rus vanwestervelt

The Single Moment Holds Infinite Possibilities
December 21st, 2012 by rusvw

Part III: Final Segment of My Interview with Jodi Cleghorn and Adam Byatt, authors of Postmarked: Piper’s Reach

In April 2012, two Australian writers — Jodi Cleghorn and Adam Byatt — began an ambitious collaborative project traversing an odd path between old and new forms of communication, differing modalities of storytelling and mixed media, all played out in real and suspended time. The project has at its heart a love of letter writing and music.

It’s called Postmarked: Piper’s Reach, and I am hooked.

Late last month, as Season Two was coming to a climactic conclusion, I found myself so intrigued by the development of the story — old lovers reunited through letters 20 years later — that I collaborated with authors Jodi and Adam about their Postmarked: Piper’s Reach project. I sent them eight rather detailed questions, and they returned a 4,000-word missive that gives us all more than we could ever hope for.

Their website includes copies of the handwritten letters sent to each other in “real time,” as well as numerous other interviews and relevant material in experiencing fully the Postmarked series of letters.

What follows is the final installment of a three-part interview (part one was published on December 17 and can be read here; part two was run on December 19 and can be read here).

*** *** ***

RVW: When it comes to how readers react to a writer’s piece of writing, Robert Frost once said (and I paraphrase here), “I just write the poems; what you do with them is your own business.” The way you have shared this story with your readers, however, in a very interactive format, must make it virtually impossible to not be bothered with your readers’ “own business.” Some of your readers – myself included – have become very emotionally involved with the story for very personal reasons, and the magnitude of the story’s effect on real people, in real time, is unavoidable. How does this change the seriousness with which you handle each letter, and what kind of pressure does that place on each of you to “satisfy” the readers who are just on the other side of the ‘net, waiting anxiously to read and respond?

JODI: The interactivity has its pros and cons.

I remember being really bothered with a comment made about EL—I think it was that she was a ‘cock tease’. At the time, it looked like she’d been stringing Jude along, saying she wouldn’t go to the reunion, but went to Piper’s that weekend, then said she wouldn’t go to the actual event, but did. And then they slept together.

I was worried EL was on the verge of being demonised and I’d tried hard to ensure she’d been humanised despite her failings, her love for Jude the biggest one.

But, you take it on the chin and know if you’re evoking strong reactions in readers, positive or negative, you’re doing your job as a writer. Ambivalence is the silent death.

ADAM: Readers will be dismayed, shocked, upset, annoyed etc at what Jude does, but they understand that this is who he is. The fact our readers have such visceral responses is very humbling.

JODI: What the fan base changes, for me, is the impetus to write. Not just to keep that barrier between reader comment and each new letter penned, but to ensure there is new content each week (especially now the 12 week buffer is sometimes less than 2 weeks). My friend Jessica Bell recently talked to me about her need to release a book in 2013 to keep her fans happy and I understand that better now.

But, would the world crumble if next Tuesday a new letter didn’t appear on the website/in your inbox?

ADAM: Recently I wrote a post for Write Anything about this topic. My first commitment is to the purpose of the project, then to the consistency of my character. I cannot let readers’ opinions sway how I create Jude. He is a character who has to act within the parameters of who he is, not what other people see in him. I treat each letter very seriously but focus on developing the character and the narrative.

I had one of our readers, a colleague at work, say to me that she would recognise EL and Jude if they were to walk down the street. I think that’s a testament to the authenticity of our characters.

JODI: Due consideration to consistency and authenticity are the spawns of the fan base (especially when you consider all the letters are first draft, unedited material!)

When I came to write EL in transition between Coranderk Bend and Sydney I was a mess. It took me six weeks to find a way in and then I was dogged with doubts. Had I got it right? I knew the readers would absolutely pick up my failure to nail her voice, thoughts, actions. What if the readers didn’t connect with this new EL and her course of action? What if they didn’t believe what she’d do/react/think?

But to write of my potential fallibility as a writer, discredits EL. She is absolutely her own woman and when I sit to write her for a few hours I am her. You only have to see me when I come out of the ‘EL fugue’ to understand it is like a socially accepted form of possession.

ADAM: Recently we’ve coined a phrase: WWRT (What Would Rus Think). It comes out of your insights, Rus, into our characters. We anticipate the deconstruction and perspectives you bring to our characters because we are so enmeshed and tangled in our characters. Not that we are writing in response to your comments, Rus, but that we appreciate the insight you bring. It makes us better story tellers.

JODI: I am certain your richly drawn and deeply insightful commentary is as much a draw card to Piper’s Reach each week Rus, as the actual letters. And for that, we are deeply indebted to you.

RVW: As far as the storyline is concerned, are all options still on the plate (e.g., another reunion)? Or have you created a “won’t go there” list between the two of you that keeps the direction of the story on a narrowed track?

ADAM: The beauty of the NSP means anything is possible.

JODI: A no go list… hell no! It’s open slather.

I admit I had a hankering for a reunion at the end of Season Two until I considered what would force EL out of the wilderness and back to Piper’s Reach… and I don’t want Adam to do what my mind concocts as worst case scenario.

I keep pleading for Adam not to crush Jude!

ADAM: Readers can guess at where the narrative might head based on what has happened but we can support or subvert it.

JODI: And probably will!

RVW: Actors often have a problem with “letting go” of a certain character they have been portraying for a certain amount of time, and they remain in-character for some period after the last curtain drops. Do you envision that, when Piper’s Reach concludes, you will feel the same way about Jude and EL?

ADAM: We’ve joked at various times we will need some serious therapy when this concludes.

JODI: I’ve already done part one of my therapy of letting EL go in writing a story called “Nothing New To Begin” (it’s currently under consideration for a short story prize here in Australia). The story explores the process of letting a character go when I couldn’t envisage a life without EL, much less actually letting her die. Perhaps I had to accept the possibility of her death before I could cast her into the danger of testifying at the Francos’ trial and the possibility of not making it back to Jude.

ADAM:I know Jodi had EL as a fully formed character from the start. Jude began as a shadow of a man, a mere sketch I filled in as I went. He is now a fully fledged character. To say goodbye to him will be bittersweet because part of him is me. There are parts of Jude’s narrative, his personality and character that are reflections of me (except the adultery) I built into him in the first season until he was his own person, and I think Jodi would say there are parts of her in EL.

It will feel like a little death when I have to say farewell to Jude.

JODI: The real question is how do the readers feel about letting go of EL and Jude? Will we see farewell parties spring up across the globe upon receipt of the final letter.

My idea for letting go is a road trip—a few days of therapy on the wide open roads to see if we can find all the fictional places (The Point, the McCracken House, the lighthouse, EL’s cottage, Piper’s Reach fish and chip shop, Ginny Laine’s beach house) amid the real geographical markers (Eden, Coffs Harbour, Narooma). One bottle or two of chocolate port to ride shotgun, Adam?

For now I’ll enjoy this part of the journey and be grateful for the blessing bestowed on me working with Adam on this narrative.

RVW: Lastly, is there anything your readers have not caught on to the story of Jude and EL that surprises you? If so, do you feel – individually or as a team – like you need to be more deliberate in pushing that concept or subplot?

JODI: What has surprised me is the ambivalence of the readership to what EL faces in Sydney—the true extent of the danger. But I think that has been in part EL playing it down and only recently sharing the full extent of her past. Perhaps also, it has to do with Jude’s inability to grasp the enormity of what EL has gone to do. As the only sounding board within the narrative, I think the lack of reaction from Jude has dulled the sharp edge of the danger.

