserves a “shout out” – or, more specifically, the people who have so wholeheartedly embraced my joy as theirs deserve a big shout out.  Which is why I share this here now.  Because, it is here that I record many of our joys, failures, thoughts and experiences.  It is here that I first began writing again with regularity.  And it is here that my joy continues to be shared: from close friends to online acquaintances, I’ve received overwhelming, joyful support.  Thank you.

And now … developments:

When I first wrote about my venture into the world of writing children’s novels, I was unsure about where to progress in the publishing field.   So many of you wrote and encouraged me; pointed me to potential avenues to explore and gave me fantastic tips.  As a result of this and some investigating of my own, some potentially promising developments have happened.  I’m excited to share all the details, but I’m going to hold back until (hopefully) potential becomes more of promising.  In short, however, I have a great contact who is excited about my project too and wants to connect me to his publisher.  A publisher that, unlike Zondervan and other big names that are actually owned by secular companies, is 100% reformed evangelically Christian, with the same vision and purpose that I hold by.  Hopefully, connections will be made in the near future.

Until then, here’s chapter two, with a promise to post a couple more chapters in time.  (Click here for Chapter 1)

 

Chapter 2

Shards of olive green opaque glass scattered everywhere. Simon froze in horror. His fantasies of pirates and faraway lands vanished. All that remained of his treasure were splinters of sharp glass and a lecture awaiting him from his mother.

“Simon! What on earth?”

Mrs Ward was not impressed. Having chased her toddler up and down the freezing cold and windy beach all morning, she was not in the mood for shenanigans. The kettle was already boiling and Mrs Ward wanted to sink into her favourite chair with a hot mug of tea for just a few minutes of quiet. Clearing up tiny pieces of glass whilst keeping her 2-year old, Jemma, from cutting her pudgy and wildly inquisitive little hands was not on her agenda for the rest of that morning.

The icy cold wind had kissed Simon’s cheeks, leaving two crimson spots. Two spots that quickly spread into the rest of his face when he looked at his mother’s equally flushed cheeks. Her furrowed brows and flashing eyes warned him of a storm coming. A mama’s storm. “Simon! What is this? What were you thinking? Look at this mess! Oh, what am I going to do with you?! Really, Simon? Really? Oh, just … argh! Simon, clean it up.”

With that, Mrs Ward turned back towards the house, leaving Simon alone on the front driveway. He sighed. It could’ve been worse. Generally, Simon’s mom was a great mom. She was the picture book variety in many ways: she read loads of stories to them, baked cookies and allowed them to build forts out of her couch cushions. But, Mrs Ward wasn’t perfect. And that was most obvious when she lost her temper. Her temper would rise out of a place as calm and quiet as the sea, just before a tsunami wreaks havoc on the coast of an unsuspecting village. Sometimes, Simon felt like that little village. This morning, her outburst was just a gust of wind on a winter’s day, much like the wind that was now sweeping the smaller shards of glass towards the garden. Simon dropped to his knees and began to pick up the bigger pieces.

The base of the bottle was still in one piece. Two other larger pieces were nearby. It looked like he may be able to glue the bottle back together, leaving only a hole or two. The rest of the bottle had smashed into splinters that Simon would have to vacuum up with the dustbuster. Sighing again, Simon dropped the two bigger pieces into the base of the bottle when something caught his eye. It was something stuck to the bottom of the bottle.

Simon looked a little closer. His mind began racing down paths of mystery and excitement again when he realised what he was looking at.

A message in a bottle.

It was really a brown envelope, yellowed and spotted with age and wrapped in plastic, but Simon felt sure that it contained something special. With just a gentle tug, he managed to loosen the envelope from its glassy prison. For a moment or two, he simply stared in wonder at the small package in his hands. Then, as if pinched into action and totally forgetting the shards of glass still scattered around him, Simon leapt up and ran inside the house.

“Mom! Mom!” Simon yelled. “Mom! Look what was inside the bottle!”

