Marrow’s Next Step, Edited

A little housekeeping to start off the day then the good stuff.  A little transposition got me off in my day count at the beginning of this 2009 revival of 1000 Days.  I corrected that yesterday, so you no longer need to worry about the missing 100 days.

I don’t normally resort to gimmicky writing exercises like I did last night when perfectly good blather is to be had by the fire-hoseful.  I enjoy porting artistic practices to my writing where I can.  If you didn’t follow the link in yesterday’s post and then follow the link in that post over to Gorilla Artfare then you should click on this one to see what a skilled artist can do with 30 seconds of time.

Now that I’m back to writing and not doing so much screwing around with the layout I too am annoyed by the purple links and the poorly executed text-color contrast.  Usually my interstitial commentary is grey while the text you’re meant to read is nicely black.  I’ll do something about that when I can.

Last week I promised weekends would be for editing.  Today minus two-hundred days provides me with a day called “Marrow’s Next Step“.

“If you thirst, quench your spirit. Your body will wait.” My forearms lean on the lentil of the low door. I’m adjusting to the light and being upright.

“Is it true,” he asks.

“You cannot know the key and not know the truth.”

“I’m a skeptic, not a coward.”

“There’s a difference?”

I shuffle into my small home, surprised his presence doesn’t feel intrusive. After this many years alone I expected some annoyance. I motion to the barrel and the dipper; he waves a no. Zealot. “When I’m thirsty I don’t kneel.” I dip out two cups and force his into his hands. “Drink it and wait.”

“If you thirst, first quench your spirit. Your body will wait.” I support my weight by pressing my forearms into the lentil of the low door.  My eyes adjust to the darkness inside and my guts to being upright.

“Is it true?” he asks.

I consider dissembling or, more simply, pretending I didn’t hear.  Instead I answer as he before me answered: “You cannot speak the key and also not believe.”

“I’m a skeptic, not an Unbeliever…or a coward.”

“There’s a difference?”

I shuffle into my small home, surprised his presence doesn’t feel intrusive. After so many years alone I expected some annoyance. I pull the dipper from it’s perch on a rafter and  motion to to the water barrel; he flicks his hand to indicate no. Zealot.

“When I’m thirsty I don’t kneel.” I dip out two cups and force his into his hands. “Drink it and wait.”

There wasn’t much text to work with here–this post is the extension of the day’s prior post.  Unsurprisingly it relies on that post for much context.  Mostly I feel the first effort was overly cryptic in the narration.  It’s suitable for the dialog to be cryptic, but not the narrator’s thoughts–at least, not too much.

I’m still not happy about the “Zealot” thought in there, but I’m not sure how to get that across.  This seems like the kind of thing my narrator would immediately think, but not something he’d think much about to get to that conclusion.  So ultimately I’ve got to pre- or post-explain why not drinking the water makes the son a zealot.  It would help if I knew.

Day 331