Ty's Dream Girl (The Middle)

Ty faced the now-empty beach with a blinking incomprehension. It wasn’t possible for Kit to have walked--or even run--down to the water in the time he’d been submerged. And even if it were possible, where was the chaise?

Despite the impossibility of it, the evidence--a long slash-mark in the sand--pointed waterward.

Feeling stupid even before he began to move, Ty took a deep breath and dived under. Eyes open and alert, he took several slow underwater strokes toward shore.

Directly ahead, in the knee-deep shallows, he thought he could make out a cloud of dirt, the aftermath of some soon-to-be-forgotten disturbance. But when the impression failed to prove itself, he eased himself back to the surface.

Without really knowing what he was looking for, he turned around in the water, glancing off in all directions for some sign of help. The only visible activity was the sailboat he’d seen earlier, unreachable in the distance.

Some part of him--the hopeful, mystic part--felt that if he just stayed there, dog-paddling long enough, Kit would reappear, that she would come walking out of somewhere, and that her reappearance would make sense of her disappearance.

In a strange bargain with himself and with this girl he’d never even officially met, he decided to give her a count of 100 before taking any other action. But almost as soon as he began to count, the dog-paddling grew hard. An act that had been easy and natural just moments before grew labored now that it was being measured.

Despite the struggle, when he broke 50 his counting slowed in an unconscious effort to give Kit more time. But even then, the numbers seemed to come too fast.

He had just settled on an even slower count when something underwater grazed his leg. A whispered number “73” died on his lips and he instinctively jerked away from the touch, tucking his legs up toward him. Squinting down into the water, he waited for the next contact, sure that he would scream when it came.

Nothing happened for what seemed an eternity. He had just decided to swim for his own beach when, just a yard away, something floated almost imperceptibly to the surface. At first, the brown strands rolling gently in the water confused him. But almost immediately his brain made the connection; he was staring at a tiny island of dislocated human hair, floating long and brown there on the surface.

Ty's Dream Girl (The Beginning)

Twelve-year-old Ty Austin lay face-down on the dock, head resting on an inflatable life ring, a barely perceptible breeze rolling over him from the north.

For the last half hour, he’d watched a sailboat--the only movement in sight--gliding down the opposite shore.

But now, he grew aware of a new movement. On the beach at the next door cottages, the new girl--he’d heard her mom call her Kit--pulled up a folding lounge chair and lay out in her bikini. Ty watched her with his one open eye, hoping that she wouldn’t sense his attention.

She was thin and pale, and the vision of her first stepping out on the beach a few days before had echoed in Ty’s head ever since.

Now that he was aware of her presence, he quickly grew self-conscious, feeling, without really knowing it, that he had to prove himself worthy of existing in the same space as Kit.

With a move he hoped looked smooth and nonchalant, he stood and stretched, stealing a glance at the girl. For a moment, she appeared unaware of him. He tried to will her to look his way, tried, through some undiscovered telepathy, to convince her he was worth noticing. He had nearly given up when she did, finally, turn toward him. With a nervous flourish, he executed a jackknife dive off the end of the dock.

His heart raced as he pulled hard under water, driving himself to the bottom before pushing off with his feet. He felt at once proud and stupid. Would Kit be impressed? Or would she think him a showy fool?

When he broke the surface again, he sucked a deep breath and wiped the water from his eyes. Dog-paddling now, he turned slowly around to spy her beach. For a moment, he was disoriented, facing an empty stretch of sand. He looked left and right to orient himself, but it only took one steady glance--noting the stand of three birch and the granite outcropping--to realize that he was, in fact, facing the right beach.

A nervous confusion blossomed in him. He took several tentative strokes toward shore to get a better view before an odd pattern resolved itself in the sand. In an instant, confusion turned to realization. The jagged lines from mid-beach down to the water were a signature, the final words of a lounge chair being dragged to nowhere.

A short story coming next

The next three posts are the components of a short-story written in three installments for a friend's writing newsletter.

The Peaceful Time

Just back from vacation in New Hampshire (the first in a long, long time).