Mrs Ward had just settled herself on the couch with her mug of tea when Simon burst into the room. Her irritation quickly vanished when she looked up at Simon’s flushed, excited face. Warmed by her tea and her son’s youthful exuberance, she smiled and asked, “What is it, Simon?”

“Oh! Mom!” The words tumbled out of Simon’s mouth at a rapid rate: “I was picking up the broken glass outside when I found this envelope at the bottom of the broken bottle and I’m sure that it’s a pirate from the Jolly Roger or maybe even from Captain Magellan’s ship…”

“Slow down, son!” Mrs Ward laughed. Simon’s excitement bubbled over in a rush of garbled words. She could hardly make head or tail of what he was saying.

“All I heard was “message” and “pirates”! Start again and slowly, my boy.”

Simon took a deep breath and began to tell her the story of how he came to have the bottle.

“… and then as I was cleaning up, I noticed this folded up envelope wedged against the bottom well of the bottle. What do you think it is, mom?!”

“I have no idea, Simon. But it certainly does look very old, indeed. Let’s open it slowly, shall we?”

Simon and his mother poured over the envelope. A heavy sense of importance hung over them. It was as if they both knew that this old, brittle envelope was special. Special in a life-changing kind of way.

“It is a letter!” Simon exclaimed. Unfolding the yellowed paper inside, Simon stared in awe at the words typed neatly across the page.

21 January, 1980

To whoever finds this letter,

I have a question for you. If you find this bottle, please will you answer my question and post it back to:

Joseph C
Standard 5b
c/o Jan De Wit Primary School
Lavender Hill
Cape Town
The Republic of South Africa

My question is:

Who is God and does he really care about me?

Thank you.

Yours sincerely,
Joseph

sneak preview: chapter 1

Posted by  on Monday, July 16th 2012     

In the light of the news on yesterday’s post, and the overwhelmingly positive response I’ve received from so many of you, I thought I’d share the first chapter of my tentatively titled book: The Joseph Project.  It’s not my favourite chapter – it probably needs the most work, ironically.  Or perhaps it’s just overworked in my mind.  Whatever it is, here it is.  I welcome feedback via email: cratar (at) gmail.com. 

Chapter 1

The object captured his attention. So much so that the slender icy fingers of wind slipping down the back of his coat neck did not bother 12-year old Simon at all. In fact, he hardly noticed the sudden drop in temperature. Even the high-pitched whistling gusts snaking through the multi-coloured beach huts could not divert his attention from the strange object at the water’s edge.

huts panoramic3

Tangled seaweed surrounded it. If it weren’t for the glinting flash of light that seemed to break free from the kelp mass, he may not even have noticed it.

“What could that be?” Simon half-whispered his thoughts aloud.

It wasn’t uncommon to see all manner of debris littering the beach in the middle of winter. After all, the Western Cape had been dubbed the Cape of Storms centuries ago for good reason. But, there was something mysterious about the smooth object embedded in the beach’s shoreline.

It glowed.

Even in the overcast greyness of a typical wintery June day, somehow the sun managed to push through the thick cloud, reaching out to touch the object; lighting it up as if it were a signpost to another world. Simon felt strangely drawn to its glow. What could it possibly be?

“Simon!”

From the sandy Muizenberg beach walkway, Simon’s mother called his name. His three younger siblings huddled around her legs, trying to stay warm as the relentless wind whipped their hair across their faces and teased their coat hoods away from their heads. It was cold. Mrs Ward waved, signalling that it was time to return to the car and head home. No doubt, she was regretting their impromptu beach outing to collect shells for their sea-life project. It had been calm and sunny at their house, but the weather in Cape Town was known to change dramatically even within the same hour.

huddling on walkway

Glancing back at the object, Simon reluctantly turned and ran towards his mother. Perhaps it was nothing after all. As if to reassure himself that it wasn’t really much of a mystery, Simon looked over his shoulder towards the water’s edge where the sea foam pooled around the kelp, sliding off its smooth surface with each wave of the murky winter sea water. The glow had faded. The heavy clouds had reclaimed the sky and not one slither of sun escaped. But, while the glow had faded, the object was still there. It was… it was… a bottle?