It’s got nothing to do with either Adam or I missing the chance to push the concept, but an artefact of the organic narrative. I’m certain the readers will change their stance and fully engage with the peril EL has put herself in and what that means for her and for Jude as the present truly unfolds for them both across the next month. At a time when EL needs Jude more than she has ever needed him before, he’s beyond her in a way that threatens to destroy her.

ADAM: What amazes me is the depth of awareness and understanding our readers give to Jude and Ella-Louise. They articulate, often quite profoundly, the characteristics of Jude and Ella-Louise, whereas I am simply writing a character. I am not consciously creating a character in terms of “complex,” “depthed,” “mature,” “selfish” etc. I describe what he does and what he thinks. Everyone else does the analysis for me.
*** *** ***

We encourage your comments and input about the epistolary form, the series, and the authors during the run of this three-part series.

Posted in Postmarked: Piper's Reach | 1 Comment »

December 19th, 2012 by rusvw

Part II of III: Interview with Jodi Cleghorn and Adam Byatt, authors of Postmarked: Piper’s Reach

In April 2012, two Australian writers — Jodi Cleghorn and Adam Byatt — began an ambitious collaborative project traversing an odd path between old and new forms of communication, differing modalities of storytelling and mixed media, all played out in real and suspended time. The project has at its heart a love of letter writing and music.

It’s called Postmarked: Piper’s Reach, and I am hooked.

Late last month, as Season Two was coming to a climactic conclusion, I found myself so intrigued by the development of the story — old lovers reunited through letters 20 years later — that I collaborated with authors Jodi and Adam about their Postmarked: Piper’s Reach project. I sent them eight rather detailed questions, and they returned a 4,000-word missive that gives us all more than we could ever hope for.

Their website includes copies of the handwritten letters sent to each other in “real time,” as well as numerous other interviews and relevant material in experiencing fully the Postmarked series of letters.

What follows is the second of a three-part interview (part one was published on December 17 and can be read here; part three will run on December 21).

*** *** ***

RVW: Have there been situations in the first two seasons where you felt limited by the epistolary form? Authors who have, in the past, published their work annually solely through the print medium are now finding the need to satisfy fans’ cravings for more writing between books via blogs and social media networks. Have you thought about possibly utilizing the website and social sites such as Facebook and Twitter to provide more details and supplementary materials (character sketches, maps of Piper’s Reach, etc.) to fill in the gaps created by the epistolary form? Or, do you see this as the ultimate challenge in brevity, revealing everything to the reader through letters only?  

ADAM: The letter is the ultimate challenge in brevity. The voyeuristic nature of reading private letters is a greater benefit to our readership and the narrative than lots of background information. We know we are writing a narrative, but also aware we are writing letters. There is a fine tension between the two and I think we’ve been successful. The readers have had to take Jude and Ella-Louise at face value and extrapolate from the letters the shared history and experiences. I feel it makes for a more authentic reading experience as the readers are able to follow their reconnection and current history.

JODI: I think the fact there is new content every week assists with feeding the fans’ cravings.

It was my need to explore beyond the epistolary constraints that saw the creation of additional content. But it’s a literary spoor (left mainly by me) and rarely talked about, much less pointed to. Search through our blogs and you’ll find smatterings of short stories, vignettes, scripts and poems that compliment (I hope) the letters. I even managed to get Adam to write something PMPR related without him knowing it.

ADAM: In our initial planning, Jodi and I were going to write the notes Jude and Ella-Louise passed to each other during high school. We wanted to develop a measure of authenticity about our characters, explore the development of their relationship and who they were as teenagers but it lasted for only two notes.

It would be fun to develop their backstory through images, web pages, twitter feeds, but ultimately I want the narrative to speak for itself.

JODI: The music is really the only steadfast supplementary tool we use, in and out of the letters. While Adam and I absolutely will never discuss future plot points we will drop “a new EL & Jude” song into Facebook or Twitter. It’s like a secret language that doesn’t break the NSP.

ADAM: And we have talked about writing a screenplay for television for Piper’s Reach and that may be an opportunity to develop the backstory and relationship when they were in high school.

JODI: Complete with agreement on the opening scene of Jude pulling up at his folks’ place, and going inside to find EL’s letter there. Which of course provoked discussions about what song would be playing on the radio and what song would accompany the flashback of EL and Jude at The Point during the opening credits!

ADAM: We have a Facebook page—originally set up to bring both sides of fandom together, but more recently we’ve encouraged Posties to return to the website and comment on there.

JODI: My hope is one day PMPR will have the same ardent following that Constantine Markide’s Fourth Fiction had in 2009 along with the rampant commenting. Though I wonder, if we’ve already seen the rise and fall of the blog as the central platform for commentary?

ADAM: What if we were to offer the original letters for sale?

RVW: When writers compose stories, they usually have the luxury of drafting an outline, selecting a theme or point of character evolution that readers can relate to and take with them long after the story has finished. In its simplest terms, the writer gets to craft a bigger purpose to the piece. In Piper’s Reach, however, the writing is so reactionary to the letters that are received, and there isn’t much of an opportunity to really create that bigger purpose for the story (aside from the virtual immediacy of the story unfolding as it might in real life; in some ways, it rivals The Truman Show where we are voyeuristically experiencing their story one letter at a time).  The NSP is part of the magic that is so appealing to readers. What temptations do you face in resisting collaboration about the direction of this story and in developing that bigger purpose for the readers? What do you do to keep those temptations in check?

ADAM: There is a bigger purpose to Post Marked: Piper’s Reach, which is on the blog, and in rereading it, we have fulfilled those aims. In particular, we have fulfilled the narrative purpose by exploring the lives of two individuals reconnecting in real time. It is a “real life” narrative and mimics and mirrors the lives of individuals.

JODI: In Season 2 we see EL and Jude mirrored not just in the words they write but in the way these letters are written, sent and read: huge gaps of silence then mad outpourings; distance; uncertainty; utter disconnection. It’s the sort of thing you could never cleverly plot or plan for: the simplicity of process as metaphor.

ADAM: The temptation in breaking the NSP is to “solve” the problems we have created for our characters, but it would be contrary to what we have established.

JODI: As such, the temptation has been huge for me in the last six weeks not because both narrative threads are a magnificent crescendo, but because the narrative is so broken, an absolute tangle of the past, present and future—I was afraid of creating inconsistencies if the letters crossed.

Adam and I discussed this and we conceded, if need be, we’d corroborate on a series of dates (such as when the trial began/finished) and basic events (what happens at the trial) and leave the rest of it to interpretation and reaction. We haven’t had to do that, because to date we’ve kept events fluid—both EL and Jude in limbo from their combined and individual predicaments. When dates and events require permanence, or the narrative creates it, we know how to approach it.

ADAM: Both of us are invested in our characters, who they are and what they have become. We created them and they operate how we understand them. Trying to tell the other how to write their character would contravene the purpose of the project. I keep the temptation in check by thinking ahead.

JODI: I resist the temptation by thinking backward! By talking to Adam about what has passed.

For example: I dropped Ginny into a letter, Adam fleshed it out and once committed to paper it’s free for deconstruction. When we talked about it, we found (not surprisingly) we came at Ginny and Bill from very different angles. What will emerge is Ginny and Bill as a reflection of life; how we interpret it through our own filters. EL absolutely thought Bill wanted her to tell Jude (she calls it building a bridge between them) but we find out from Jude’s letter Bill was shocked Jude knew.

Ginny and Bill’s story will become an artefact of how the different roles we play in life shape the narratives we develop and share—what Bill tells Jude is very different to what he tells EL, defined by his different relationship (and inherent expectations) with the two of them. When I dropped Ginny into the letter, it was only because EL told me! I saw her and Bill on the beach and Bill pointing up to the house. All this cleverness is only accessible in hindsight!

