Autism Answer: Quitting Lying Meant Learning The Truth

 

My sister and I (then)

 

 

My sister and I were tall-tale tellers as little girls. We loved to invent entire worlds of reality and put ourselves in important roles at the center of them. We shared some of these stories with friends and cousins, insisting we were truly as fascinating and valuable as our stories suggested. I don't know about my sister, but I honestly believed we were being believed. 

 

As we got a little older both my sister and I quit lying. If I'm remembering correctly, my sister did so in more of a slow weaning herself off way. Me, I quit cold turkey. As I would do with my unhealthy addictions later in life, I didn't try to balance it out or dabble when it made sense, I instead decided absolutely no. None. Never. Nope. 

 

Now, I have quite a few things this way. Makeup. Smoking. Alcohol. And with them it was less complicated than lying. Sure, I fell off the wagon a few times with those addictions also, but hardly. And quitting was, mostly, simple.

 

Not so with lying. Partly, I suppose, because it was my first time quitting something. Partly, because it was a habit I had honed in all my environments. It had followed me everywhere. But, mainly, it was oh so challenging because to quit lying I needed to know the truth. But the truth - who I was, what I wanted, where my skills were - had largely been invented to impress. I hadn't taken time to figure out the truth and, in fact, hadn't thought it was of real value. I wanted to be like the stories I read and the songs that moved me. I wanted to be a story that made people feel, dance, change. So I tried to make me up as such. 

 

But lying, I had noticed, did not give me the feeling of those stories. Instead, it gave me the feeling of denying them. Of faking it. Of wanting to be an important story and desperately pretending. 

 

So I quit cold turkey. But I didn't stop. Sometimes, because I fell of the wagon. But mostly, because I didn't know the truth. 

 

I was trying, truly truly truly trying, to dig down to where I was, to where my beliefs and feelings and dreams were, so I could always tell the truth. Some I found easily, most I spent years and years discovering and tweaking. 

 

Lying, to me, felt like denying myself. Felt painfully duplicitous. I had a belief that being wise, which was something I wanted to be, and being kind, which was something I also wanted to be, and being a good influence on the world, something I extra badly wanted to be, especially as a parent, meant being authentic, in touch with my simple self, and learning to change, to grow different when that different was in line with what I believed was right. 

 

Hence, every lie - big or small - meant I was not wise, kind, or a good influence. It meant I didn't like me enough to say what was true. And since I am me it doesn't make any sense whatsoever to be someone I don't like. I have the power to be a me I like and not doing so is cowardly. 

 

I am now sometimes honest to the point of ridiculousness. It can be challenging for me to give a simple question a simple answer because I'm in the habit of taking ten hours to follow all my thoughts to the core of the truth of the answer. People are often sorry they ever asked me, "What song are you in the mood for?" 

 

And I still sometimes lie. I recently said, "I don't have to pee badly, we can keep going," when I really did have to pee badly but I didn't want to make our group stop to pee. And yes, worse lies too. Not even all that long ago. But I then told the truth. 

 

I don't like lies. For me. However, interestingly, I don't worry much about lies others tell. I would rather people tell me the truth but mainly because it's more relevant and insightful to build on honesty. And where my children are concerned I hope for the truth more because I want so badly for them to feel they can be truthful with me. 

 

I can't know what it means to others, lies and lying. So if they are lying it isn't for me to say how good or bad that is. I'm fine working with what I'm given. 

 

But me? I can't allow lies from me. When they happen, and they do, I get to work figuring it out; seeking the truth, exploring the reason I lied, making necessary changes, and telling the truth.

 

My sister and I told some interesting tales when we were little. If you remember a couple of girls wearing pretty nightgowns to school and explaining it was because we were angles from heaven here on earth to take notes and report back, and these pretty nightgowns were our heavenly attire, well, nice to see you again! 

 

But now we both work at living our lives with truth. In line with our beliefs, values, personalities, and preferences. Which, we've discovered, is not only more comfortable and pretty, but also far more fascinating. There are more layers, more sensational stories, in discovering and living our own truths than either of us could have ever imagined! 