“Mom!” Simon yelled into the roar of the wind, “Mom! I’m coming now! Wait for me in the car!”

bottle in seaweed portrait1His voice carried away in the wind. Not stopping to see if she did hear him, Simon turned around and sprinted to the water’s edge. There it was. Tangled seaweed gripped it, but with a gentle tug he managed to free the bottle from its chains of kelp. Tucking it under his coat, he dashed back towards the parking lot.

Simon was breathless when he arrived at the car. His cheeks glowed red and his nose was damp from his frosty exertion. His mother had just finished buckling his youngest sister into her car seat. Ducking under her arm, Simon slipped through the gap between the seats and scooted across to his own seat.

“Simon!” his mother chided, “Really! Can’t you remember to be patient and wait until I’m done with buckling Jemma in? You almost knocked me over! It’s bad enough that the wind is trying to carry me away, without you trying, too!” Shaking her head, Mrs. Ward slammed the sliding door shut and walked around the car to the driver’s side. She hadn’t even realised that he was out of breath.

Feeling a sliver of annoyance at his harassed mother’s rebuke, Simon secretly fingered the bottle beneath his coat. It was cold and wet, seeping icy dampness through the layers of his t-shirts and jersey. Strangely, he felt a sense of excitement. “Strangely” because it was just a bottle after all. A handful of vagrants gathered near the beach in the wintertime, warming themselves with sips of wine from bottles shaped just like this one. It was probably just one of their old discarded bottles, empty of everything but perhaps a few specks of sand. He would return home, examine it and then, in all likelihood, toss it into the recycling bin under his mother’s kitchen sink. Yet, despite knowing this, Simon still felt a warm thrill of adventure gather around his shoulders like a comforting blanket. Imagining scenes from his favourite shipwreck stories, Simon plotted out a fantastical tale of the bottle’s journey. While Mrs Ward drove along the M5 towards the leafy suburb of their home and his brother and sisters sang their loud and off-key accompaniment to the nursery songs playing on the car’s sound system, Simon’s thoughts were lost in a world of intrigue where his bottle contained jewels and secret codes. By the time they arrived home, he was convinced that his bottle was a part of a secret spy plot from hundreds of years ago and that he, Simon Ward, now held the last piece of a great mystery.

Flinging her seatbelt aside, Kim bolted across the car with all the exuberance of a typical 10-year old girl, knocking Simon right out of his dreamy state.

“Hey!” Simon shouted indignantly as her beanie sailed across the car and slapped him in the face, “What was that for?”

Kim didn’t hear Simon; she was too intent on racing her twin brother, Nic to the front door. Shaking his head, Simon carefully unclipped his seatbelt and followed his excitable younger siblings to the front door, hoping that he could slip, unnoticed and unbothered, into his room to examine his treasure more closely.

It was not to be. Just before Simon reached the front door, Purdy, their energetic border collie, hurtled like a bullet towards Simon, her favourite human in the whole world. With three bounding leaps, she crossed the front path and planted two great big muddy paws on Simon’s chest. As Simon tried to ward off Purdy’s enthusiastic greeting, his precious bottle slid out from under his jacket and… shattered on the driveway.

~ end of chapter one ~

Special thanks to the Radue family for playing the roles of Mrs Ward, Simon and Nic in our fun photography session on Friday.  And to Katie and Micah for playing Kim and Jemma.  (whoops – sorry Micah, I hope you won’t hold it against me when you’re older!)

