This is an excerpt from the story I'm writing for NaNoWriMo this year. It opens chapter three. Still not sure where the story is going, but it sure is fun.

There comes a time when you realize that you’re not quite like everyone else. People don’t see things the way you do and you can no longer pretend to see things the way they do. For me, that happened when I was eight. We were preparing for Thanksgiving in school. Learning to do cranberry chemistry and talking about how different families celebrated the holiday. Making paper feathers and hearing the history behind the celebration.

My cranberry sauce came out blue but I had fabulous feathers. There were pheasant feathers and peacock feathers, a few crow feathers and one blue jay feather. There might have been more, but that color ended up in the cranberry mix. No turkey feathers. The only living turkeys I’d seen were white. So cut out a piece of paper, don’t color it, and call it a turkey feather? Where was the fun in that? The other children colored their bits of paper orange, red, yellow and brown and called those turkey feathers, but no self-respecting bird of any species would have worn them. When I brought my feathers home for the holiday, Mom and I ceremoniously counted each one into a brass brazier and burned them to ash. It was a glorious celebration.