Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING
ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more
speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective
eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..."
Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc.) and
then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant,
nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see
fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them. Regarding Fantasy, this insight was startling:
“I see the fantasy genre as an ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world,
an innocuous medium that allows the author to examine difficult, even
controversial, subjects with impunity. Honor, religion, politics, nobility,
integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of ideals to be dissected and explored. And
maybe learned from.” – Melissa McPhail.
F Trope:
“Euhemerism – a rationalizing method of interpretation, which treats
mythological accounts as a reflection of historical events, or mythological
characters as historical personages but which were shaped, exaggerated or
altered by retelling and traditional mores”
Current Event: http://etyman.wordpress.com/2013/01/13/euhemerism-juhim%C9%99%CB%8Cr%C9%AAz%C9%99m/,
http://perdurabo10.tripod.com/ships/id233.html
Austin Jake Byme
shook the water from his blazing red hair, pushing it back with both hands.
He’d have to cut it if he wanted to disappear – he’d be identified by his locks
for sure, thief that they thought he was. Footsteps on the planks of the stern
wheeler IRON MOUNTAIN sent him scurrying back along the sides of the boat and
ducked into an open aft door just before the paddle wheel as it strained for a
moment, then with a massive groan, began to turn, pushing the boat away from
the dock and the copper who’d been chasing him.
The hold was
packed with bags of flour and crates of supplies. From the roof hung the cured
carcasses of pigs and cow. Chickens scurried out from under his feet, clucking
sleepily as he slipped behind a crate, wedging himself into the space. He was
asleep in a moment, shivering a bit as the darkness brought up the cool,
Mississippi mists.
He woke in the
deep darkness to the sound of the creak of a plank and the cluck of a chicken.
Immediately aware, he pulled his legs tight to his chest as quietly as
possible. The carcasses began to swing together, rhythmically and the panes of
glass in the windows rattled in their frames. There was a sudden flash of light
and the temperature in the hold dropped. A moment later, a voice said, “I know
you’re in here, Master Byme, wedged between the wall and a crate, thinking I’m
some sort of ghost.” Austin squirmed. The voice said, “And you’ve no idea who I
am, but I’ll tell you when you come out.”
Austin blinked in
amazement then slid forward, to his hands and knees then rose up. Pins and
needle ran up and down and he caught himself on the leg of a pig. He said, “Who
are you?”
The person stood
in deep shadow, though Austin could see his legs. Dark material, the pants with
pockets though he wore no coat. He stepped into the light. Wearing a waist-length
under shirt and nought else, he stepped again and Austin started. The voice
belonged to a boy, perhaps a few years older than himself. His head was haloed
in hair so red it seemed to glow. Austin said again, “Who are you?”
“Your
great-great-grandson from the early 22nd Century.”
“What?”
“That’s funny,
your autobiography didn’t mention that you went deaf at the end of the 19th
Century.”
“My
autobiography?”
“Yeah. It was great
reading, and I’m not here to kill you and change the future.”
“What?”
The other boy
snorted and said, “HG Well’s THE TIME MACHINE won’t be published for another
twenty-three years.”
“Who’s HG Wells?”
“Jules Verne?”
“Oh! FROM THE
EARTH TO THE MOON and JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH! Those are…”
“I know. Your
favorites. But neither of them has anything to say about what I just did.”
“You built a time
machine?”
The other boy
snorted and said, “Not exactly, but sort of.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He cleared his
throat and said, “My name’s Jake Austin.”
“That’s my...”
“I said I was your
great-great-grandson! There’s proof if you’re wondering about it.”
“It’s not
that…it’s just that…”
The planks beneath
their feet lurched, throwing both boys backward...
Names: ♂ America, Ireland
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