1000 Days

“Inside. ‘nside. ‘nside. ‘nside.  Get. In. Side.”  Johnka chased Tritti into the empty red tent.  He stumbled to the ground trying not to overrun her with his bulk after she halted abruptly in the entrance.  He just lay there in the sand rather than get up.

“What was that?”  Tritti knelt to help him up but he invited her to just sit.  She crossed her legs and rubbed the sand out of her eyes.  The wind pulled loudly at the tent trying to drag it out of it’s moorings like a barking dog straining it’s tether.

“Raish.  That was a raish wind.  a little early in the season I’d say, but a raish for sure.”  Johnka said it like he was trying to convince himself as well.

“I know what a raish is old man.  I meant the woman.  The woman with the gun.”

“You saw that?”

Tritti nodded tightly as if to ask, ‘How the hell could I not?’

Above the noise of the raish they could hear shopkeepers and patrons alike yelling to get in out of the wind.  Curses at the sand for lost income and scattered products out weighed the wailing of a single woman who had just lost her daughter.  All Tritti could hear was that woman.

“She was dressed like me.  She had hair braided like mine.  Anyone not knowing either of us would have thought us sisters–twins maybe.”

“Twins?  Certainly not.  You are much more beautiful…”

“Stop.  Stop it.  Just because I can’t figure out who you really are doesn’t make me stupid or blind,” Tritti seethed, “That woman…that woman was trying to kill me.  And she would have had you not paused to admire that other girl’s scarf so obviously.”  Tritti paused before saying the next thing.  She wanted to hear it in her head first to make sure she wasn’t guessing.  “You saved my life by helping that woman take that girl’s instead.”

Johnka opened his mouth to explain, but something else came out instead.  “Hate me then, but you’re alive.”

“I will.  Never doubt that old man.  Never doubt that.”

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Tritti flicked the line up of tellat seeds off the rail of Johnka’s sledge. A solo version of a game she played with her brother. She was supposed to care how far they flew, but each seed dropped over the edge and out of sight like the previous one. Maybe the really good ones were hitting the drag kab on the tail. She doubted it though.

Johnka slept with both feet on the dashboard. Snoring with no intent to hide that he no longer piloted his ship.

A light breeze from the south kept the cockpit fresh and comfortable. It even moved the canopies enough that Tritti didn’t feel like [she was in a painting]. Instead she felt alone. Not lonely [expand that].

It might be three more nights out before they reached Shanty. Johnka avoided specifics about his past, his present, his future, and his schedule. Otherwise he was effulgent[what word am I thinking here?].

Word count: 150
Day 151

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Thickening the plot remains elusive to me.  After I practice writing I must learn to practice thickening.  Even a runny plot would be better than what I regularly mix up.

If you take the time to read any of what I have written–here or elsewhere–you would likely discover that I dabble in images.  The very brief element of a scene is something I feel I am good at generating.  In addition to setting the scene, I like to think I am able to allude to a direction, to a conflict.  Regardless of your appreciation of my abilities to do that, I have that impression.  The thing is, I don’t have a plot or even a plan.  I just have a finite moment or two.  What I need is a next.

I’ve heard more than a few authors like to determine the beginning and end and then work out the middles.  I have tried that once and still not gotten the middle worked out.  Mathematician’s would argue once is not statistically valid–possibly it’s worth another shot.

What I have in my head while I am writing is this thing with Shanty.  I’ve ended up with three scenes pointed squarely at a single destination.  I think it’s clear that destination isn’t the end of the story, just the site of the initial physical conflict.  I like these scenes and I am enjoying the characters thus far.  I don’t want to let them down.  I don’t want to let them down by composing crap nor by not composing anything at all.  Each of the three began as a simple but concrete point of view effort to describe Shanty.  There was no intention.  Maybe I could just try the same technique on the ending…

Tritti held nothing more dead Johnka’s belt knife.  She held no doubt that she would next kill the Killer.

Gane’s enormous hres finally paid off with the location of his sister.  Behind this door.

You tug at your shackles.  You pray that when they chronicle your journey that they leave this next embarrassing part out then fear for your immediate death overwhelms you.

The young witch resolves from the darkness with only that knife as a weapon.  She imbues it and throws.  No matter how you move or jerk or turn away it will find you heart.  Gane opens the door, sees the knife, and shields you in time.

“Brother!”

Let’s see if we can put that to some use.

I should probably look into what comprises a good paragraph before I spend too much time composing any.  It’s doubtful I’ll discover anything I don’t already know about well written paragraphs, but I imagine the effort will beneficially remind me what I already know.  Not doing so perpetuates bad habits.

Word count: 453

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