I am currently working on getting a middle school novel completed. I am on the editing phase. I thought I would share with you some pieces for the next couple of weeks. The novel is called Chronolocity. It is about twelve-year old Levy Roarke, a young inventor, who is accidentally kidnapped by a time traveler. The mysterious man is trying to rewrite history and make it a kinder, gentler place.
Tell me what you think.
When’s it My Time to Fly?
Levy slips his safety glasses down and rubs a line of sweat out if his eye. The saltiness made his eye burn. He looks up at the science lab clock.
“I have a half hour in class to get this finished.” He squints to make sure it really says 2:30 pm. “How did a two-hour lab go by so fast?”
He sets down his need nose pliers and listens.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
Man it never stops.
Slipping his glasses back he mutters as he reinforces the protective web with his pliers. “I wish we didn’t have clocks. We could get so much more done and not feel rushed.” He smirks. “Really, that is the one invention I wished we never invented. There is never enough time to get everything done that you want to get done.”
That’s a funny thing for an inventor to complain about.
When the pressure was on Levy often found retreating into his head the best escape. Somehow talking it out in his head helps him focus better on the task before him.
I have this really weird reoccurring though that there is a clock out there with my name on it.
Tick Tock. Tick Tock.
I am so afraid that time will run out for me. Crazy, huh? I am only twelve but I am already worrying about not getting everything done in my lifetime.
The clock on the school lab’s wall has Einstein’s face on it. No matter how cool the clock was it still reminded him that time never stops.
He closes his eyes.
Levy, I tell myself, close your eyes and stop looking at the clock. Stay focused. Think about what you are doing. That’s how accidents happen, remember?
Levy opens them again.
“The Sugar Daddy. My old friend.” Levy looks lovingly at his latest invention. It is just about complete but he examines every inch to make sure.
“The lawnmower engine block is small but it will at least generate enough power to make the a mini go-cart run.”
He pictures his Grandpa in his overalls doing the same examination to a ’69 Chevelle. “Check vit your hands, eyes, nose, de vorks,” Levy repeats with Grandpa’s German accent.
“They are going to flip when they see this.” He adjusts the carburetor for the tenth time, then rubs his hands briskly.
“You actually built an engine that runs off the sugar in soda, soda pop?” Levy booms. He pictures a member of the National Science Foundation hovering over his entry. The judge shakes his head.
“This is it, people,” Levy imagines the judge scream. “We’ve found the next great inventor. You can tell the other applicants to try again next year. Our winner this year is Mr. Levy Roarke.”
Levy lets a smile warm his face. “Yeah.” It was the engine that was the key. “This will be my golden ticket to being inventor that goes down in the history books. Maybe it will get my family out of the hole we’ve dug ourselves into? It’s all on me to do this.”
Levy had removed the engine and attached it within an enclosed metal frame. It was easier to transport and kept the engine vibrations to a minimal.
Mom and Dad taught him how to use mnemonic devices to improve his memory. He uses everyday object to jog his ideas or just create an acronym like:
One more run down just to be sure.
- 1. Fuel tank full.
- 2. Pulley system one tight.
- 3. Spark plug clean
- 4. Crank tight. No Knots. Pulls smooth.
- 5. Carburetor. Check.
He takes one more examination of the holding tank, the multiple pulley housings, and follows the fuel line. It leads to a set of pumps that are squeezed between the lower frame. Levy lets his fingers prick the sets of gears.
MMMM, new car smell.
He enjoys the new rubber smell from the belt and how it was snug in the grooves of the wheels. Bubbling with pride, Levy hefts it up off the lab counter.
“Dad can’t say I need exercise” With a hand on each grip he does two curls. ‘Yeah, that’s—ouch—enough.” He spins the cube-like framework over and upside down. “Skakey, shakey so you don’t breaky, breaky.”
He loves the weight and the girth of it in his hands. It was surprisingly light for its size. Levy can’t stop smiling.
I build this myself. No one else gave me help.