On the run – the aftermath

Okay, so, more about that thing I wrote today.

The paralells to my own life are obvious. Paf isn’t me, but there’s a lot of me in Paf. There;s also a lot of me in Reg.

This is how writers deal with their issues. by making them characters and having them interact.  Reg and Paf are two parts of me that needed to get together, in a sense.

The Wolf Brothers are like my childhood bullies. Paf fleeing them is like me fleeing my bullies, although unlike me, Paf found comfort, protection. and solace in the simple folk of Crooktail Junction.

Helps to be cute, I guess.

Speaking of which, everybody loving Paf is, obviously, a fantasy of mine. What lonely child has not dreamed of a world where everybody is nice to him or her? Where there are nothing but good vibes, love and happiness and joy, and where they feel warm and welcome and worthy and loved.

I sure as heck did.

As for him having to leave to eat, that’s clearly a metaphor for the fact that I have been emotionally starving for a very long time because this life I lead, while safe, does not contain all the emotional nutrients to survive.

So I need to go out there and face the big scary world and become an adult in order to get what I need to go live on my own.

So that’s the metaphors. I hope that didn’t spoil the story for you.

I am encouraged by the fact that I felt compelled to write it. So compelled that I sat there for over four hours doing nothing but writing in order to get it done. I’ve always wanted to be the sort of person who gets stirred into action by inspiration, but I have been too much the action-repressed depressive for it to happen.

So I take the fact that it happened and happened so strongly to be a sign that I am healing up nicely inside and that I am shedding my heavy emotional burden and finally getting the lightness of spirit I need to really fly.

So far, I have not had some kind of big feeling of catharsis or any massive psychological revelations resulting from writing the fucking thing. I am, however, very very tired. This all happened after three days of only getting poor, shallow sleep – possibly not a coincidence.

Dunno what got into me that made it so hard to sleep and even harder to stay asleep. mental overstimulation, perhaps, or some kind of psychological change that started in the lowest levels of my mind and then had to keep me awake as it worked it way up through the layers of my mind to the conscious mind and made me write the damned story in order to get heard.

All I know is that right now, I am sleepy as hell, despite having gotten five hours of sleep already. Think I will go back to bed now.

Might write more later, might not.

Either way, I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

On the run (woirking title)

(NOTE : This doesn’t necessarily count towards my 1000 words for today. It’s just somewthing I had to write in order to get it out of my head and get some rest. )

So me and Div were checking the fences by Ossawak Pond when suddenly Div’s tail goes straight and he snorts and says “Now just what in the heck is THAT?”

I look where he’s looking and see just about the most bedraggled and piteous critter I have seen. His red fur was matted and tangled and caked with mud and he was trembling all over. He walked with a sway and a slump that suggested he was very, very tired and there was a frantic brightness to his eyes that convinced me that the journey had not exactly been voluntary.

Worst of all, his long red tail, normally every fox’s pride and joy, was soaked with water and full of mud, and dragged behind him from the extra weight.

And yet, here he was,. cheerfully trotting up to two big bulls like Div and I, smiling like he wanted to marry our daughter and – and this was the saddest and most piteous thing of all – the poor little fella was trying his best to wag.

“Uh hey there…. fellows.” he said, voice quivering.  “Do you fine gentlebulls think that I might be able to rest a while in your lovely little c-c-community?”

I looked at Div and he looked at me, and neither of us could see any harm in it, so I said “Sure. You can come on home with us. ”

The little fella smiled even bigger, and said “Oh. Good. ‘

And then he hit the ground with a thud as he passed out cold.


I carried the little guy home to our shack – poor little thing was light as a feather, all fur and bones but no meat – and Div and I got him cleaned up as best we could. Took three trips to the well and a lot of scrubbing to get all that mud out of his fur. Then we set him on the bed between us and took turns staying up to watch over the little guy while the other got some sleep.

And I must admit,. we were pretty worried for a while there. Passed out ain’t the same as asleep and it was clear this little fellas had been through a lot and his skin was awul cold under his fur, so for a while there I was just glad to hear the little fella keep on breathing. We were scared to death that he wouldn’t make it.

