Day 19

Continued from Day 16. Yesterday and the day before were a bit of a cop out, so I thought I'd get some more of this novel thingy written today. ^_^

***

Even at a young age, before disillusion set in and such fantasies went the way of Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy, she had instinctively known that going any farther would put an end to her imaginings.

Now, though, there was nothing to stop her from following the path to wherever it led; after seven years away, talking rodents and tiny people with wings were all but forgotten. Violet barely hesitated as she came to the wood, and she trod onwards, pointedly pushing the empty boxes she’d left behind to the back of her mind.

It was cool in the shadow of the trees, and a wind rustled the leaves of the canopy above. The cultivated flowers were soon left behind her, and she breathed in the smell of earth and damp. Beyond the well-tended path the undergrowth grew wild and untamed, and Violet had a sudden fancy that as she walked the plants were closing in, encroaching across the path behind her so that it disappeared entirely. She did not turn around.

Violet wondered why the path was there. Someone—most likely her grandmother, though she shied away from that train of thought—had obviously used it regularly, but there didn’t seem to be much point to it. She supposed the wood was pretty, if a bit unnerving. But where did it go?

That question was soon answered when she turned a corner and the trees began to thin. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, blinking, and surveyed the meadow before her. Here the path petered out, getting quickly lost in the tall grasses. Violet waded through them slowly, looking around. There was nothing there. No sign of civilization, no sign of the path. Just a meadow surrounded by hedgerows, and a country lane on the other side.

The scene jolted as her foot caught in a hole and she stumbled. She righted herself, cheeks burning even though no one was there to see her clumsiness. Brushing off her trousers Violet glanced back over her shoulder and froze.

The wood was gone. Where there had been trees there was now only a hedgerow, and behind that another field. There was no sign of the way she had come, even though she had only walked twenty paces out into the meadow.

Day 16

Still haven't really discovered where the werewolf story is going; I have an idea, but I think "and something happens" is just a bit too vague. ^_^

I haven't thought about this novel idea lately, so I thought I'd try writing the beginning and see what happens. Some of it was written a while ago, but I think the majority is new.

***

Violet had known that the task would be difficult, but as she nursed a cup of tea and surveyed the mess of cardboard boxes she realized she had completely underestimated it. The sheer effort it took to neatly pack away her grandmother's things, to sort the china and the knitting needles and the books that only a short while ago had helped define a person's life, was utterly exhausting. These were the things that had surrounded her grandmother, here in her little house, and now she was gone and they were all that was left behind.

A lump was forming in her throat and she quickly took a sip; the too-hot liquid burned in her mouth and on the way down. Violet cast her gaze around the room and it settled on the clock on the mantelpiece. It had a simple wood casing, with a still life above the face depicting several apples, a bowl, and the clock itself. The Roman numerals were wrong in the painting—the artist had mixed up the order, so where there should have been XI for the eleven there was IX. Violet remembered when she'd first noticed the mistake; being only six or seven she hadn't even understood Roman numerals, but she'd felt great pride in pointing out the difference to her grandmother.

Violet turned around suddenly and put her mug on the table by the door. This was just too much. She strode into the kitchen and out the back door onto the patio. Closing the door behind her, she breathed in a deep breath and let it out shakily. She looked out over the garden, feeling a calm settling over her. The flowers and vegetables still reminded her, but unlike the lifeless house and its contents they made her smile.

There was a path that began where the patio ended, and Violet found her feet taking her away from the house. It wound its way past runner beans twining up canes, through flowerbeds of foxgloves and roses that buzzed with bees, to the bottom of her grandmother’s garden. There it entered a small wood, and the gravel crunching underfoot gave way to tamped down earth. In the shade of the trees the path quickly turned out of sight, and as a little girl Violet had never made it to the bend before retreating to the sunlit garden. It wasn’t that she had been afraid of exploring; well, not entirely, anyway. Looking back, she realized she had been afraid of losing the mystery of what might lie in the beyond. As long as she hadn’t ventured too far she had been free to imagine fairies lounging atop spotted toadstools or squirrels arguing over a nut. Even at a young age, before disillusion set in and such fantasies went the way that Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy go, she had instinctively known that going any farther would put an end to her imaginings.

***

Hm... not terrible, but not great. Huzzah for editing!

[Edit: Continued here.]

Day 3

In my previous post I mentioned that I'd come up with an idea for a novel, a fantasy set in England. It's in the early stages yet, and a lot of it is rather vague in terms of plot and suchlike, so I thought I'd try some exercises. This one is my first attempt at writing some dialogue from a scene that occurs very early on; I'm trying to get a feel for the characters (named, for the moment at least, Violet and Samson). Tomorrow I think I'll try writing a description of each character from the other's point of view.

It's actually quite helpful (I've already learned some things I didn't know about Violet before), but I'm having a bit of trouble with Samson's dialogue. He's supposed to be in his twenties, but here he's disguised as an old man. He's also not from modern-day England, so I'm not sure how to pull that off...

***

V: Excuse me. I was wondering if you knew which way it is to Nottingham.

S: Nottingham, miss?

V: Yes.

S: I'm afraid I can't say I've heard of it. There's no Nottingham around these parts as far as I know.

V: But that's impossible! I've only been walking for half an hour, maybe less.

S: Lost, then, are you?

V: No—I mean, maybe. It's hard to explain.

S: It will be if you don't even try.

V: Well, I was walking in a wood, following a path, when I came out into this field. But when I turned around it was gone!

S: The path?

V: Not just the path; the whole wood! If I didn't know any better, I'd say it had disappeared, but that's just silly.

S: You're probably right there; it'd take some pretty powerful magic to make the trees actually disappear. Are you sure they didn't get up and walk away? They can be mighty quiet when they want to be.

V: Well, if you're going to be like that!

S: Like what, miss?

V: Taking the mickey! I know it sounds ridiculous, but there's no reason to be rude.

S: Where did you say you were from, again?

V: Nottingham. Well, Middle Barton, really, but I've just come from my grandmo—from a house in Nottingham.

S: I see. Would you like to come with me to the next village? Perhaps someone there will have heard of this Nottingham.

V: Yes, thanks, that would be great. I need to find a phone, anyway, to call my parents. I didn't exactly tell them I was going for a walk.

S: A phone. Yes, that would make sense.

V: Pardon?

S: Oh, it's nothing. After you!

***

Note: Names of places are place-holders. I'm not sure exactly where I should set the story, so I've just used familiar names that work well enough.