Readers are free to take the example of Bill and Ginny and reflect/speculate on what it means in terms of the narrative EL and Jude share. What truly shapes it? What is the purpose of it for each of them?

ADAM: We deconstruct each letter once it’s read, talking over what we said and what happened. It helps to understand each character further. I can foresee a proper collaboration in the future where we sit down and map out the narrative arc and thematic purpose, but the immediacy of this project gives Post Marked: Piper’s Reach its own thematic concern and purpose.

At some point we may have to break the NSP and decide where to end the narrative, or it may simply come to a natural conclusion.

*** *** ***

Be sure to read Part Three of this three-part interview right here on December 21, 2012. We encourage your comments and input about the epistolary form, the series, and the authors during the run of this three-part series.

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Posted in Author Interviews | No Comments »

December 17th, 2012 by rusvw

Author Interview: Jodi Cleghorn and Adam Byatt from Postmarked: Piper’s Reach

In April 2012, two Australian writers — Jodi Cleghorn and Adam Byatt — began an ambitious collaborative project traversing an odd path between old and new forms of communication, differing modalities of storytelling and mixed media, all played out in real and suspended time. The project has at its heart a love of letter writing and music.

It’s called Postmarked: Piper’s Reach, and I am hooked.

Late last month, as Season Two was coming to a climactic conclusion, I found myself so intrigued by the development of the story — old lovers reunited through letters 20 years later — that I collaborated with authors Jodi and Adam about their Postmarked: Piper’s Reach project. I sent them eight rather detailed questions, and they returned a 4,000-word missive that gives us all more than we could ever hope for.

Their website includes copies of the handwritten letters sent to each other in “real time,” as well as numerous other interviews and relevant material in experiencing fully the Postmarked series of letters.

What follows is the first of a three-part interview (parts two and three will run on December 19 and 21, respectively).

*** *** ***

RVW: The form that you have chosen – epistolary – provides both advantages and challenges, both for the writers and the readers. Up to this point, the letter writing has been exclusively between Jude and EL. Throughout both seasons, though, you have introduced minor characters that have played a rather significant role in the story. Have you considered the possibility of having the two main characters write letters to – or receive letters from – some of those secondary characters as a means of furthering the depth of the plot and the backstory?

ADAM: Writing an epistolary narrative limits the focus you give to the characters and to the readers. It is a narrow perspective for the reader, that of the individual character and his/her choices of what to talk about in a letter.

Expanding the scope of the narrative to include other characters/narrators has not entered our discussions, and may yet, but for the foreseeable future, secondary characters will remain as sidelines to our main protagonists, Jude and Ella-Louise.

JODI: Laura and I did actually talk about this several months ago (Adam hits the floor and says, ‘You never told me this!’ (Adam – “You never told me this!”) I’d been brewing the idea of sending EL away for the trial for a while and part of the process was considering the implications of breaking the normal lines of communication. And Laura was keen to write, enamoured with the whole concept.

I saw a pile of Jude’s letters gathering on a bench somewhere (Ava’s house, EL’s cottage) and wondered at what point Ava would write to Jude and say, ‘I’m sorry. She’s gone and I don’t know where she went.’

Then… ‘EL and Jude happened’ at the McCracken House and I knew EL would never disappear without a word, not to Jude. Not even in the wake of his silent departure.

The possibility ended with Laura’s own insight into Ava: ‘She would just ring Jude.’

ADAM: Secondary characters (like Bill, Jude’s father) provide another perspective to Jude and Ella-Louise and their predicament. These characters add depth of understanding to how Jude and Ella-Louise act/interact/react, but the reader is only able to see what Jude and Ella-Louise share. It allows Ella-Louise and Jude to remain true to their own agendas and ideas. The story is about their relationship and to alter it now, adding in additional narrators, would alter the trajectory of the narrative.

JODI: And for all intents and purposes the idea of communicating via handwritten letters is really an archaic idea in this hyperconnected world; it belongs to twenty years ago, much like EL and Jude. I’m not really sure whom else around them would have a buy-in via this mode of communication. Rebecca, perhaps: yeah I know, how many readers would love there to be a letter from Rebecca to EL? Or Marion: a cease and desist order from the woman I’ve always had in my head as being utterly over-protective of her only son! Or Zeke: a lovelorn letter born on clouds of plaster dust and promises. Or one of Season Two’s new players: Bryan, Ginny Laine, Dario?

RVW: Because you have a No-Spoilers Policy (NSP), I imagine it is quite the challenge for each of you to resist the temptation to “steer” the story in one direction or another based on the new details you reveal (especially about the backstory) in each new letter. Is it like a game of chess, where you are plotting letters two and three in advance? Or is it a more fluid, write-as-you-receive approach?

ADAM: We do try and steer the narrative in one direction or the other, in very subtle ways. Jodi is a master of it; she has been responsible for providing a lot of Jude’s backstory, although I am the one responsible for dropping them into the predicament they are in now, when I didn’t think it would go there.

JODI: I drop hints (though I’ve learnt subtly is lost on Adam and Jude) or make mention of something (Ginny Laine, a busted knee) and let Adam build on it, but ultimately PMPR has been a huge lesson in letting go. I can’t definitively commandeer the narrative in [insert proposed map-capped ill-conceived direction], but yes, we both have the power of influence.

ADAM: Jodi did try and steer one narrative angle that I completely missed.

JODI: Oh yeah…I totally tried to drop a pregnancy into the mix, because a weekend of rampant sex with no real thought to the consequences begged a life-long consequence. I wanted to see how Jude dealt with that!

But I set up very early on in my head that EL couldn’t have children. So I pushed a direction I knew it couldn’t go, but Adam wasn’t privy to any of this, which meant it was a thread that could absolutely have been picked up. Ultimately the push failed and I learned the narrative is its own beast to which I serve. Not the other way around.

ADAM: As a character, Jude is not privy to the information held by Ella-Louise. In a similar way, because Jude was not a fully-fledged character at the beginning of the series, more a generic ‘everyman’ character, defined and developed as the series progressed. Thus, he sees things in a linear fashion, cause-and-effect.

Therefore it is a fluid write-as-I-receive approach. After reading once, I read the letter a second time and make notes as I go on the back of the envelope, recording what happened and what I might plot in terms of where I want to take Jude. I react to what Ella-Louise writes (as if I were Jude) because Jude is a more reactive character; he lacks the forward momentum Ella-Louise has. He can see that she is driven in ways he is not; she has an agenda which conflicts with who he is and what she wants him to be.

I have one or two ideas up my sleeve about what I want to do to Jude (but Jodi has begged me NOT to crush Jude too harshly) but it is dependent on what transpires between each letter.

I know where I want to take Jude, but do you want me to take him there?

JODI: I’m a big picture person. I throw threads in all directions and wait to see if at some point they can be gathered and pulled together (or not!). Adam’s is a more linear framework, compared to my nebulous approach. In an organic narrative both approaches fit together beautifully.

I’m super patient, prepared to wait months, across ten or twelve letters for a plot point to develop. It’s like taking a Polaroid but having to wait weeks and months to see what the final photo is. A bit like waiting on the outcome of Jude and EL’s first meeting.

ADAM: As we approached the school reunion in June, part of me wanted Jude to fall, and to fall spectacularly. Jude and Ella-Louise had been flirting with their history, recounting past experiences and the modern Jude was still in love with the girl he knew twenty years ago.

Throughout Season 1 Jodi and I (unspoken mind you due to the NSP) danced around the issue of “would they or wouldn’t they?” We were both hoping they would.

