Thinking on Madrigar

Run Dark Alley
Madrigar’s Chappi Stall
Drangee Purple with Milk

I’m glad I thought to come back to this. I wish I’d thought to do so 45 minutes ago. I’ll punt and see what I can talk about.

I’ve written this scene a couple times, and in different places. None of them ever accomplishes what I set out to reveal. I’m wanting to detail the sights, sounds, smells, and life of a flea market. Color here. Noise there. A smell from over there. Each time I’ve attempted to set such a scene I end up navigating through the eyes of some character, but that character selfishly starts storying up my description. I don’t mind at the time.

I think my most basic trouble is that I expect to discover the market as I write through the stalls and vendors like I discover a real market. I figure I can make up the details of who sells what and where as I go—maybe I can—but then I give my descriptive POV a name and a life. That character sees the same place differently then I do. If they are a scared orphan they fear the vendors will catch them stealing apples or bunches of rough sweet naggi. If they are a veteran stallman they have no fear and no curiosity instead they wonder how their sales will do today of if Krilla will finally pull down that stupid sign of hers. I don’t mind at the time.

Maybe I just need to mechanically map the place out. Give each of the stalls a product to sell and a name and a proprietor to hawk it. Then I can dolly through the place on a neutral camera. Focusing my scope as I roll past fish mongers, craftspeople, dressmakers, and jewelers.

288 words on day 545

Drangee Purple with Milk

Day 456

Musi stood at the gate of her patio greeting the day like a regular.

“Fine morning, I feel,” she said then sipped her milk-tamed Purple tea. Madrigar looked up from his sweeping and smiled. After a considerable pause during which she finished her private thoughts and suspected he was doing the same she heard him agree with a considered hum.

She laughed to herself at his response. They’d been exchanging similar quiet conversation each morning all Spring since she’d been installed here at the west entrance to Run Dark Alley. “You always agree with me Old Man.”

“I would not agree if you were not correct miss.”

“But you always agree. Am I always correct?”

“Always.”

Musi lifted her tea to Madrigar as a question. He nodded so she raised the large porceline cup again as a second question. He shook his head and pointed to the stack of smaller clear glasses on her counter.

“This Drangee Purple may be dark but it is also mild. You could drink two this size and still take your afternoon nap.”

“I like to watch the colors swirl while I drink,” then after scratching his forehead, “I’m doing my tallies; not napping.”

She winked away his lie. “I could pour it into one of the pinters I use for the ices?”

“Still,” he gestured again at the same stack.