Then, after a spell, he perked up some and tried to get up. We held him down all gentle like and he gave up after a couple of seconds, and settled back down. Now it was like he was asleep but not the good kind of sleep that makes you feel better. It was the rotten kind of sleep you get when you are real real sick. He would toss and turn and moan in pain and sometimes cry out like he’d been shot. Other times he would be mumbling in his sleep, fast but you couldn’t make out any words, and then he’d bolt upright and let out such a pitiful crying how that it would melt the heart of a starving hyena, then he’d try to get up and we would have to hold him down again, sometimes for quite a while, with him scrabbling at our arms and trying to squirm free like we was set to kill him.

None of us got any sleep while that was going on.

Then finally, I guess the fever broke, and the little guy seemed to just melt into himsel as he totally relaxed, and fell into a deep deep sleep.

After listening to him breathe nice and slow and calm for a while, Div and I figured the worst was over, and we went to sleep ourselves.


When I woke up in the morning, something was wrong. My chest felt all warm and something was making my knees twitch. Had I caught something from the fox?

Well both yes and no. Because when I woke up, I found the little guy laying on top of me, head on my chest, and the tickle on my knees was his tail brushing against them as he wagged in his sleep.

For a little while I just lay there, smiling, watching the little guy sleep, feeling so happy that it looked like he way going to be okay. Then I nudged Div awake so he could see the same thing for himself.

He grinned at me and I grinned back. ‘You know what this means, right?” he said.

I nodded. “Looks like Crooktail Junction just got itself a new mascot. ”


After that night, the little fella (turned out his name was Paf) got better quick, and it wasn’t long before he was trotting along with Div and me as we did our chores and minded out patch. All the while, he’d be talking about this n’ that, asking questions and telling funny stories and making jokes, and while it took some getting used to, pretty soon Div and I got to really enjoy having him around.

But we knew it couldn’t last. As fond of him as we were, it wasn’t up to us whether or not he got to stay in our community. It was up to the Council. And the longer we waited to ask them for permission, the harder it was going to be. And it was hard enough already.

So next Market Day, six days after we found him, we took him into town with us. And I think he knew something was up, because he talked a lot more and a lot faster than usual and kept looking at us like we were taking him to his own funeral.

Truth be told, it still makes my heart sick to remember those looks.

We didn’t bother with the usual social circuit of the store and the seedlot and the park, but went straight to the Council Hall, wrote down our petition,  and rang the bell.

Pretty soon, most everyone had drifted in, and our little guest got a lot of curious sideways looks from the adults and straight on staring from the calves.

Once he decided everyone who was gonna show up had done so already, Sig, who was clark that day, stood up at the altern and banged the gavel.

“According to this petition from Div and Reg, we are here to decide if this new…. um… friend of theirs shall be permitted to stay within our community and, in time, become a part of it. ”

“But that’s a fox. ” said Pit.

“So? ” I replied.

“Well this is a cow community! Always has been, always will be. ” Pit replied.

“Uh huh. ” said Div. “What’s your point? ”

“Cow community are for cows only!” Pit said.

And before I could say “Why not?”, Sig said “Is that a motion, Pit?”

“No! ” said Pit. “I mean yes! Yes, I move that we declare that from this point on, Crooktail Junction is for cows only!”

“Do we have a second?” asked Sig.

Dead silence from the rest of the room.

“You mean to tell me you want me to get rid of the two horses and the rooster I just hired on as hands?” asked Tip.

“Well…. no, not…. ” stammered Pit.

“And you want me to give up my two lovely sheep maids? ” said Ell. “They make staying pretty ever so much easier. ”

“Why, Miss Ell, I would never…. ever… ” said Pit.

“And what about my turtle gardener?” demanded Cob. “I’m too damned old to do all the weeding myself any more… ”

That opened the floodgate and soon the air was filled with people shouting about all the other animals that lived in Crooktail Junction without which they could not function.

Once the uproar died down, to his credit, Pit stood up and said “In the interests of public harmony and the continued good relations with all our brothers and sisters of other species, I hereby withdraw my motion. ”

“Good. ” said Sig. “Any other objections?”

Ess, Ell’s twin sister, stood up and, quite melodramatically, said “Are you seriously suggesting that we throw open the gates of our community… to a predator?”

That caused a stir in the crowd. Luckily. I was ready for it.

“Are you seriously suggesting that you consider this creature… a predator?” I replied, and gestured to Paf.

For his part, Paf wagged and smiled and looked as harmless as can be.

And it worked. After a few seconds of silence, the whole room burst into laughter at the very thought that a critter that was barely tall enough to lick my knee counted as a predator to any one of us.

