Through the Red Hood
Finding My Way
Verbosity has sheltered me. Brevity, I’m learning, exposes me.
A few years ago, I was asking if I could write fiction at all.
I joined a newly forming writer’s group to find out, but quickly learned I didn’t fit.
I didn’t see writing in the same way they seemed to.
So I set off to discover what writing meant to me.
Today, I am writing fiction ... and discovering that stories often arrive wearing other forms.
I’ve studied the forms, and they’ve helped me learn something more valuable than structure and reader expectations. They’ve helped me learn what I am drawn to—what fascinates me about words and language.
Verbosity has sheltered me. Brevity, I’m learning, exposes me.
I’m enjoying being seen … by me.
So, my forays into reduction continue.
What follows is my response to a challenge posed by Megan Giddings in her foreword to Grant Faulkner's The Art of Brevity.
Through the Red Hood
Act I - Wonder
rust-red pillars of ancient echoes fading light in the mid of day below her crunched redwood needles softened by a verdant carpet delicate heart-like leaves each step whiffs of almond a kitchen scent pulled her back to task skipping onward faded quickly to dawdling her mother’s word exploring wonder her word onward bright yellow banana slugs curled up under a golden mushroom cap as a distant wren pleased with herself whistled coastal fog seeped in curling gliding dodging she chased then was chased too close to chipmunk’s hoard a giggle a chitter then sang in agreement onward slowed growing silence mingled among brilliant green swords rustling fairy bells rang soft unseen magic ‘til the forest rumbled guttural mist swirled and thickened huddled muffled all around then a silent swoosh a spotted owl warned the forest hushed for now
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Act II – Warning
Don’t worry. but she did always first time alone through the wood caring too much dawdling she fussed Mother tied the bow tight raised the hood just right and warned straight there straight back don’t dawdle don’t wander she pretended to hide her own fear the girl child listened as much as anticipation would allow wondering excited to prove the basket sat perfectly still while out the door went the child the mother waved hiding her dread until The basket! she called so the child returned then skipped away now with the goods off deep deep into the woods
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Act III – Wolf
Grandma rocked on the porch spied the red hood and grinned inside Huntsman dressed his kill stewing Company, dear. as the girl child tap-tapped My dear! greeted Grandma curtsied the girl child howled the huntsman You must be Red! Come inside. hesitant the child as the wolf's tail dangled from the backside of its ender Grandma? she puzzled the huntsman A friend come for dinner. basket of goods on the kitchen table slick and clean newly so save one trickle of red inching down one wobbly leg dinner of bread and of stew the girl no longer hungry stayed quiet then a wave goodbye none too soon red hood pulled tight for home no skipping still quiet yellow eyes blinked then turned a lingering hoot the girl shivered then wondered what else had been stolen from the forest
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I find myself wondering whether every gain comes with a loss of some kind.
Have you ever discovered something necessary that also cost something you valued?
How fun! What a wonderful writing exploration you're on!✨
Especially enjoyed these lines: "no longer hungry" and "what else had been stolen." Also glad to hear that you recognized a particular group wasn't a good fit and made a positive change: "I set off to discover what writing meant to me."