Washed Ashore: 5/30/10

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Breaking

Back at home, off bed rest with my newborn and I am missing writing terribly. So far, I have not been up to tackling a new chapter or even editing and I realize, I am at "the place". I have written what I judge to be 2/3 - 4/5 of the novel. I am not positive where/when it will end so I know this is a guess-timation at its best. However, even though I continue researching a bit here and there, I am taking a break from the actual manuscript itself so that when I return I will hopefully see it with a new perspective. Of course, with a newborn at home and two "big" sisters vying for his (and my attention), I will have to find a way to intentionally rest my eyes so I can see that perspective, but ... I look forward to rereading the manuscript in a couple of weeks. Until then, back to researching and side projects to keep my creative writing fresh.

Excerpt from Washed Ashore

The tide pulled in and out, washing over his body, but edging out further each time it returned. It seemed like a jealous lover, trying to let go, but returning compulsively, unable to release its prey. Could he feel the cold sweeping over his body, the salt stinging his skin? Could he hear her whispering goodbyes as her foam receded over him?
He lay in a small pool, made by the indention of his body, his clothing soaked, but drying where the sun and wind could touch it. The brown sugar sand cradled him as he slept on, dreaming dreams the sea had given; dreams the sea had taken. He slept as the sun rose, casting a shadow across half of him, as a large boulder sat at his right. Children played nearby; unaware of his existence until a bird found him and they found the bird.
Peter stared silently, which was unusual. His pink mouth, in which a few teeth were missing, lay slightly open. He typically had a great deal to say, and more to do, and so stillness and silence was quite foreign to him. He stood motionless, his dark blonde hair ruffled by the breeze. His sister, Prudence, had less composure and shrieked appropriately, calling the poor man to the attention of their guardian and protector, Aunt Nora. She had much experience with Prudence's fancies, but she also knew to come quickly and evaluate for herself before dismissing any particular incident as exaggeration. The dark man lying on their beach was no exaggeration, and certainly caused Nora no small amount of worry. She sent the children away quickly so that she might ascertain his health, but soon discovered to her relief that he was well, only in need of reviving, something she knew not how to do, despite her late mother's many fainting fits.
Once assured that he was breathing properly, she found herself staring at his dark lashes curling his olive-toned skin. His lips were thick, but chapped and nearly blended in with the color of his face. He might look boyish with his dark hair thick and curling, but for his weathered skin and the bristle that covered the lower half of his face.
He lay on his back, his dirty shirt ripped over his chest, but Nora took comfort in watching his chest rise and fall. She knew she could not simply leave him here, as a good Christian woman, she must help him to safety, but she did not want to get too close, did not wish to get entangled in the mystery she felt instinctively envelop him. This was not just a stray seaman; he was not from these parts. One hundred or more questions attempted to break through her reverie as she allowed herself one more moment to stare, but then she stopped herself and knelt down to brush his face with her hand, stating simply, "Sir, may I help you? You're on my shore."

Washed Ashore

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Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Breaking

Excerpt from Washed Ashore