I'm reading Elizabeth George's Write Away--my second attempt--and enjoying it more this time around. It's much more detailed (at the nuts-and-bolts level) than Stephen King's On Writing.

I'll have more to say when I've actually finished it.

Moonlit Backyard

Don't Use Internet Explorer

If you care to keep your computer healthy, don't use Internet Explorer.

There are two great free options--Opera 9.x and Firefox 1.5.x. Both are capable web browsers, and both will expose you to far less mischief from the thugs of the internet.

Neither will free you from the need to have and maintain subscriptions to anti-virus software and anti-spyware. But, in combination with these taking these precautions, using Opera or Firefox will make for a much safer experience.

Get the World's Best Free Word Processor

Many writers I've met have spent too much energy hunting for a word processor they can stomach. Some can't afford--or don't feel like affording--Microsoft Word. Some simply can't tolerate the extreme complexity of Word's interface.

There is a good option called OpenOffice. It's an open source application available as a free, no-strings download. There's no registration required, and the software won't nag you to upgrade to some more functional, professional version.

OpenOffice was created and is maintained by a group of volunteer developers with the notion of creating a non-proprietary software suite that's compatible with Microsoft Office. For the most part, the applications succeed beautifully. The word processor--which I know best of the applications in the suite--is very capable (in many instances simpler to use than Word) and is, in most respects, perfectly compatible with Word.

If you're dissatisfied with your current word processor, OpenOffice it's definitely worth a look. The one caution I would give, though, is that you're facing a huge download. It's no problem for a cable modem or DSL subscriber but not feasible for a dial-up user.

Another Fine Writing Book -- Bird By Bird

Neurotic and witty, painfully honest and flat out funny, Anne Lamott clearly cares about writers and writing.

Bird By Bird is a generous gift from a woman at once tortured by the writers' struggles and hopelessly captured by the promise of what fine writing can deliver. The book offers emotional support, nuts-and-bolts workaday writing advice, and biographical human interest stories.

Lamott is a mercilously straight shooter when it comes to her own writerly behavior. At her worst, she looks terrified, unsure, petty, and mean. At her best, she's as generous and committed a friend as a writer could wish for. But, in truth, even at her worst she's at her best, unflinchingly honest and intense, curious and giving.

She won't blow sunshine up your backside, won't promise ocean views from the hills of Malibu. What she will do is tell you the truths she's learned about doing good work. And she'll likely make you laugh a bit along the way. Not a bad deal for your fifteen bucks.

Photography Web Sites

A couple great web sites for those of you interested in photography.

Luminous Landscape

The Online Photographer

Cynicism and Wisdom are Not the Same Thing

Too many people mistake cynicism for wisdom.

Cynicism is, in reality, a cheap pretender to wisdom. It comes nearly free--which wisdom most certainly doesn't--and it encourages all manner of dishonest behavior.

In truth, cynicism and dishonesty are the best of friends. A world that mistakes cynicism for something better is the kind of swamp that breeds 'journalists' who forge documents to suit their ends, photographers who reconstruct photos to further their righteous causes.

Wisdom demands that truth have a fighting chance, no matter how difficult or unpleasant it is to discern; cynicism promotes my way at any cost, and promises that truth is less important than agenda.

Cynicism is not only the enemy of truth, but it's the enemy of joy, as well. The best a cynic can really manage with respect to creating and sustaining joy is a smarmy sort of self-satisfaction. It's a cheap thrill for the person delivering it, and it's no thrill at all for the honest reader.

As an honest reader, myself, I have no appetite for it. Not on the web. Not in a newspaper. Not in a novel.

Genuine writing, writing with a chance to move me, demands honesty. And I'll even take my proclamation farther than that and say that genuine living--genuine thought and reaction--requires honesty.

As a writer, don't fall for the seductive simplicity of cynicism. It's true that you could roll out of bed tomorrow and adopt the mantle of cynic, embracing all the smug self-confidence that brings. But the rewards are shallow, and the world around you will be diminished for it. Do yourself and your readers a favor and aspire to wisdom, instead.



Note:. I plan to post examples of cynical and honest writing in the next couple weeks.

Maui with throw-away panoramic Kodak camera