From reading stories to writing them…

Posted by  on Monday, July 16th 2012     

Two weeks ago I finished writing my very first novel: a children’s book aimed at 8-12 year olds, and perhaps a bit beyond.  How did I come to this?  Well, the story begins with my love of writing from as early as a first grader playing with small print outs of single words, forming sentences and making up stories.  It matures with my love of books, reading stories, writing creative pieces and yet more playing with words.  But, that’s the very long story.   Here’s the shorter version….

Before becoming a home schooling momma of 4 kiddies, I was a high school history and English teacher and a youth leader in our church’s youth group. 

During my years of teaching, I learnt a few things, including:

  1. stories have incredible power to teach just about anything
  2. kids are brighter than they’re given credit for

In the late 90s, My husband and I were a part of a pioneering group of youth leaders started by my brother, our youth pastor.  On Friday nights, we held bible study.  No Friday night party games.  It was revolutionary for our time.  Parents rebelled.  Kids moved on.  But a large majority stayed.  They had fun.  They deepened friendships in small groups.  And they grew.  They were hungry for the Bible and so were we.  Growing up in Sunday school, I learned bible stories in isolation.  But now, for the first time, I was able to connect the dots.  For the first time, I understood God’s message throughout the Bible – Old Testament and New.  And for the first time, I began to understand terms like ‘sanctification’ and ‘justification’.  And so did the kids.

Fast forward a few years: my bible teaching switched from youth bible studies to young adults and then adults.  The school classroom dominated my first years of being a qualified teacher.  Years that were rich in amazing literature read aloud in class.  Nowadays the stories I read aloud are not to a class full of high school kids.  But the same delight, the same depth of learning, the same enjoyment reflects from the eyes of the four wriggly kids I get to call my own.  Thanks largely to our excellent curriculum, Sonlight, the kids and I have travelled through ancient Egypt, medieval England, the Americas, China and more.  Cuddled on our couch, we’ve learned number place values with a story about a house.  We’ve learned about weather systems and the human body, travelling on a Magic School Bus.  It was learning through literature.  Living books.  And we were hooked. 

reading on the couch

I was hooked.

Home schooling was supposed to be about the kids learning and me teaching.  But I was learning, even while I was teaching.  And the best method?  Stories.  Lots and lots of amazing stories.

Somewhere along the line, it all got me thinking.  I was teaching the kids bible stories, songs, and even a bit of theology, using excellent resources.  But, aside from our beloved Patricia St John books, I had yet to find compelling stories outside of the bible that effectively explored theology.  I wanted to have my kids’ love for the Word to grow by being in the Word and by reading about its core teachings and basic doctrines through excellent living stories.  But, where were these books?

By this stage, I was writing regularly here at on our blog.  It rekindled an old love – writing.  My thoughts?  Why not write the stories that I couldn’t find? 

The idea stewed for some years.  Whenever I revisited it, it grew.  Before long, a series had developed in my mind – about a home schooled family discovering fascinating history and grappling with theology while experiencing amazing adventures.   Home schooled, because there are so few books written about us strange creatures: it was an opportunity to give all types of education a fair rap and home schooling a little light.  Family, because books I grew up on usually had absent parents in body or heart: I wanted an opportunity to paint real families working together.  While the focus is on the kids and their discoveries, the parents are a positive influence.  History, because the best stories have already been written in the pages of history. Theology, because kids are smarter than we give them credit for. 

I wanted my kids to read these kind of books.  So, why not try my hand at creating them myself?  In my braver moments, I felt confident that I could do it.  In my saner moments, I was convinced it was but a pipe dream; a tall task that I could never fulfil.

But, the idea continued to take shape, until a first story filled my mind and spilled out onto my keyboard one wintery evening last year.  A few weeks’ work last year fanned the flames of an old passion.  But then life and self-doubt interfered.  Eventually, I picked it up again.  And, finished my first novel.

