One thing I can say for Ashley Chappell...she's a good sport. She has a new book she wants everyone to read~ see it over there? It's a beauty! Congratulations Ashley!!
(at the end of the post, she's giving a copy of her literary baby away...so be sure to sign up!)
Ashley works for NASA, which is cool, because well anything that has to do with the stars, the moon, and rockets has to fabulous.
Oh yeah, about Ashley being a good sport! First of all she puts up with friends who ramble on (LIKE ME!) and when I asked her to write me a guest post...a post where her characters play the moon game. Which honestly, Miss Rocket Science had never heard of! Sure she might know physics, but she don't know squat about kiddie games, so I educated her and she was ready to make her make characters play. Problem is they may as good of sports as their creator...
“Really, it’s not a trick question, I promise. I just thought it would be a fun way to let the readers get to know you a little better. You’re the heroes of the book, after all. They’re bound to be curious about you.” My face felt hot as everyone stared at me from their chairs around the little circle. Apparently this idea had sounded better in my head.
Trotter crossed her arms and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “But it’s one of the dumbest questions I’ve ever heard.”
“Think of it more like a game,” I said. “It’s just a hypothetical question designed to give people insight to your personality. Let’s try it again: If you were going to the moon and could only take one thing with you, what would you take?”
“That’s what makes it so dumb!” She responded. “What insight can anyone get about me from this other than I’m dumb enough to believe that I can go to the moon?”
“She’s right,” one of the Pratts chimed in. I tend to lose track of which of the four is which, but I guess it doesn’t matter considering they’re all actually the same Pratt picked up from across several seconds in time. Watching them talk is about the equivalent of watching a tennis match. “It’s physically impossible –” “- Improbable –” “Yes, improbable that we could even reach the moon from here –” “Let alone survive the visit.”
“That being the case,” Prowler interjected authoritatively with a swish of his tail, “why would we bother taking anything to the moon since we can neither get there nor survive there?” As talking cats go, he’s not the haughtiest I’ve ever met. He’s at least a runner-up, though.
“Come on, guys, please?” I asked. I’m not above begging, especially when I dealing with a group of divas like these who apparently don’t have any sympathies for me to prey on. “Just give it a try. It’s like a psychological test –”
“So it is a trick!” Prowler exclaimed. “You can’t trust psychologists. They make my whiskers itch!”
Smart people would have given up by now. Yet I plodded forward, trying to drag the conversation with me. “It’s not a trick! The answer is just supposed to show what’s most important to you.”
“Then why didn’t you just ask what was most important to us?” Trotter asked.
“Because it’s not supposed to work like that. You can’t just ask someone a point blank question like that and expect them to answer it honestly.” And because I saw her smiting finger twitching – that was always a danger when dealing with the daughter of the God of Truth – I hurried on in a panic, keeping my eyes on that finger. “You see, the question is supposed to trick your brain –”
“Aha!”
“No! Not like that. I mean, it’s supposed to make you think about it without thinking about what’s important. Like if you had to suddenly make a choice about taking only one thing, the first thing that comes to mind is supposed to be what you care most about. It’s usually not going to be the same answer as if someone asked you to think about what you care about.” I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw her finger stop twitching and her face became thoughtful. Thank gods... my hair only just recently filled back in from the last smiting when we had that talk about boys.
“I think I can kind of see your point now. Okay, I’ll try this. If I could only have one thing right now, it would probably be a plate of fried caramel snaps.”
“Oh, and Aggie’s Cheddar Rat soufflé!” Prowler added, licking his lips at the thought.
“Really?” I couldn’t mask my surprise. “That’s the one thing both of you would want to take to the moon?”
“No, we’re not going to the moon. Nobody can go to the moon, remember?” Trotter rolled her eyes again. Teenagers are good at making adults feel stupid, but Trotter also has the inherent talent for sarcasm that comes with being a demi-goddess. I’ll admit it; I squirmed. “You wanted to know what’s most important to us right now, and we’re telling you. No brain tricks involved.”
“Besides,” Prowler added, “You brought us here for this little interview without even bothering to provide food and we’re well past lunch now. Not even a little snack tray!”
“Um...” piped a small voice.
All heads swiveled toward the tiny figure in the last chair in the circle. Little Alice, quiet as a mouse but always watching, looked around in surprise at the sudden attention. She seldom spoke, but when she did, everyone stopped to listen to the charismatic and mysterious child. “I heard that there was cheese on the moon. So I guess, maybe, I would bring crackers?”
I beat back the sigh of frustration, but while I was silently counting to ten I noticed that the Pratts had slipped away and were in the middle of an enthusiastic discussion in front of the far wall. From the sounds of it, they’d begun obsessing over the problem of getting to the moon. Knowing them, they’d have a full manifest for me by the end of the day.
“No, no...” “A giant sling shot is too risky –” “The ballistics involved in stray magical fields –” “Absolutely unpredictable!” “One wrong calculation and you miss the moon –” “And go right over the edge of the world.” Somehow, in the few moments since they’d managed to escape my notice, they’d already covered the wall in equations, spells, and formulas. Trotter’s overly nonchalant whistling gave me a pretty good idea as to who slipped them the marker. I’d be calling her again when I was ready to repaint.
“Alright,” I said, the sigh finally escaping me as the three of them stared at me expectantly. “I see where this is going. I’ll fix some sandwiches, and then we’ll talk about what you’d want to take to the moon.”
“We’re still not going to the moon,” Trotter said. “But if we were going and we were taking sandwiches with us, I’d want extra cheese on mine. And tuna for Prowler.”
“With cod liver dressing, if you don’t mind,” he said, licking his lips. “Oh, and be sure there’s no mayonnaise. My stomach can’t abide the stuff.”
“I’m going to the moon,” I muttered to myself as I stood in the kitchen making sandwiches and sneaking mayo into the cod liver dressing. “And a slingshot sounds pretty good right now, too.”
Thanks for stopping by Ashley...sorry to have caused so much trouble with your crew.
*The Rafflecopter seems to testing my patience...but the Rafflecopter on Ashley's blog is up and running...correctly. Unlike mine. Sigh. So go there and sign up!
http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/share-code/MzExMjZkMWU2OWJjNWI0MmQ0MTk2YTZkZDRmODQ2OjI=/
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