“Yeah, but what the hell is is gonna eat?” said Guf.

Dead silence in the room again. And a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach. Dumb as it sounds, I had not given that a single thought.

Luckily, Paf had.

“Don’t worry about me!” he barked cheerfully, “I can eat what you eat!”.

And with that, he took two turnips out of a sack, and trying and failing not to wince the entire time, choked them down in large crude bites, then sat down heavily beside me.

“Any other objections to this petition?” asked Sig.

Nobody said anything, so Sig banged the gavel and said “Petition approved. Welcome to the community, Paf. ”

And just like that, he was one of us.


And after that, Paf become quite the fixture in our little town. The bulls loved him because he was such a great storyteller and jokester, and would brighten up any home he was invited to with his smile. The ladyfolk loved him because he was so cute and had such long lovely fur, and wherever he went one of them would always want to pet him and groom him, and he loved the attention. And the calves loved him because he was a grownup their size who could play and run and have fun with them, and could do neat tricks like catching a ball with his muzzle.

So before you know it, it was like he had always been here.

But we all knew that couldn’t last either. We all saw the signs and we all knew something had to be done, but nobody wanted to do it.

So as usual, I had to do it myself.

I told him that I needed his help with something out by where we found him, and he was enthusiastic at first but the closer we got to Ossawak Pond, the more nervous he got, and by the time we got there, he was damn near close to crying.

“What is it we have to do out here, Reg/” he asked softly.

“Talk. ‘ I said.

“Uh huh. ” he said, nodding, tears in his eyes.

“Look. ” I said. “I saw how sick you got after eating those turnips. ”

‘You did?” he asked.

“Uh hu. ” I said, “And we all know you’ve been hiding your food away when you think we’re not looking at meals. ”

“You DO?” he whined, a few tears rolling down his face.

“Uh huh,. ” I said. “And we all have noticed how sick you are getting, even though you’ve been trying to hide it. ”

“You HAVE? ” he barked, and this time he really was crying, and so was I. “But I have been drinking lots of milk!”

“Yes you have. ” I said, feeling just as sick as he looked. “and that’s the only reason who’ve made it this far. But your fur is falling out and you keep trailing off in the middle of sentence and I even found…”

I had to stop and steady myself and take a deep lomng breath. “I even found a tiny but of blood in yoiur bedpan this morning. Yoiu must have have been feeling just awful forf a long time nokw, and yet you never said a thing. ”

“Uh huh, ” he replied, and he was crying so hard he could barely catch his breath. “I was too scared. ”

“And that’s why, ” I said, then said the hardest hardest four words I have ever have to say (and hopefully will ever have to say in your life, “you have to go. ”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he screamed like I was tearing his hear in half , and threw himself at my feet. “No no no! I can’t… I c-can’t.. can’t… EVER go back out there… NEVER… EVER… dont make me go back out there…. please don’t make me go… I can’t ever ever go back!”

It felt like I’d ripped my heart in two as well. Somehow, I found the strength to clear my throat long enough ask “But why not?”

For a few few moments. he said nothing at all except for a few shoking sounds at the back of his throat. Then his eyes took on a look of terrified desperation, and with a terrible earnestness the words came rushing out.

“BECAUSE THEY’LL EAT ME! THEY SAID SO! They said they were going to hunt me and eat me and that there was nothing I could do about it because there was more of them than there was of me and if they could take down a buffalo, they would have no problem with a puny little RUNT LIKE ME! ”

“Now slow down, hold up a sec…. who said this to you?”

“THE WOLF BOYS! The ones that live near Annabelle Road. I was out hunting and they came out of nowhere and there had to be ten or twelve of them and they told me they were going to E-E-EAT ME!”

“Those boys?” I asked. “Tippy. Nesmith, Lucas and the rest?”

He nodded so hard I thought his head would pop off.

“Well I am sure they were just teasing you. I’m sure they never planned on doing any of the things they said they’d do. ”

Paf leapt to his feet, put his hands on my shoulders, and looked me dead in the eye. “BUT THEY DID! That’s how I ended up here! They chased me all over and snapped at me and bit me and made me bleed and laughed at me and told me they were going to GET me. They chased me all night and all day, never getting tired, till I ended up near here and remembered what kind of town it was and I figured they could never get me if I was surrounded by moo folk and that’s how I met you guys!”

