This didn’t get off the ground. The paragraphs below are more connected ideas I failed to stitch together than true grammatical structures.
Aunchy xa’Thill spied the crooked black chimney through the straight gray firs and paused on the mountian trail above it. A guild-made window—found or stolen from the city—covered a trapezoidal hole in the wall. An unknown builder fashioned that wall from two L-shaped pieces of ply-wood: one painted red, the other unpainted, but still stamped with the mill name. The evergreen roof pitched steeply was scaled more for a doll’s house than
The small home gave him a queer feeling that only increased the more he regarded structure.
The piece-meal home moved unnaturally against the distant backdrop of mountains across the valley and then, as xa’Thill descended the trail from above, it seemed to rise into the trees like the moon cresting the horizon and soaring into the sky.
John sets an overfull Hammermill paper box on the worn rug of the upstairs room he and Katie decided would be their attic. The several LPs on top sluice to the side and spill, ramp-like, under Katie’s grandmother’s rocking chair.
“Ah, shit.” John spots Cream’s Wheels of Fire album in the spread and wonders where the turntable got unloaded. “Katie! Do you know where the record player is?” he absently aims his yelling out the door and down the stairs. Ahead of him he hears a noise he doesn’t recognize as a sob.
“Ah, shit. What the hell Katie?”
John’s wife perches on a stout earthernware vase which sits on a lace doily which is draped over an antique coffee table—also her Grandmother’s. She’s cast aside her slip-on tennis shoes and is wearing someone else’s white high heel shoes. The flat front soles she balanced across most of the vase’s rim. She managed to get the pegs perfectly on the other side of the rim. She’s squatting with her hands behind her back and her long comfortably brown hair drapes her face. He is impressed, confounded, and curious simultaneously. He’s too afraid to go nearer.
“I can’t get down,” Katie sobs.
John’s arms surround his wife; he doesn’t recall closing the distance between them to get to her. He lifts her into his arms. Katie scuffs off the high heels and plants her feet firmly on the ground but continues to cling to him. There’s nothing to say so he keeps quiet.
“I just…it made sense…at the time.”
Got no more time today for this one. I’ll try to come back some day soon.
I like words OK, but I really love vocabulary. Having a precise word for a grand feeling, a quaint situation, or a complex thing excites me. I don’t need to be able to use it in everyday conversation or even ever use it as long as I know I’ve safely pinned it to a corkboard and splayed it’s wings a bit.
My favorite (internal) exclamation is “They’ve got a word for that?!”
Yesterday I came across a word I’d been collecting in picture and anecdotal form for some time. Though capturing the vapor is nice, distilling the essence is much much better. There had to be an arrangement of letters into a word for what I collected, but where do you turn a definition into the term–the dictionary just doesn’t work that way. So the great thing about stumbling onto the textual form was my complete ignorance in getting there. Sure, you’re in a magic castle and you unlock a strange chest you’re going to be amazed but not truly surprised. But if you’re cleaning out the front coat closet looking for an old pair of gloves and you dump over a shoebox full of rookie baseball cards you’re going to be shit-your-pants overjoyed. I typed this word as part of a larger string of words into a search box looking for references to a bit of art I’d found. I got pages of hits with this one word highlighted–wait what?–I clicked the best of the bunch and serendipity escorted me right to the definition.
I’m certain I read none of the page, but still knew what it said.