 

And guess what?

That's the truth. 

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

 

My sister and I (now-ish)

 

Book Review: Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia

 

 

Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia

 

Publish date - March 30th  

Number of Pages - 204

Genre - Literary Fiction

Pre-order via Amazon here: Of Women and Salt 

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"We are Force. We are more than we think we are." These words, written in the margins of a book by characters in the novel, are powerfully used and underscore the feeling I was left with after closing the final page of this debut novel.

Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia invites readers into the lives of several extraordinary/ordinary women who are separated by time, place, politics, and so many barricades built within themselves. The writing style is both simple and sophisticated; clear and poetic. I love when a novel shows me to myself while also revealing motives and experiences and thoughts entirely unlike my own, stirring empathy and understanding in all cases. This novel did that for me. 

While exploring the personal and political lives of these Cuban mothers and daughters, traveling with them as they made choices or choices were made for them, and considering the cultures we create and how we are both powerful and powerless in the making of our world, I easily recognized myself and other strong women in my family.  

There are some pretty dark and uncomfortable experiences that are referred to in this story - molestation, domestic abuse, addiction, to name a few - but the author does a powerful job of revealing just enough. Inviting us into the trauma without asking us to relive it. In the case of the molestation, for example, it is quite similar to the molestation I myself experienced at a similar age. I also chose to believe and feel similar things, and act out in similar ways, and put myself down with almost the exact same language as Jeanette - one of the central women in the book. Yet I did not find it triggering and, instead, felt understood and a little bit absolved. I cannot say it will be the same for others, but I do hope so.

The use of time is brilliantly done. Because the theme, as I understood it, was how the actions we take - particularly as mothers - and ways in which we choose to hide, share, embrace, deny, explain, or forget those actions, weave themselves into the lives and environments of others - particularly our children and their children. Near and far away. In our present and long into the future. As we skip time and place in the chapters of this book, from Mexico to Miami, Cuba to Texas; from addiction in 2018 to cigar rolling in 1866; from fearing the nearby revolution will murder your family at home to swimming dangerous waters - family-less and alone - to try to make another place your home, we bring with us the memories and acts of previous chapters and are as affected by them as the characters we're reading about are. Though we are given the gift of knowing it.

This knowing, and again I love this, does not exactly give us answers. It is complex and unknowable how our actions will affect our people. But they do affect them. In my mind, this is an argument for being your most authentic, fearless, thoughtful self. For being open to evolving and growing consistently more authentic, fearless, and thoughtful. For being someone who is confident that when their actions influence people - and they will - those actions were ones you can explain with honesty. 

"We are force. We are more than we think we are."  

Particularly, in the case of this book, if we are mothers and daughters.
This is a lovely book. I recommend it to any reader. Particularly, mothers and daughters. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Short Story: To Be Needed (Fiction)

Author's Note: Quite a while ago Chuck Wendig posted a Flash Fiction Challenge called "The Fix." The prompt was  “To fix something, you first must break it.” I was immediately inspired with an idea. But almost as immediately I cut my finger and was unable to write. Eventually my finger healed and I got busy with life. However, this morning I remember that idea and decided to write the story and hand it in late. I don't expect to get a good grade but I am excited to read all the stories that were posted in a timely manner. Feel free to join me! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my short story. Although, it's quite sad. Sorry about that. ~Tsara

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To Be Needed

It started innocently enough. A small pinch to make her cry. The odd shove as she got older, carefully timed and expertly hidden.

And then the pure joy of being the one to help. To hold and hug and fix the broken feeling for her daughter. Oh, how simply pure that feeling was! To be the reason, the only one who could make her sweet baby smile again!

In the beginning she needed no audience. The need to be the one who helps and heals was private enough, fulfilled by merely proving it to herself. But, soon, Essence needed to be known. Needed to be seen and applauded for her ability to sooth and settle her daughter.

