jillypoet: mom trying to write

Each day I wish I had invented waterproof sticky notes (for shower inspiration) or pen-friendly diapers to get down all my quirky thoughts that I am sure are relevant and publishable. And so God (actually another writer-mommy) sent me The Blog.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Would you read this story?

Hello there, old friends. It's been so long since I've posted, I've probably lost my whole readership. It's hard to explain. I've been in the ebb & flow of something. A sprite stole my mojo. Beats me. Still not feeling myself, my writerly self. I did bake a lasagna in my absence, however. Score one for Betty Crocker!

I'm not in a poetry place. I have a poem, many, many poems waiting to be written into life. They are patiently sitting on yellow legal pads, lounging in journals, resting on sticky notes. Vacation on, poems. I'll get to you soon. For now, if anyone is reading, would the following story intrigue you? Would you want to read on? This is the beginning of a short story that I wrote years ago, and I've always been partial to it, just never did anything with it. I thought maybe if it worked for some of you, then maybe it might work for an editor somewhere...

Still Life: Maggie, Woodswoman

Maggie was running naked through the woods. His wife was running, naked to her sandaled feet, through the woods. Carl found this vaguely amusing, in a hazy, moonlit sort of way. He hoped the wiry branches weren't scratching her sun burnt backside.

It was midnight at their campsite, according to the wind-up clock on the fireplace, the one he'd brought from their bedroom at home. In fact, looking at the glow-in-the-dark numbers now, small hand obliterated by the big one, it was midnight by this clock the last time Maggie had run off naked. That had been exactly one month earlier, on a moonlit night in what passed for woods in their development. He had woken up to a cool breeze blowing though the curtains, parted them, and seen Maggie, hair wild, feet sandaled, body unclothed, running across their back lawn. She had looked so wild there in the moonlight that he had been afraid to call to her, afraid of what her green eyes would do to him in the iridescent darkness, what spell would be cast over him. So he'd waited until morning when, given confidence by the sun's light, he'd asked her what she was doing. She had smiled and said, "Chasing the moon."

Tonight he wasn't worried about seeing her eyes. He couldn't even see her. He sat down at the picnic table in front of their tent. He traced the deep grooves of initials left by earlier campers and wondered if any of them had lost their wives to the moon.



Blogger Angie said...

I would definitely read this story.

What happened to Maggie?! Come on, do tell...

6:26 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

so that explains your blog absence! chasing the moon, eh? naked, huh? in your little development? i mean maggie's development.

this idea is intriguing. follow it through and see where it goes. i'd love to hear maggie's story.

i was thinking ... i bet if women could be naked in developments more women would be interested in that freedom than men interested in the spectacle.

9:24 PM  
Blogger January said...

Great story, Jill! What happens next?

The poetry will come back when you're ready. Taking a vacation from the blogosphere is a good thing every now and then.

9:33 PM  
Blogger Poet with a Day Job said...

um, yes, more please! I'm not sure it's fair for you to give us this teaser!?!?! Is she a werewolf? (just kidding, but not about wanting to know...please spoil or post the rest!!!)

10:52 PM  
Blogger writerwoman said...

Very unique. I am dying to know what sends her out to chase the mood, and naked no less.

3:34 PM  
Blogger Jon said...

Glad to see that your poetry has come back to you already. And, yes, I would definitely read that story. Please.

6:53 PM  

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