A man finds nymphs and satyrs while on vacation. Plus a goat! And now it's going up on the website:
NYMPHS AND SATYRS
Sometimes being a directionless jerk and a guy who "goes along to get along" and just wanders through life isn't a great idea. Then sometimes, wanting to BE SOMETHING, anything in life is also misguided. But then, maybe it isn't. Who knows? How can we know? All I can really say is that one of these characters likes his stick shift more than anything in life.
9 comments:
Sounds interesting. Where did this happen anyway? Who was his travel agent? Do you think I can afford it?
Seriously, I like the idea. Just from this I can envision a comedy, a thriller or a romp through wonderland.
I hope it's an idea you follow through with.
Good luck.
Bevie
I don't know. I'm still working out the story.
The entire idea is encapsulated in the single sentence "a man on vacation finds nymphs while on vacation" and an image in my mind of a man at a pond in the middle of a forest enjoying the pleasures of nymphs from Greek and Roman myths.
That's where I begin -- a mental image that I find interesting and curious.
Step two is being a reporter: Who is this man? What is his name? How did he get to the pond or glade? Where is this located? When does it happen? Are there any other characters in the story besides a man and nymphs and shy are they there?
I'm thinking about step two. Lots of thinking. It's like wandering through the day thinking about the idea.
Step three is a thought of where this story ends.
Step three is the opening sentence and the emotional climax of the story.
Step four is writing.
Right off the top of my head - a) no travel agent. b) No, you can't afford the price that I think he's going to pay for this vacation. I'm failry sure of that.
It will be interesting to learn the answers to Steps Two and Three.
Do you run into the same problem I do with new story ideas: For every one you write you have ninety-nine which never made it more than a few words - perhaps no further than a title or first/last sentence?
I have a folder of "new starts" that contains files of ideas and notions. Some never work out and get abandoned. Some do turn into stories. I never counted how many.
I have what I euphimistically call "The Archives". They consist of five large boxes filled with this and that, about a dozen smaller boxes filled with other odds ands ends, a computer folders containing zero or more files.
Totally unorganized.
You sound organized. Does that mean you page through your archives periodically?
(Sorry if I'm extending a dialog you would rather end.)
When I retired, I left all the records of the previous 3 years on a CD-ROM to my successor. That was at least 18 audits of 150 people each, four major certifications and lots of additional stuff.
I do all my work on computer. I left instructions to my successor on how to get everyone participating in the audits and certifications to do in online.
Of course I look at the "ideas" folder several times a year. Those are the things that inspire me.
Thanks.
I finished the draft. Now I have to let this sit before a good re-read and most likely an edit.
This opening was on EE's blog as a writing exercise (http://evileditor.blogspot.com/2009/02/valentines-day-blind-date-3.html)
which even mentioned Susan Hayward
...
This is how the opening shook out:
"Fired at nine, vacationing by noon." Buckley Kidd sat in his BMW, cruising along a poplar-lined lane.
"Not fired. Let go. All computer programmers get let go. I night never go back. I might stay here in East Dogpatch, become a naked, tree-hugging, forest ranger," Gideon Ellery chuckled.
"That's what you get for asking T. Halsey Innis, managing partner of Gilhooley, Barnes, Halsey and Throckmorton if his high school nickname was ballsey-boy."
"Hey sparky, you're my drinking buddy, not my confessor," Gideon laughed. Buckley gunned the car. The tires left the ground as he topped a hill. Their stomachs gurgled in weightless delight. Hills rolled past the car window.
"Halsey's father bought off a high school in Inverness just for Halsey. They called him Prince Hal the wastrel from Shakespeare and nicknamed him ballsey-boy. I found out when GBH&T built that CD plant there." At the speed Buckley drove around the turns, snakes could get motion sickness dizzy.
"The wastrel boy-king. That nails him. I need A night under the silvery night sky will do me good," Gideon said without bravado. Buckley interrupted, shifting.
"Hold on! Time to start your heart Dude." He drove the wheels against the momentum of the car. It drifted around a broad turn, tires smoking. Gideon braced as rubber squealed and the car smoked a hairpin. They headed up the one-lane macadam leading toward an isolated peak in the Allegheny Mountains.
And today or tomorrow, it's going up on the website.
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