However, as time went on the simple relationship between Essence and her daughter, Flow, refused to remain easy and clear. Flow was growing an unexpected personality. At only three years old she seemed to think that her mom was both her safe space and a danger zone. Essence had seen her try to get love and help from others; her grandma, her aunt, even the storyteller at the local library stepped in now and then when Essence wasn’t quick enough.

As Essence felt the necessity of herself slip away she amped up her game. This was for their own good, and she knew Flow would eventually understand even if it seemed to confuse and hurt her now. This was what it was to be a good mom. Putting yourself in the role of “bad guy” so that your child would learn important valuable lessons to keep herself safe and healthy in the future.

So pinches became hard core crushing squeezes while shoves became doors slammed on and into her, still carefully timed and expertly hidden. Essence at first tried not to enjoy the feel of her nails biting into Flow’s soft skin or the sudden rush of slamming a door into her daughter, but it didn’t make sense to not feel the joy of good parenting. So she allowed herself the adrenalin rush, knowing that soon she and Flow would be snuggled together, arms wrapped around each other, and the let down and release would be even that much better having been through the rush of adrenaline together.

It was a different version of the same feeling when there were people around to see her give such love and help to her daughter. Most of the time Essence would just wait for Flow to hurt herself naturally, a scraped knee on the playground or a push from that neighbor boy with the hippie parents who always seemed to be around but never appeared to offer rules or guidance. Essence doubted those parents ever hugged their son into feeling better.

Sometimes, though, Flow would play for hours without crying or getting hurt, without even seeming to want to be around her mom at all. Essence would feel her need to be the one who helps grow, gathering a hunger as it paradoxically filled her up. Looking around she’d see other parents helping their children and feel the prickly presence of judgement, knowing that she clearly wasn’t parenting or helping her daughter when her daughter was busy playing and not needing her. And without fail, if her daughter found another adult to talk to or smile at, Essence would move into action. The danger of allowing her daughter to seek friendship or nourishment from other adults or strangers was clear. Just one minute on a national news station would prove that point.

With practiced precision Essence would find a way to usher Flow into an accident and then she would swoop in lovingly, cooing and hugging and singing and positioning it all to be on display. The display wasn’t only for the high of feeling other eyes of approval on her, there was a strategic reason for it, too. When others saw her being wonderful to Flow, they would be sure to pass that on to Flow herself, if she ever tried to complain.

Yet, caught up as she was in her own game of fixing her daughter, she could also feel Flow’s reticence and confusion. It made Essence angry to think that others were seeing this and she would sometimes pinch flow in the midst of loving her. Then Flow would cry louder and Essence could coo and exclaim love with more passion and animation.

Some days Essence hated herself for this obvious manipulation. Some days she hated Flow for giving her the idea.

The day they had come home from the hospital, just Essence and Flow, alone in their tiny one bedroom apartment, Flow had cried every time Essence put her down. But the moment she picked her up and held her, the moment she sang or put Flow to her breast, Flow would relax into the comfort of safety and love. When Essence’s mom visited and held the baby, the baby would cry until given back to her. Essence had basked in that feeling. Had grown stronger and more confident as a woman. She was loved and she was needed.

As Flow got bigger and cried less, as she allowed others to hold and sing to her, Essence felt that confidence slip. The story she had built around their little family, that Essence and Flow were for and necessary to each other, began to crack. But when Flow would cry for real, when issues of pain or hunger hit, it was still only mom that gave her comfort.

So, with the knowledge that her job was to take care of and protect her daughter, Essence found ways to remind Flow that she was needed. Most often Flow didn’t know who was doling out the pinches and the doors were easily made to look like an accident.

But Flow was a clever three year old girl, and Essence was beginning to see that she had her work cut out for her. The clever girls were often the ones to try too soon for independence and put themselves in the most danger.

She might have to step up her game.

# # #

 

Autism Answer: Finally! We're Boring!

Me and my brother: The oldest of eight and the youngest of eight. Bookends!

When I first started my Facebook Page (which became this blog) about four years ago, I got tons and tons and tons of comments from followers about how my youngest brother was such an inspiration.

