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This property was reserved by Tiffin I'm from Alaska, USA. | |||||||||||||||||||||||
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Rewrite Eight September 19, 1998 By Tiffin Sitting down for another rewrite of the submission for Writers Chat, I was overcome with wariness. I had been working on this piece now for 7 days straight. Each redraft I had shown it to him to only to be met with criticism. I mean what didn't he understand of the story. Sure he enjoys that part of my creativity, which was my core it came easily and naturally, even-stating "Pat you have such a talent for poetry. I truly enjoy reading your poems and knowing you read great authors I don't see how you can not write a story with a beginning, middle and an end. Snatching my two pages back in disgust at him, I think of ways to end his life. Sensing my mood he even has the gall to laugh then say "Okay take the knife out of my back!" This only increases my determination to prove I can write something other than poetry. Self-doubt hits me with a blow not expected. Reading the story again, making changes here and there, correcting grammar and spelling errors, the plot is good to me. I know the characters. Thrilled with what I have written, anxious to see what it will look like on the Writers Chat website; I even sign up on Fortune City to display this story. Sly as a fox I send him an email, with a brief note, check this out for light entertainment! Nervous as a young virgin I await him turning to me and saying "Oh Pat this is wonderful!" Fanciful dreams I have. Shattered once more as I hear the truth from his crusty lips. "Pat what is the assignment again? Maybe I'm missing something here." Anger, loathing and just a touch of madness possess me in an instant. "Well I don't see what part of my story you don't understand." His reply was "I am certainly glad you didn't ask what part I didn't like." That was obvious to me, "You don't like any of it." Again I marched to my side of the living room where my computer looms. Logging in on the Internet, I hit the bookmark section to return to Writers Chat webpage. Reading out loud to him the assignment these are my choices and I choose this particular one. His only comment, "It does state you can select one of your own making." The vision of him roasting in the fireplace, chopped into bit size morsels is a relishing thought. Knowing he has angered me in a form he does not describe he slithers off to bed. My mind yells out to him "Spineless snake - I'm not mad, just crushed that you don't like it". The moment of truth as he puts it will be if everyone will again say nice things; while covering up the reality that as a writer I suck. Or will there be silence because they are too embarrassed to acknowledge my lack of the English language. Will they gush, sing songs of praise for the ability to put words on paper that are enlighten and empowered. Again I rewrite the story to appease his image of me, a talented poet. Activist, a narcissistic witch, and a cocky animal trainer struggle for survival in a log cabin. Latitude 68 Longitude 55 By Tiffin Swirling snow entered the cabin as the door burst open allowing the temperature to drop quickly within the small one room. Ralph hunched over by the heavy load of rotten timber caked with a thin sheet of ice stuck to his wool blazer and to his gloveless hands. Calling out, Roseanne, please could you help just this once. Glaring into the broken mirror, primping her once glossy black hair now matted, stringy, and greasy from 39 days of no beauty shop. Look Ralph I'm busy. Geez you would think by now someone would have noticed I'm missing. My talk show had climbed to the top of the ratings charts. I was over-taking that hussy Rosie. When I replaced Jay Leno on the Tonight Show my years as comic, actress, and advocate for the abused certainly . Interrupting her for the tenth time that day, Roseanne, please, we need the wood to keep the room warm enough or otherwise we will develop hypothermia and I know you don't want to freeze to death. I know I don't. Washington is waiting for my report on airlines not using the locator beacon in every aircraft large and small. That report will save lives and others the similar fate we have endured these past few weeks. Where is Geraldo? Why doesn't he help you? All he does is check on those damn animals or recite his glorious nights with that media he calls a circus. Isn't it enough that I have listen to both of you rant and rave on Washington and all you have done for the American public? You are just using up all my beautiful personal stationary for that silly report . Sighing, Roseanne's mind began to wander. I'm so hungry! When will you have dinner ready Ralph? Returning to mirror glazing Roseanne continued to finger comb her hair that recently start falling out in small clumps. Ralph began feeding the small fire