As some who've read Lightning Tree know, I write about controversial issues in LDS history. But I have worked hard to keep my storytelling about the main story--about the journey my main character takes, and if historical events come into play they come through the eyes of my character, and they are relevant only in how they affect my character. In Lightning Tree, my main character was a child when the Mountain Meadows Massacre happened. At the time, it was not a topic discussed openly among those who she would have known and associated with.

I wrote this when I was 13 or 14. Again, I am going to refrain from editing. That includes actually putting in several wince-worthy commas and modifiers. I have, however, omitted the first few paragraphs because they contained too much embarrassing teen angst. Yeah, I know, you're disappointed. My grownup commentary will be inserted in italics.

I laughed as my friend and I skipped down the dirt path to the bathrooms. We were both quite winded, as the little "jog" had been about half of a mile, from the cafeteria to the bathrooms.

When I was writing Lightning Tree, several things happened to made me feel Heavenly Father was guiding me. I'd come upon just the right information in a way that seemed miraculous. Hard copies of pioneer journals would fall randomly into my hands, and they would describe exactly the historical events I'd be writing about. I'd research family names, fall in love with them, and then suddenly come upon them several times in a row either in reading or just walking around "provo town" and seeing monuments.

For part I, go here.

As stated before, I wrote this when I was around 15 years old. I will not be editing it except to change a spelling or word I think I must have done by mistake (unless it's funny, then I will leave it.) But I will be inserting my unwelcome adult thoughts here and there.

Written by me. At age 15, I believe.

(Just a warning... this is verbatim. Therefore, no editing. At all.)

KISSING JEEVES (part 1)

When I came down to the dinner table, I wasn't feeling very well. We (Uncle Bertie and I) were dining in that night. Jeeves served us roasted duck and the smell made my eyes water.

"So, how are things, at the, eh, bording school?" my uncle inquired, straining to make polite conversation. "And your teachers, are you getting on?"

"Quite well, thank you," I replied, cutting into the duck.