Silence

Eastern Coyote (Canis latrans)

Daylight sinks to the breast of the mountains. Shadows stir. Long before venturing to the sunlit lowlands.

Padding in a line, they stop to steal the air. And a glance.

Then on again, they disappear on trails I would never know to walk.


(Leaf River IR Trail Camera, 7/26/2006 5:12:55 p.m., Wayne County, Pennsylvania)

The Interview Meme

Up and coming novelist, and overall cool cat, Kelly Parra, has tagged me for a meme called "The Blogger's Interview." I haven't been tagged for a while, so I'm actually kind of excited! My task is to answer the following questions:

1. When did you first start blogging and why?

I started The Clarity of Night on August 18, 2005, so I'm coming up on my one year anniversary.

I suppose I did it out of desperation. Novel writing is a dangerous business. Mistakes aren't cheap. Let's face it, we only have so many years to live, and each less-than-successful attempt is one less novel we can write later. I had been banging around on my own for a few years, and I started to feel trapped. I wasn't sure I was on the right track. I wasn't sure I was writing the right way. I wanted to explore more things than one storyline revision after revision. This blog started as a wide-open creative outlet for me to pour all of my far-flung interests into. Since each post didn't take too much effort, I could do anything, take chances, and most importantly, get feedback. I soon discovered how much I could learn simply by watching how people reacted.

2. What don't you talk about?

I'm not into internet controversy. I find online arguments emotionally draining. Y'all know I'm a lawyer, so I come here for harmony and creativity, not more conflict and fighting. I deal with enough of that at work.

3. Are you and your blogging persona the same person?

Yes. What probably doesn't come through is I like to joke around, think on my feet, and have philosophical conversations. I have a dark, dry sense of humor. Also, in whatever group I'm in, I usually become the resident confidant/psychologist. And if you won't tell me, I can usually find a way to coax it out of you.

4. How do you use blogging to build friendships?

I've always felt a bit out of step with most people around me. By creating a little reflection of my perceptions here and opening it to the world, I've been able to meet like-minded people. I'd have to say this ability to break down distance and isolation is one of the greatest gifts of the internet.

5. How would you describe your writing style?

My writing style has been changing and sharpening. I feel I write much closer to the action than I did before. I've also learned to better see beyond the rules and the grammar to build a direct link between the words on a page and an experience in the brain. My greatest goal is to have a reader to feel the wind and see the colors. My characters tend to be introspective and have a touch of hopeful sadness, if that makes any sense.


Thanks for the challenge, Kelly! If you'd like to give this meme a go, drop a note in the comments and we will all be sure to stop over.

Cemetery Symbolism--Calla Lilly

Victorian cemetery art incorporated elaborate symbolism to convey the hopes and sorrows of those left behind.

Calla Lilly: symbolizing majestic beauty and marriage.

Inscription:
OUR FATHER

JACOB BUSH
Born
February 14, 1806
Died
June 4, 1880
Aged 74 Yrs., 3 Mos.
& 21 Days.
Asleep in Jesus

Note the interesting pyramid designs around the edge of the stone and strange, cloth-like weathering of the surface.

I feel the voice of daughters in this inscription. A longing for their mother. And there she is, for all to see. Embodied in the flower watching over him.


(St. Peter's United Church of Christ, West Pikeland Township, Chester County, Pennsylvania)

Little Windows--Dad's Groovy Hat

Dad's hat. I think he mowed the lawn in it.

No wait. He didn't even wear a shirt for that. I'm really not sure when he sported this 70's masterpiece. I know he did, though.

I see my face. My admiration. They're not diminished by the presence of the camera. (Nice backlighting, by the way. Come on, guys!)

I try to remember what it felt like to try on the gloves. Much more intimate than stepping into someone's shoes.

I think I remember. I'm not sure.

I probably don't remember.

Hats become just hats. And gloves get lost on the closet floor.

It can be so easy to inspire wonder in a child.

I remind myself. Do not rely on that wonder.


