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In the Journey

This morning’s clouds and fog are a god’s wet washcloth wrung out and smothered down on the earth like a mother cleaning a child’s face. Unbelievably there are blaze-orange vested workers doing something workerish in the highway’s median. The wheels of a semi hauling an undisclosed liquid chemical picks up the damp the asphalt roadway couldn’t absorb and my daughter calls out familiar landmarks. “McDonalds! Target!”

Today we are going. Today we are en route. Today we are no where. Today we are in the car.

Fallow fields stabbed with corn stalks alternate with those greening with winter wheat and others punctuated with round bales. A minnow store I’ve never noticed.

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Kameel Perd

http://gorillaartfare.com/2009/11/huntress/


I thought I’d have some luck cruising Gorilla Artfare for visual fodder for my textual habit.  I did.

This one is from a favorite of mine: Nonie.  I’ve written from her work in the past and bought a few cards from her site to support her and to say thanks.  Going from memory because I want to stay on target for my writing, she’s a illustrator working for game companies creating character sketches.  I dig that and am jealous.

Got lost in hunting down a suitable name.  I don’t like it the best, but I’ll go with a straight translation of ‘giraffe’ into Afrikaans: kameelperd.  This way I can get moving.  Also, gorget: collar armor; spaulder: shoulder armor.

I may look simple and confident in this picture: my Dam’s hoops gleaming at my ears; my Da’s hand-me-down armguards and turtle-shell spaulder fitting so well I felt like I was donning his pride as I put them on only three hours prior.  However, this is the moment the exhilaration of my [special] hunt stepped over the root to utter fear.

Rose was the assistant.  The photographer’s name was Guy Tetreault, a French-Canadian university student, on a semester abroad.  Stand over here. Your hooves to the bungalow, please. But turn your head to me.  Chin down just a wee touch.  More.  Bien.  Rose can you even out the bird’s tail feathers for her?  Merci.  Still too busy.  Can we lose the bow and quiver? Clean, sharp, excellent.  Now hand her the spear.

He didn’t know what he was doing, he got lucky—in everything.

As I’m back trailing how hard my life has been since that moment I like to imagine it was all his fault.  That he did know what he was doing.  That he purposefully derailed who I was to be and made me who I became.  True path is I accepted that bull’s spear the same way I’ve taken everything hence: arrogantly and willfully.

http://gorillaartfare.com/2009/11/huntress/
I thought I’d have some luck cruising Gorilla Artfare for visual fodder for my textual habit.  I did.

This one is from a favorite of mine: Nonie.  I’ve written from her work in the past and bought a few cards from her site to support her and to say thanks.  Going from memory because I want to stay on target for my writing, she’s a illustrator working for game companies creating character sketches.  I dig that and am jealous.

Got lost in hunting down a suitable name.  I don’t like it the best, but I’ll go with a straight translation of ‘giraffe’ into Afrikans: kameelperd.  This way I can get moving.

gorget
Spaulder

I may look simple and confident in this picture: my Dam’s hoops gleaming at my ears; my Da’s hand-me-down armguards and turtle-shell spaulder fitting so well I felt like I was donning his pride as I put them on only three hours prior.  However, this is the moment the exhileration of my [special] hunt stepped over the root to utter fear.

The photographer’s name was Guy Tetreault, a French-Canadian university student, on a semester abroad.  Stand over here.  Your hooves to the bungalo, please. But turn your head to me.  Chin down just a wee touch.  Marcie can you even out the bird’s tail feathers?  Merci.  Still too busy.  Can we lose the bow and quiver? Excellent.  Now hand her the spear.  He didn’t know what he was doing, he got lucky—in everything.

As I’m back trailing how hard my life has been since that moment I like to imagine it was all his fault.  That he did know what he was doing.  That he purposefully derailed who I was to be and made me who I became.  True path is I accepted that bull’s spear the same way I’ve taken everything hence: arrogantly and willfully.

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A Concocted Role

https://1000days.douglasblaine.com/tag/bringer/

I’m trying to get Mr. Johnathan Goffe out of the city. A city requiring a name.  I’ve had him take his leave of various folks.  I’ve only written his departure with his Grandmother.  Before he leaves he picks up film for Camera.  In many ways I’m stalling getting him on his journey or maybe I’m looking for clues to give him or I’m fluffing up a world I don’t yet have a descriptive grasp on.

What I’m not doing yet is providing conflict. No resistance.  No blockade.  Which may be fine if I make sure to write a good deal of conflict into his meeting with his sister Jennetta.

He goes to her looking for help on his journey.  But since she doesn’t support the outcome she’s not going to give him aid (transportation, direction, bodyguards).  In fact we get a hint that she may even find a way to oppose him leaving at all.  Which should be good for putting some tension in the two scenes I’ve already written if I decide to keep them.

Let do a little recollection here since I’m not certain these things are written out anywhere.

The Bringer of Mist is both a role and a person.  This role is effectively the embodiment of death.  It’s a concocted role so that Tinkers can be allowed to die peacefully and without violence.  The current Bringer is Johnathan and Jennetta’s [unnamed] brother.  He is in self exile because he ‘misted’ Jennetta’s husband.  (I’ve not given any thought to how misting is governed, but I’d intended it to be at least mystical and involuntary).  Since he’s away no one has died.  Because no one has died certain but not all resources are getting tight.  Which increases demand for these resources and foments the populace.

As a result of The Bringer taking Jennetta’s husband, she’s not too pleased with her brother.  But she’s worked out a profiteering scheme from the lack of these resources that she’s not interested in giving up.  I’ll have to work out the economics of all that so that it makes sense to me and informs my writing.  As I recall, I had something in mind that implied a bodypart equilibrium.  Old Tinkers drifted off and were replaced by new ‘births’.  Thus the headcount was fairly static.

There should be lots of ways to go with that.

Or maybe it’s all great.  Maybe ‘births’ don’t decline and growth means more money and less resources—I think I have two conflict resource issues here.  Anyhow there must be a contingent of folks that would like balance to come back.  Would like for the the Bringer to return.  I need a reason that matches the economics, but also appears to be just plan ‘good old days thinking’.  As for Johnathan, his main driving goal is to see his brother again and rebuild the family.

Is Johnathan a patsy?  So caught up in his personal goal he doesn’t see that the GOD contingent is coruupt?  And are they?  Maybe this all turns out to be ebb and flow type story.  THe balance between good and evil.

As I recall in all this, I also was thinking the happy ending was that Netti’s husband wasn’t dead after all.  That there was some way to bring him back.  And of course reason for that subterfuge in the first place.  Maybe I just need a different happy ending?