Chapter 1: A Plane To Catch, A Christmas To Save

EDITOR’S NOTE: November is National Novel Writing Month, and we need you to help Minnesota Patch write a holiday novella. Here's how it will go: We’ll post a new chapter every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the next four weeks, each written by one of the Local Editors from a Patch in the Southwest Metro.

But we can’t write this novella without your help. At the end of every chapter, in the style of "choose your own adventure" books, your answer to a simple poll will help us choose our next plot twists. But we’d love it if you dove right in with us. Right here, you can also upload personal photos and illustrations, contribute ideas for characters and even suggest a title—you name it. Just keep it clean.

Our Patch writers will incorporate your ideas into the next chapter. Through a lot of fun, improvisation and unpredictability, by Dec. 16, we’ll end up with a novella of between 5,000 and 7,000 words.

So enjoy, dear Patch readers—welcome to Chapter I:

CHAPTER I

Without a doubt, it was the worst haircut of Tim’s life. Tim Mistle was 48, burly, a former U.S. Marine. In other words, he didn’t normally cry over such things, but this perhaps merited a special dispensation.

It was partly his fault. He’d asked for a trim, then became engrossed in a conversation with Marty about post-hole digging attachments on his Bluetooth. He didn’t notice what was happening until it was too late.

At a basic level, his new look resembled Commander Spock: It was a tight cut around the hairline, with just a fringe of bangs framing his face. That wasn’t what he’d asked for, but it would have been acceptable, even with Tim’s rather plump face and flaccid jawline.

Such a cut would have only made him look vaguely ridiculous. But the trainee at First-Class Cutz was not content with playing it safe and had shaved two lines into the scalp onto either side of his head, each following a circular path from the temple to the base of his ears.

“Check it out,” said the stylist, a 19-year-old named Cassee.

She held up a mirror so he could see the back. She’d left a little rat tail at the nape of his neck.

“I saw this one on TMZ. The 90’s are so in right now,” Cassee told him.

The overall effect was so shockingly absurd that Tim could hardly speak.  He looked into her young, heavily made up face for signs of malice. Seeing none, he swallowed back the tickling, painful sensation in his sinuses and numbly handed her a $20 bill, wanting only to get out of the salon.

Last time I’ll ever get a haircut at an airport barber, he thought.

He’d have to get fixed up once he touched down in Minneapolis, before he got home for Christmas. He checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes to final boarding. Gate IC408. Ten city blocks of O’Hare to navigate with a duffle bag, a rolling suitcase with a squeaky wheel and a gift he bought for the kid.

He might miss the plane. He could imagine the face of his estranged wife, Holly, pinched with resentment. She’d said it was his last chance.

Tim broke into a sprint.

* * *

Now it's your turn, readers—take our poll, upload photos and contribute your ideas for the next chapter.

WEDNESDAY: Chapter II