(The "Little Windows" Series: A while back, I transferred our old Super 8 home movies onto VHS. Now I'm moving those to DVD. They're an odd record of the past. More vibrant than photos, but still distant and imperfect. I thought it might be fun to share some of these "little windows" into my past.)

Amanda's Walk

Heat stacked like steam in the openness. But not where the hemlocks swept down the ravine. Layer over layer of deep green. The needles drank rivers of sun.

Amanda was wandering, not lost enough to care. She sat on a log dusted with mossy green.

Days like this live and live, she thought. Not in words. And the first cicada of the season buzzed in the treetops.

She lifted her face, closed her eyes, and all the forest heard.

They Listen and Wait

Wriggle in darkness
Until diamonds fall to feed
Slippery ideas
Rising
Devouring
Tasting my need.

[Picture: These are the progeny of our three original pond fish. And the latecomers haven't even arrived yet! The largest fish showing off is one of the patriarchs. He is 10 years old and measures about a foot long and six inches high.]

Forgotten

Unaware. Trapped as they walked. We look, turn them over in our minds, our hands. The reach, the touch. Forever frozen. Long after they have forgotten.

We yearn to be trapped.

How much have we forgotten?

(Picture: Leaf River IR Trail Camera, Starlight, Wayne County, Pennsylvania)

Contest Comments are Up

As of yesterday, I completed comments on all 57 contest entries. So much great work! I found wonderful elements in every one.

For those of you who have requested constructive comments privately, they will be coming over the next day or so.

Lastly, look for a new serial story starting here on Friday called, "The Field." A man becomes obsessed with an abandoned industrial field in the middle of the inner city. Stolen cars are dumped in the high grass, and scruffy trees shadow dirt roads. It's a perfect place, tucked in the midst of crime and poverty. He knows that bodies must be buried there.

August's Promise

Illusion bleeds and love descends
As days recline
And summer ends

Have you been ever drawn to a place? Belonged to it? No matter how far you might choose to run?

What if you knew it is a shadowed place? A place you should never go?

Rachel Burton knows those shadows. And she believes. And knowing and believing, she will return to embrace the darkness, but not quite touch it.

Until it touches her.

Come with me in August. We are going to meet a very special friend. USA Today bestselling author Anne Frasier will point our way to Rachel's path. It winds where the forest is tall and the memories deep.

*****

My friends, I am incredibly excited to announce that the next short fiction contest here at The Clarity of Night will be a first-ever collaboration! USA Today bestselling author Anne Frasier will join us to celebrate the release of her new and wonderful novel, Pale Immortal.

Not only will this upcoming contest once again give you the chance to be part of a thriving writing community, but Anne will share her thoughts on writing, reveal hidden web content for Pale Immortal, and comment on each and every entry submitted. How unbelievable is that??

Look for the contest announcement, rules, and theme in late August.

In the meantime, Anne appreciated your Midnight Road entries so much, she couldn't help herself but join in. I leave you to enjoy her own variation on our theme.

(Seriously, no matter where your blogging travels take you, check back here in August. You do NOT want to miss this contest!!)

*****

"Midnight Road"
by Anne Frasier

The strange object loomed above them. "I wonder what that is," Fontaine said. But he didn't really care. It was silly to dwell on such things.

"See those wires?" Mary pointed. "I heard they used to carry some kind of power." She slapped a pair of patched jeans against a rock.

"My grandmother says that, but she's nuts."

Mary nodded. "Crazy as a full moon in June."

"Nutty as a nut tree."

Fontaine threw the last of the wet clothes into his basket and got to his feet. "My grandmother refused to go through the mental cleansing."

There, he'd finally voiced his family shame.

"My mother says it's vulgar to cling to memories." Mary stood and picked up her basket. "A cleanse a day keeps the sorrow away."

The sun rises in the East. All children turn toward the sun. Fontaine turned. "A cleanse in time saves a mind."

The darkening sky reminded them of the impending loss of light. Side by side they hurried home, their shadows stretching and shrinking, bending and folding across the midnight road.