Writerrific #1: Assignment #6
In this assignment we were to comb the newspapers for stories that got our creative juices flowing and then write a piece based on the stories. Then we were to edit it down as tightly as possible and then post the first 300 words and a summary of the rest. My piece tops out at 1,070 words and I posted the whole thing because I don't like posting partial stories. I'm such problem child.
The Path
By W. David MacKenzie
I hesitated, my pen poised over the documents, and wondered if I was doing the right thing. It wasn’t the first time I’d had doubts but I’d pushed past all of the previous reservations; I’d rationalized my fears and uncertainties until I was left with only one course of action, one right path to take. But now, when the task was about to be completed, it all rushed back at me; a tempest in my mind battering against the well-reasoned walls of my decision like inexorable waves pounding on that breakwater so many years ago.
--===--
The vacation was nearly over, just two sites left to complete our “Grand Tour” of lighthouses on New York’s Lake Ontario shore: Oswego Light and then Selkirk Light. When my father and I reached the end of West First Street in Oswego late that afternoon, I discovered that this lighthouse was going to be something special. Every lighthouse we’d visited that summer had been built on shore and after one or two they’d become pretty boring for a ten year old boy, but Oswego was different. It sat right out in the harbor, a white building with a red roof topped by a short tower that housed the automated light. It was surrounded by heavy gray skies and rough gray waves and tethered to the shore by a narrow curving breakwater like a bright balloon on a string.
Dad excitedly snapped a few photos with his Leica then jogged to the foot of the breakwater. My shorter legs struggled to keep up but soon we were both leaning up against a barricade that blocked our way. A nailed up sign declared the lighthouse “Closed to Visitors”. That’s it, I thought glumly, end of the line. But then something miraculous happened; my father bent over, threaded his wiry body through the planks and squeezed out on the other side of the barricade.
“Come on, son. No one will see us.” He held out a hand and beckoned for me to join him. A stiff wind blew off the lake and I shivered, but a conspiratorial thrill ran through me as well. He was as excited as I was for a chance to see the lighthouse up close. I followed him through the barricade.
At the foot of the breakwater, though, my courage deserted me. The causeway ran atop the breakwater, a narrow rough-hewn sidewalk only three or four feet higher than the waves that beat upon the breakwater’s stony sides. The causeway extended out into the harbor for two thousand feet then hooked sharply to the right and connected with the masonry caisson that supported the keeper’s house and light. There was no railing and if I lost my balance there was nowhere to fall but the turbulent water.
“Keep your eyes on the end of the breakwater,” my father said. He stood behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders. I was sure he could feel the fear that kept my feet cemented to the edge of that ribbon of stone. He bent down and whispered in my ear, “I’m scared too but it’ll be alright.” Then he pushed my shoulders forward slightly and I took a stumbling step just to keep my balance.
“That’s good. Keep going, I’m right behind you.” His praise buoyed me and the second step, still slow in coming, wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Soon we were pushing onward at a steady pace. We walked directly into the wind and it didn’t seem that bad, but by the time we reached the hook in the path we were leaning into a growing storm. Waves pounded on the stones beneath our feet and washed over the breakwater, soaking our shoes and pants. Wind driven mist bit at our exposed faces and washed away my tears.
“We’re almost there, son.” My father voice fought against the roaring wind. “We just need to reach the lighthouse and we’ll be safe.” I looked at the fifty feet of causeway we had to travel to reach the caisson and the ladder we had to climb to reach the safety of the deck where the lighthouse stood. It was too much.
I shook my head. “No, we have to go back.”
“We can’t go back. It’s too far.”
Again, Dad nudged me forward, and like before I took a halting step, but this time I was at right angles to the wind and it caught me off guard. I swayed, struggled to find my balance, and tipped toward the chaotic water. Dad’s hand gripped mine at the last moment and pulled me to him. We dropped to our knees on the stone causeway.
We held onto each other while the wind and waves tumbled against us, then, when the wind seemed to slacken a little, we crawled the last fifty feet on hands and knees to the caisson. I grasped the iron ladder and pulled myself up it toward the deck ten feet above. Dad was right on top of me, shielding me from the worst of the weather while we climbed. Just as we reached the top of the ladder we were assaulted by tremendous gusts of wind and several huge waves crashed upon the caisson. I clung to the ladder with all my might and when the tumult abated I scrambled up the final two rungs to the caisson’s deck and reached back to help Dad…but he was gone.
“DAD!” I screamed into the storm until another set of powerful waves rolled me back from the deck’s edge and threw me against the iron walls of the keeper’s house. The storm continued to assault my crumpled body until I worked myself around to the lee side of the building. There, in the relative calm, I cried.
--===--
The pen quivered in my hand and my vision blurred, but I wiped away the nascent tears and swallowed the remembered pain. I put pen to paper and signed my name to the documents. “This is for you, Dad,” I whispered.