JODI: But, the better I got to know Jude, the more I resigned myself to the fact they wouldn’t. It seemed implausible for Jude to seduce EL. I felt, if it were left to me to write the post-reunion letter, I could not push him to do that. And EL, well despite still being in love with Jude, she had begun a retreat from flirtations months earlier. I couldn’t see her pushing their relationship toward the bedroom (and frankly I think she was too scared of the possibility of being rejected: thus we got, ‘If you touch me I’ll shatter.)

ADAM: I was tempted to let Jude remain as he was, unable to do anything. It was a text from Jodi that tipped the scales and gave me the impetus to push in a different direction.

Jude’s act of adultery at the end of Season 1 changed the narrative dramatically and has made for an interesting second season, particularly with Ella-Louise separated in Sydney. It leaves them physically separated and unable to deal with the current situation while Ella-Louise deals with her past.

*** *** ***

Be sure to read Part Two of this three-part interview right here on December 19, 2012. We encourage your comments and input about the epistolary form, the series, and the authors during the run of this three-part series.

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Posted in Author Interviews, Postmarked: Piper's Reach | 6 Comments »

November 23rd, 2012 by rusvw

Sail Away, Part Five: The Pool Table Revealed

The following draft (and a very rough one at that) is the fifth segment of my NaNoWriMo novel, Sail Away. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is held each November, where writers are offered the challenge to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. This may very well be the final segment of the story that I post online. I have reached the point in this story where I will wait to share the rest of the novel when it is polished and ready for publication in 2013. Thanks for reading! If you need to catch up or want to review previous sections of Sail Away, you can always click on the convenient links on the left sidebar of my site. ~rus

 

Sail Away, Part Five: The Pool Table Revealed

A novel-in-progress by Rus VanWestervelt
Copyright 2012. All rights reserved.

“I need something to pry this door back. Pulling on this old door knob won’t do the trick.”

As Kristin runs to the kitchen and searches for something strong enough to break the lock, I pound on the door to stir Sally.

The memory of my father installing that door when I was only four years old rushes back. Just weeks before Dad put up the new door, I had taken a nasty fall down the steps, my head hitting the concrete wall at the bottom and knocking me out. It scared the hell out of both of them, and when Dad put up the new door, Mom stood over him the entire time.

“Jesus, Jacob. Make sure it opens away from the stairs. Away. One good lean opening that door into the stairs and Jakie’s going to take another fall down those old steps again. Away from the stairs. Are you making sure it opens away from the stairs for chris’sake?”

Kristin returns with two oversized butcher knives and a potato masher.

“It’s the best that I could find. I figured we could use the masher as a wedge to pull the door back? Maybe?”

I jam the larger of the two knives into the space between the lock and the door frame.

“Come here,” I say. “I’m going to hold this knife in place. Do your magic with the potato masher to pry it open.”

Kristin slides in behind me as her hands delicately intertwine with mine. I can feel the anxiety pulsing through her body as she places the wedge above my hands where I am holding the knife.

“I guess on three, right?” she says.

“One, Two—“ and on three we both put pressure against the door frame. With little resistance, the door swings open, and we fall back against the wall in the hallway.

Kristin’s arms are around me, and I see blood flowing from her right wrist.

“Oh, God,” I whisper. “The knife.”

I turn and face Kristin, holding her wrist in my hands and putting pressure on where the blade cut across her skin.

“I didn’t even feel it,” she says. “Is it bad?”

“It missed the artery, which is the most important thing. Here. Hold your arm above your head like this and keep pressure on it while I get a towel.”

I run back to the kitchen, get a clean towel from the old bread drawer, and immediately wrap Kristin’s wrist in it. The bleeding won’t stop, though, and I begin to worry that it might have nicked the artery after all.

“You stay here and keep pressure on it,” I say. “I’m going to check on Sally.  If the bleeding doesn’t slow down in the next minute or two, shout down to me. Okay?”

Kristin nods, and I head down the stairs, yelling Sally’s name.

Read the rest of this entry »

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Posted in Nano, Sail Away 2012 | 3 Comments »

November 22nd, 2012 by rusvw

If I Ran The Holiday – Adapted from Dr. Seuss in Honor of Black Friday

If I Ran The Holiday

By Rus VanWestervelt

Adapted from Dr. Seuss’ “If I Ran The Zoo”

 

It’s a pretty good day,
Said Billy Big Box Store.
And the reason it’s around,
Is loaded with good ‘lore.

But if I ran the holiday,
Said Billy Big Box Dee,
I’d make a few changes,
All for the better – You’ll see.

The cranberries and stuffings and that kind of stuff,
Are all nice and tasty, but that’s no longer enough.
You have family time online in chat rooms galore.
That’s plenty of WE time; now I’ve got something more!

See, I’d open each store and unlock every gate,
Let the flyers fly out and warn “Don’t Be Late!”
They’d announce their big sales many weeks in advance,
And invite the hungry customers to the Black Friday Dance.

Only this dance begins Thursday – no Wednesday at least!
With TVs and Dollies and the latest electronic beast!
You’ve got money? We’ve got THE sale!
Now forget all those families and go check your email!

We sent you hundreds of coupons and incentives since last month,
For tablets and cameras and other great stuff.
It’s everything you need for that great family time,
That you can spend together later when sales aren’t so prime.

You say you got everything? You are staying away?
What a mistake! What a crime! When all the others will be at play!
Shopping breeds happiness, surely you know,
What are you waiting for? The stores are all open – It’s time for you to go!

What you’ll find are the really good once-in-a-lifetime deals,
Things you can’t live without, things that are real steals.
Like five sizes of tablets for your every single need.
You’ll even find our ad embedded in each newsfeed!

Pop-up Ads! They will be here and they will be there.
Buy our devices and stay connected everywhere!
We’ll bring you our sales wherever you go,
Don’t you worry! Not one little bit! Wherever you are, we’ll always know!

And we’ve made it fun for the whole glamorous Fam.
Look! We’ve got buying lists for kiddies, for teens, and even for old Grams!
You don’t need to think, not now or ever again!
Trust us—we know! That Holiday At-Home Hullaboo is nothing but a has-been!

So what’s it going to be when you walk through our doors?
We’ve put little arrows on all of our floors!
We’ll tell you where to go, what to buy,
We’ll even give you some turkey and stuffing, and most certainly some pie!

It’s because we care, said Billy Box Dee,
And we know what you need.
Don’t hesitate or wait to download our app
We know what’s best for you, enough of this family crap!

We’ll see you at midnight- no! Make that at eight!
Tell all the workers this is gonna be great!
We’ll give them the breaks that they believe they should get,
Just as long as the shelves and the aisles remain set.

When the doors finally open we’ll all be together,
As we push and we shove and we trample each other.
The guards at the gate will have no control,
While owners will smile in their warm estate homes—“That stuffing, right there! Pass me that bowl!”

Think of all the bonding, the family time spent in our stores,
As we work and we shop side-by-side—this is like never before!
We will rush to find bargains and be first on the floor.
Give me that! Give me that! We will fight in Aisle three—A true tug of war!

Yes, if I ran the holiday, the traditions would be strong,
For families to bond while shopping—I see nothing wrong.
It’s time to cherish the true meaning of Thanksgiving this year,
And drop the turkey legs, the green beans, and even the seasonal beer.

So join us, one and all!
What? You’re not already here? Why the delay? Why the stall?
If you wait till Black Friday all the good deals will be gone!
And you’ll be that Big Loser in a month on Christmas morn!

Don’t be that loser! Don’t be behind!
It’s Thanksgiving after all; Think of your retailers and try to be kind!
We’re here for YOU! It’s True! We’ve got all that you need!
Don’t listen to those naysayers who say its all about greed!

Text all your friends and we’ll see you today,
This is the new Holiday tradition, and I tell you—It’s here to stay!