All 160-pages, 23 chapters and 1 epilogue worth.  Unpublished.  Un(officially)edited.  But complete.

simon bottle

Set in Cape Town, South Africa, The Joseph Project, as it is tentatively titled, is an adventure that brings a middle class white family, with four home schooled children, face-to-face with the atrocities of their apartheid past. The story begins on a stormy beach one winter’s morning when 12-year old Simon Ward discovers an old bottle in a tangled clump of seaweed. On a whim, he tucks it into his coat before heading home. But, his plans for his latest treasure are dashed when his beloved dog, Purdy, knocks him over in one over-excited bound, smashing his bottle to the ground. Simon’s dismay soon turns to excited intrigue, for in the ancient bottle is an envelope.  It contains a letter written 30 years prior by a 12-year old Cape Flats school boy as part of a multi-disciplinary school project.  The letter is brief and contains one question, “Who is God and does he care about me?”

The letter fascinates the Ward family, so they embark on an exciting and revealing journey of discovery. Through clues left in the letter, the children, together with their mother, find themselves revisiting their country’s apartheid past as they search for their mystery letter-writer.

So far a few friends and family have read / are reading the story with (so far!) positive feedback.  I plan to read it to our Lunch Bunch kids.  And, I hope to get it published.  In fact, I was really excited to learn, soon after I first started praying about publishing it, about the Re:Write conference contest – a $15k advance in royalties and a book contract with Tyndale to the winner.  I was all set to enter with a completed proposal and everything, when the organisers changed the parameters to be non-fiction only.  I was disappointed.  Very disappointed  But, at the same time, intrigued.  Where was God taking this?  Because, my ultimate prayer is that while I do want this book published, I don’t want it to supersede my role as wife, mom and primary home schooling parent.

So, now I wait.  The Fedd Agency, who are affiliated with the Re:Write conference, have offered to read all the fiction proposals and offer advice or even take on a worthwhile project as an agent.  There are a few other avenues I could pursue.  My dream is that Zondervan Kids will pick it up!  But I know too little about the publishing world to really know what’s best and what’s wise.  So, even while I read up on it all, and probe another avenue here and there, I’m still trusting in His wisdom.  And praying.  Please pray with me. 

updated: a sneak peak of chapter one in the next post: chapter one.

All Hope is Never Lost

Posted by  on Sunday, June 10th 2012     


chaelicampaignEarlier this year, Kiera was keen to take part in a writing contest for the Chaeli Campaign.  Problem was that it was open to high school students and adults.  But, her enthusiasm was second to none – most likely motivated by the R1000 first prize!  So, I figured, motivation is half the "battle" in creating a great story, why not ask the organisers if she can take part anyway?  Well, the Chaeli Campaign people are all about inclusivity and Kiera was given the go-ahead. 

Talk about enthusiasm bubbling over!  Despite mom’s heavy doses of reality checks (remember that you’re competing against adults; remember that this is the first complete first story you’ve written; don’t get your hopes up …) Kiera’s enthusiasm did not waver one bit.  She was determined to write a story worthy of entry.

And she did.

I was blown away at her skill.  Writing a short story with a specific word limitation is not easy for even an adult.  Introducing characters, creating a significant plot and wrapping up the story from beginning to end so that the package is presented whole and well requires skill – and to some measure, talent.

She bounced some ideas off me.  The topic was Hope and the "ability" in "disability" – roughly 1200 words that focus on the triumphs of those who live with disabilities.  Kiera’s ideas revolved around her most favourite subject – horses. 

IMG_5127

She had some great ideas and we had fun chatting through some potential plot lines one evening.  But soon it was bedtime and I figured we’d have another session of ideas before she went ahead.

Instead, the next thing I knew she had written up the entire story.  Reading her story that first day brought tears to my eyes.  This was a great story.  Oh, it was obvious that some of her favourite "fluff" novels influenced her style.  It wasn’t going to win prizes for depth and pathos – after all, she is just 9 with a typical 9-year old’s lack of harrowing life experience. But, with some fine-tuning of her grammar and punctuation, she could enter her story with no reserve.

