Norraleena and Sam

http://1000days.douglasblaine.com/20110617/so-much-closer/

Johnka placed himself between the hole and her and continued the same quick pace he held in the sand. Tritti tried loosing her hand from his grip, but he didn’t relent. Looking behind his back as he pulled her down a stone stair, she could see the hole was deeper than it was wide. She looked down on green, recently leafed, spring trees.

“I hope you’ll like my home. We’ve come at the best time, I think. Yes?” Johnka asked. She realized they had stopped on a landing and that he was looking at her; she’d been trying to make out the words of a strange conversation she’d been hearing from below as they came down.

“Oh, sorry. Here. Here.” Johnka guided her with two hands on her waist to the edge of the landing and placed her at the wooden rail. “You can hear them speaking? You’ve got an ear for things, Tritti, my girl. I call them Norraleena and Sam.”

Johnka leaned out over the rail and cocked his head to aim his ear to the speakers below. His eager expression encouraged Tritti to do the same, so she did.

The voice she immediately attributted to Sam spoke near constantly in a throaty bulbous sort of way. At first she thought he must be full of himself—talking without pause—but even unable to make out his words as they sifted up the cliffside and became unintelligible Tritti realized he was trying to impress Norraleena. That his sometimes-near-laughter voice was a mixture of desperation and humor. Tritti wished he would stop talking for a moment and just listen to Norraleena.

Tritti found Norraleena’s voice droopy and thin. She alternated moments of light aggreement with interjections of her own comments. Sam ignored those. Listening longer though, Tritti realized Norraleena never stopped speaking either. What she initially thought were polite interuptions she realized were simply the louder phrases of her own unending flow of words.

Tritti shook her head. “Who…what are they?”

Johnka winked and headed down the stone stairs.

Tritti tried to listen some more, but her attention was now on the round man skipping down the stairs to the next landing. She leaned back over the rail to see how many more to the bottom: no more. Returning her attention to her host she saw a rope bridge a quarter way around the hole. Johnka was already halway down to it.

401 words on day 882

So Much Closer

Two days on a single photo and I’ve not yet gotten to the part where I get to describe the photo. By the time I get tot he end of writing this sentence I will have decided if I will continue on as I have, skip ahead tot he good part, or just abandon the whole effort in favor or something new.

Tritti had been watching the horizon since she and Johnka climbed down from his sledge and stepped onto the desert sand. The cheap blue sky slammed harshly into the undulating orange sand as distinctly as [black frame borders a white matte]—except where Johnka now led her. There, just beyond his shoulder, a smudge marred the crisp horizon. It got wider as they approached; it did not look natural.

Less than an hour ago he’d handed her a small water bottle, apologized for a bit of a walk, and said to follow him before hiking out into the near-noon sun. He’d not stopped, slowed, nor spoken since. Johnka’s abrupt reticence and quick pace kept Tritti quiet too and many steps back from the man she’d been thinking of as an uncle until now.

By the time her water ran out, the smudge had resolved itself into a whirlwind of strange proportions. Instead of rising like a elephant’s trunk into the sky above and moving along with the prevailing wind it ringed the ground like a cloud or a fog or a fence and stayed put. Johnka had led her to the center of the anomoly rather than skirting the edge so they could go around. Tritti was angry she had walked this far only to have to walk the long way around and with no water.

She swallowed then licked her lips to speak, but her voice still came out like a desperate croak. “Jon…ga.”

He stood at the edge of the swirling sand and should not have been able to hear her, but he untucked his keffiya and looked over his shoulder to smile before he stepped into the sand storm and disappeared. His last gesture could have been beckoning her to follow him or could have been him gathering his robe against the winds.

Tritti stayed safely back from the whirlwind expecting Johnka to stumble out cursing his own folly. When after a while he didn’t, Tritti’s anger rose and mixed with trepedition. She’d have to rescue him.

Her first instinct was to gather her supplies for the effort, but she didn’t have a rope or goggles or anything else that might be helpful, just an empty water bottle. Tritti buried that in the sand with the top sticking out so she could find it later—she’d need her hand free. Next, she tucked the ends of her keffiya up over her nose and eyes and tightly into the wrap so they would not fly loose. She shimmed her finger into the crease to open it up enough to see out. Under the cloth she took two breath breaths and held the last as she struggled into the scouring sand.

The wind immediately stripped her veil free of her face. She threw up her arm to shield her exposed skin and ended up on her hands and knees when the wind toppled her balance. Tritti pitched the back of her head windward, so her face was in the lee and sat back on her knees. How had the old man just stepped into it with a smile Tritti wondered. Why?

“Johnka! Johnka! I’m over here!”