He was shaking all over from the terror of the memories and I wasn’t doing so great myself. So that’s why he had been in such a state when we met him. It’s amazing that the poor thing had survived at all. Strange that I hadnt even thought about that until now. But now that I knew, I knew what had to be done.

So I took him up into my arms and stroked his head softly as I held him close, and told him over and over that everything was going to be okay now, and that he had nothing to worry about, and that I would never let anything hurt him again, ever.

By the time the weariness hit me, he was fast asleep in my arms. So I lay down on my back, draped him over me in the same position I’d found him in when I woke up that first day, and let sleep take me.


I woke first. That was good. It gave me time to prepare for what I had to do. For a long time, I just lay there, looking down at him, so soft, so trusting in my arms, and thought a lot of unprintable things about my life.

When he woke up, I smiled at him, and asked him if he felt better.

“Yeah, a little. ” he replied sleepily.

“That’s good…. ” I said, then steeled myself. No man should have to rip his heart in two TWICE. “…because you are still going to have to leave. ”

Suddenly he was wide awake, and all the terror and pain was back in his eyes, along with a look of betrayal that felt like an icy dagger had been stuck into my very soul.

“But if I leave, I’ll DIE!” he pleaded.

“No,. if you leave here, you MIGHT die. ” I said. “But if you stay here, you WILL die. We just plain don’t have any food that’s right for you, and if you don’t go out into the wild lands and hunt, you will starve to death right in front of our eyes. And we would rather lose you than see that happen. ”

“But what about the Wolf Boys?”

“You don’t worry about those scumbags. As soon as we get back to the shack we’re going to head to town and put together a posse and we are going to go find those boys and teach them a thing or two about manners. ”

He relaxed some. “You’d do that for me?”

“We all would. ” I said with a smile. “Everybody in town loves you. Those Wolf Boys are going to have half the town after them before we’re done. ‘

He laughed at that. It felt so good to hear him laugh after what we’d been through.

“We’ll spread the word that any of the smart animals that messes with you messes with us, too. So you should be able to hunt all the dumb mice and dumb birds you want. ”

“That’s good. ” he said. “Because I am REALLY hungry.

It wasn’t that funny, but we both laughed anyway.


And that’s how it went. We rousted the Wolf Boys and gave them a whupping they’ll never forget. Had a few words with their parents, too, and by the look on their faces whe they fond out what their children has been up to, the Boys probably caught a second whupping even bigger than the first when we were gone.

Paf did leave our community and go back to living on his own, and after a few old friends oif his dropped off some fresh kills, he got enough strength back to go hunting on his own and now he’s full and as fluffy and frisky and friendly as ever.

He visits us here in Crooktail Junction now and then, a little less as the years go by. Every time he comes to see us everyone makes a big fuss over him, and pretends to hate it but we all know he loves every minute of it.

As for Div and me, we continue to work our fields and mind our patch, same as always. We do our part for our community and our community does its part for us. LIfe has gone back to normal and everything is right as rain again.

But not a day goes by when I don’t think about the night that muddy little fox dropped into our lives to take up so little room on our bed and so much room in our hearts.

And there are nights when, just as I am falling asleep, I can feel a soft warm form cuddling up atop me and resting its head on my chest.

And those are the night when I sleep just fine.



Well, that was…. something.

It took me four hours to write that thing, and that is partly because I was crying harder than I have ever cried before in my life for a big part of it.

The idea for the story popped into my mind fully formed out of absolutely nowhere as I lay in bed, and I felt its deep emotional power immediately. I could tell that it had deep, deep hooks into my deepest emotions and darkest issues, and I knew that I had no choice but to write it because otherwise I would not be able to sleep.

I had no idea just how powerful an experience it would turn out to be for me. I was crying so hard that it was hard to breathe and I kept having to stop to gather myself together and press on.

But there was no question of stopping. The only way out was through. I had to finish it before I did a single other thing.

In case you are wondering, it was the part after the Council meets where the waterworks started flowing.

I could say a lot more about it but it is 7:52 am and I need to eat my breakfast and get to sleep. so I will leave it for my blog entry later.

I have no idea what I just did.

But I know without question that I had to do it.

 

On applying yourself

First, today’s application report :

I applied for a number of things via UpWork today.

