Not a word with him but a jest.
And every jest but a word.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Pruning - part 1

I realize that I may never finish a piece on this blog so I'll post as I go, update when I can, and most likely leave some of these undone. I get interrupted a lot - young children just don't appreciate the creative process. I don't have a lot of experience writing short stories - reading them and teaching them is more of my expertise. I wanted a place to force myself to give some writing a go.



Here's the beginning of the first one...



Pruning by Tara Lee



The pruned twig fell to the floor. It didn't float. It most certainly didn't flutter. It fell. If it were heavier it may have made a noise like a thud or a clunk. Instead, it fell, landed with a firm purpose and lay immovable among the other prunings. Much like the determined snip of the pruners that sent it to the floor in the first place, the twig fulfilled its destiny on the floor - cast off, cut away and soon to be discarded permanently.



More important, however, was what preceded the pruning of the twig. Meg turned to pruning in those moments of stress that require a diversion in thinking. A fight with a coworker. An unexpected $518 car repair. A glob of ketchup on the beige carpet. Today she turned to her pruning after an altercation with her cat, Flip. Many things are given names that somehow providentially fit their personality - Eunice the cranky agorophobic lady next door, for example. Flip was named after the family observed his athletic ability to jump in the air and flip to catch a fly or, more to the family's amusement, a flashlight shone on the wall. Later in his life, however, Flip's name came more to be synonomous with his ability to switch personalities - one moment laying a sweet paw on your hand, the next biting into that same hand like a cobra strike. Flip, it seemed, had a mood disorder.

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