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03 Apr 08 - 12:03 PM (#2305553) Subject: BS: Shared Writings - Installments From: katlaughing I wanted to share this in the Western movie thread, but thought it was too wordy, so...fanfare please! First time in "print!" Part of a chapter from, "Prairie Child," a fictionalised autobiography, from my childhood, which illustrates the influence Westerns had on me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Main character, Kally, is out playing on the dirt hills behind her parents' house with her trusty dog, Tramp: Here it came, the stagecoach to Dodge City, only it was way out in the desert, several days ride from Dodge, Miss Kitty, and Marshall Dillon. She could see the dust it kicked up; it was obviously moving fast. "Miss Lou" had lost her horse and luckily knew the route the stagecoach travelled, so she was all set to flag it down, she didn't care how fast they were going, nor if she had to lasso them to slow them down. She was going to get a ride on that coach. As it drew near, she stood up, waving her hands and shouting, "Whoa up, there, boys!" She could see the driver had a tight grip on the reins and the horses were galloping full out. The man riding shotgun held his rifle ready with one hand while with the other he held on for dear life. They both saw her at the same time. The driver almost stood up in an effort to slow the team and apply the brake. It jostled back and forth, rocking all of the occupants inside and kicking up so much dust Lou could hardly see for the choking cloud. "Why, Miss Lou, Ma'am, what in tarnation are you doing out here?" the driver hollered. "I lost my horse when a rattlesnake spooked him. Need to hitch a ride to Dodge," she explained, coughing and holding a handkerchief to her face. "Miss Kitty's expecting me back, pronto." "Well, you're welcome to climb on in. You'll have to hurry, though; we've got bandits on our tail." The shotgun rider jumped down and helped her up into the passenger car. As she settled her skirts and ran her hand through her hair in an effort to make it presentable, he climbed back up and they were off. The driver lashed out with a long whip, hollering at the horses. They reacted with a start. Getting their rhythm synced up, they stretched their necks out, moving with an effort, for they had already run a good distance and they hadn't been watered for several hours. Miss Lou looked at her fellow passengers. The man in the corner opposite of her was obviously a drummer; probably ladies' wear from the looks of him, kind of a dandy looker with a bowler hat which would do him absolutely no good in the high desert sun. An older gentleman sat next to him, actually leaning away from him as much as possible, swaying in an easy rhythm with the coach; rancher, most likely, on his way back East, probably further than Dodge, she thought, maybe even New York City, though if it was big city he wanted, you'd think he'd of gone to San Francisco instead, it was so much closer. Well those were two she wasn't worried about; she didn't think they'd be any trouble. It was obvious they knew how to act in polite company. Even as the stagecoach tossed them back and forth in a jolting rocking motion, they'd both tipped their hats to her, the courtesy of a gentleman which she appreciated. The fourth passenger sat on the same side as Miss Lou. She'd only glanced at him on her way in. Now, she turned ever so slightly in her seat. She didn't want to be too forward. She wanted to maintain her ladylike decorum. She may have been raised poor, but she had plenty of book learning and manners instilled in her by her momma and papa. Her eyes rested on him just briefly. He sat slouched against the window on his side, with a large cowboy hat pulled down low on his brow and a light coat over the usual saddle tramp outfit. He also had a six-shooter in a holster on his left hip. A southpaw she thought to herself. Miss Lou slid her hand into her reticule (Kally loved that word!) and closed her fingers around her small derringer. It wouldn't do much at a distance, but up close it would save her if need be. That she would use it if necessary was not in doubt. She'd been in enough close scrapes she knew she had a strong defensive streak in her. As she continued to look at the stranger, he caught her eye and gave her a slow smile. She quickly looked away but not before noticing the smile did not reach his piercing blue eyes. Have to watch that one, she thought to herself. The older man across from her spoke up, "How'do, Ma'am. Name's Lucas Wilder, from the Bar Seventeen Ranch. Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can do to assist you?" "Why, thank you, kindly," Miss Lou replied. "I just need a bit of a rest, though from the sounds of it I may not get much. If I may be so forward, are the bandits far behind?" The dandy answered her in a rush of excitement, "Gosh, no, they've been right on our tail for the last five hours! We even had a shootout and he," he gestured to the man next to her, "was even wounded!" Miss Lou quickly turned back to the handsome stranger. "I know a little doctoring, is there anything I can do?" she asked. He shook his head and turned away from her, his left hand tapping restlessly against his gun holster. The rancher explained, "We bandaged him up, Ma'am. Not much else to be done until we get to Dodge City. Do you carry a gun, Miss? If so, you may want to keep it handy. We're likely to have more shooting before it's all done." "I can handle a gun quite well, thank you. I'll not be a hindrance if something should happen," she assured them. She settled back in her seat and wearily sighed. She realized she was hot, dry and dusty. "Do you happen to have any water?" she asked. The rancher handed her a canteen. She took a small sip, then pulling a handkerchief from around her neck, she soaked it with a small amount of water. Putting the cork back in the canteen, she passed it back then sponged off her face and hands and placed the hanky back around her neck. The coolness of the evaporating water made her feel slightly better and the sip of fresh water, even as warm as it was, satisfied her thirst for the moment. The drover spoke up, once more, "I've got some harder stuff than that if you've a mind to drink some, Miss," he reached across the aisle with a small flask in his hand. "No, thank you," said Miss Lou. Her tone of voice let them all know she was done with the chitchat. They all went back to silent contemplation of their plight, the sound of the wheels and the driver and his partner settling into a pattern which lulled Miss Lou into a light sleep. Suddenly the stagecoach lurched, waking Miss Lou and startling the other passengers. "What the..?" the stranger moaned. It was obvious he was in some pain and the jolt had increased it. The coach was off-balance, listing towards Miss Lou and the old rancher's side. They struggled to keep to their seats. As it bumped along a few more feet, they could hear the driver shouting at his assistant to put on the brakes. Miss Lou looked out her window and saw a wheel go bouncing off across the desert, unattached to the coach. Finally, the coach came to a halt, the driver and company jumping down almost immediately. "Are you all right in there?" he shouted, struggling to open the off-side door. "We lost a wheel," he continued shouting at them. "C'mon out of there." He reached across and helped Miss Lou out from the cab. Because of the slant, she had to be careful; the steps were sloped and resting on the ground instead of even and above as usual. After her, came the other three, the two able men helping the wounded man down. The flap of his coat caught on the door and she could see a blood-soaked bandage across his chest before he closed it with his other hand. Too much damage like that and he won't make it back to Dodge, thought Miss Lou. The shotgun rider was busy unhitching the horses as the driver led the passengers over to some big red rocks. "Miss Lou, you come over here, back here behind this boulder, now. We don't want you getting in any danger, now," he said in a rushed but kindly manner. "You men, get your guns loaded and ready. We don't have time to fix that wheel before them robbers come along, so we're gonna have to stand our ground." They all followed him around the red rocks, finding hiding places with a good view of the road. By then the shotgun rider had the horses loose and brought them around, too. "Curly," the driver said, "Take this," he handed saddlebags at the younger man. "You head out on one of them, now. Get to Dodge as quick as you can and bring back help. We'll hold 'em off," the driver instructed. Curly jumped up on one of the big horses, looping the traces around its neck and hanging on. He gave it a kick and off they went in a cloud of dust. Ride like the wind, Miss Lou silently prayed. They didn't seem to have much in the way of ammunition, water, or food. They could be pinned down for hours and the robbers weren't the only unfriendly critters in the territory. All this time, Kally had been moving along the hills of home pretending to be on the stagecoach, then ran behind some rocks where she was playing. Tramp dutifully followed, protecting his little girl turned dance hall girl from any dangers real or imaginary. She threw herself back into the play world. Shots rang out, pinging the rocks and whistling just above their heads. A rise of dust had warned them of the approaching bandits, so they'd ducked down just in time. The bandits pulled their horses up short on the opposite side of the stagecoach, staking out their positions. Taking careful aim, the old rancher and the wounded man each took shots at them, hitting the canvas of the stagecoach and the dirt at the feet of one of the bandits. There were three robbers, though the third wasn't visible. The stagecoach driver was off to the side of them, looking for the third man. The bandits spewed a fuselage of fire back at the stranded travellers. Miss Lou looked over at the drover. "Have you got a gun?" she shouted at him. He reached into his valise and with a trembling hand pulled out a revolver. "Is it loaded?" she asked. He nervously shook his head yes and handed it to her. She took up a position between the two others. Her aim was straight and true, just as her daddy had taught her. Just as one of the outlaws raised his head for a clear shot, she squeezed the trigger, catching him in his shooting arm. He was down for the count. One disabled, two more to go, she thought. Just then, Tramp nudged Kally's hand. She had her toy cap-gun, a six-shooter with amber coloured handles in her hand aiming at imaginary robbers and setting off a cap each time. The pungent smell of black powder filled the air. "What is it, Tramp?" He looked up at her. Listening to the real world now, Kally heard her mom calling her. "Uh-oh! Time to head for home, boy!" She gathered her dress up around her knees and headed back to the house. She'd have to save the men on the stagecoach another day. © 2006 Kathleen LaFrance All rights reserved |
