Prompt: Adrift

I am still adrift. Awash on the waves, stalled on a windless sea.

Note: Like my last post, this is one of the most personal of this blog. I hope you’ll share it, and maybe find some kernel of value in it. But if you prefer, just consider the prompt, and perhaps try your hand at stream-of-consciousness writing, which I described and modeled in the previous post. If you’d like, please feel free to post some or all of what you write in a comment here.

Eight nights ago, the police stopped a known drug dealer. He sped away and soon was racing at 120 miles per hour when he crashed into Tammy White, my best friend’s other bestie for more than 20 years. She died en route to the hospital.

We mourn. Grieve. Fear for her grown son, drowning in shock, loss, emotion. Begin to deal with the aftermath of a life cut short. Think What if it were me? Grieve. Talk about Kubler-Ross. Rage at the police. Wonder who was protecting and serving Tammy White? Mourn.

And the thing is, while I mourn for Tammy, and her life lost so senselessly and shockingly, it’s the living I truly grieve for. Her son. My friend. Left with a gaping hole, a wound, in their lives, their hearts, their souls. Left to pick up the pieces of their own lives, and they wrap up the remnants of hers.

There’s something else. Something that feels selfish. What if it were me? Not only, Who would mourn me? But What have I done with my life? What will be my legacy? And, at least a passing nod to What would the poor person think who had to go through All My Stuff?

I learned years ago, as my family dealt with my grandparents’ deaths, that all the trivia of daily life gets mixed up with the profound, the sacred, the profane. Moments etched in memory. My grandfather kissing my hands goodbye for the last time. Practicing in the mirror saying that he died, because I kept bursting into tears while trying to find a dogsitter the night before Thanksgiving, because I’d planned to take her to my parents, and we all spent Thanksgiving at a hotel instead. When my other grandfather died, one of my most treasured memories from the wake is all the women who told me how he delivered their children, cared for their families, came to their homes in the middle of the night when their husband had a heart attack. The irony—perhaps the beauty—of death is how it brings together the living.

My strongest memories of Tammy are a trip I took with her and my friend, a working trip for them to Savannah and Charleston. There were many bumps on the road, including some major personal and professional stress for them, and during a difficult time in my own life. But what I remember is laughing. Shaking our heads over hotel mismanagement, going out for drinks and dinner to celebrate success, sitting in hot tubs, relaxing, talking about children, partners, dreams. Celebrating life. Not big, not grandiose, just…life.

But in this past week, I feel like the crash—or the phone call—severed my mooring ties. I can’t seem to find my way, to gather forward momentum, to move on. My energy goes, as it usually does, to others: my daughter, my friends, my work. When I sit in quiet, I deflate, my shoulders curling forward, hands on my belly, where my stress centers in sharp pain, my head drooping. A lump. An unenergetic, uncreative lump.

I’m not saying this to ask for sympathy, though people have been very kind to share it. It’s the sharing, really. Like I said in my last post, maybe someone will read this and recognize some of what they themselves are going through and feel less alone. I share, because even in my grief, I recognize that I can let my light shine, and someone might see it, and it might strengthen their own light, however dimmed by their own burdens. Too often we hide it all inside—even sharing this here, I have hidden most of this from my daily interactions with people—and I believe it hurts us, kills us to do so. What we hold inside is like the Spartan soldier’s fox, eating us alive.

And it’s not that I’m not thinking about writing. I have, actually, had some ideas about my book, of which I’ve managed to write maybe 100 words. I took a rejection of a short story square on the chin, flailed for awhile, then thought of another opportunity and turned it back around the same night. I’m actually rather proud of that.

Two things that have suffered the most: my vision and plans for this blog, and my efforts for ConTemporal, both wrapping up this year, and planning for next year. When I think about *doing*, that inertia overwhelms me, and all I can do is… “Float, just float,” like Claire Danes advises Holly Hunter in Home for the Holidays.

“Sorrow floats”, says John Irving in Hotel New Hampshire.

And “hope floats”, as Sandra Bullock learns in Hope Floats.

But as Chuck Noland found in Cast Away, and Pi Patel found in Life of Pi, even when you float adrift on the ocean, eventually the currents and tides will bring you ashore. Even with death, Life goes on.

                                       

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love: The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes the light of the universe that shines within you.

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle, Eggs
Music (movie) Playing	Hayao Miyazaki, Whispers of the Heart
Time writing	~1 hour
August word count	1990

Prompt: Wishing we were different

Slighth rolled through the shallows, avoiding everyone in her path. The cool waves washed them all in frothy yellow, with green sand swirling up from below. The sun reflected on colored limbs all around her, and she sighed, glancing down at her own pale scales. Twisting past a dark-blue female and a dark purple male, she longed for scales that refracted the light with more than her own undistinguished light blues.

