I have written an inordinate amount of story - still not using anything but: My house has many rooms, some are less immaculate than others.
I had to continue the story about June, my solitary hero. I do not know yet if anything will ever come off it, but it's fun trying to write about a hero relying only on her own powers. I never did that before, there's always been friends, family an allies for even my most "alone" heroes. I have to continually stop myself from letting her befriend somebody, find an unexpected ally and so on ... I suppose this exercise will do me good, but will it make for a good story? Only time will tell.
I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 2
The next few days June was an explorer in her new house and its surroundings. The largest part of the gardens stretched away from the house towards the woods, and every day she discovered new plants, shrubs or berries. It had been well kept but was now a half jungle. Somebody had mowed the tiny lawns here and on the beach side of the house, and cut the hedges, but everything else was growing how and where it liked. June thought she would like to see the garden during all seasons before she really began doing anything, but the blackberries were taking over the path to the woods, they had to be kept at bay. In the shed she found a delicious pair of goatskin gauntlets, white and supple from wear. They were a tad too big for her tiny hands. "Charles must have been a very small man," she thought to herself. "My hands are not big, heck I'm not big, and I mostly fit what I find in this house." Thinking this, her eyes fell on the pruning shears. Just the ones she would have bought for herself, and the adjustable handles were set to fit her grip.
She attacked the brambles, and after a long morning the way into the woods was once more clear. The afternoon saw her cutting up the vines and making a small compost heap in a remote corner. As far as she could see, nothing grew there. She added all the dead houseplants and the muck from the gutters. Before sunset she had time for a small walk in the woods, and there she found mushrooms and wild blackberries and an old tree with bees living in it. She picked a few of the mushrooms, tasted the blackberries and let the bees alone. Dinner with mushrooms and herbs from the garden was delicious.
Next day it rained, and June lit the lights, repaired the one lamp that did not work, and cleaned the upstairs living room. All the papers in the big cupboard were spread on the table, and she sat to work sorting them. She decided to save a few of the photos and papers belonging to Charles O'Connor. She had a vague idea of making a memorial scrap book or something. After all she could thank him -- and his wife too, June learned from the photos -- for this wonderful house. None of them had been big, the wife even positively tiny. This had to be the explanation for the gloves fitting her, and the shears and several other things. She found no photos of children or any other relatives. A few photos from outings with old classmates and co-workers, Charles's wife had been a nurse, she saw. And here, four years ago, she found photos of Charles at her burial. Well, one mystery solved. A small box of photos, letters, and documents went on the top shelf of the newly cleaned cupboard, the rest she brutally stuffed into a plastic bag and carried out into the shed. Then she removed the carpets, vacuumed and washed the floor, the small tables, the small lamps, the plant-stands and windowsills.
She washed the living room floors twice more the following day. Finally they were clean. The big cupboard was too big for her to move, but all other furniture was moved out of the way and back again. In the afternoon she rearranged the things to her satisfaction. The big table was placed under a window, and stuffed chairs and Moroccan pouffes were placed in a cosy group almost opposite the door.
Downstairs was easier. She had already tackled the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen surfaces.
I had to continue the story about June, my solitary hero. I do not know yet if anything will ever come off it, but it's fun trying to write about a hero relying only on her own powers. I never did that before, there's always been friends, family an allies for even my most "alone" heroes. I have to continually stop myself from letting her befriend somebody, find an unexpected ally and so on ... I suppose this exercise will do me good, but will it make for a good story? Only time will tell.
I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 2
The next few days June was an explorer in her new house and its surroundings. The largest part of the gardens stretched away from the house towards the woods, and every day she discovered new plants, shrubs or berries. It had been well kept but was now a half jungle. Somebody had mowed the tiny lawns here and on the beach side of the house, and cut the hedges, but everything else was growing how and where it liked. June thought she would like to see the garden during all seasons before she really began doing anything, but the blackberries were taking over the path to the woods, they had to be kept at bay. In the shed she found a delicious pair of goatskin gauntlets, white and supple from wear. They were a tad too big for her tiny hands. "Charles must have been a very small man," she thought to herself. "My hands are not big, heck I'm not big, and I mostly fit what I find in this house." Thinking this, her eyes fell on the pruning shears. Just the ones she would have bought for herself, and the adjustable handles were set to fit her grip.
She attacked the brambles, and after a long morning the way into the woods was once more clear. The afternoon saw her cutting up the vines and making a small compost heap in a remote corner. As far as she could see, nothing grew there. She added all the dead houseplants and the muck from the gutters. Before sunset she had time for a small walk in the woods, and there she found mushrooms and wild blackberries and an old tree with bees living in it. She picked a few of the mushrooms, tasted the blackberries and let the bees alone. Dinner with mushrooms and herbs from the garden was delicious.
Next day it rained, and June lit the lights, repaired the one lamp that did not work, and cleaned the upstairs living room. All the papers in the big cupboard were spread on the table, and she sat to work sorting them. She decided to save a few of the photos and papers belonging to Charles O'Connor. She had a vague idea of making a memorial scrap book or something. After all she could thank him -- and his wife too, June learned from the photos -- for this wonderful house. None of them had been big, the wife even positively tiny. This had to be the explanation for the gloves fitting her, and the shears and several other things. She found no photos of children or any other relatives. A few photos from outings with old classmates and co-workers, Charles's wife had been a nurse, she saw. And here, four years ago, she found photos of Charles at her burial. Well, one mystery solved. A small box of photos, letters, and documents went on the top shelf of the newly cleaned cupboard, the rest she brutally stuffed into a plastic bag and carried out into the shed. Then she removed the carpets, vacuumed and washed the floor, the small tables, the small lamps, the plant-stands and windowsills.
She washed the living room floors twice more the following day. Finally they were clean. The big cupboard was too big for her to move, but all other furniture was moved out of the way and back again. In the afternoon she rearranged the things to her satisfaction. The big table was placed under a window, and stuffed chairs and Moroccan pouffes were placed in a cosy group almost opposite the door.
Downstairs was easier. She had already tackled the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen surfaces.
... to be continued
I still have all the words left over:
Klutz
Cream cheese
Twilight/gloaming
Buzzing
Trouble
Dominoes
And this is where I most of all miss Elephant's Child. Her enthusiasm and impatience for the next bit often spurred me on when nothing else could.
Klutz
Cream cheese
Twilight/gloaming
Buzzing
Trouble
Dominoes
And this is where I most of all miss Elephant's Child. Her enthusiasm and impatience for the next bit often spurred me on when nothing else could.
Ingen kommentarer:
Send en kommentar
Jeg bliver altid glad for en kommentar, og prøver at svare på alle kommentarer .
I am grateful for all comments, and try to reply meaningfully to all of them.