 

 

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Posted in rus uncut, solstice! | No Comments »

November 11th, 2012 by rusvw

Sail Away, Part Four: Desperation Sally

The following draft (and a very rough one at that) is the fourth segment of my NaNoWriMo novel, Sail Away. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is held each November, where writers are offered the challenge to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. In the spirit of this global event, I am sharing my novel-in-progress here throughout the month, posting my raw writing in “real time.” I encourage my readers to comment, offer ideas and suggestions, and help me shape the outcome of this story. Thanks for reading, and I hope you join along in the fun! If you need to catch up or want to review previous sections of Sail Away, you can always click on the convenient links on the left sidebar of my site. ~rus

Sail Away, Part Four: Desperation Sally

A novel-in-progress by Rus VanWestervelt
Copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


We sip our tea in silence. I have so many questions that I want to ask Kristin that, at this moment, seem insensitive. I have my own agenda: Who sent me the package? Why me and not her? She was the one who was tied to the journal and the bottle; what do I have to do with either?

Her agenda is quite different, and I get that. She sips her tea while stuck in the loop of car crashes and that defining moment when the thread of innocence is snapped forever.

“Honey, I have some terrible, terrible news to share with you…”

The sound of her grandmother’s voice, strength and love suffusing each word, but still failing to stop the blow of what comes next.

“There’s been an accident. And your mommy and daddy—They are–, they have been —“

Another sip of tea to wash it all away, but the words swirl in her, now a part of her once more.

“They are no longer here with us.”

I look at her from across the table, artifacts strewn between us, and try to balance what we are both feeling.

“More tea?”

She offers a simple smile and shakes her head. I get up to heat the water. Just in case.

“I was going to head back to Sally’s, but I am going to stick around here,” I say. “I figure we have to get started on that casserole or it’s going to go bad, right?”

She smiles a little more genuinely now, looks up at me, and then the tears come.

I leave the stove and walk toward her, and she leans into me as I reach her side. I take her in my arms and say nothing.

Because, really, what is there to say?

“I never got the chance to say goodbye to them. They went on one of their stupid trips and never came back. Do you know what does to a kid?”

I hold her and give her room to continue.

“And right before my birthday. Some present that was.”

As I listen to her, I realize that, in all these years, we have never celebrated her birthday. I know that it is close to now, sometime in November. But the exact date escapes me.

I hesitate to say anything, but I can’t help it. I feel like she needs to get this out now.

“Sally, isn’t your birthday coming up soon?”

“Five days. This Friday,” she says. “They died the day before.”

I mutter something stupid, trying to be supportive. She leans into me a little harder and I hold her a little tighter.

And that’s how we remain until the water boils on the stove, and I have to let her go and get up to silence the scream of the tea kettle whistle.

** **

As I pour new cups of tea for both of us, Kristin heats up two portions of the casserole. We realize that we haven’t eaten much all day, and it might be a good idea to get focused on some things that we can control, or at the very least, make an attempt to control.

The casserole is better than anything Kristin has ever made. Fresh fettuccini noodles in a creamy cheese and garlic sauce, covered with hand-picked crab meat and then broiled to perfection. It is Chesapeake comfort food that is perfect for mid-November afternoons, especially ones like these that are filled with mystery and somber reflection.

“It’s an old family recipe,” she offers. “I figured that, with everything you’ve been going through, it might make you feel a little better. I know it worked for me when Grams used to make it after Mom and Dad died.”

I nod. “Kristin, this would cure any man’s blues.”

“Too bad Sally doesn’t like seafood. Your Mom might like some though, right? You can take a few portions to her when you head back to Towson later today.”

“Sally! Yikes!”

I had completely forgotten about getting together with Sally for the Ravens game. I pat down my pockets looking for my phone, but they are filled with only a few coins and Kristin’s note that she had tacked to my door.

“How about a second helping?” I ask, heading back into the kitchen to find my phone.

“Usually I would say no,” she says. “I mean, I made the food for you.” Kristin taps the edge of her finger against her lips after pointing at me. “But I have to admit, it’s pretty close to what Grams used to make. And it is making me feel a little better about things. . . .”

“Then seconds it is.”

I take our dishes into the kitchen and find my phone on the counter. I throw it in my pocket and bring out another round of Kristin’s now-famous “Chessarole” as I have dubbed it. Kristin digs in as I dig out my phone to call Sally.

When I slide my finger across the screen to unlock it, I see a barrage of messages and notifications. All from Sally.

“Uh oh.”

Five missed calls, three messages, and 17 text messages.

Kristin looks up with renewed concern as if to say, “What now?”

I tell her about the missed messages as I begin to read Sally’s texts out loud.

I need to talk to you. . . .There is something going on in the basement with the pool table that is freaking me out. . . .Polaroids. . . . You have to meet me back at Mom’s. . . .Call me the minute you get this. . . .

And then the last one: Do you believe in ghosts?

Kristin puts her fork down and looks again at the journal and bottle between us.

“I’m guessing she got something in the mail too?”

“Not sure,” I reply. “Maybe her voice mail messages are a little more coherent.”

I look at the three messages left in voice mail, each about a minute long. I play the first one back and put it on speaker so that Kristin can hear as well.

Before she begins to speak, there is about 10 seconds of background noise – kids playing in the distance, and Sally’s husband calling for her, asking if she is okay. Sally’s response is muffled; when she speaks to me a few seconds later, the words are hushed as they are rushed, but they are also clear.

Jacob. I have to talk with you about the pool table. Or about Dad. I’m not sure which one yet. Or maybe both and they’re all related somehow and I don’t know. When you left Mom’s house this morning, I started looking through the other bottles that were around the basement, and I realized that one of dad’s favorite “treasures,” as he used to call his finds, was missing. I don’t know what happened to it, but while I was tearing apart the rest of the basement looking for it – he used to call it the Burger Bottle, I think – I remembered that I had a box of his things stored away in my attic. After I got home, I dug them out, and – Jacob. I HAVE to talk with you now about this. I can’t wait until you get here – You BETTER still be coming, Jacob! Do you hear me? Call me as soon as you get this.

Kristin and I both stare at the bottle in front of us on the table.

“You don’t think –“ she says.

“An hour ago, Kristin, I would have said ‘Impossible.’ Now, after everything you have told me about your grandfather and your parents, I’m not so sure.”

Kristin points to the phone. “The pool table — what is she talking about? I know you’ve talked about it before, and how you used to play games with your dad when you were younger. Why is she freaking out about it now?”

I give Kristin the not-so-short story about what we discovered earlier this morning. She is intrigued and hangs on to every word I say.

“So you got this pool table that’s been converted into a storage shelf simply by gluing a piece of plywood on top. Don’t get me wrong – I know I must be missing something here because I don’t really see the big deal about this.”

“It’s more about the fact that we stopped playing so abruptly when we were younger, and that Dad basically cemented that wood to the table. Why not just lay the board across and be done with it?”

“So you think something is in there? Like it’s serving as some kind of lock box?”

“Maybe. But what in the world would my father want to seal up for all these years?”

Kristin points to the phone again. “Play the other messages. This is just getting too weird.”

The second message is a butt-call; little more than mumbled words sifting through a denim pocket, signifying nothing.

“This is the last one she left,” I say, moving to the third message and pressing play.

Jacob, Sally begins in a barely audible whisper. Jacob, I’m really frightened. I’m heading back to Mom’s. Please call me immediately when you get this. I’ll explain everything when you get here. Not that you will believe anything I have to tell you. At least not yet anyway. . . . I guess you are just going to have to trust me on this one.

The rest of the message is muffled like the first one. I end the call and reach for the plain brown wrapping paper that the bottle and journal were wrapped in.