The wind and grinding sound of the sand stopped like driving a car under a bridge during a heavy rain. A hand gripped her elbow and helped her to her feet as she unclenched her eyes and rubbed out the sand. Blinking, she saw Johnka. He wasn’t smiling and he looked worried and angry.

“I’m so sorry, dear Tritti.” He hugged her. “Are you all right? I didn’t expect you to follow me. You’re a braver girl than I thought.”

Tritti cleared her eyes enough to see the whirlwind hadn’t ceased. She just wasn’t in it any longer. “Stupider, I’d say.” Johnka laughed.

“Brave and stupid are oft boon companions,” Jonka said. He lightly brushed sand from her cheeks. “Like you and I, hmmm? But today I will call you brave and myself stupid.”

The swirl of sand raged behind and around her, but she could no longer hear it’s shivery gale. Instead the air was moist and cool like a morning before breakfast-time. She heard bird-song. “What happened? Where are we?” Tritti asked.

Johnka smiled like a teacher to a student. “Very good questions, dear Tritti. That last one’s more on the mark than you might know. For now, my answer is, ‘We are at my home.’ Come.” Johnka took her hand and led her from the sand at her feet to a tiered stone patio. It was wide and edged with a wooden rail because it overlooked a very large hole in the ground.

xxx words on day 792

Getting There

Tritti had been watching the horizon since she and Johnka climbed down from his sledge and stepped onto the desert sand. The cheap blue sky slammed harshly into the undulating orange sand as distinctly as [black frame borders a white matte]—except where Johnka now led her. There, just beyond his shoulder, a smudge marred the crisp horizon. It got wider as they approached; it did not look natural.

Less than an hour ago he’d handed her a small water bottle, apologized for a bit of a walk, and said to follow him before hiking out into the near-noon sun. He’d not stopped, slowed, nor spoken since. Johnka’s abrupt reticence and quick pace kept Tritti quiet too and many steps back from the man she’d been thinking of as an uncle until now.

By the time her water ran out, the smudge had resolved itself into a whirlwind of strange proportions. Instead of rising like a elephant’s trunk into the sky above and moving along with the prevailing wind it ringed the ground like a cloud or a fog or a fence and stayed put. Johnka had led her to the center of the anomoly rather than skirting the edge so they could go around. Tritti was angry she had walked this far only to have to walk the long way around and with no water.

She swallowed then licked her lips to speak, but her voice still came out like a desperate croak. “Jon…ga.”

He stood at the edge of the swirling sand and should not have been able to hear her, but he untucked his keffiya and looked over his shoulder to smile before he stepped into the sand storm and disappeared. His last gesture could have been beckoning her to follow him or could have been him gathering his robe against the winds.

Tritti stayed safely back from the whirlwind expecting Johnka to stumble out cursing his own folly. When after a while he didn’t, Tritti’s anger rose and mixed with trepedition. She’d have to rescue him.

Her first instinct was to gather her supplies for the effort, but she didn’t have a rope or goggles or anything else that might be helpful, just an empty water bottle. Tritti buried that in the sand with the top sticking out so she could find it later—she’d need her hand free. Next, she tucked the ends of her keffiya up over her nose and eyes and tightly into the wrap so they would not fly loose. She shimmed her finger into the crease to open it up enough to see out. Under the cloth she took two breath breaths and held the last as she struggled into the scouring sand.

The wind immediately stripped her veil free of her face. Her arm went up to shield her skin as she advanced a few more steps.

“Johnka! Johnka! I’m over here!”

Tritti thought maybe the

xxx words on day 791

Maison dans les Feuilles

http://bit.ly/jGO2C

Tritti had been watching the horizon since she and Johnka climbed down from his sledge and stepped onto the desert sand. The cheap blue sky slammed harshly into the undulating orange sand as distinctly as [black frame borders a white matte]—except where Johnka now led her. There, just beyond his shoulder, a smudge marred the crisp horizon. It got wider as they approached; it did not look natural.

Less than an hour ago he’d handed her a small water bottle, apologized for a bit of a walk, and said to follow him before hiking out into the near-noon sun. He’d not stopped, slowed, nor spoken since. Johnka’s abrupt reticence and quick pace kept her quiet too and many steps back from the man she’d started thinking of as an uncle until now.

137 words on day 790

Wait Here

I woke early, walked around the block, then celebrated the effort by getting breakfast from Braum’s. I probably have no excuse for not writing well too. Here goes…

I’ve never spent any time talking about Tritti; maybe I should. I’ve got a tendency to write innocents thinking they are powerful characters, but so far I’ve not completed writing anything with one nor have I accumulated any success-by-innocence scenes. What compels me here is the possibility that a character like Tritti could start innocent, learn more of the world of Shanty than she’d expected, grow because of it, and yet still retain the right sliver of that innocence to effect it as significantly as it effects her.

