January 30, 2007
Midnight at the Crossroads
Just got back from the Writer's Circle Meeting for January. Our writing assignment for this month was as follows: "The theme for the January meeting is "beginnings and endings." This month's topic is inspired by the Roman god, Janus. Mythology tells us that Janus, the guardian of gates and doors, has the ability to look forward and backward. He is often depicted with two faces (one bearded, the other clean shaven.) Janus was worshipped at harvest, planting, marriage, birth, and any important event in a person's life. Members are invited to share poems, journal entries, memoirs, fiction, essays or laments on the January theme. It's helpful to remember that Janus is also representative of the transition between primitive life and civilization, between the countryside and the city and between peace and war. In his right hand he holds a key. You take it from there...."
And here is what I came up with:
"Midnight at the Crossroads"
It was an unusually warm evening in early January. I would often take late night walks despite the season, just to clear my lungs with fresh air before bed. Tonight's walk was slightly uncomfortable; I had overdressed, expecting cooler conditions. I loosened my jacket, pulled off my toque and took a deep breath as the light breeze caressed the smooth skin of my freshly shorn head. Only scant traces of dirty snow remained along the edge of the road where it been tossed by the snowplow several weeks earlier.
My hometown (and I use the term "town" loosely), consisted of perhaps twenty homes and one general store. It sprung up along an otherwise uninteresting stretch of tertiary highway and was crossed about halfway through by a back road of the partially maintained sort that ubiquitously define the concession lines of our small island.
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November 5, 2006
Cliché
Here's a little short story that I wrote for the Manitoulin Island Writer's Circle last month. The theme was supposed to be Halloween or a just a scary story in general. My impromptu title was "Cliché" in honor of the first sentence.
Cliché
It was a dark and stormy night. The captain of the small cargo vessel stared out into the darkness and carefully pondered his next move; only calm and rational decisions over the next few minutes would make the difference between life and death for his motley crew.
Night had fallen over the ocean like a thick satin cloak; swallowing the stars and moon, but not before an eerie calm had fallen over the waves. The ships compliment of small oils lamps were completely inefficient at revealing the thin wisps of fog that started to seemingly boil from the still waters as the air temperature suddenly shifted… a storm was brewing.
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April 2008