I read the return address out loud:

 

On Your Shore.
Not that you could believe me.
Not just yet anyway.

 

“Call her now,” Kristin says. “This is just too coincidental, and she doesn’t sound good at all.”

I tap “reply” on the screen of my phone, and wait for Sally to pick up.

Instead, I get her voice mail and leave a short message. When I hang up, I shoot her a quick text to let her know I called.

Kristin takes a sip of her tea, and I notice her hand shakes as she brings the cup back to the table. “Do you think she is okay?”

“Sally is one of the strongest people I know. I’m sure she’s fine.”

I put the phone down and take another bite of Kristin’s Chessarole, trying to keep everything calm and in perspective.

“Anyway,” I say, “I’m sure she’ll call me soon enough. No use letting great food go to waste.”

Kristin pushes the pasta with her fork, but doesn’t eat. “Call your mom. Maybe Sally is back in the basement and the signal is too weak. And if she is down there, I think we need to be there with her if she’s trying to lift that wood off of the pool table. I don’t know what she is going to find, but I don’t think she should be alone when she opens it.”

I like the sound of Kristin using we. I pick up the phone to call Mom, but it’s already vibrating. She beat me to it.

“Speak of the devil! I was just going to call you. Is Sally over –“

Before I can finish my sentence, Mom cuts me off.

“Yes she’s over here and she’s locked herself in that damned basement like your father used to do. Can you please come back home, Jacob, and get her out of there? She’s not answering me anymore and I don’t like any of this. I don’t like any of this at all.”

I pick up the bottle in front of me and ponder the initials “CB” etched on the bottom.

“Mom,” I say, before I hang up. “Let Sally know that I am coming over, and tell her to call me. Tell her that I know where the Burger bottle is.”

“What in the world is a Burger bottle?”

“Just tell her, Mom. Can you do that for me?”

After a long pause, she says that she will.

“I hope you have your key, Jacob. I need to take another Ambien, and by the time you get here, I won’t be good for nothin’.”

*** *** ***

When Kristin and I arrive at Mom’s house, we see Sally’s green Beetle parked out front. The purple ladybug dots that she added years ago when she first bought the car are now faded, peeling at the edges.

“I keep telling her it’s time to grow up and get a real car.”

Kristin holds on to the journal while I cradle the bottle, now back in its tube. We walk up the steps to the front door, which is locked, as I expected. I use my old house key (complete with the worn purple and yellow lanyard that shouts, “Loch Raven Raiders ROCK ‘83”) to let us in.

I hear Mom’s snoring coming from the back bedroom, a king-sized space for a single, fragile widow.

There is no sign of Sally.

“Let’s check downstairs,” I whisper to Kristin. We walk to the door that leads to the basement. This door is locked as well, and I am out of old keys on nostalgic key rings.

I rap my knuckles on the hollow door and call Sally’s name as loud as I think I can without waking Mom.

We wait for a response, but there is none. Just more silence.

“What now?” Kristin asks. We can’t just break the door down, can we?”

“No. There’s a window out back, though. It is probably covered with boxes of bottles, but it’s worth a shot.”

We head back outside and Kristin follows me as I walk around the south side of the house. At first, I don’t see the little window at all. Maybe Dad had it sealed up, I think, and I never got around to noticing it.  Wouldn’t surprise me in the least bit.

When we reach the back of the house, we make our way back to the front yard, staying close to the stone wall.

I am studying the foundation of the house, in search of some kind of patch-me-up job with concrete and brick, when I trip over some wild vines that creep along the ground and up the side of the house.

The tube with the glass bottle goes flying in the air, and Kristin catches it just before it hits the ground.

“Jacob! That was close! Are you okay?”

But I do not answer her. The same vines that made me trip cover the basement window, and when I pull them away and rub the dirt from the small pane of glass, I am left speechless by what I see.

The plywood remains on top of the pool table but askew, its seal broken.

And on top lies Sally face down, motionless, her left arm disappearing into the small, open crack where the wood has been moved.

“Sally!” I scream, getting to my feet and heading back to the front of the house.

Kristin is with me every step of the way, and we are both thinking the same thing:

Suddenly, breaking down the basement door now seems like a very real option, if not the only one, to us both.

*** *** ***

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November 6th, 2012 by rusvw

Sail Away, Part Three: The Package

The following draft (and a very rough one at that) is the third segment of my NaNoWriMo novel, Sail Away. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is held each November, where writers are offered the challenge to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. In the spirit of this global event, I will be sharing my novel-in-progress here throughout the month, posting my raw writing in “real time.” I encourage my readers to comment, offer ideas and suggestions, and help me shape the outcome of this story. Thanks for reading, and I hope you join along in the fun! ~rus

If you have not yet read Part One, you can read it here. Looking for Part Two? Read it here.

 

 

Sail Away, Part Three: The Package

A novel-in-progress by Rus VanWestervelt
Copyright 2012. All rights reserved.

“What if it’s a bomb? I mean, is that even a possibility?”

Kristin is very curious with a touch of anxiety. She is seated at my dining room table, an old wooden work of art that has been at this cabin long before I ever started living here. It is way too big for me or even for this space, but it carries with it some deep history that I just can’t let go. Etched in the rustic planks are letters and numbers from some ancient, heavy hand pressing into a piece of parchment. Really, it sounds romantic and lore-ish to imagine the conversations that might have taken place around this long, rectangular table, but they really happened.

Kind of like the one that is taking place right now, though we aren’t thinking too much about that.

The package is in front of her bathed in light from a single, Tiffany-style stained glass lamp hanging from the wooden rafters above.

“A bomb?” I ask. “I know some people hate my writing with a passion, but do you think they would go that far as to do me in?”

“You never know these days. I’d consider it.”

I finish making our cups of tea and join her at the table.

“You are absolutely right. Just like I could have poisoned your tea in fear of you figuring out my master plan to blow us up.”

I slide the cup of tea across the rustic table. “Enjoy.”

She offers me a smile but is obviously taking this a little more seriously than I am.

“Really, Jake! Do you think it is safe to open it? That return address is so bizarre.”

I sit at the table across from her and pull the package toward me. I pick it up and give it a gentle shake; nothing moves.

“No ticking. No wires. Nothing else out of the ordinary except for a cryptic return address. I say we open it.”

Kristin takes a deep breath and smiles.

“Let’s do it.”

In my mind, I am absolutely convinced that this package isn’t a bomb or any other kind of gag from a friend or a fan. But still, I open it delicately, just in case something happens unexpectedly.

I slide my finger under the taped edges and unwrap it like some kind of coveted Christmas gift. I even consider scaring the hell out of Kristin by shouting BOOM, but that would just be too cruel.

I remove the plain brown wrapping to reveal a simple shoe box, taped shut.

“See?” I say. “I think we’re okay.”

Kristin looks a little more anxious. “Whoever sent this took great care in how they packaged it. Any guesses before you pop the lid?”

I think about her question as I carefully fold the wrapper, making sure I preserve the return address. I don’t know why. It just seems like the important thing to do.

Just in case.

I take a sip of my tea and catch her eyes. I can tell by the way she is looking at me that she has an idea who it might be from.

“No. But you do. What are you thinking, Kristin?”

She rolls her eyes and laughs. “I have my suspicions. But like the return address says, not that you could believe me even if I told you.”

I run my fingers along the taped edge of the box but can’t find any good place to open it. I get up from the table and pull a sharp knife from the cutlery drawer.

“We have ways to make you talk, Kristin.”

She laughs as I return to the table.

“I’m sure that I am wrong anyway. It’s stupid. Really.”