And so began the editing process.  Again, Kiera blew me away.  She took the process so seriously, happily answering my editorial questions (Can you spot where you may need a comma here?   How could you say this sentence in such a way that it better explains how your main character is feeling?  Does it make sense to move from this sentence to the next one?  What could you say to make the transition more fluid?) and diligently going through the 5 or so critiques without complaining.  We kept copies of each critique and re-edit – it’s a great picture of how a beautiful raw product can be slightly and gradually polished to reveal a final product that glows. 

Finally, the day came to submit her entry.  And then the long wait.  By this stage she was pretty sure that she wouldn’t win anything, knowing that she was competing against much older children and adults, but there was still that "what if" that kept her hopeful and eager to hear the results. 

Eventually, two months later the winners were announced.  Kiera was not one of them.  But, despite what must have been at least a smidgen of disappointment, Kiera was not downhearted.  She’s been talking about writing more short stories for a collection she hopes to publish one day.  She plans to write an adventure story about survivors next. 

Whether she does or not, I can’t predict.  But I can say that her first foray into the writing world has revealed that this 9-year old has a gift that is worth nurturing. 

All Hope is Never Lost

By Kiera-Lee Hayes, 9 years old

Nikita stared tearfully out of the big square window in her small room. “Everything is so unfair!” she exclaimed, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I can’t ride horses or play like a normal kid. I can’t even stand, because I’m paralysed!’’

Her sobs became louder and louder, until a small voice said, “Nikita, supper is ready….” Her younger brother stopped when he saw her face. “Nikita, w-why are you crying?” asked Dylan, his green eyes wide and questioning.

Nikita answered, “Dylan, do you understand that I used to have riding lessons at Shady Grounds Stables?”

“Yes,” her brother answered. “And you loved doing it,” he added thoughtfully.

“Well,” Nikita said, tears filling her eyes, “I-I c-can’t r-r-ride any m-more!” She burst into more floods of tears.

Dylan asked, “Why not Nikita? Why can’t you ride?” Then it struck him: she can’t ride because she’s paralysed! Silently, he tiptoed out of the room. Nikita didn’t notice: she just cried and cried.

At supper that evening, Mrs Granger said, “Nikita, I have good news for you.”

Nikita stopped playing with her food. “What good news?” she asked curiously.

“I have found a riding school for the disabled,” her mother replied triumphantly.

“WHAT?!” Nikita looked at her mother and in disbelief asked, “Really?”

Her mother smiled. "Yes, it’s called Garder Riding School for the Disabled.”

Nikita couldn’t believe her ears. “Can I go?” she asked with a catch in her breath.

Her mother smiled again, “I spoke to the owner. You may go tomorrow!”

The next morning, Nikita’s mother helped her get dressed into the old jodhs she had worn before her car accident six months ago.

“Mom, how will I get on the horse and ride?” she asked.

“Don’t worry. Clare will teach you everything.” answered her mother. Nikita suddenly felt nervous. What if she could not ride? Then she would have no hope left about being able to ride again. “Mom, I d-don’t want to go,” she said shakily.

Her mother looked at her, surprised, “What do you mean? Of course you do. You’ve been sitting in your room all day moping because you can’t ride. Now come put your shirt on.” Nikita didn’t argue. In her head she worried, but in her heart she had a desperate surge to ride. She wheeled herself to the car, grimacing as her mother helped her in. With a bounce like Bungee his pet rabbit, Dylan hopped in the seat next to her.

“Are you ready?” asked their mother.

“Yes!” said Dylan.

Nikita said nothing.

After dropping Dylan off at his friend’s house, they headed towards the Main Road, turned into Garder Road and then they were there. Anxiety filled her as they drove through the gates. And all the way to the stables, Nikita became more and more nervous and more and more sure that she could not ride.

“Mom…” Nikita broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Yes?” her mother answered.

“I-I don’t want to ride.”

Her mother looked at her with concern . “Oh, Nikeets!” she sighed. “You were so excited at supper last night and everything has been organised. How about you give it a try?”

