An Introduction

Zach and I recently decided to meet up on Skype and at least work out a basic plot, for everyone’s sake. This hasn’t happened yet, though. I’ve been on the road for a few weeks (and will continue to be on the road for a while longer), so our communication has been limited. But on the road, I’ve been mulling over the story thus far and all the many possibilities it leaves for us at this point. I loved Zach’s description of the land, a worthy backdrop upon which to build a world. But who lives in this world? We are called to care for the earth, but one can only care about it so much (especially in narrative) without a human component. So I texted Zach one night from Shelter Harbor, FL while watching Saving Private Ryan – “I’m thinking of introducing a little girl into the story named Thany.” He gave the go-ahead, so here she is, dear readers. As Wilde put it, “She is all the heroines of the world in one.” :

“Figures,” muttered Thany to the weed beneath her Chuck Taylored toe.

She kicked the gangal scrub half-heartedly and watched it flop to and fro without deliberation. Thany could relate. She watched the weed, after all, because there was only one other thing to look at and she had looked at that plenty, she’d decided. The eleven year-old tomboy was tired of gazing out across the wide open deadlands which surrounded her.

Everyone was tired of gazing, but everyone continued gazing anyway. Thany didn’t understand it and, when she went to ask the elders why in the whirlwind-world they watched like they did, the wrinkly old men simply frowned upon her question and sent her away to continue watching. Some of the duster-moms sang songs of a rain hero coming on the wild winds, but those were songs and everyone knew that songs were just songs – nothing more, no truth, no lie, just songs to be sung by the duster-moms.


The Beginning.

This is the beginning.

I was sitting in a classroom during downtime while student teaching to complete my college degree.  I decided I wanted to start writing a story, so I began scribbling down a paragraph, only to forget about it for nearly 8 months.  Last week, I found it again, just as I had left it.  I showed it to my dear friend Kevan, and he suggested this little adventure that we have here.  One beginning, two different perspectives.  We would trade off writing weekly paragraphs to see what happens.

Without further ado, here is the beginning.  This is where our story comes to focus. These are the Bird and Candle Yarns:

“It was hot.

It was hot in the type of way that only a Kansas summer could be. The air was thick with the humid memory of yesterday’s rains, and seeing the flooded pasture was a visual reminder of the effect precipitation has on soil that hasn’t seen a drop of water in six months. The crop gave up on the soil a few months back, parting ways in the slow, almost theatrical manner that all plants seem to do when the soil doesn’t hold up its end of the bargain.”