Adventure Books for Kids by Diane Burton

 Where were all the great adventure books for kids when we were growing up? I’m talking about books for the 10-14 year old reader. I’m talking about stories we could have identified with when we were that age. A difficult age. Not really a child but not an adult. There have always been lots of stories for little kids. What happened to the interesting books when we were in fifth through ninth grades?

 The adults in our lives told us to read or gave us books like Robinson Crusoe, Robin Hood, Little Women—classics that were written long before our time and in a manner that required so much concentration we lost sight of the story. Where were the books written in our time? Of all the books I read during the middle grades the only ones that I remember were stories about teen girls in early Michigan by Elizabeth Howard, like Peddlar’s Girl and North Winds Blow Free.

 Where were the Harry Potters, the Katniss Everdeens, the Percy Jacksons, the Gallagher Girls? Today’s books have characters who act and sound like contemporary kids. They have fantastic adventures. Their lives have at least a touch of reality that the reader can identify with. More than anything, though, I think it’s the voice in which the stories are written that captures the reader’s attention. The classics were written in the style of their time—the 1800s. They weren’t classics then. They were just good stories. Then.

 I am fascinated by all the books available for kids today. How to choose what to read next must be a problem for them. Maybe an interested teacher or librarian who knows a kid well enough will recommend one—the way the bookmobile librarian did for me with the Elizabeth Howard books. More likely, it’s one of their friends saying, “Hey, you gotta read this.”

 My older grandchildren (14 & 11) are voracious readers. Naturally, when they learned I’m a writer, they wanted to read my books. Not for a while, their mom and I said. So, I decided to write an adventure story for them. And, since they are Star Wars fans, I made it a science fiction adventure. That’s how Rescuing Mara’s Father came about. To separate it from my adult fiction, I wrote it as D.M. Burton.

 

RESCUING MARA’S FATHER

A Middle Grade Science Fiction Adventure

 

Blurb:

Her father is gone! Taken by the Queen of Compara’s agents. Mara has to rescue him before the Queen tortures and kills him.

Instead of the kind, loving father she’s always known, he’s become demanding, critical, with impossible expectations—not just as Father but also as the only teacher in their frontier outpost. Mara would rather scoop zircan poop than listen to another boring lecture about governments on Central Planets. Give her a starship engine to take apart or, better yet, fly, and she’s happy. Now, he’s gone.

Never mind, they’ve had a rocky road lately.

Never mind, Father promised she could go off planet to Tech Institute next month when she turns fifteen, where she’ll learn to fly starships.

Never mind, she ran away because she’s furious with him because he reneged on that promise. Father is her only parent. She has to save him.

Along with her best friend, eleven-year-old Jako, and his brother 15-year-old Lukus, Mara sets off to find her father. Her mentor, old spaceport mechanic, seems to know why the Queen captured Father. In fact, he seems to know her father well. But, does he tell her everything? Of course not. He dribbles out info like a mush-eating baby. Worse, he indicates he’ll be leaving them soon. And Lukus can’t wait to get off our planet. Mara’s afraid they will all leave, and she’ll be on her own. Despite her fears, Mara has to rescue her father.

 

Excerpt: 

“There you go again.” I ignore Father’s startled look. “Why does everything have to be so hard? You used to make learning fun.”

“You were a child then. You are almost an adult. You must try harder.”

“I do try. It’s boring. Why can’t you teach interesting stuff like Basco does? He doesn’t lecture me. He doesn’t tell me I’m not good enough.”

A pained look crosses Father’s face. “That is different. When you work with him at spaceport, you work with your hands. I am trying to teach you to think, to analyze, to make—”

“What difference does it make now? I’m going to the Tech in three tendays.”

He takes a deep breath. “I know you have been looking forward to going—”

No. He wouldn’t. “Don’t you tell me I can’t go.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean it.” I fist my hands on my hips. “You are not going to tell me I can’t go. You can’t. I’ll be fifteen in three tendays. I’m going.” We’ve had a lot of arguments, but I’ve never defied him before.

“You may be old enough to enroll in the Institute. You still need parental approval.” He lets that sink in.

I’m stunned speechless. Not for long. “You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t punish me like that.”

“Mara, you must obey me on this. You must stay here. You will pay attention in class. You will apply yourself.”

“Like Perfect Lukus? Maybe you wish he was your son instead of a stupid girl like me.”

His eyes widen. “Mara.”

My eyes burn. I’m going to cry, like a stupid girl. “I can’t believe you would forbid me to go to Tech just because I’m not a perfect student in your stupid class. You don’t love me. I’m probably not even your real kid.”

My words hang between us. My chest heaves. I clench my teeth, so I don’t start bawling. I can’t believe he won’t let me go to Tech. Worse, I can’t believe I blurted out the horrible thought that has been festering in the darkest corner of my mind for several tendays.

I wait for him to tell me I’m wrong. That he does love me. That I am his child.

Father slumps into the chair I abandoned. I’ve never seen such a look on his face. Like he’s been kicked in the stomach by a hican. For a sec, before he sat, I thought I saw something else in his eyes. Guilt? Couldn’t have been. He doesn’t care enough to feel guilty about forbidding me go to Tech.

I’m ashamed of my outburst, ashamed that I revealed my worst fear—the fear that he isn’t my real father. We’ve argued before, but I always kept my fear a secret. Now, he knows. I can’t bear to look at him, to see reproach in his eyes. I race into my bedroom and slam the door. I force myself not to throw myself on my bed and cry.

Instead, I lean against the door and try to control the anger I just spewed in the kitchen, anger still rising up inside me. Anger at myself for letting my temper get the best of me. Anger at Father for not letting me go to Tech. Anger at him for not denying my accusation, for not taking me in his arms and saying, “Of course, I love you. Of course, you are my child.”

Anger at him for not coming after me.

If he did come, he would probably tell me again how I don’t try, how I don’t measure up. I’m not sticking around for another lecture. I grab my jacket. My trousers are heavy, but the shirt won’t be enough in the chilly evening. I search under my bed for my emergency pack—the one Father insists I keep ready at all times, ever since the riots. I grab it and slip out the window. Automatically, I close it behind me so critters can’t get in. I don’t have a plan. I just know I don’t want to see Father for a while.

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How I envy kids the wealth of books available today, the adventures they can have by reading. What books do you remember from your pre-teen/teen years?