I recently enrolled in Ken Roger’s online writing course, The Lyric Essay. I thought it might help me add a bit more creativity and punch to my posts. Plus, I’m all about critical feedback and writing to an assignment. Imagine my surprise when the following piece emerged in an answer to writing a “Realistic Lyric Essay.” I can describe “cold” realistically, I thought. But after that thought, the essay went its own way and became a piece of fiction. What…me? Fiction? Naw….but it happened. It was one of those rare times when my mind was open, my fingers were willing, and the letters crawled magically across the screen. I hope it will bring you pleasure.
A droplet of thin mucous hovers at the tip my nose. I swab it with the cuff of my sleeve—thirty seconds of respite from annoying dampness. Another droplet forms. I flex stiff fingers inside bulky leather gloves, willing the blood to circulate. Flexing does little to waken sluggish veins. I bang my free hand against my thigh till a small tingle teases the knuckles. I move the reins over to that hand and repeat the process with the newly freed hand. It’s hopeless. I jam the free hand under my opposite armpit and clamp my wings shut to stymie the wind.
The horse plods, his feet dragging, providing a measure of support to offset the high-heeled teeter of snow-packed hooves. Our pace is slow, unusual for this fireball of horsehair and arrogance. Looking over his shaggy shoulder, I see frosted whiskers and eyelids. With an occasional horse sneeze, he clears the sticky hairs inside his nostrils.
I wonder what passes through his horse mind as he trudges. They say animals don’t think. But I know better. I have the advantage of knowing why we are out in this ocean of frozen tundra. But the horse is at my mercy. There is no opportunity for noble notions of rescue to spur him on. He puts one foot in front of the other only because I have asked him to. His nobility lies in his willingness to trust at all costs. Is that nobility or is that frailty? What if I have miscalculated? What if our trip is for naught?
I trade rein hands again and shove the free hand between the saddle and my thigh. It’s warmer there than in my armpit. Is this journey worth it? What will I find when I get there? Will I even know I’m there when I get there? I have a mission. Tucked into the saddle bag behind me is medicine for our neighbor. He is an old, thin man, as substantial as last summer’s dried aspen leaves. His mailbox and our mailbox share a post on the county road. It has been days since he retrieved his mail. Along with the mail is his package of medicine from the VA. And now it is up to the horse and me to deliver the mail, the medicine, and a Thermos of home made beef stew. But I worry. He hasn’t answered the phone. What will I find?
The horse plods. I worry. My nose drips. Again I trade hands, this time trying to wedge the free hand between the saddle blanket and the horse’s warm withers. Leather creaks rhythmically. Snow under the horse’s hooves squeaks to a four-point beat. I’ve lost track of time. It is too cold to risk exposing my wrist for a peek at my watch. I’ve lost touch with my feet. They could have disappeared but for the toes of my boots poking through the stirrups at the end of my legs.
People die in weather like this. I am a fool. But the horse knows the way home. We might circle, but we won’t circle in vain if it is up to the horse. But wait, now I see a dark shape in front of me. Is it my imagination? The squeaking snow and creaking leather offer no answer. The horse plods. I worry. There is a definite darkness on my horizon. It is growing larger and taking the shape of the neighbor’s barn. The house is just behind that barn. We are almost there. I see no lights. A dog barks; a welcome sound. Stopping in front of the barn, the horse drops his head—exhausted. I muster my strength and test weight in the block that is my left foot. With effort I swing my stiff right leg over the horse’s rump and feel for the ground below. I know I’ve found it when needles explode through the bottoms of my feet and race toward my ankles. But for the saddle strings gripped awkwardly in my unwilling fists, I would fall in a heap. Finding my balance, I heave the heavy barn door open and fumble for the light switch. Without argument, the horse staggers in behind me. I fill a pail full of the neighbor’s oats and hang the pail on a nail in front of the horse. I have to slide my hands under the saddle to thaw my fingers enough to open the saddle bag and retrieve the items for the neighbor.
Out in the fog of snow again, I shuffle toward the barking dog—the dark house. My offerings are clutched under my arm. I worry. What will I find?
Linda, you did a great job of really slowing down and paying close attention to detail. That’s why we were all there on that horse and in that barn. My feet are frozen.
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Thanks, Charles. Try some hot chocolate to warm those tootsies. Hope the thaw doesn’t hurt too much.
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Nicely done!
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My eyes watered when your foot touched the ground. I grew up with my Grandfather’s horses. We would frequently ride from his house through his fields of well intended Christmas trees that had grown thirty or so feet out of hand, to my uncle’s house. In this story, I was on that path amongst the trees for the first time since I was ten years old.
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Awesome! Your comment just made my day. Thanks.