If only she had the same glinting teal as that female over there, curling her long tubes in the water as if she wasn’t aware of her effect on every male in sight. Slighth brushed past a pair of young dark brown males, who ignored her, entranced as they were by the myriad of other, darker scales all around.

Reaching the water’s edge, Slighth stretched out her standing tubes and rose above the waves. As she reached her fronds toward the warming sun, she pretended to be invisible…

###

Author’s note:

Here’s an idea that has fizzled. It came to me as I was walking on the beach, admiring the beautiful tanned men and women, of all shapes and sizes. I was struck by those sunbathing with such an air of relaxation…I have never been able to do this. My skin is too fair, and I don’t have the patience or tolerance to sit in the heat, when I know I will never have skin that beautiful color. We don’t even have to get into all the health issues, because this is at heart a perception-of-self issue.

So I started thinking about how to turn that little self dialogue into a different kind of scene, and rather than a fantasy setting, I came up with an otherworldly, alien setting. Which sounded fun. Trouble is, I have a setting and an initial character, but no actual story…

Sometimes these things all come together, and sometimes, they don’t.

So give it a try, and let me know what you come up with!

Time writing	20 minutes
July word count	10,692

Prompt: The loneliest whale in the world

He rested at the surface of the water, slow breaths blowing a spout as waves washed over his back, covering his blowhole and slapping gently against his dorsal ridge. Each wave was different, warm or chill, as the sun vied with the ocean depths for primacy. A few birds swooped in the air, and some floated around him, hoping he would dive down and bring fish to them in his great ring bubbles. He could hear their shrill cries above the water. They never answered his song. No one did. None of his kind.

How long had he swum in the great oceans? How far had he travelled? How many times had he tilted down toward the deep and sung his song? Why did no one answer? Why was he all alone? His great wings drooped, and he moaned a long, lonely note. The birds wheeled and cried above him, but no one answered.

Note:

I’d like to work on this story, about the “52 Herz Whale”, but I’m not sure where to take the story yet. We’ll see if I return. Do you hear lonely whale song and crying seagulls (well, fulmars and shearwaters, but he wouldn’t call them that) in the intro above?

Dogs in house:	Houdini
Music	Paul Winter, whale song
Time writing	20 minutes, plus about 45 mins research
June word count	5,911

Prompt: Castle Ruins

 Thanks to Barbara “MysticMorning”for permission to use her elegant image, "Castle Ruins”!

Serena, wake up! Come on!

The distant call of her sister’s laughing voice startled her from sleep, as it did every morning. Serena tugged the worn sheet enough to loosen its tangles so she could roll over and look out the window. Some days she never got out of bed.

As long as she stayed right here, she could imagine Karya was running up the turret stairs to drag her down to breakfast with their parents. They were sipping tea and reading their morning reports in the dining hall, while Beska and Hardo hovered around, bringing dishes out from the kitchen, filling cups and glasses after every sip, and murmuring support over every muttered exclamation.

Lost in memory, Serena almost missed the noisy spout of a rising doloroth whale. The second spout was enough to drag her from her tangled bed, and she ran to the window, looking down the slender turret spire to the crystal blue water below. Two doloroths rested side by side in the shade of the observatory ruins. A male and female, judging by their size. Perhaps they carried news in their song. Serena ran down the winding stairs to greet them.

When she reached the mid-plaza, she tried to run past the balcony. She did. But although she resolutely did not look, a flash of yellow startled her, and she heard Karya’s scream as she fell all the way into the water far below, after the sickening thud as she hit the wall again and again, maybe trying to grab hold of something. Serena staggered and grabbed the balcony for support. She leaned over the open wall, retching despite her empty stomach. Looking down, she saw no yellow, of course. Only the sparkling blue of the sunlit sea. And the doloroths.

Why didn't you push out and dive into the water?

The endless question, never answered.

She lingered against the balcony. What use to continue down? No part of their song would be for her. She rested her forehead against the stone. She had no more tears left to cry. Her parents were long gone, after Karya’s fall, Beska and Hardi fussing around them. Serena’s grief and guilt imprisoned her in the castle, long decayed into ruin…

Dogs in House	Brindle, Houdini
Music	Beatles mix
Time writing	~30 minutes
April word count	1,276

Prompt: Everyone Wants to Rule the World

Fedrick swam through his algae garden, hoping against hope a nice fat sea slug would be scavenging the barren crop beds. Empty-handed and empty-bellied, he pushed down with his bowed legs and stretched his hind fins, swimming up from the empty garden to the dimly glowing curve of the energy net that surrounded his stead.

He drew cold water across his gills and sent the chill down his spindly arms to the pads of his rounded fingertips to numb the sting as he pressed them against the energy net. It wasn’t long before one of the great sharks swam toward him, trapped between the energy fields that shaped the net in a dome against the ocean floor.