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03 Apr 08 - 08:13 PM (#2306006) Subject: RE: BS: Shared Writings - Installments From: John on the Sunset Coast You go, lady! I had lots of fun reading this chapter...or short story. The imagery was good, and I especially liked your shifting between Kally's imagination and her real world; the preparation that that's what's going on, and not just springing it out of the blue. Brava! JotSC |
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03 Apr 08 - 09:10 PM (#2306038) Subject: RE: BS: Shared Writings - Installments From: katlaughing Why thank yew, kind Sir! It is part of a chapter out of a novel written for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) back in November of two thousand six.:-) |
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04 Apr 08 - 07:21 AM (#2306303) Subject: RE: BS: Shared Writings - Installments From: maeve Good imagery and just enough detail, Kat! But I don't wanna wait for more! One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three... Ok; Time for another installment, please! |
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04 Apr 08 - 12:43 PM (#2306561) Subject: RE: BS: Shared Writings - Installments From: Art Thieme Kat, I is vivid and makes me extraplate more in my mind. But what happens after the aliens abduct her? And when she still can't figure out if it was real or not, but arrives back home one day pregnant... Her mom does NOT believe the story about a daydream she gives her. Art |
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04 Apr 08 - 10:29 PM (#2307083) Subject: RE: BS: Shared Writings - Installments From: frogprince Art... Whut'ryoutalkin'about? : ) |
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04 Apr 08 - 10:35 PM (#2307089) Subject: RE: BS: Shared Writings - Installments From: katlaughing Thanks, maeve! I guess I should have thought more about the title of this thread. Not sure I want to put the whole thing, chapter by chapter online just yet. I might put in another excerpt, though, a part of a chapter as I did above.:-) Art, LOL...no aliens in this one and it only goes to age 13 so no preggers, yet!**bg** frogprince...Art has a fertile imagination.:-) |
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04 Apr 08 - 11:00 PM (#2307104) Subject: RE: BS: Shared Writings - Installments From: katlaughing One more partial chapter, just for you, maeve.:-) I'm going to have to think on if I want to put any more of it up until I have edited some more. :-) A note to my siblings (in case they read this): Each one of us has different memories, coloured by our own perceptions. I have changed some names and have deliberately not focussed on featuring the whole family, siblings included. Anything you read is my memory only, fictionalised, and is not meant as any kind of "written in stone" record of our family. Hopefully, you will still love me when I am 64!:-) The setting: Kally's horse is a bay mare named "Vixen." Kally has just asked her mom is she can take Vixen down to the posse grounds for a ride in the arena. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "All right, Kally, go ahead and go. I can hear Vixen near the basement door. There are some carrots in the 'fridge. Why don't you hand her one and then you may go riding?" The old Victorian farmhouse sat up on a hill. The front yard was almost level with the main floor, with just a few steps up to the front veranda. Around in back, following the driveway, the hill had been scooped out, level with the basement door. It was here coal trucks would come to dump loads of coal in the coal bins to fuel the ancient furnace. The kitchen was on the main floor with two windows, facing south, just above the coal bins and basement door. "Thanks, mom! You're the best," Kally ran to the refrigerator and grabbed a carrot. She went over to one of the kitchen windows and threw up the sash. "Heya, Vix, here ya go, girl." She stretched out the window as far as she could, extending her arm downwards towards the waiting horse. Vixen had her neck stretched up as high as it could go. The little girl and the horse met just barely by fingertips and muzzle, when Vix's flashing white teeth grabbed the prize and quickly began chewing it to bits. "Stay there, Vix, I'll be right down," Kally told her. She hurried over to the inside basement door, across from the sink, opened it and yelled, "Bye, mom!" as she hurried down the rickety old stairs. The basement was kind of scary to her. Cobwebs accumulated often no matter her mother's cleaning and it was dark. A bare bulb or two lit the way to the coal bins, door, and back to the monstrous furnace. Other rooms, all with foundation stone walls, were unlit and, in the right light and mood, full of "bogeymen." Kally hurried over to the door, flung it open and took a deep breath. Vixen still stood there, chewing the last bits of her carrot and looking for more handouts. During the day when she was free to roam, Kally and her sisters would also water Vixen at the basement