I don’t know what to write. It feels so silly. Mr. Gees, I mean Master, told me that I have to write in this journal for one hour every day. What an I going to write about for an hour? I don’t think I know that many words.

He said to write what every came into my head. I don’t feel anything coming in. He said to write about my day, my dreams, or my past. My day is pretty boring, I just clean up the tower and cook meals. I’m not sure what my dreams are. Maybe that an hour will have past and I can go to bed. And I don’t really have much past, Im only eleven years old.

One thing did happen today. Master’s old student came by. Her name is Annay and she is very beautiful. Master had me make tea for them and bring some biscuits, too. When Master told her that my name is Brian, she told me, “Brian is a good name; it means noble, strong, and virtuous. Are you named after your father?”

I didn’t answer her and I fought to not cry. I don’t think she noticed – she started talking with Master again. I haven’t felt like crying for a long time. I miss you dad.

I should have told her I was named for where I was born. I wonder if she knows that Brian also means hill. I was born as my mom and dad were traveling between White Water and Maple Grove. My my mom told me that I was two weeks early and that I just wanted to see the great plains from the top of the hills before we headed up into the mountains.

Mom says that I wouldn’t stop crying until my dad held me up and showed me the orange clouds over the green plains as the sun set. She says that I watched the sky darken and the stars come out, and was as happy as could be. So she named me Brian.

My dad’s name was Islwyn which means “Below the Grove.” Mom said that he got that name because it was his father’s name, and his father got it because his family lived in a little house down by the river below Maple Grove.

It’s funny, in kind of a sad way, that that’s where my dad died. He was fishing in the river, down below town.  He had just hooked a large fish and was trying to get it to shore when he slipped and hit his head. His friends tried to help him, but the water carried him away so fast. When they finally got to him and pulled him out it was too late. I remember that brought us the fish he had caught that day, and some extras because he had never caught that many before in one day.

Why am I writing this? Do I want to remember these things? I don’t think I wanted to remember, because I don’t like crying, but maybe this is a way to remember without crying. It feels good to write about my dad, even if it makes me a little sad.

What else should I write about? I’ve got another fifteen minutes. Who am I? My name is Brian, which I already wrote about. I’m eleven years old. My mom arranged for me to work and learn from Mr. Gees for the next ten years. Now I get to call him Master. I’ve been here ten days.

The bed is nice and I get to eat at every meal. The tower is still cold, but not as cold as my old room. I sweep the floors, which is easer because they’re made of stone instead of dirt, cook the meals, wash the dishes and clothes. Starting today I’ll be writing in this journal for an hour every night.

I wonder what life will be like for the next ten years. What skill is Master going to teach me, besides how to write in a journal? I wish I could be a wizard like him, but I don’t think I have the gift. Maybe he’ll teach me how to make pots or bind books.

I’m getting tired and It’s almost been an hour. Does time go slower or faster if you keep looking at the clock? The first half an hour seemed to go fast, but then the minutes have been dragging. Maybe if I stop looking, it will be over. Maybe I’ll just stop five minutes early. No one will know but me, but then maybe it’s important since it is me – to know that I can stick to it and finish it even when no one else will know.

I wonder if that is part of the lesson that I’m supposed to be learning. How to be accountable to myself. Maybe not, maybe the lesson is just to learn how to write.

Well I’ll see what tomorrow brings. I wonder if it will be easer or harder to write for an hour. I’m guessing harder since I said so much today.

One more minute. Just long enough to close and look forward to tomorrow. More dishes and cooking and sweeping, but I do get to go to the market. That might be fun.

Good night journal.

Good night mom

Good night dad.