I slide the knife under the tape and run it along the edge of the box. With my fingers now gripping the top, I look back at Kristin.

“One last chance to guess correctly and win the million dollars. Are you sure you don’t want to share those suspicions?”

Kristin shakes her head, bites her bottom lip, and I lift the lid. Read the rest of this entry »

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November 6th, 2012 by rusvw

Daily Writing Inspiration AND Providing Hurricane Sandy Relief

Today’s Smash365 creativity prompt, SPRINT, provides a quick tip to writers who are working on their November novels for NaNoWriMo. More importantly, it also includes a special offer that helps the families and animals who have been affected directly by Hurricane Sandy.

My creativity partner over at Smash365, Cara, has created 50,000 Words Or Bust, a 98-page ebook of writing and photo prompts for inspiration during the month of November, when over 300,000 writers are attempting to write a novel in a month for NaNoWriMo.

When Hurricane Sandy hit, she started looking for a way to help people who are still without homes, electricity, food, clothes, water. As an animal lover and avid supporter of animal rights, Cara decided to donate ALL of the proceeds from the sale of this ebook to The Humane Society of the United States for their Disaster Relief Fund.

Please take a moment to check out this invaluable resource for writers; for just $5, you get 98 inspirations to cheer you on in your writing, and you also provide some immediate relief to those who are struggling just to find a meal in the next few hours.

50,000 Words Or Bust. For $5, you can make a difference in your writing and, more importantly, in the lives of so many others.

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Posted in Nano, Nature, Romancing The Storm | No Comments »

November 4th, 2012 by rusvw

Sail Away: Analyzing the Development of Part Two

On occasion, I will offer analyses and insights into the process of writing a novel “live” with a real-time audience that is invited to participate in the development of the storyline. Today’s analysis is on writing Part Two, which I did earlier this morning.

If you have not yet read what I have posted thus far, you can read Part One here and Part Two here.

Two huge things happened to me today in my writing Part Two of Sail Away: the first was the integration of another story idea I had been pondering, and the second was the evolution of a plot element that was born out of an uncomfortable moment between two characters.

And, now that I look a little more deeply at it, both developments happened because of dialogue– what my characters ended up saying to each other– and not what I tried to create through straight narration. This affirms my belief that it’s best to put the story in the minds and hearts of your characters once you have the plot defined and the general course plotted.

Let’s look first at that other-story integration.

I mentioned in an earlier post about a story I was plotting out for Little Patuxent Review‘s DOUBT issue; that story took place on the edge of a pier along the Chesapeake Bay. I never got around to writing that story, but the setting suddenly seemed perfect to move the action along in Part Two. When I started writing this morning, all I knew was that I needed to establish the protag’s home (a cabin) and delve a little more into his own way of life. I felt like I had established tension in Part One about what was going on; developing the main character in Part Two seemed like the right thing to do. I also needed to let some time pass to allow another element of the story develop, which will be one of the central themes of Part Three.

In the process of doing this, I developed a relationship between the protag and his neighbor; I know now the role she will be playing in the rest of the story, but I didn’t have any idea about this before I put them on the pier. Placing two characters together like this really develops some strong possibilities, as I discovered toward the end of Part Two.

My two characters reached a point on the edge of the pier where they were uncomfortably close with each other. They are not romantically involved, but they have a strong affinity for each other; I liken them to being “soulmates living parallel lives.”

To relieve the tension between them, I had the protag mention the box that had been dropped off at his neighbor’s house. I did that JUST as a diversion, but her response about the return address being odd really surprised me. I had no plans for the address to play into the plot of the story, but here she was, making it an issue.

What transpired between them immediately thereafter triggered the epiphanic development of a plot element that now brings greater meaning to the overall storyline. It’s all about empowering the characters to react within the framework of the way in which you developed them.

I’m really excited to write Part Three tomorrow morning. I know the basic setting and a general idea of where this segment should take the storyline, and I can’t wait to see what happens when Jake and Kristin open the package!

Check back mid-day on Monday to read Part Three of Sail Away. I invite you to leave a comment about the story and get involved with its development. This is a novel-in-progress for all of us!

 

 

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November 4th, 2012 by rusvw

Sail Away: Part Two (A Nano Novel-In-Progress)

The following draft — and that’s all it is, a “shitty first draft” as Anne Lamott likes to call them — is the Second segment of my NaNoWriMo novel, Sail Away. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is held each November, where writers are offered the challenge to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. In the spirit of this global event, I will be sharing excerpts here throughout the month, and I encourage my readers to comment, offer ideas and suggestions, and help me shape the outcome of this story. Thanks for reading, and I hope you join along in the fun! ~rus

 

Sail Away: Part Two

A novel-in-progress by Rus VanWestervelt
Copyright 2012. All rights reserved.

If you have not yet read Part One, you can read it here.


It takes me a little over an hour to get back home to my cabin just south of Annapolis. I’ve been here at Ranch Manor now for 24 years, settled in to a life that is a little too great to surrender. It’s not what I wanted originally; that big plan got derailed a long time ago. But hitting my middle-age stride on the waters of Chesapeake Bay has been no runner-up door prize either. There’s too much here to remind me or anyone else just how little time we have here on earth.

Given all of the what-if scenarios and lives that I’ve seen played out around me from friends and others, I’ll take what I got with no regrets.

I grab the mail from the box, hop back into the Jeep, and roll down the driveway another quarter of a mile before I throw it in park. Two pileated woodpeckers dance around my front porch among the detritus and freshly fallen leaves, and when I make my way to the steps, they shuffle a little to the right and continue their conversation by the woodpile. I don’t know how long woodpeckers live, or if they really have “life mates” like geese seem to have, but I can’t remember a single autumn where I haven’t had these two birds (or their ancestors from this bayside aviary) greeting me nearly every single afternoon.

I insert the key and turn the knob, and I nearly miss the note that’s been taped to my door. It is from Kristin, my “next-door neighbor” who lives another quarter mile to my right. That’s one of the trade offs of living here at Ranch Manor; none of us can complain that we don’t have our space, but when we do need some help, our neighbors aren’t exactly on the other side of the white picket fence just out back.

I open the note, wondering how anybody can have such incredible handwriting when scribbling on a scrap of paper.

Saturday, 11/3

Jake-

Pattie from UPS came by with a package for you, but I guess she couldn’t just leave it on your porch, as I had to sign for it. Let me know when you get home, and I’ll meet you at Sandy Pier to give it to you. It’s got fragile written all over it, too. I’m taking good care of it till I see you.

Sorry again to hear about your father. There are no easy words of comfort in situations like these, but there is comfort in home cooked meals. I made you a casserole to make dinners a little easier over the next few days. I’ll give that to you at The Pier as well. Hope to see you before dinner. The food’s still pretty warm. I just made it this morning.

Kristin

I look at the date and cringe. I never saw the note last night when I came home, and I really could have used some of Kristin’s cooking, even this morning before I left to meet Sally at Mom’s house.

I throw my keys on the kitchen counter and give Kristin a call. We plan to meet at The Pier in 15 minutes.

I head to my bedroom and throw on a sweatshirt. The temperature in here is perfect – hovering around 63 degrees. But tonight when I get back home, I know I will need to throw some wood in the stove downstairs and take the edge off the chilly breeze coming off the water. I savor these days in mid-autumn, but I know they are numbered. It looks like we are going to have a Nor’Easter  later in the week, and they are never fun to handle this close to the water, especially in this old cabin that has seen its share of bad storms over the years.

