Tag Archives: Heaven

Friday Fiction – Looking up, looking down (again)

Well, Rochelle, you certainly know how to challenge us. This week’s photo from prodigal fictioneer Doug is stunning, but it really didn’t inspire the muse. Lots of thoughts went through my head about it – the boiling clouds, the black / white distinction (and various bad jokes about shades of grey), a great chasm between where one is and where one wants to be – but none of them led to a story.

Then, as so often happens when I’m stuck, an idea came to me while I was rocking Sebastian to sleep. And here it is. The only problem is, I’ve used this title before. Your critique and comments are always welcome, any suggestions for another title are also invited this week.

maui-from-mauna-kea

Looking up, looking down (again!)

“Reckon my Milly’s up there now with him, playin’ her harp to your Frank.” Walter smiled.

“Then she’s wasting her time. Frank’s deaf as a door!” Joan dabbed away the tears with a clean corner of his handkerchief. “But thank you.”

“Feel any better?”

“A little. It’s nice to think of him looking down on me.”

Walter paused, then went ahead and said it anyway. “Didn’t say nothing ‘bout lookin’. Heaven’s above the clouds, right?”

“I suppose…”

He put a hand on Joan’s knee. “Well, have you seen the weather? We could do anything we like and they’d never know.”

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Friday Fiction – She Waits

Better late than never. It’s taken me an unusually long time to edit this week’s FF attempt. I had the idea straight away, but wording it has proved a real challenge. Once again, the edits show how I got to where it ends up. I’d love to read your thoughts on the various decisions I took, and/or how well the piece works as a whole.

Other stories can be found on Rochelle’s site. The picture is from Renee Homan Heath.

copyright-renee-homan-heath

She waits

She waits for me at the end of the path. Her toes curl into the sand and the sea whispers at her back like a thousand angels. She waits, neither impatient for me to hurry nor lacking eagerness to be with me.

I journey alone now. Eager too, and perhaps more impatient than she. The path is beautiful and cannot be hurried. But sunlight drenches the beach and the sea is more refreshing than shade. Many feet have trod this path before me, and yet today it is all my own.

And at the end of the path, she waits.

V3 [Almost the same as the final version, barring some edits thanks to Sandra and Ted]

[This was a difficult edit. I like the story as it stands at the end of v2. I’m in two minds about swapping the genders, but somehow this seems to work better in my head as a woman waiting for a man. This edit was about “kill the puppies” – in other words, cutting out lines which I like, but know don’t belong.]

She waits for me at the end of the path [I never liked wooden anyway, so I’m happy to let it go]. Her toes curl into the sand [shame to lose her smile, but the toes are more unusual than a smile, which I think is important to aid the implication that this is his wife, not just an angel] and the sea whispers at her back like a thousand angels. She waits, neither impatient for me to hurry nor lacking eagerness to be with me.

I walk alone now [Slightly uncomfortable with this change as it approaches cliché. It cuts words though, so ultimately I’ve kept it. The addition of “now” hopefully another hint that they used to walk together]. Eager too, and perhaps more impatient than she. The path is beautiful and cannot be hurried. But sunlight drenches the beach and the sea is more refreshing than shade. [Bringing this line up allowed me to ditch the attempts to describe the path again] A thousand feet have trod these steps before me, and yet they are all my own. [They instead of It for noun agreement. I thought about losing this line, but even when I’m killing puppies, there is the occasional one I can’t drown!]

And at the end of the path, she waits. [I liked the echo in this version. I also wasn’t happy with “soon” in the previous version]

V2

[The first batch of edits was relatively easy. I took out anything that seemed superfluous or repetitive]

She waits for me at the end of the wooden path. Her toes curl into the sand as she smiles and the sea whispers at her back like a thousand angels. [The palm trees and coconut juice felt like over-doing it even as I wrote it, so that was an easy cut] She waits, neither impatient for me to hurry nor lacking in eagerness to be with me.

I tread the path alone [his weariness didn’t seem to fit with the path. The narrator still has some way to go, and I didn’t want it to be an unhappy path for him] . I too am eager, perhaps a little more impatient than she is. The path is beautiful and cannot be hurried. A thousand feet have trod these steps before me, and yet it is all my own.

The path is a varied mix of light and dark. But sunlight drenches the beach and the sea will refresh me in ways  the shade cannot. [This paragraph felt like the weakest as it was originally written. The shade / sun thing felt over-done, and repeated by the description of the beach, hence I cut it and punched up the beach bit]

She waits, and soon I will join her.

V1

She waits for me at the end of the wooden path. Her toes curl into the sand as she smiles and the sea whispers at her back like a thousand angels. Palm trees sway above her, a cool glass of fresh coconut juice in her hand tells me that all is alive and fertile in the brightness.

She waits, neither impatient for me to hurry nor lacking in eagerness to be with me.

And I tread the path slowly, step by weary step. I too am eager, perhaps, a little more impatient than she is. The path is beautiful and cannot be hurried. A thousand feet have trod these steps before me, and yet it is all my own.

The path is fascinating – a varied mix of light and dark: the warmth of the sun and the cool of the shade. But the beach of drenched in sunlight and the sea is refreshing in a way that the shade cannot be. She waits, and soon I will join her.

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Friday Fiction – Choices

After 50 posts to the Friday Fictioneers, I did wonder if I should find a new writing challenge, move on. But I’ve come to enjoy my weekly forays into the FF world, I value the friendships and feedback of the group and I enjoy reading the stories – so why mess with a winning formula? Besides, Sebastian is providing me with plenty of new challenges right now, so an old challenge makes a welcome change!

Life is settling into a new kind of normal with my little boy up front and centre in the new world order, but I’m hoping he allows me to continue the writing commitments I’ve enjoyed so much over the last few years. Right now, my muse seems to be suffering a bit under the weight of insufficient sleep and lots of distractions, so please be gentle with this week’s piece, but as ever I welcome your feedback, good and bad.

Here’s the photo, courtesy of Joyce Johnson. You can see the other responses linked from Rochelle’s page.

Choices

It wasn’t at all like she’d expected. There was no bright light, no beckoning figures; just two doors and apparently a free decision which to enter.

Each door was marked with a bronze face. One was serene and placid: its features unmarked by emotion. The other was twisted into a laugh or a grimace; she couldn’t tell which.  Either way, it was ugly. The other was more … angelic.

But her eyes kept coming back to the twisted visage. Even if it was a grimace, was that really worse than a world without emotion?

She paused, then pushed the door.

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