In those days, he was doing well but still truly struggling. So many of my stories were about giving him those extra pushes and being there when he needed a moment to breathe. I shared with readers the things my mom was doing, the things I was doing, and the work my brother was putting into his own life and independence, rather consistently. Almost once a week.

But lately, the last year or so, he's just a guy living his life and we hang out sometimes. Sure, I'm his big sister so I also give him those extra pushes and create an environment where he can comfortably breathe when he needs a break, but I rarely tell you about it anymore.

It just seems less like a "story" you need to know about. 

It seems less like our moments are fragile and hugely important, and more like they're necessary for the function of loving life, just like in every other family or team or group of friends.

It's not as though my brother doesn't amaze and teach and learn with me anymore. It just seems like less of a big deal. Like less of a thing I need to tell you.

And we're okay with that.

Happy birthday to my baby brother, Rye!!! I hope we continue to grow and learn and love and laugh and impress each other in these boring, simple ways!

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

Our birthday plans for tonight! Hanging out in the backyard!

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If reading some of those stories from our days of learning together might interest or (dare I hope?) help you, I invite you to check out my book Spinning in Circles and Learning from Myself: A Collection of Stories that Slowly Grow Up. It truly is as it sounds. A collection of mostly true stories I've written over the years about growing up in my unique family and then raising one of my own. Happy reading, friends!! 

Autism Answer: The Brain Broad Wants To Meet Your Family! (Five Days Left)

Not trying to rush you but -

Lynette Louise (aka The Brain Broad) is accepting new clients only up until the end of April! 

You don't have to have your outreach this month, it can be anytime and anywhere, but you MUST contact her before the month ends! 

Lynette works with families around the world, balancing brains and bringing play to your life in new ways. Autism, Parkinson's, Tourette's, anxiety, addiction, anorexia, phobias, and (recently) short term memory loss are just a few of the challenges she successfully treats. Anywhere in the world, any culture, any age, any belief system: she honors them all and is always effective. 

 "All members of a group lean on and reinforce each other so change requires a global approach … it is only when change is applied to the entire group that everyone grows happier, clearer and more capable." ~ Lynette Louise aka The Brain Broad

 

"So, if's she's so great, why is she only taking on new clients till the end of the month?" 

Good question! Although you didn't have to ask it so cheekily. tee hee! 
Anyway, she explains it best herself in this short Facebook Post: 

FYI: Just a reminder that I will stop booking new clients April 30th.

My commitment to families often spans a decade and to promise good work now that I am sixty the math says ... time to stop bringing people into the fold.

However I will still speak, write, teach and perform soooo not exactly retiring just closing one door to open others.

Connect ASAP though if you want my outreach services.

See? So don't be such a snot next time. Giggle!

I encourage you to call or email her. As I mentioned, you don't have to schedule the outreach right away. So call her and have a chat. Ask questions, explain your goals and hopes, get a price check. 

Contact Lynette Louise: email - mom4evermore@juno.com / 

Phone - 713-213-7682

Check out her HOW I WORK page for a fun rundown of how an Outreach with Lynette works. 

Then run to your phone to contact her!

REMINDER: 
Also happening until the end of the month is the 50% off promo code for all things FIX IT IN FIVE with THE BRAIN BROAD: Seasons, episodes, owning, rental. 

Promo Code:
Awareness2017

Season One (Uganda):
https://vimeo.com/ondemand/fixitinfive/135616261

Season Two (USA):
https://vimeo.com/ondemand/brainbroad/136013375

Take advantage of this, too!!

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: A Pack of Cigarettes

The evening was warm and the parking lot was busy with visitors grabbing random items before the store closed for the night. I sat in my car people watching and waiting for Shay,

Shay and Soda

my eighteen year old son, to come out of the local dollar store where he, too, was grabbing random items. 