The character arc for Tritti then is one of maturation and annealing. That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. This means that I have to heap shit on her. It means that once she’s overcome one heaping she needs to anticipate the next. There are plenty of easy ways to heap shit on the new girl in town, but that wasn’t my originally intended plan.

Tritti pushed back the veil shielding her face to see the spec on the horizon with clear eyes. She turned her head side to side, but the spec remained. It must be real. She took a single swig of water from the hose at her chest and rinsed her tongue and teeth with the too-warm water. After swallowing, she eased a tube of lipwax out of an interior pocket in her robe and squeezed a bit on her finger to smooth on her lips. A second and third drop went into her nostrils. She pinched her nose several times to spread the balm evenly then shrugged the veil back in place.

There was no where to go to escape the heat, but the cloth across her face could tame the bright sand and calm the heat riffles. Before starting out again, Tritti picked an intervening rise of sand between her and the spec where she would sip from the hose again. The water had to last.

That rise of sand stretched into an indecipherable plain as Tritti approached making it much harder to decide when she’d reached the top. Her thirst for the next sip felt like agreeing to hold your breath for a minute and then being required to count out the seconds yourself instead of using a watch. Eventually she decided on ten more steps—not strides—before quenching her thirst and counted them out. By number ten, the spec had become the unmistakable t-shape of a sign post.

[some more stuff I don’t currently have the time for]

Tritti chuckled when she was close enough to read the sand battered words carved into the board: wait here. Another piece of wood jutted out from the rock cairn helping keep the post upright. It looked like someone might have embellished the message after the original one had been posted. She wondered what other information it might provide and quickened her pace to find out.

Reaching the sign, Tritti touched it like greeting an old friend; she was finally here. She knelt to turn over the other half of the carved message: for death. Together the sign read, “Wait here for death.”

543 words on day 759

Ginna’s Eve

http://1000days.douglasblaine.com/20081010/one-sunrise-coming-up-soon/

“Do you know which day it is, dear Tritti?”

Tritti thought back to when she’d left her village and how many days across the desert she’d journeyed before meeting with Johnka. Time on Johnka’s sledge progressed strangely, but she could count at least four awakening’s plus this one. She wasn’t sure what day of the week it was, but at this time of year the only day worth noting was
Ginna.

“Is it Ginna?”

Johnka smiled and corrrected her, “Djinna. We called it Djinna. No, it’s not Djinna. That’s tomorrow.”

“So, the morning of Ginna’s Eve then? Maybe even still the eve of that.” Tritti shivered.

Johnka smiled again. Tritti was finally reminded of her Uncle Sudge. Four or five days on this sledge and Johnka finally seemed avuncular.

130 words on day 737

Tritti’s Ascension

Yesterday when I was writing or thinking about that wretched Wretched Excess plot I spent some time looking up other’s lists of master plots. So far I’ve only collected them into my writing wiki and skimmed the contents. I find the variety interesting; I may employ some of them in future months.

My twenty master plots book wraps up with a bit of a cheat if you ask me. Tobias combines the chiral Ascension and Descension plots as if he were running out of paper to print his book and just now noticed how similar they are to each other. I don’t begrudge him the aggregation, but I would be less critical had he done the same with his other matched plots.

Anyhow. He contends the difference between these plots and others is the gradual nature of each, the protracted crescendo or decrescendo of the main character. The plots I find them similar to, Transformation and Wretched Excess, should be administered quickly and focus on the effect each change has on the character rather than drawn out and focusing on the character…or something like that.

Both Ascension and Descension rather an ultra-real charismatic character who can hold a reader’s attention and carry the whole plot.

Beat.

I keep thinking maybe a day with these plots in my head will turn them into something appealing by evening. I suspect I’d need to devote brain time to the effort to get anything out of it. Funny that.

I hope Tritti the Pilgrim from The Shanty thread helps me out here tonight.

Theme – Ascension

Setup – Tritti pilgrimages to ah’Taconschientee.

Hook

Plot Point 1 – Against tradition, Tritti decides to enter ah’Taconschientee to deliver the [McGuffin] Johnka gives her. She meets Brother Gane.

Pinch 1 – In the land-side market You attempts to kill Tritti. People she’s just met protect her with their lives.

Mid-point Twist – Johnka confesses to Tritti that he is a demi-god.

Pinch 2 – You kills Johnka but misses Tritti.

Lull – Tritti recovers from her wounds at Brother Gane’s monastary.

Plot Point 2 – Tritti inspires the monks to escort her back to ah’Taconschientee to complete the delivery.

Conclusion – Tritti fights off the folks she’s been battling and ultimately delivers the [McGuffin].

378 words on day 677