The sharks disdained Fedrick’s overtures of comradeship, but he called this one Stump because it had lost most of its dorsal fin in a long-ago battle. Stump cruised to a rest next to Fedrick, his black eye rolling back to watch as Fedrick pushed through the stinging energy field and climbed onto the shark’s back.

He prodded the shark to the far side of the net and pressed his pads against it, taking in the sting that allowed them to pass through. Without him, the shark would be burned alive against the nets. Between them. Outside, in the open water, Fedrick relied on the energy he had absorbed to control the shark long enough for his journey…

Dogs in House	Houdini ,Brindle
Music	Tears for Fears, “Everyone wants to Rule the World”
Time writing	20 minutes
March word count	4,717

Prompt: A weekend in Atlantis

Frank was reviewing quarterly financials when Shannon flopped on the couch and pushed her feet into his lap, knocking spreadsheet pages to the floor. He sighed and grabbed her feet before they could wreak any more havoc.

“Oh, that’s heavenly,” she sighed as he rubbed her toes. “How about a weekend in Atlantis?” Frank’s eyebrows rose, and she laughed. “I’ve been assigned to review the filtration system,” she said casually.

“Hey, that’s great,” Frank exclaimed. Shannon was one of the best engineers – and one of the few women – at her firm, fighting decades of male-dominated bias. This was a plum assignment, and the first real recognition of her ability since they had hired her five months ago. “Congrats!”

She grinned and leaned forward. “So, how soon can you pack?” she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye.

#

They caught the morning flight from JFK to Bermuda, and then boarded an aquaplane for the five hour flight straight out into the Atlantic. Frank never liked flying, but Shannon was bouncing in her seat like a kid in front of a Christmas tree. “Look! There’s the dock!” She pointed down, and he humored her with a glance.

“There’s nothing there,” he grumbled, and she squeezed his arm.

“Look again, silly,” she nudged him. He looked out the window again, and saw the elegant Atlantis seal spread across a floating dock, clustered with yachts and a few small seaplanes. Surrounded by ocean, sunlight glinting off whitecaps, it looked too small to be their destination. There was no sign of Atlantis of course.

Their pilot was good. They landed with barely a splash and cruised into the harbor, gliding up to a dock. Frank climbed down, reaching up for Shannon’s hand, fighting his unease at the feeling of standing in the middle of the ocean.

“Welcome, Ms. Bristol,” a deep voice said, and Frank turned to see an expensive suit and a flashing white smile against blue-black skin. “And Mr. Washmore, you are welcome as our guest,” the hotel manager bowed briefly. Frank nodded and stepped back. This was Shannon’s show.

Their host led them across the dock to an open stairwell that descended straight into the water. Looking down, Frank could see Atlantis spread out beneath them. They headed down the stairs, and he was surprised to see the walls were transparent. He stepped closer to the center, and their host looked over his shoulder. “Most guests find the external walls strange at first. Do not be concerned, Mr. Washmore…Ms. Bristol,” he added as an afterthought. “Atlantis is perfectly safe. You’re going to enjoy a wonderful weekend here…”

Dogs in House	Houdini, Malachi
Time writing	~30 minutes
March word count	3,850

Prompt: Birth Day Memory

Kedja breathed in the ocean air as she carried Bakti across the sand to the water. Standing at the edge of the waves, she smiled as the cold water swirled around her ankles. Bakti twisted in her arms to see the pelicans soaring low over the waves, clapping with delight as it dipped one wing in the water, then straightened and continued on.

 

“Great Mother,” Kedja said to the ocean, “behold my daughter Bakti. On her birth day, I offer thanks and praise, and consecrate her life in the living tapestry.” She bent forward, lowering Bakti towards the gentle waves. She paused, and Bakti squirmed with excitement, as they waited for the next wave to roll in. She would lean down far enough to dip Bakti’s feet in the water.

 

But the Great Mother had other ideas. And perhaps a sense of humor or mischief. The next wave was much deeper than the ones before. It surged up over Kedja’s knees, splashing against Bakti’s back and across her face. Bakti arched her back and cried out against the cold water. Kedja shot upright, and almost lost her grip on her screaming child.

 

Kedja burst out laughing, and Bakti stopped crying in surprise. “What a trick our Mother has played on us!” Kedja stepped back from the waves and clutched Bakti close to warm her. “She must love you very much, little one, to greet you so well.”

 

Bakti screwed up her face in a frown, thinking about that as Kedja hurried back to their shelter to dry and warm them both by the fire. As Kedja stumbled in the sand, Bakti looked over her shoulder at the ocean. She reached out a hand and laughed, “Bakti go say hello again? Bakti play with Mother?”

 

Kedja laughed. “That’s my water baby,” she said, hugging Bakti close again. “Let’s go get warm and dry, then we’ll come back down to see our Mother again.”

 

Bakti wrapped her arms around Kedja’s neck and cuddled close, watching another pelican soar over the water…

 

Dogs in House	Houdini, Malachi
Time writing	20 minutes
March word count	2,680