A typical summer night in small town Texas, I was enjoying the appearance of so many perfectly cast characters - the accents, the unhealthy and unkempt appearances, the comfortable hollering, the stereotypical segregation, the stereotypical integration - and musing at the ways I fit right in. 

I smiled as my son exited the store and headed in my direction. Now here was someone who rarely, regardless of location, fit in! 

Over six feet tall and three hundred pounds he's made for standing out. But more than that, his constant awareness of his own social awkwardness creates habits and energy that are universally distracting. 

I love him so much!

As Shay folded all of himself into our small SUV, I looked apprehensively toward his grocery bag. 

"Don't worry," he said, "I also got Skittles. That's not soda!"

I laughed. He knew exactly what my fear was. He's addicted to soda and I can't stand the stuff. We make jokes that if I could build a time machine I'd use it to hinder the invention of soda while he would use it to stop wars in imaginative (and impossible!) ways. I think we're both onto something!

However, it wasn't the purchase of soda (which was also in his bag) that created interesting conversation. It was the pack of cigarettes. 

"Wait, what?! You bought cigarettes? Why?" I was surprised, but also had a feeling I knew the answer. 

"Well," Shay explained, adjusting his glasses, "I think I can use them to make friends. I know people might want to hang out with me if I say 'Hey, want a smoke?' because smokers are motivated by the addiction."

I had guessed right. "That's what I thought you were thinking. You know, that's not the healthiest way to make friends. Plus, you can't smoke them in or around our house, you know that." 

"Well, duh! I wasn't going to sit outside with a cigarette and hope people would just show up. I'll message them on Facebook or something."

"Oh, brother!" I didn't say anything more about the cigarettes on the drive home. We had the windows open and were enjoying the night air; our silence was comfortable.

This is an ongoing conversation I have with Shay. Making friends is hard for him so he has often devised some strange plan to buy them. Or as he says: "I'm not buying friends, mom. This isn't slavery. I'm buying friendship." So, although I do rack my brain for different ways I can help him make different friends, I didn't feel overly freaked out by this new episode. 

As we arrived home Shay opened the door for me and said, "You know, you should be glad about this. I'm eighteen and this is the first time I've ever bought cigarettes. Most teenagers mess with this stuff a lot sooner than me!"

I laughed and admitted, "Your dad and I do talk often about how amazing you and your brother are. We've hardly had any worries with drugs and alcohol when it comes to you and Declyn. Plus," I added, "you're not even planning on smoking them yourself."

We carried our stuff into the kitchen and he started to pull the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "What do you think of this kind...." 

I pushed his hand away and said, "I don't want to see them. Put them back." 

Shay smiled. "I love our family. You know? I mean, I just bought cigarettes and instead of yelling or getting all angry you said you don't want to see them. And you told me reasons you don't like it. But we talked, you know? We didn't yell."

"Ya, I like that about us too. But if you buy soda one more time I'm going to lose it!" playfully half yelled. 

Shay booped my nose and squished my cheek (two of his favorite stims) and then headed to his bedroom. 

I thought about the pack of cigarettes. I thought about the "friends" I knew he was messaging. I thought about the new job he has and his struggle with coworkers and customers. 

And I thought about how awesome it is that he's doing so well! He comes home from a nine hour day at work and tells me the things he and his coworkers are figuring out about each other. He seems comfortable talking about, what he calls, "his issues" with folks at work and breaking it down. He doesn't seem too eager to offer excuses but rather more interested in telling his tale. Explaining, not excusing. And, yes, as all my adult sons are wonderfully willing to do, he expects to be accepted. 

My son is still trying to buy friendship, but I have a confidence that it won't be long before that changes. You see, there are places where he will fit in. Places that are more metropolitan, diverse, and artistic.

For a young gay man with social awkwardness and a refusal to keep himself under wraps, small town Texas isn't that place. But he's saving up to get his bartending license (like my dad!) and he's planning to work and live in a city with a more theatrical flair. 

Sure, he'll always be unique. But I'm absolutely confident that he can find an environment where his uniqueness is a compliment to the uniqueness he surrounds himself with. 

