I walked this morning too. Now I’m writing. Let’s see how this goes.
I haven’t even got poor Jamie out of the car yet. I haven’t brought up the murderously cold wind, the trudge across a tilled field, or the discovery in the barn.
Maybe that’s because I don’t know what’s in the barn or beyond the barn in any substantial way. I’m more like all those artists painting a small person facing a titanic valley or sprawling desert than I like to admit. Little me; big unknown.
Thus far I’ve imagined this as a portal fantasy. Jamie or Wendell back when there wasn’t a girlfriend in the story discovers her grandmother’s portal machine in a barn in France. Grandma is gone and somehow Jamie or Wendell deduce she went through the portal and needs saving. No reason to go get the cops. No reason to grab a bite to eat first, nab a first-aid kit, or a bottle of water. No reason to freak out for days wondering what happened or what to do–if anything at all. And no reason to think Grandma didn’t just step out to get a scone and neglected to leave a Post-it on the monitor.
Which means I need a myterious note, email, or communiqué. Ooo, or a dream or a feeling or a sense!