Chumpty Dumpty book 2 has begun (cover art and prologue inside)!

Writing Chumpty Dumpty was supposed to take months. Instead it took “month.”

In the course of it, two more stories came to mind and, as has happened before, all my plans for the rest of the year were put on hold while I chased this wonderful rabbit that has fallen into my lap.

“Chumpty Dumpty” became “Chumpty Dumpty and the Beanstalk Tale.” Now, book two has begun, entitled…

Based on how long it took to write the first one and considering this one doesn’t have source material like the original (which was a screenplay-turned-novel), I’m giving myself two months to finish, but if it takes three that’s fine too.

One thing I know, just based on the outline I finished a few nights ago, this story is darker than the first. It’s going to ask its reader to face the reality of some difficult truths that come with life. I’m not afraid to explore those truths, because they are things I learned when I read “children’s” books as a kid.

Charlotte’s Web was deep for a young child.

So this book will explore things like life and death, sacrifice and loss, the importance of grief and letting go, and—despite the title—the need for us to help other people and not rely on wishing on stars to make our dreams come true.

But a story has to start somewhere, and here’s how this one starts; here’s the prologue…

Fair warning, I literally just finished this and I haven’t proofed it yet…

Snow fluttered slowly to the ground, the flakes swaying in the chilly breeze as if someone cut little pieces of paper and cast them into the wind. The stars above were half-concealed by the thick grey clouds. Even still, the twinkling sparks that could be seen were drowned by the glow of the full moon’s light.

A pair of little eyes watched, hopefully, anxiously, worryingly, at the darkened sky above. He was shivering, wrapped in a blanket that was dampened by the snow, stuck to the fabric, and melted by his body heat.

Aaron Joseph rested on the ground, as determined as he was cold. Tonight was the night. It had to be. It was a full moon night and according to his mom, there was no better night for making a wish than with the light of the full moon guiding the stars.

That’s what the moon does, he told himself. That’s what mom meant. The previous night’s conversation was seared in his brain…

“When you wish on the golden stars they come to life,” his mom had said, “sending their magic over to our heads where it lights on us.”

“They light on us?” Aaron replied, crossing his eyes as he tried to see the top of his head. “Won’t my hair catch on fire?”

“There’s no fire in the starlight, silly.” his mother replied, leaning down to kiss the top of his red-haired head. “And that’s not what I mean by ‘light on us.’”

“Well whaddaya mean then?” Arron asked, popping up from his bed as though a spring was under his pillow.

“I mean it sort of hovers over our head. It rests itself there and…ya know.” she said, but he shook his head, clearly not knowing. “It does its magic.”

“What magic?”

“Whatever you wished for.”

“Not every time.” Aaron said, his expression drooping a bit.

Her mouth curled into a soft frown, mirroring his own. “No, not every time. Sometimes we wish and our wishes don’t come true.” She knew what he would say next and she wasn’t ready for that conversation, not tonight, not again. Quickly she hurried to talk some more, easing him back down to the pillow. “Sometimes the starlight can’t find us. Sometimes our wishes need a little help.”

She didn’t elaborate. She probably should have. She probably should have said something like “sometimes we need good people, kind people, who know what others need, and who are willing to help them. Sometimes a little golden magic comes our way, but sometimes, it’s just a kind person with a heart of gold.”

She didn’t say that, though. She left it a mystery for him, letting him sleep with the mystery in his mind, hoping it would bring him exciting dreams, happy dreams, and not something sad for a change.

The following night she read to him a Captain Jolly book and tucked him in tight, unaware that he already had his long-johns on under his pajamas, and his boots waiting under the window. When the door clicked shut, out of the bed he sprang, slipping on his boots and sliding open the window.

Aaron’s feet landed a few feet below, crunching under the snow. He looked up to the sky and the full moon looked right back at him. “I see you up there.” he said to the big white ball.

He made himself a bed and fell flat on his back, watching the snow-filled clouds slowly glide by. There were stars beyond those clouds. Wishing stars, he knew. So he waited. He waited till the clouds broke and the moonlight gleamed, but when he looked for a star there was none to be found.

So he waited. He waited till the stars twinkled from an opening in the snow, but when he looked for the moon, the light was a haze, hidden behind a grey puffy blur.

So he waited. His eyes grew heavy but he refused to give in. It had to be tonight. If not tonight, it’d be another month. It had to be tonight. It had to be—

Aaron woke up.

With a jerk, he sat upright, looking around, shaking with cold, forgetting where he was and why he was outside. The snow had stopped. It was still nighttime. The image popped into his mind and he looked to the sky, right into the ocean of twinkling lights above, with the moon shining brightly by.

“There you are.” he said to them and then shut his eyes tight and made his wish. “I just want my daddy.” he said, scrunching his face tighter with every word.

One eye opened, peeking to the sky above. The other eye followed, then both went cross as he tried to look at the top of his head. “Nothing on fire…” he mumbled to himself.

“Aaron Joseph!” his mother shouted. Instinct kicked in—as it should when a parent utters your first and middle names together—and he hurried back to his window, leaving the stars—and the wish he made—behind for the night.

* * * * *

Far up in the darkened sky, where the little twinkling lights shined with all their majesty, one little star began to glow. It spun around in its place, like a toy would be when flipped by a child. A little bit of light broke free, dancing on the star’s five-pointed body, hopping from one tip to the next before breaking free and twisting down to the earth.

A horse was waiting for it, because of course a horse was waiting for it. What else would be waiting for the magic of a wishing star? The little light reached the animal as she stood by the well. It cast a bright golden light on her silver face. No words were exchanged, but the horse knew what to do, and the light knew what to do, too. All of this was commonplace, after all.

The horse nodded and turned to guide the magic to the house of the little boy who’d made the wish…but someone else was there.

The horse stopped her trot immediately upon seeing the man. Dressed in raggedy clothes, with shadows under his eyes, and a mean sneer on his face, the beggar lunged for the horse, throwing a rope around her neck before she could escape.

Pained cries rang out in the night, but no one heard; no one came looking. The beggar hopped onto her back and pulled back on his makeshift rein, guiding the horse away from her destination, to join the other beggars who had wrangled and captured other horses as well.

As for the light from the star, it fluttered about, confused and lost without its guide. Eventually it fizzled like a dying ember and disappeared from all sight.

* * * * *

  “Got another one.” the beggar shouted, struggling to keep hold on his captured horse. In the distance, several others were sitting on horses of their own, some struggling, some relaxed. The faint strains of a violin could be heard from somewhere in their camp.

“Alright there, Charlie?” a fellow beggar called. “Got a wild one have yeh?”

“She’ll break, same as the rest.” Charlie replied, jerking the rein and pulling back his horse’s silver head. “What ‘bout you, ‘Enry?”

Henry glanced down at his own captured horse, a beautiful brown mare with a face full of sadness. “Mine was easy. Just like the fiddlin’ cat said.”

“Right he was that cat.” Charlie replied. “More ‘orses than we can count. Any idea yet what he wants with ‘em all?”

The music stopped abruptly and a shadow appeared on the moonlit ground, long and sleek with sharp pointed ears. Charlie’s eyes followed the shade to its source, an orange and yellow cat no bigger than a household pet. “As soon as you have all the horses, I’ll tell you.” Alex said, glowering at him. “And it’s not a fiddle, it’s a violin.”

That’s chapter 0. Only eighteen more to go.