one log at a time, thinking back to how his life had taken him thus far. Acknowledging to himself it all started with the Ford Pinto. What a waste of time and energy that car had been. Now this accident with lost of lives. He should have known this speaking engagement was jinx from the start. Who in their right minds would have the list of guests that where on the flight bound for Yukon from New York. Laughing to himself he recounted the look of surprise when retired ex-president Clinton was questioned about the divorce proceeding from Hilary seven years ago. That Geraldo could always snare one if they were unaware of his tactics. Shaking his head with sadness bringing back memories of the newlywed of one week, Elizabeth Dole Clinton, who had died at impact, she would have made one heck of a candidate for presidency. Bill's antics were nothing compared to hers. As the door banged open, both Ralph's and Roseanne's heads turn as the tiny fire leaped in to an inferno of smoke, ash, and scorching flames feed by fresh frozen air which swept across the twenty paces from door to chimney. Nodding to his companions, Geraldo moved like an ancient panther towards the flickering flames to put his frost bitten hands over the heat. Pulling the corner of his mustache Goliath is still missing and Sheba is becoming more anxious. I realize rations are limited, but I'm assured when one of you donates a steak, that I could entrap Goliath back to his cage with Sheba. Then we can put the two of them in their harnesses; hitched them to that old sled behind the lento; the two of them could pull us to safety! I've been practicing with Sheba the last few days and with Goliath there is no way my plan could fail! Laughing as she just heard a dirty joke Roseanne returned to picking tiny particles of dirt off the remnants of the black velvet evening gown that had distracted her from her hair. Geraldo, old man, I know you think that those beasts of yours have the strength of a locomotive but they haven't had a decent meal in awhile, replied Ralph in a quaking voice, besides don't they hibernate during winter months? No they are not hibernators; Ralph I know this will work! My plan is solid; I have even found the pilot's maps! Listen to me. I didn't get to be MTV lead anchorman by sitting on my carcass like some of the characters here. Remember when I finally snared OJ on a national broadcast to confess to murdering Nicole and Ron. I didn't give up then and I refused to give up now. Excited and flushed Geraldo pulled weathered, crumbled papers into view from his tailored Armani suit now torn and one sleeve missing below the elbow. Hauntingly looking at the two men Okay fellows, I'm awfully hungry right now. Why don't you two cook up a dinner fit for a queen! Look at this: I'm able to twist this dress twice around me. Oh god, the weight I've lost. I'm tired of listening to you two bitch and moan. If that wasn't enough, your disagreements on how to get out of here are insane. Pausing as she sucked a large breath, sneaking another look in mirror she rambles on. Personally I think those white, hairy beasts would be several meals for me. Plus would make me a most excellent fur coat, the black nose on them would be wonderful as� All three startled from the sound outside the only opening to freedom located in the small cabin. The growls were louder than the wind whistling through unpatched split logs. Ralph rushed to latch the cracked wooden door, which seem to move in slow motion. Each became frantic as they searched for protection. Roseanne eyes widen as the shadow flashed in the dirt smudged three paned glass window; the fourth pane missing yet covered in red fiberglass from the broken plane in ruins a mile up the mountain. Geraldo pursed his lips as the growls increased. Heavy pounding on door sounded as if the Terminator was announcing his arrival home from a long day's journey. Roseanne grabbed the butcher's knife off the table; Geraldo picked up the fireplace tongs holding them high above his left shoulder. Ralph backed away from the door as claws now clanged against the aged pine boards. To be continued� Surely this rewrite he will finally get the picture. I print out the story this time to save myself the embarrassment of him laughing at me, or even asking if this could be written as a poem. When I joined Writers Chat it was to develop and increase the skill I have. Each week I diligently do the assignments so that I can improve. I want to hear honest criticism and explore new territories. Once again I lay the sheets of paper across his keyboard as he sleeps till nightfall. My breath catches for a second. Emotions rush in like tornado. I realize I crave his approval and final acceptance of the story I am submitting for the assignment. September 26, 1998: We both sit watching our monitors for the verdict. | |||||||||||||||||||||||
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