Charli Mills, she of the Carrot Ranch has asked us this week…
December 24, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a vision. You can write your own personal vision and “fictionalize” it in the sense that you write it as if it already has come to pass or is unfolding right now. Or you can write the vision of a character. Dream big. dream bold.
A Vision. Sound a little new agey for me. Knit your own yoghurt and bedeck the yurt with organic cranberries kind of thing. But visions don’t have to be supernatural or spiritual or even especially visionary. Indeed the word has been hijacked by business to encompass a corporate business plan. Businesses must have their vision. A plan, a goal. So must we writers. And the vision we need is not just the practical sort that businesses crave but also one laced with faith and underpinned with courage. Because we’re mostly out there on our own and it’s a lonely place, that desk, that keyboard.
I spent many hours tapping away, encouraged by friends and family who wondered at this eccentric behaviour. They we happy that I was happy – well content – to pursue this vision. It was fine, ok. Doing it by myself.
But then I started blogging; I committed to the world in ways I hadn’t before then. I exposed my little vision to a Sauron-like all seeing eye. And I found all sorts of like minded souls willing to share their ideas and encouragement. Like a sweet onion I peeled back the layers and more and more appeared adding gloss on the undercoat of my early blogging attempts.
And the first of these wonderful people were at the Carrot Ranch, nibbling away at the cookie called flash fiction – it’s sweet, it has the odd piece of chocolate buried with in it but sometimes it can seem a bit dry, a bit stodgy and maybe rough on the stomach.
So, as this year peters out in a warm fug of a real fire and fine food I’d like to say a thank you to Charli and her Rough Writers without whose enthusiasm and welcome I might not have addressed blogging so enthusiastically.
Enough of the mush. Here’s my attempt, giving Mary a new dilemma for the New Year. Back story can be found here.
Paul approached Mary, standing by the rockery. He said, ‘All clear. We can sell your dad’s house at last.’
Something in her stance made him hesitate. He noticed the strewn rocks. ‘What happened?’
‘I thought I’d have one last look at the garden.’ She stifled a sob.
Paul squeezed her shoulder.
‘… I saw him. Just there.’ She pointed at the earth.
‘I know it wasn’t really him. But then I saw these rocks had fallen. I went to put them back and…’
Paul looked where she pointed. Small bones poked out of the ground. ‘Bloody hell.’