Nikita was not excited – now. “I don’t want to! I’m paralysed remember? I can’t ride!”

At this point a woman walked up to them. “Hello, you must be Mrs. Granger!” she said.

Nikita’s mother smiled. “Yes, I’m Sarah Granger. And this is Nikita. You must be Clare.”

“Yes,” replied the woman gently. “It’s lovely to meet you, Nikita. We hope you feel welcome here at Garder Riding School. Come and see the pony you’re going to learn on.”

Nikita glanced at her mom. Mrs Granger had a look on her face that said “be polite”. Tears stung the back of her throat. “I can’t ride!” she said and burst into tears.

Clare smiled sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Nikita, you’ll learn how and you don’t have to ride right away.” She wheeled Nikita to the stables, chatting in a friendly manner all the way while showing her the horses. The sweet musty stable smell made Nikita miss riding so much.

“And this is Mischief,” said Clare, coming to the last pony, a beautiful dun with a glossy black mane. “He’ll be the one you will ride.”

Nikita looked indignantly up at Clare and said, “I told you I can’t ride.”

Clare corrected herself, “Oh, I mean he’s the one you can learn on if you change your mind. Let’s go outside and I’ll introduce you to Melissa Kaspean. She’s one of our instructors.”

They went to an arena where a woman was jumping on a chestnut horse, and as Clare called her up, Nikita realized that she only had one leg! “Melissa!” said Clare. “This is Nikita. She is paralysed and she’s a bit nervous about riding.”

“I can understand that. I think I can help, if you’d like, Nikita?” Melissa said. As she spoke, she swung herself out of the saddle and leaned on her horse. Clare passed her a crutch and she took it gratefully. “Thanks, Clare!” She began to lead her horse to the stable.

“Oh! I’ll take Ruby,” said Clare. “ You go with Nikita.”

Melissa handed the reins over to Clare and effortlessly walked with her crutch and one leg to Nikita’s chair. “Let’s go to the stable to talk,” she suggested. Nikita wheeled her wheelchair into the stable and Melissa seated herself on a bale of hay. “Nikita, why don’t you want to ride?”

Nikita answered, “ I can’t! And if I try I’ll fail! Then I-I’ll never be able to ride again. Besides I’m paralysed, so I can’t.”

Melissa looked her in the eye and asked, “Did you see me jumping in the arena?”

Nikita stared at her, wondering why she had asked. “Yes,” she answered.

“And you understand I only have one leg?”

Again Nikita answered yes.

“Well, if I can ride disabled, then you can too.”

This was too much for Nikita. She yelled, “You might have one leg, but I have none, so I can’t ride!” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Melissa grasped Nikita’s hands, “Nikita, no one can paralyse your heart! No one can take it away! Learning to ride with paralysed legs is the easy part, but pushing on and believing and keeping your courage in front of you is the hard part. And hardest of all is that first move – getting on the horse. If you can do that, your courage can follow. Then you just need to keep your courage in front of you and push on forward.”

Just then Melissa’s cell phone rang and she quickly left the stables.

“I just need to sit on the horse,” Nikita thought, realising that all hope was not lost. She pushed away her worries and decided then and there to believe that she could do it.

“I can do it,” she said, “I can! I can! I can!” Suddenly, a new feeling rushed into her: a feeling that was urging her on, that was pushing her forward. She wheeled herself out of the stable and said to her mother, “Mum, can I do it now?”

Her mother looked at her and smiled. “Of course!” she said.

Nikita said to Clare, “I would like to try now.”

Clare beamed, “I think Mischief is waiting for you!”

Melissa grinned too, “Go girl!”

~~~

Epilogue: 2 years later

“Nikita Granger on Mischief!” boomed the loud speaker and the crowd cheered. Nikita rode over to the podium to fetch her rosette. She had come first! And the next day in the paper, the headlines screamed – PARALYSED GIRL SNATCHES FIRST PLACE!

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