door. They kept a bucket by the door where there was also a water faucet. They also kept another bag of oats there along with a saddle and bridle. This afternoon, Kally took the bridle in one hand, hidden behind her back, and a few oats in her other hand. She opened it palm up, with her fingers tightly together and offered Vixen the treat. As Vix took them from her hand, Kally slowly reached around her neck and mane and slipped the reins of the bridle around her neck, quickly grabbing the one which dangled offside. She had to be quick and silent about it, sometimes, or Vix would take off before she could catch her. Talking softly to her, she slipped the bit into Vix's mouth, the band over Vix's ears, and buckled the cheek strap. Taking the reins, she looped them around an old post outside the basement door. Turning back to the basement, she grabbed the saddle blanket. It was a little dusty and smelled deliciously like "horse." She carefully slung it up onto Vix's back, making sure the sides were even. Next was the saddle, a genuine cowboy saddle, old and creaky with the leather well broken in. She hooked the offside stirrup onto the saddle horn to keep it from banging Vix as she hoisted the saddle with a grunt of effort, settling it evenly where it naturally fit her back. She had to be very careful with the next bit, reaching under Vix's belly to grab the cinch strap. Vix had a habit of sashaying around to keep Kally from reaching it. She had been a cutting horse on a ranch before retiring to live at Kally's parents' home. She had pretty little hooves which she danced around on and could turn on a dime. But, she was also pretty good with a kid, so eventually Kally would catch the cinch, thread it through the ring on the saddle, tighten it up and wait a second. Like most horses, Vixen would puff up her belly in an effort to keep the strap loose. Many inexperienced riders found themselves face down in the dirt from a too-loose-from-a-puffed-up-belly cinch strap. Kally believed horses did it mostly to laugh at the "greenhorns." Her daddy made sure she was no greenhorn, though. She put one foot up against Vix's belly, grabbed the strap once again and leaned back, pulling for all she was worth. Vix let go the air which made her belly full and Kally quickly secured the end of the cinch. By now, the stirrups were hanging in place. She and Vixen were ready to go. Because they would be riding along roads and past other dogs' territories, Tramp had to stay home. Going a couple of miles west, then due south, Kally rode Vixen to the local sheriff's posse grounds. It was like a small rodeo arena, filled with soft dirt; surrounded by high wooden board fencing with a judges/commentator booth perched high up at one end. Faded wooden bleachers, full of slivers, were placed on the east and west sides. Today, there were three barrels placed in a triangle in the arena for barrel-racing practice. At the time, barrel-racing was the only part in which women could participate in a rodeo. Kally had been meaning to try Vix out on the barrels. Today was the day. When they got there, some of the kids from Kally's school were there on their horses. "Hi, Kally, come on and do the barrels with us!" Karl hollered at her. She thought he was really cute, but she didn't think he was interested in her anyway, though her tummy fluttered at the sound of his voice and attention. Even so, she was much more interested in her horse than some boy. She entered the riding ring and watched as some of the other kids rode their horses around. Finally, it was her turn. "Let's go, Vix," she yelled and kicked Vix in the sides with her cowboy boots, urging her to run quickly. She headed her over to the first barrel. Being a cutting horse, used to quick, tight turns culling cattle from the herd, Vix knew exactly what to do and did it well. Round the barrel they went, then running across a short stretch to the next. All the time, Kally was talking softly to her, urging her to go faster, turn tighter. They made the second barrel just fine, then one more stretch to the last barrel, the point of the triangle. As they rounded it, Kally felt her boot brush the side of the barrel. Vix kept going, Kally barely hanging on, praying the barrel didn't fall over. She'd get a penalty for it, if it did and if she were in a real rodeo. Coming out of the turn, she glanced back and noticed the barrel had righted itself. Home free, almost, she brandished her quirt, touching Vix's hindquarters, yelling at her to "go, go, go!" and run like the wind to the finish line. It was a straight, long stretch, right up the middle, north to south. Vix was a good kid's horse, but only if the kid had some sense and some experience. She kept them on their toes and once in awhile she would pull a big surprise on them. Poor Kally hardly had time to register what Vix did next, as she was urging her on. Vixen stopped short, planting her front feet solidly, legs locked in position. She slung her neck down, like a swing-set slide. Kally slid down her neck with all the momentum of a fast ride, unable to grab leather or mane. Just as she neared Vix's neck, Vix lifted her head and gave a great toss. Kally went sailing through the air. She reached the finish line without the horse! She landed on her bottom and wailed with what her dad would later call a "good Scotch blessing." She cursed that horse