I reported here yesterday that I’ve been afflicted with a lurgy, maybe triggered by a vaccination I had (it won’t put me off having them) and that the weekend i was supposed to be writing a story for my new writing group was lost in a foggy haze. I also reported on the inspiration for the story and gave a brief synopsis. I reported that, feeling much better yesterday, I began. I pulled together the thoughts I’d had in my dreamy, dozy hours of not feeling too bad and began a story which had been brewing. I think I must have dreamt part of it, and, awake and more alert I tried to make sense of it and fashion it into a story. I would read it at the first meeting of our new group, KNO₃,
It was rather weird and a little crazy, I – or the main character was in a desolate, mountainous, place at the bottom of a gorge with a lively river running through. It was like a canyon, and there was a footpath along one side, popular with walkers and adventurers. The river was rough and wild, but beautiful with spray in the air from it rushing over the rocks. The extraordinary thing about it was that the cliff face was green – a bright and vivid green, not from mosses or lichen but the actual stone itself was green. The character was following the steep path up the side of the canyon – wide enough for people coming downhill to pass her, but still dangerously narrow. Maybe it had an old wooden rail or fence a rickety old thing, hardly safe at all – but, maybe it didn’t, the dream fades on that count. I was going up this mountain path looking for some exotic birds, they were huge with wide wingspan and they were maroon coloured and called ja-ja birds. I could hear them screeching above me and I could see them wheeling against the brilliant blue of the sky.In my dream, I was keeping close to the green rock wall although it looked wet and shiny and somehow repellent so i didn’t want to touch it. I was in a party of other tourists, but at that point I was on my own, climbing higher even though I felt anxious. Suddenly, round a bend in the track came two women who (apparently) had been in my tourist group. They were American and arguing furiously and rushing back down the track, almost knocking me over. The ja-jas were wheeling around like prehistoric pterodactyl creature, screaming and crying. I was unnerved and decided to turn back. I stayed close be the wall as I descended, scared, and slightly queasy. The two women were below me and I watched them stop to continue their argument. Suddenly the larger, fatter woman in a cowboy hat, shoved her friend who fell against the fence then tumbled down the canyon into the racing water.
So at our meeting together I shared the expanded version of my story I wrote of the dream… but as I read it out to my friends, I suddenly realised that really it wasn’t very good, in fact it was pretty poor. Actually, pretty poor verging on the terrible. I think it was pretty much the worst thing I had eve shared. My friends made very helpful comments and offered suggestions and ideas which I have noted.
Now, was I disheartened or disappointed? No because this is the whole point of our new group – to help each other write better by giving honest criticism and observation. So no, I was not disheartened, in fact I was heartened and enthused because I really want to make something from this mad dream, but it has to be less emaciated, less feeble – not flabby or overblown, but… but something! I have some new and exciting ideas which may not come to fruition, but on the other hand – they may! So, back to the ja-ja birds!
My featured image isn’t of birds, let-alone ja-ja birds, but it’s green, the overwhelming colour in this peculiar fantasy. It’s a photo of some tremendous wall-art from Newport.
I walked on and up
