If it's not one re-write, it's another...

[wordwhacker]

[Edit: January 11th, 2007 - The main problem with this story is that I have no idea who the audience is. Am I aiming at kids? Teenagers? Adults? I don't think I've ever figured out how to pitch it. Still, it's kind of cute. And, as always, trying to let characters play with gender stereotypes to some degree.]


Working on the re-write (and first posting) of "Splintered Soul", but in the meantime I wound up digging up and doing a bit of editing on "The Tree's Legacy" Draft 1. Hey, at least it's constructive procrastination, right? ... Right?

This draft is cleaned up a bit, with some extraneous adjectives removed and a bit of tweaking with the ending. I think it's overall a bit more clear and effective, but I'm still not overly thrilled with it. Feedback would make my day.

So without further ado...


The Tree's Legacy (Draft 2, Vignette, 600 words)


The bark was rough and warm on her skin, the trunk rounding out uncomfortably against her bare shoulders. Matted in a tangled mess behind her neck, her hair stuck and pulled now and again on the bark as her head lolled from side to side, keeping time with the tune she was idly humming.

"'Lissa?"

She looked over at the boy, his short little legs making high steps through the brush. His pudgy cheeks were flushed red.

"Ma says you oughta come get your shirt." He was a bit out of breath. The cottage was a good run away, down the winding path from the lonesome old tree.

'Lissa wrinkled her nose. "Too hot." She squirmed a bit and wrapped her skinny arms around her knees.

The boy heaved a big sigh. "Ma told me to tell ya."

"So?" She wiped some strings of hair out of her face. "You're done tellin' me."

He plunked himself down on the grass, dirty feet sticking too far out of his overalls. "Ma says girls are s'posed to wear shirts."

'Lissa scowled. "How come? You're not wearin' one." She rested her head back against the tree, watching the branches high up above as they swayed in the light breeze. There weren't many leaves, though there was a month of summer left yet; there was hardly any shade at all from the late afternoon sun. But the bark felt nice on her skin, the same way the rough, scratchy grass prickled the bottoms of her feet and made her want to run.

'Lissa liked coming up here, even when Jamie tried to follow her. He was a whole year younger than her and was always asking her stupid questions.

"'Lissa?"

She rolled her eyes. "What, Jamie?"

He twirled a little leaf around in his lap. "Do trees die?"

'Lissa screwed up her face. "I dunno. They get chopped down sometimes."

"But," Jamie fidgeted a bit, "they only get chopped down when they get old, right?"

"Yeah." It made sense. You don't just go around chopping down baby trees, she reasoned.

Jamie was silent for another minute before he started talking again, this time in a worried whisper. "I heard Ma talkin' about how this tree's gettin' old."

"That's stupid," she said, a little too quickly. She wished she hadn't said anything about people cutting down old trees, even if she was right. This wasn't just a tree in a forest somewhere. This was her tree. It was Ma's tree, too, and Grandpa's. Ma always talked about how Grandpa used to play under it when he was a boy. You don't just chop down an old tree like that.

"But," Jamie started again, sounding a bit worked up, "Ma says it's sick."

"That's stupid." She looked away, shutting her eyes and pressing her back hard up against the trunk. 'Lissa didn't want to talk about this anymore. She could feel the tree behind her, steady as a rock. Almost wrapped around her she felt the fat, twisting roots sinking deep into the ground. It had been there forever, like the cottage and the brook down behind the shed. How could something like that get sick?

She heard the grass crunch as Jamie got up, the sound of his footsteps fading as he plodded back down the hill.

'Lissa stayed up there until nightfall, though Ma had brought her up some supper when she wouldn't come down. She fell asleep against the tree, staring up at the stars through the scant canopy of branches, wondering where all the leaves had gone.

---


I've been contemplating submitting this piece as an application to fictionslamming, but I can't decide if it would just get slammed into the ground as being "not hopelessly artsy enough". I dunno. What do y'all think?

Comments

[aberrant1.livejournal.com]

fictionslamming... weird community. I thought about joining it a while ago, but decided against it, mainly because I can't seem to write anything shorter than 20 pages. But also because they strike me as those people who insist that they're doing writers a favor by "being brutally honest!", i.e. being arrogant pricks and bashing new writers into the ground over minor, easily fixed points rather than, you know, offering constructive criticism. I'm sure they're not all like that and the userinfo page is meant to discourage angsty 12-year-olds, but it still annoyed me.

I like the edit, btw. Is that last bit about wondering where the leaves went new? I don't remember it from the first version, but I like it.

[cassaclyzm.livejournal.com]

Yeah, it's new. I kept getting to the end and feeling that I was leaving it a little bit too open-ended. Maybe if the whole thing had been a bit longer and I'd had more time to set up the theme, I could have gotten away with it as it was.

Fictionslamming is pretty weird, and I've seen some of what I'll very un-PC-ly call "artsy fartsy floof" get fairly good reviews. I'm getting the feeling that they'd tell me this piece is too simple, not enough plot/meat, whatever. I'm probably right. I'll most likely continue lurking there for fun, though.