until she was red in the face. Her friends were laughing. One of the boys said she sounded like a watermelon splitting open when she landed. She was so mad, frustrated and embarrassed; she wanted to sink into the ground. Kally's dad had always told his kids, "If you get bucked off, rubbed off, or fall off, you have to get right back on; show the horse who is boss!" Slowly, she got up and tested her legs, arms, tush and ankles. She seemed to be all right except for a few bruises to her body and ego. She looked around to see Vixen standing placidly by as if to say, "Well, what's wrong with you, Kid?" By then her friends had come over to make sure she was okay. She walked over to Vixen with her hand out, palm up, "C'mere, girl, good girl." She knew she had to catch her with honey, not the way she was really feeling at the moment, madder than hops. Vix stretched out her magical slide neck and snuffled Kally's fingers. Then she let Kally get a little closer until she could grab the reins. Vix apparently had had enough fun at Kally's expense as she was quite ready to be mounted for the ride home. Kally told her friends goodbye and headed off at a slow walk. By the time they came to the long driveway of home, Kally was hurting in a lot of places she didn't know she had. Her hands were scraped, her bottom hurt plenty and her whole skeleton felt like it'd been shaken out hard. Vix was happy to be home and eager for a cup of oats. Kally had to hold her back, not wanting the bone-jarring of a trot, or the speed of a gallop in the short stretch to the house. As she reined in Vix at the front steps, her mom and dad quickly came out onto the porch. Her mom said, "Kally! What happened?" Her dad said, "The ol' girl throwed ya, did she? We could hear you hollering and cussing at her clear up here!" His eyes had a twinkle in them. He had a hard time keeping his mouth from turning up at the corners. Kally slowly and carefully climbed down from the saddle. She told her folks what had happened and how mad she was at Vixen. Nevertheless, she knew Vix was her responsibility. She was the one who had to unsaddle her. She was the one who had to water and feed her. She was the one who had to brush her coat and make sure she was none the worse for the wear of her escapades. Leading her round to the back, she tied her to the old post, opened the basement door and began her chores. When she took the saddle off, Vix blew out a few loud snorts of air and nuzzled her for some treats. "Your mom wanted me to come down in the car to make sure you were okay," said Kally's dad. He'd followed her around to the back of the house and was watching her feed and groom Vix. "I told her, if your lungs was strong enough to be heard up here you were okay. If your brains'd been mush we wouldn't have heard that good Scotch blessing you gave ol' Vix!" By then, he was grinning from ear-to-ear. Kally felt better, knowing her dad had such confidence in her. It was as if she'd passed a test, a right of passage, getting outsmarted and dumped by their horse for the first time on her own. She felt like a chip off the old block and was proud. Turning Vix out to pasture, what there was of it, she gave her daddy a gingerly but heartfelt hug and they walked back round to the front and went inside. Her mom was waiting with a damp washcloth and the Mercurochrome. She gently cleaned Kally's hands and painted them with the stinging, bright orange anti-bacterium, blowing to take the sting away as she dabbed it on. That night, Kally went to sleep, dreaming of her infamous "ride," her dad's cow man father, her granddad, and most of all of her beloved, if cantankerous horse. © 2006 Kathleen LaFrance All rights reserved |
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12 Apr 08 - 05:01 PM (#2313886) Subject: RE: BS: Shared Writings - Installments From: Amos She took another breath, and loosened her grip on the podium; she was beginning to understand what she was doing, and the panic was subsiding. ÒIn linguistics and anthropology, which are more closely related than we would sometimes like them to beÉÓ The audience laughed appreciatively. ÒÉwe can find a similar array of motivations, because language is at once one of the greatest mysteries of our nature, and one of the most common sources of confusion and pitfalls in our thinking. As with psychologists, psychiatrists and psychoanalysts, we come into our profession for personal reasons Ð to remedy some personal wreckage on the shoals of misunderstood language, or to help clarify the peculiar nature of our species, or perhaps to penetrate the mysteries of why we speak at all, and where the limits are in the juxtapositions between our amazing capacity for factual or fictional or other-worldly thought and our ability to wield language in describing it. "As far as we have come as a profession, and as much as we have accomplished in understanding the array of phenomena associated with human languages, their families and relationships, their subtle morphemic structures, and their intricate cross-pollinations through time, there is without doubt or question, in my view, a great deal more that we do not know, and may even not know how to ask.Ó She had them. The audience had stopped whispering and clinking their dishes, and she could feel their attention on her as though she had fired off a pistol in the middle of a party. |