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It’s an amazing experience when a piece of writing takes off with you like that, isn’t it? Demands so much trust. I had a character in a short story/turned long story unexpectedly drown once and I cried for two days. I never meant for her to die and I just couldn’t believe it. I never finished the piece because her death took the heart of me. 🙂
I like the staccato rhythm of the writing too, although it reminded me of hoof beats. And the gradual, relentless way the suspense builds is great. First the fear of bitter cold, then the word “rescue” introduced into a muse about thoughts, then the bits and pieces of gathering information about the old man (not picking up his mail, not answering his phone, no lights on at the house), then the loss of feeling in your limbs. Very, very well done. I also love the way you paralleled mounting cold and approaching death. I felt like she was being hemmed in by two mounting threats. Very enjoyable!
And we were going to go together to a flash fiction event downtown a while back but I couldn’t do it for some reason I can’t remember now. It’s fun stuff, very, VERY short fiction. You could maybe see if you get this piece published as such?
Anyway, thanks for the great read!
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Wow. It never ceases to amaze me what other people find in what I write. Ken R. found some amazing things in his critique and so have you. I hadn’t even thought about the parallel between cold and death. On my part, I confess, it was all serendipity.
It’s interesting that you described the protagonist as “she.” I wondered how people would visualize the person since I never alluded to who was on that horse. It could have been a kid, a man, or a woman. I guess naturally most people know the author and it is natural to place the author into that “first person” slot. 😉
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I WAS thinking of the protagonist as you, probably because of the context of where I was reading it. If I read it in, say, a collection of short stories, I’d probably visualize a man, actually. That surprises me as I write it! I definitely have some gender stereotyping going on there.
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We all do, Dia. Much as we try not to. Generalizations and stereotyping seem to be buried as deeply as our bones.
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You certainly drew me in! The fear of getting lost in a blizzard – feeling the fatigue of you and the horse – the grip of the freezing temperature – I was taken there. One little phrase punctuated the cold in my mind, “…needles explode through the bottoms of my feet…”
Good for you , RW, for embarking on this project. I hope you enjoy it lots.
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Thanks, SD. That little project was fun. Can’t say that about all of ’em.
Yes, Val is immensley talented. I love her use of colors and design.
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That was wonderful! You took me right alongside you through that cold! I could hear the squeaking of the horses hooves as well! Really!
That must have been a rewarding ‘moment’ for you when this started to write itself.
Jim
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Thank you, Jim. Glad it grabbed you. And yes, it was a memorable moment when it took off for me. 😉
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Great essay Linda. I can just feel the cold and had to put on my warm winter coat!
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Thanks Rae Ann. I wish they were all as fun and easy as this one was.
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Now this is all I can think – What will you find? 😀
Very nice and intriguing. Write more! You certainly succeeded in raising my curiosity as well of the other bloggers, I think. Great writing. 🙂
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Thank you! It is very encouraging to get this feedback. This may sound silly, but I feel like this is the only bit of fiction in me! I’ll try to dig deeper and see what else I might scrounge up.
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I have to agree, Linda, it was an utter pleasure to read your little piece of fiction. You have a way with words that conjures up the whole scene right in front of my eyes. I was so close to putting on a sweater against the cold!
But the cliffhanger… Lady you have to come up with a sequel to this, the suspense is killing me 😉
I hear you though, I have always admired authors like Stephen King who’s vivid imagination is not only sufficient to fill one book but dozens of them. And good ones. Can you tell I’m an admirer?
As for myself, exaggeration is as far as my fiction goes. I’ll never make millions writing *sigh*
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Thanks for the encouragement Sandra. I didn’t mean to freeze you! Yes, I’m afraid even this little bit of fiction was not far from experience for me. I’m being encouraged to expand it, but I just can’t possibly imagine where to go with it. See, that lack of imagination crops up! Sigh. I may play with a sequel, but for know I’ll have to leave you dangling. Thanks a lot for reading and commenting.
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I loved it! 🙂 I think pieces like this are called “flash fiction”. It is a deviation from your usual writing but it’s stunningly beautiful.
I’m looking forward to more of these. Or perhaps, you can build on this piece.
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Thanks Nel. I’m really glad you enjoyed it. I know flash mobs but I’m unfamiliar with flash fiction. I’ll have to look that up. I appreciate your feedback.
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Very nice…
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Thanks, Lynn.
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Loved it. When is the next installment? I see snow on the banner and it floats through the entire body, but no pine trees or fog.
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Thanks for the feedback, Glenda. Obviously, the wrong image is showing up. Grrrrr.
Next installment? Crap. This is fiction. If it didn’t actually happen, I have no clue where to go…and it never happened. Stephen King I am not.
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What do you mean you don’t know where to go? You’re heading to the house, just go there and see what you find!
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Oh, and your trees and snow are there now at the top of the story, not as the banner.
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But that takes imagination! You make it sound so easy.
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I liked the way the staccato sentences helped me feel the cold too. Nicely done.
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Why thank you, Don. Tell me, what sort of image showed up on your screen? What I see is not necessarily what everyone else sees. A real failing in the software. There’s supposed to me a banner image above this post with pine trees and fog….?
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Not seeing pine and/or fog. I only see your stars falling over the hills banner. That’s not a problem for me though because your beautiful prose stands on it’s own.
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It’s there!
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