I
have been blog-tagged. A writerly sort of tag, in which one drags out an old
story snippet. Most of mine aren't on any useful USB, but are actual paper
copies, unbound sheets of tatty A4 paper. I considered saying 'No thank you,
this looks too difficult,' but then curiosity kicked me firmly in the pants.
Paper all over the office now. Reading stuff, avidly, blanching. It is like
seeing photographs of yourself with painful teenage hair. Embarrassing, but
something to be secretly proud of: proof that you dared to have a go at life.
In this story, I have attempted to describe the artist's outsider status using a mythological fish. It went through many titles, including Luna's Beast; this snippet is from the version named 'St. Pariah.' Formative stuff!
' The water was very dark. It looked so deep. I thought that was why I felt so isolated, because the sea was enormous. I swam out to the boat. The waves were behaving strangely; I noticed this, but did not regard it. I gave equal attention to the heat of the noon sun, solid on my shoulders like a gold collar still scorching from the furnace.
In this story, I have attempted to describe the artist's outsider status using a mythological fish. It went through many titles, including Luna's Beast; this snippet is from the version named 'St. Pariah.' Formative stuff!
' The water was very dark. It looked so deep. I thought that was why I felt so isolated, because the sea was enormous. I swam out to the boat. The waves were behaving strangely; I noticed this, but did not regard it. I gave equal attention to the heat of the noon sun, solid on my shoulders like a gold collar still scorching from the furnace.
I reached the little boat in which my friends lay
resting. The white planks looked tall from my water's eye view. I always loved
this difference in perspective, so I circled the boat before hauling into it. A
greeting was murmured. You can rest for a long time on a blissful day. Even if
it gets cold, you don't stir till you've waited a while, in case you break the
moment without need. You hear the waves when they're close, not as they fade.
All other noise is far away, like a distant fairground. The most important
sensation is of your self, connected to the sea and the sun. There are plenty
of people on the beach, bustling, not relaxing. They make frequent noise. For
us, on a day like this, words were minimal.
He was about to speak: that image more than any other
plays in my mind. He didn't say a word because the boat began to shake. We all
looked over the side.'
(Maybe one day, when the novel is resting between drafts; or even finished, although I have another two queued up right behind it, and other projects… I will come back to this oddball piece and see what can be made of it.)
Comments
La sirena in me was gripped by this 'oddball' piece.
Di
xxxxx
Really dig it.
Suze- Ha! That was me! :-)