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Hi folks, I'm interested in your thoughts about this small bit from a ch in my book. Is it just right, too much, not enough to qualify as an interesting excerpt? Sorry about the spacing issues.
Chapter 1
Helping Mr. Blairington
ITEM 2: Jillian’s first pre-kidnapping journal entry
Item Source: Dr. Carla M. Wittier
I’m Jillian, and Momma says I’m smart as a whip. I saw a picture of a whip once; it didn’t look too smart. But I’ve learned to nod and smile, even if I don’t understand. Ain’t no better accomplisher than me in all of Atlanta or Georgia or these here sweet Southern states, as Nana likes to call ’em, and that’s a fact. Momma says it’s not nice to say such things, but I never get no good idears about what she means when she scolds like that.
Momma’s been lonesome ever since Daddy up and left us two years ago. Well, that ain’t all true, and Nana and Momma would get real loud if they heard me telling fibbers. Honest, I don’t know the whole story ’cause Momma won’t tell me, but Daddy musta done something real rotten to get run off like he did. I’ll tell all about that another time, but for now, I wanted to tell ya about Momma and Mr. Blairington.
As I was saying, Momma and Daddy had loud words, including some Momma said I ain’t never to repeat to nobody under no conditions, unless I want the whupping of a lifetime. A long, long time after this, uh, I think it was seven months ago, Momma met this real neat old man. His name’s Mr. Blairington. I don’t mind that he’s thirty-three, a whole three years older than Momma, ’cause he’s a good man. He brings gifts for me and Momma lots, and he speaks all soft and mushy to Momma when it’s late at night and they think I’m tucked up safe in bed. Only problem with Mr. Blairington is that he’s uncommon shy, almost to what Nana calls the shameful point, when it comes to big matters.
One day, about four months into their special kinda friendship, while Mr. Blairington and I was setting there waiting for Momma to fix her face, he told me he was waiting for a special moment to pop the question. I’d never heard a question could be popped and told him so. He laughed and said that it was a secret he wouldn’t tell me ’cause little girls can’t keep secrets. This made me mad. I cried and cried, partly ’cause I couldn’t help it and partly ’cause I knowd he’d tell me how a question could be popped, if I cried long and loud enough. Poor Mr. Blairington didn’t know what to do. It took him forever to give in. He’s a rather stubborn man, but I still like him. Finally, he said he wanted to marry Momma but that I couldn’t tell nobody.
I kept that huge secret for a whole week, but time was getting on and I was fit to burst with the news that Mr. Blairington wanted to marry Momma. He even took Momma to a fine dinner. That means you gotta dress up all uncomfortable before they let you in. Still, Momma didn’t tell me he’d popped the question, and she surely would’ve if he had.
One day, when Nana was watching me for Momma, we got to talking about Momma and Mr. Blairington. She said, “Someone needs to give that boy a good kick.” I musta looked at her funny ’cause she said, “Not a real kick, Pudding Cake; it means help. Someone needs to help that boy find his courage.”
I didn’t say nothing to Nana, but I decided to help Mr. Blairington. That night, when Mr. Blairington came to take Momma out to dinner, he kept patting his right coat pocket. So I gave him a huge hug, just like my Daddy taught me, and slipped my hand into that pocket. My fingers found a hard, little box which I opened right quick. There was something small in the box so I borrowed the small thing and went to my room to have a look at it. It was a shiny gold ring that had what Daddy woulda called a real deal diamond appeal. I figured the ring had something to do with popping the question, so all I had to do was get the ring to Momma.
Chapter 1
Helping Mr. Blairington
ITEM 2: Jillian’s first pre-kidnapping journal entry
Item Source: Dr. Carla M. Wittier
I’m Jillian, and Momma says I’m smart as a whip. I saw a picture of a whip once; it didn’t look too smart. But I’ve learned to nod and smile, even if I don’t understand. Ain’t no better accomplisher than me in all of Atlanta or Georgia or these here sweet Southern states, as Nana likes to call ’em, and that’s a fact. Momma says it’s not nice to say such things, but I never get no good idears about what she means when she scolds like that.
Momma’s been lonesome ever since Daddy up and left us two years ago. Well, that ain’t all true, and Nana and Momma would get real loud if they heard me telling fibbers. Honest, I don’t know the whole story ’cause Momma won’t tell me, but Daddy musta done something real rotten to get run off like he did. I’ll tell all about that another time, but for now, I wanted to tell ya about Momma and Mr. Blairington.
As I was saying, Momma and Daddy had loud words, including some Momma said I ain’t never to repeat to nobody under no conditions, unless I want the whupping of a lifetime. A long, long time after this, uh, I think it was seven months ago, Momma met this real neat old man. His name’s Mr. Blairington. I don’t mind that he’s thirty-three, a whole three years older than Momma, ’cause he’s a good man. He brings gifts for me and Momma lots, and he speaks all soft and mushy to Momma when it’s late at night and they think I’m tucked up safe in bed. Only problem with Mr. Blairington is that he’s uncommon shy, almost to what Nana calls the shameful point, when it comes to big matters.
One day, about four months into their special kinda friendship, while Mr. Blairington and I was setting there waiting for Momma to fix her face, he told me he was waiting for a special moment to pop the question. I’d never heard a question could be popped and told him so. He laughed and said that it was a secret he wouldn’t tell me ’cause little girls can’t keep secrets. This made me mad. I cried and cried, partly ’cause I couldn’t help it and partly ’cause I knowd he’d tell me how a question could be popped, if I cried long and loud enough. Poor Mr. Blairington didn’t know what to do. It took him forever to give in. He’s a rather stubborn man, but I still like him. Finally, he said he wanted to marry Momma but that I couldn’t tell nobody.
I kept that huge secret for a whole week, but time was getting on and I was fit to burst with the news that Mr. Blairington wanted to marry Momma. He even took Momma to a fine dinner. That means you gotta dress up all uncomfortable before they let you in. Still, Momma didn’t tell me he’d popped the question, and she surely would’ve if he had.
One day, when Nana was watching me for Momma, we got to talking about Momma and Mr. Blairington. She said, “Someone needs to give that boy a good kick.” I musta looked at her funny ’cause she said, “Not a real kick, Pudding Cake; it means help. Someone needs to help that boy find his courage.”
I didn’t say nothing to Nana, but I decided to help Mr. Blairington. That night, when Mr. Blairington came to take Momma out to dinner, he kept patting his right coat pocket. So I gave him a huge hug, just like my Daddy taught me, and slipped my hand into that pocket. My fingers found a hard, little box which I opened right quick. There was something small in the box so I borrowed the small thing and went to my room to have a look at it. It was a shiny gold ring that had what Daddy woulda called a real deal diamond appeal. I figured the ring had something to do with popping the question, so all I had to do was get the ring to Momma.