  1. I applied to ghostwrite a book based on someone’s outline and character list. That could be fun. Other, lesser writers might chafe at doing something that will go under someone else’s name, but I am okay with it as long as the money is good. And it doesn’t bother me at all to start with someone else’s outline etc. After all, that’s only the starting point. The rest is up to me.
  2. I applied to help someone with “suggestions” for their manuscript. There’s red flags all over this one for me. It instantly gave me a vision of suddenly being entrusted with someone’s precious manuscript that they have been laboring over for years and being asked to “give my honest opinion”. Um, no. My honest opinion is quite often devastating to people. Not because I am some kind of raging prick, but because my perceptions and analysis go way, way deeper than most people’s and my therefore hit them hard where they are the most vulnerable. I don’t do that any more. Anyhow, I would go into the job with great caution and exercising the maximjum possible sensitivity while still giving them what they want.
  3. I applied for a job writing stories for a chat-style storytelling app. So the stories would take the form of a text-based chat between two people, and they are looking primarily for thriller-type stories. I super want this job. I have been dying to get into that kind of storytelling ever since I first read a pretty amazing example of it. It’s so modern and immediate and powerful. And because it is based on existing but relatively new technology, it bypasses people’s usual defenses. Kind of like how footage that looks like it’s shot with someone’s phone but has special effects used to be able to do. And I would love to write stories to thrill and scare people and keep them on the edge of their seats. What fun!
  4. Why didn’t it space this one properly? Argh. Anyhow, last but not least, I applied for a job being someone’s text-based chat companion. The idea is that lonely people would pay the service for someone to talk to. Someone who is compassionate, sympathetic, understanding, caring, supportive, comforting, and wise. In other words… someone like me!! I want this job so bad I can taste it. I feel like it’s the job I have been training for without knowing it. I would love to be the person to shine some light into the lives of sad and lonely people and give them some of the love and respect society has denied them. Every nurturing instinct in me cries out for this job. And I’ve already gotten a nibble! Oh please please please let me have this!

So that was a lot of fun. I had forgotten how much fun applying for stuff can be. It bring out the positive, confident, go-getting side of me and that’s a way happier side than my usual sluglike ennui. And it makes me feel like getting somewhere is possible, and that’s something I tend to forget.

Now, on to the topic.

All this applying for things has reminded me of a dread phrase from my childhood, one far worse than talk about my potential : “…if only you’d apply yourself. ”

Usually it came in the form of, “I know you’re doing well in class. but just think what you could do if you really applied yourself. ”

And that always left me confused and hurt because the idea makes total sense as stated and yet on some level I knew that was not possible for me.

And I couldn’t explain why. I would think about it but just ended up chasing my own tail in circles till eventually I would give up and say to myself “I get great grades without trying hard at all. Why should I exert myself to make my grades just a little better? It’s not worth the effort. ”

Things like future scholarships were far, far from my young mind.

I took a few baby steps in the direction of applying myself a few times. I tried to study and concentrate on the material and think a lot about the test beforeheand.

But all I got from these experiments was a rush of tension and worry and neuroses that made me feel like my head was one of those control-room scenes where everything is going wrong and all the alarms at various stations are going off.

Suddenly. I understood why my overachieving sister Catherine was so neurotic. That must be how it was for her all the frigging time. I am glad I had a choice.

Fast forward to university, and as patient readers know, I end up in conflict with my brother Dave because he would sweat bullets over a test, doing all the things you are supposed to do if you are taking things seriously, and I would do absolutely nothing to prepare, and I would still walk out with a higher mark than me.

That os obviously completely unfair from the point of view of labour. We like to think that you have to work hard to get good things and a genius like me violates that rule HARD.

And he wanted to know how I could do it. And all I could do is shrug helplessly and say that maybe I could do it because by staying so relaxed about everything, I avoided wasting a lot of energy on worry and self-doubt and pressure and therefore could bring all my powers to bear when it came time to do the work.

That did not compute for my brother at all. He’s a Capricorn and they are the sign of getting things by working really hard. The idea of getting better results by working less is a null set to them. So that didn’t help.

But that’s when I figured out that talent isn’t fair.

And now, here I sit, 45 years old and trying to finally become a grownup, and facing the idea of applying myself again.

Being able to support myself is something I really really want. So I should be working really hard to make it happen. Right?

Wrong. I just don’t work that way. I am far better off surfing a wave of cockiness and ego through life, smugly sure of my own amazingness, and staying the big lazy beast that I am right until the end.

At least that way, I get shit done.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.