One of the things that made me fall in love with this place so many years ago is the sliding glass door that leads from my bedroom to the screened back porch. It runs the length of the cabin, and the view from here has always reminded me of Monet’s Fisherman’s Cottage at Varengeville.  The expanse of deciduous and coniferous trees rolls from my back porch to the edge of the cliffs at Cove Point, keeper of countless fossils of sharks’ teeth and whale vertebra from the Miocene era nearly 20 million years ago. This abrupt meeting between land and water has been a natural battleground of survival; the oft-subtle waves of brackish water are relentless in their attack against the stubborn, sandy shores. But from this vantage point, one that rivals that of the osprey that soar overhead in search of prey,  I see only the beauty of the landscape, a microcosm of Maryland all from the view of my cabin on top of this hill.

From here, I watch the sun rise, the storms approach, and the seasons change.

Day by day or year by year, I am soothed by the cyclical repetition of miracles that swirl around us, whether I (or anybody else) might take the time to realize it or not.

I don’t realize how long I have been standing out here on the porch. I see Kristin making her way to The Pier that is between us just a little to the north along the cove. The bag she carries looks heavy, and I don’t want her to wait too long for me. I head out through the screened door, go down the steps two at a time, and slip into the woods and along the trail from my cabin to the Chesapeake – my favorite path to serenity.

 

*** ***

 

When I get to the pier, Kristin is already at its edge, the bag at her feet as she looks across the Chesapeake. She wears a heavy, cream-colored wrap over a long dress of dark greens and burgundy that ripples in the wind. Her once-black hair, now highlighted with strands of silver throughout, waves in the wind as well. She is stoic in her stance, and I hate to break the communion between her and the water.

Kristin has been here at Ranch Manor since she was on the brink of becoming a teenager. When her parents died tragically in a car accident over in St. Mary’s, she moved in with her grandparents and then, nearly two decades later, decided to stay at The Ranch when they retired to Florida.

It was because of Dad’s friendship with Harold, Kristin’s grandfather, that I knew about the vacant cabin next door. I had been looking for a quiet place to write full time, and everything about it was perfect. The natural setting, the isolation protecting me from distractions, and of course, Kristin.

She was the first person who welcomed me officially to Ranch Manor, her arms filled with home-baked breads and cookies that overwhelmed me at first. But in these 24 years that have passed, we have become soul mates of a different sort, running parallel lives of quiet appreciation, tinged with a search for something just out of our reach.

I step on to the pier and begin walking toward her.

“I am sorry I kept you waiting,” I shout, as softly as I can over the sounds of the water and the wind. I don’t want to scare her too much. I know how lost she can get out here.

She turns and smiles as the sun hits her perfectly – a blend of kindness and beauty smoothed by the countless hours spent between these cliffs and the water. If Chesapeake Bay ever had a mythological goddess born out of the marriage between its waters and these ageless cliffs, Kristin would be its creation.

“Never a problem, Jake. It’s me who is sorry. I didn’t have time to warm up the casserole for you before coming down here. But I did divide it into single portions for you. There’s a lot of it here, so you will probably want to freeze what you don’t eat today or tomorrow.”

I smile at her gracious words. “Thanks, Kristin. I appreciate it.”

I join her at the edge and look out at the water. The waves are a little rougher down here than how it looked from the back porch of the cabin, but nothing more than the strong tide making its way to shore. This close up, everything looks a little different.

She gives me a few minutes to absorb the solitude of the water before placing a gentle hand on my back. Her touch warms me like it always does.

“How are you holding up? How are Sally and your mom doing?”

“Mom’s getting by on Ambien, so it will be interesting to see how she fares when the doctor starts cutting her dosage back. She’s resilient. I think she will be fine.”

“What about Sally?”

“Sally’s a little too fine, now that I think about it,” I say. “I’m not sure if she’s on anything or not to help her get through. It would surprise me if she is. She’s never been the type to lean on drugs or alcohol in rough times.”

“Maybe she just used the time he was in Hospice to work through some of those stage of grief. It’s tough to lose a parent in any way, but I imagine that if you had a few weeks to really prepare for it, it might not be that bad when they actually pass on.”

The wind picks up and I can taste the salt that it carries from the water. Kristin’s words do make sense to me, but it makes me think about how I am taking all this in. Dad being in Hospice didn’t necessarily prepare me for his death; instead, it put a plan in action to take care of Mom and Sally and to get rid of all of the crap he left behind.

Kristin notices my silence right away. “Oh, Jake, I didn’t mean to trivialize the pain of his passing. It’s just that, when my parents died, it was sudden, and I didn’t have any time to process any of it.”

She slides her hand down my back and squeezes my hand. Without thinking, I wince and pull it away from her.

“Jake – I’m sorry. I—“

Before I can say anything, I hold up my hand, now stinging under the bandages Mom put on when I ran that splinter under my skin.

“It’s nothing, really. Just a bad jab from a splinter while cleaning up some of Dad’s things.  Mom made it look a lot worse with the gauze all taped around it, but I didn’t stop her from fixing me up.” I look up and catch Kristin’s eyes: sincere, with a touch of worry.

“Guess she felt good being able to actually help somebody get better, you know? She didn’t like feeling so helpless in those last few weeks when Dad was still alive.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Jake.” She cradles my hand gently in hers as she looks at the gauze. A drop of dark red seeps through the bandage. “Do you need stitches? Calvert Memorial now has one of those emergency clinics right outside Deale that you can go to.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing. Thanks, though.” I pull my hand away and her eyes come back to mine. It’s moments like these that I wish our lives were not so parallel.

Looking for any diversion, I remember the package of mine that she has that triggered this whole meeting on The Pier.

“So, any return address on that package Pattie dropped off?”

Kristin blinks twice, shakes off the moment, and reaches toward the bag between us.

“That’s the funny thing, Jake. The return address doesn’t make any sense. At least, not to me.” She lifts from the bag a box wrapped in plain brown paper. Just like she said in her note, the word “FRAGILE!” covers most of the box in faded, handwritten red ink. The writing is shaky, but emphatic. Almost desperate.

She hands me the box that weighs maybe a pound or two, and points to the return address. “See what I mean? Odd, don’t you think?”

I look closely at what is written in the top left corner, turn my head a little in confusion, and read it again.

 

On Your Shore.
Not that you could believe me.
Not just yet anyway.

 

I look up; the curiosity in Kristin’s eyes catch my own and confirm that confusion.

“What do you think is inside?” I ask.

“I can’t get past wondering who it might be from. The postmark is smudged and I can’t make out the city where it was mailed.”

I turn the box in my hand, rotating it to each side and looking for some kind of mark, some kind of sign scribbled on the plain brown paper. With the exception of the bold red “FRAGILE” written on all six sides, there is no other sign of who might have sent it.

“I’m hungry, and there’s plenty of casserole for you, me, and the rest of Ranch Manor,” I say.

Kristin laughs and looks over the water.

“Listen,” I continue. “I’m supposed to head back to Sally’s later today, but I’ve got a good two hours before I have to drive up to Baltimore. Care to join me for some lunch and look at what’s inside the Mystery Box?”

“I don’t know, Jake. What if I don’t like the food you’re serving? You can never trust those casseroles, you know.”

I place the box back into the bag and pick it up, offering Kristin my arm. “I assure you that this casserole is the best I’ve ever tasted west of the Chesapeake. In fact, if you are not completely satisfied with it, I will owe you a homemade creation of my own.”

Kristin slips her arm inside mine, and we begin to walk back to shore.

“My promise to you.”

“Then how can I resist?” She says.

I smile at that, and I wonder the same as we head back to the cabin. Along the way, though, our thoughts turn quietly to the package and its cryptic return address.

As we reach the worn, wooden steps and head up to the back porch, I get a feeling that something big is about to change.

On Your Shore…

In fact, I am absolutely certain that Kristin knows it too. And that, more than anything, scares the hell out of me.

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