I crawled into bed beside my husband and snuggled his strong sexy arm. I didn't tell him about the pack of cigarettes. I know he won't have as easy a time understanding as I do. 

I tell my hubby most things, but there are a few things I keep to myself. 

You see, I have my own way of buying friendship. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

Me and Shay at the movies

 

Novel Outline: The Mice Will Play

The Mice Will Play

Okay. It's time for me to stop being so darned afraid that I can't write a great novel. 

How do I do that?

I'm going to write a novel!

I've got three strongly enticing novel ideas that are delicious "What if...." scenarios, filled with deeply interesting characters whom I've come to adore. All three novels are mostly completed--in my mind. 

Oh, I've written down stuff for all three of them. Stuff being useful to me, mostly, as a procrastination tool. I feel like I could write a great novel, but then I read one, a really great one, and I change my mind. I could never do that!!! 

Yet, I know I could write a novel. So, thanks to Chuck Wendig's consistent support of us fellow writers, and his insightful advice and suggestions (oh, and the shock-prod. And the threat of bees. Ooooohhhhh.... the bees!) I've decided to stop being afraid that I can't write a great novel, and to start writing a novel. I've also decided to write my first novel alongside the suggestion of Chuck's that we create an outline and share it. (It's the "share it" part that roped you in!)

In this way I'm pushed forward. 

I've also got this excuse if the whole thing turns out to be complete garbage: Well, it's not my fault! That's what Chuck told me to do!! 

You see? It's a win/win! 
tee hee! 

So, for my writing pleasure--and for your opportunity to peek underneath the garments of my first ever novel--here's my (I think?) outline: 

The Mice Will Play

an eventual novel by Tsara Shelton (maybe even a great one?)

Four brothers are left home for a night while mom goes out with friends. Her sister is getting married and it’s the bachelorette. The oldest, Rand, is sixteen and pissed off at being forced to babysit his brothers.  There is a campfire party tonight that he has to go to or the girl he has finally been making headway with (Marina) will find someone else. His mom is not stupid. She knows that’s how it works at his age. You have to be there or someone else will.  Heck, she went to the same campfire parties when she was in high school!

So he decides to go and bring his brothers. He could leave them home with the next oldest, Reese, but truth be told he’s not sure they wouldn’t tell. Also his baby brother, Raif, is a perfect chick magnet. Riley, the thirteen year old, might ask a few too many weird and annoying questions but by the time the booze is flowing and flirting turns into making out no one will care.  

The hike through the woods behind the house is uneventful. Reese listens to his ipod, Raif runs around excited and nervous to be going to a teenager party and Riley is constantly distracted by trees and bugs and rocks and sticks and ants and footprints.  

The party is just starting when they get there. Marina is smoking a cigarette, here hair black and frizzy as usual, her clothes a little dirty and disheveled looking. Rand feels his heart beat a little faster and his stomach tickle. He imagines she is probably thinking about politics or world hunger or corporate something or other. This is one of the things he is attracted to about her. She seems oblivious to the fact that no one else is interested and assumes that they want to know. Rand feels like if she likes him it will mean he is smart. He knows he isn’t but wants so badly to be.  

Rand starts swatting away worries about his brothers like flies. The new kid, Willie, is here. He’s dangerous and Rand knows that his youngest brother, Raif, will be drawn to him. Raif is half black and loves hanging around the older black guys like Lawson, DeShawn, and Kendal. They’re gregarious and get a kick out of his dance moves. They have an almost dangerous vibe, but Rand has been friends with them for a long time and really, they’re cool guys. Well, they were cool guys till Willie moved here. He’s angry in ways that this small town hasn’t really seen in its high school hallways. Things have changed with that crowd (and the newspaper headlines suggest they’ve changed for the entire town) and Rand knows he’d better keep Raif away from the whole group. He knows Reese, too, is angry. But not at society, at him. He knows he’s going to be pushing limits to piss Rand off. Already he sees him taking swigs of vodka and flirting heavily with Rand’s ex-girlfriend. And Riley, Riley isn’t likely going to participate in the drinking or smoking, and he’s probably not going to be overly influenced by the dangerous Willie, but there’s a real danger of him diving deeper into his imaginary world and ignoring everyone so completely that he gets hurt in a way Rand could never anticipate. 

As the party grows Reese starts drinking and gets pretty drunk. Rand finds him making out with one of the girls and then another. Raif is the life of the party and dances like Michael Jackson while everyone cheers him on. He also keeps asking Rand when they can go home… Riley goes missing.

Rand tries to get friends to help him find his brother but everyone just gives him shit for bringing them in the first place and say he’s probably gone home, or he’s around here somewhere, relax man. 

Marina goes with him to look. Reese is passed out so Raif comes as well.  Marina doesn’t seem to have an opinion on Rand bringing the troop to a campfire party. Rand is both pissed at Riley and worried. It’s just like Riley to take off and follow some stupid train of thought.  He’s probably checking for dinosaur bones a mile away because the shape of the clouds around the moon made him think he knew where to look. It doesn’t take them long to find Riley and he is looking for dinosaur bones but because he heard something that reminded him of Jurassic Park.  

The trek back to the party is slow, Rand and Marina are feeling kinda like staying in the woods together. Instead they gather Reese, who has thrown up twice and can’t find his phone, and Raif who moonwalks out of sight of the partiers and then whines to be carried home. Marina doesn’t live too far off the path so Rand walks her most of the way home, although not all the way because she doesn’t want him to be seen by her parents. Marina’s dad is alright but he doesn’t like Rand’s mom—she’s single and her boys have a variety of dads—so he doesn’t trust Rand. Marina kisses Rand lightly, and for a moment Rand forgets everything about the night other than this. But as he takes his brothers to the house he finds himself using the kiss to justify the whole evening, and his own desperate need to justify is too clear. Even he, a sixteen year old boy, can’t ignore that his decision had been unfair and unsafe. Raif and Riley go to bed. Reese and Rand stay up talking. 

Rand is still pissed at his mom for putting him in that position but even more than that, he doesn’t want her to find out. Reese is pissed at Rand for putting him in that position but even more than that, he doesn’t want mom to find out.  

They know that she will find out. 

  

They also know, because of past experience and that strange way she has of not-judging them into telling the truth, they will be the ones to tell her.

*Ramona, mom, grew up in this town. She has a bit of a reputation for being woo woo and hippy-ish--she took off with her older sister to live on an organic farm in Canada when she was sixteen and they both came back after two years, Ramona with a baby (Rand) and pregnant (Reese). Getting pregnant at eighteen and raising boys on her own she has always been deeply honest, easily loving, and always there. Making the little money they survive on by working in the local library and writing book reviews for a small independent online magazine her sister is the editor for. Her sons adore her but this adoration doesn't come without turmoil and confusion. Though they do know that she deserves a night out. That she deserves kids who would stay home and not risk losing one to a dinosaur expedition or alcohol poisoning. * (this is stuff that we learn through the course of the night, via inner conflict and dialogue.)  

The sun is coming up. Ramona’s boys are home, and just before they fall asleep the sound of crunching gravel tells them that so is Ramona. At the sound of the car door slamming shut, the two oldest boys fall asleep on separate couches.  

# # #

Okay, so that's it! 

That's the basic theme/idea/skeleton/outline of the novel I'm going to be working on. If you think it sounds interesting (I hope you think it sounds interesting!) and you think it has potential (I think it has potential!) then be sure to Opt In to have my posts delivered to your inbox! I'll keep you updated on the progress (please know, it will be slow!) of my first (maybe great?) novel!! 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook) 

If my outline for The Mice Will Play was fun for you to read, I invite you to check out my first published book Spinning in Circles and Learning from Myself: A Collection of Stories that Slowly Grow Up. Most of the stories are creative nonfiction, but there are a few short fiction stories as well, two of which were inspired by writing prompts offered by the previously mentioned Chuck Wendig.