The Coast Guard legal officer took the papers, signed his name below mine, then handed the documents to the notary to finish off. He stood up and smoothed out his uniform before extending his hand to me. “Congratulations, Mr. Lloyd. Pursuant to the National Historic Lighthouse Preservation Act of 2000, you are now the owner of the Oswego Harbor West Pierhead Lighthouse.”
The Path
By W. David MacKenzie
I hesitated, my pen poised over the documents, and wondered if I was doing the right thing. It wasn’t the first time I’d had doubts but I’d pushed past all of the previous reservations; I’d rationalized my fears and uncertainties until I was left with only one course of action, one right path to take. But now, when the task was about to be completed, it all rushed back at me; a tempest in my mind battering against the well-reasoned walls of my decision like inexorable waves pounding on that breakwater so many years ago.
--===--
The vacation was nearly over, just two sites left to complete our “Grand Tour” of lighthouses on New York’s Lake Ontario shore: Oswego Light and then Selkirk Light. When my father and I reached the end of West First Street in Oswego late that afternoon, I discovered that this lighthouse was going to be something special. Every lighthouse we’d visited that summer had been built on shore and after one or two they’d become pretty boring for a ten year old boy, but Oswego was different. It sat right out in the harbor, a white building with a red roof topped by a short tower that housed the automated light. It was surrounded by heavy gray skies and rough gray waves and tethered to the shore by a narrow curving breakwater like a bright balloon on a string.
Dad excitedly snapped a few photos with his Leica then jogged to the foot of the breakwater. My shorter legs struggled to keep up but soon we were both leaning up against a barricade that blocked our way. A nailed up sign declared the lighthouse “Closed to Visitors”. That’s it, I thought glumly, end of the line. But then something miraculous happened; my father bent over, threaded his wiry body through the planks and squeezed out on the other side of the barricade.
“Come on, son. No one will see us.” He held out a hand and beckoned for me to join him. A stiff wind blew off the lake and I shivered, but a conspiratorial thrill ran through me as well. He was as excited as I was for a chance to see the lighthouse up close. I followed him through the barricade.
At the foot of the breakwater, though, my courage deserted me. The causeway ran atop the breakwater, a narrow rough-hewn sidewalk only three or four feet higher than the waves that beat upon the breakwater’s stony sides. The causeway extended out into the harbor for two thousand feet then hooked sharply to the right and connected with the masonry caisson that supported the keeper’s house and light. There was no railing and if I lost my balance there was nowhere to fall but the turbulent water.
“Keep your eyes on the end of the breakwater,” my father said. He stood behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders. I was sure he could feel the fear that kept my feet cemented to the edge of that ribbon of stone. He bent down and whispered in my ear, “I’m scared too but it’ll be alright.” Then he pushed my shoulders forward slightly and I took a stumbling step just to keep my balance.
“That’s good. Keep going, I’m right behind you.” His praise buoyed me and the second step, still slow in coming, wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Soon we were pushing onward at a steady pace. We walked directly into the wind and it didn’t seem that bad, but by the time we reached the hook in the path we were leaning into a growing storm. Waves pounded on the stones beneath our feet and washed over the breakwater, soaking our shoes and pants. Wind driven mist bit at our exposed faces and washed away my tears.
“We’re almost there, son.” My father voice fought against the roaring wind. “We just need to reach the lighthouse and we’ll be safe.” I looked at the fifty feet of causeway we had to travel to reach the caisson and the ladder we had to climb to reach the safety of the deck where the lighthouse stood. It was too much.
I shook my head. “No, we have to go back.”
“We can’t go back. It’s too far.”
Again, Dad nudged me forward, and like before I took a halting step, but this time I was at right angles to the wind and it caught me off guard. I swayed, struggled to find my balance, and tipped toward the chaotic water. Dad’s hand gripped mine at the last moment and pulled me to him. We dropped to our knees on the stone causeway.
We held onto each other while the wind and waves tumbled against us, then, when the wind seemed to slacken a little, we crawled the last fifty feet on hands and knees to the caisson. I grasped the iron ladder and pulled myself up it toward the deck ten feet above. Dad was right on top of me, shielding me from the worst of the weather while we climbed. Just as we reached the top of the ladder we were assaulted by tremendous gusts of wind and several huge waves crashed upon the caisson. I clung to the ladder with all my might and when the tumult abated I scrambled up the final two rungs to the caisson’s deck and reached back to help Dad…but he was gone.
“DAD!” I screamed into the storm until another set of powerful waves rolled me back from the deck’s edge and threw me against the iron walls of the keeper’s house. The storm continued to assault my crumpled body until I worked myself around to the lee side of the building. There, in the relative calm, I cried.
--===--
The pen quivered in my hand and my vision blurred, but I wiped away the nascent tears and swallowed the remembered pain. I put pen to paper and signed my name to the documents. “This is for you, Dad,” I whispered.
The Coast Guard legal officer took the papers, signed his name below mine, then handed the documents to the notary to finish off. He stood up and smoothed out his uniform before extending his hand to me. “Congratulations, Mr. Lloyd. Pursuant to the National Historic Lighthouse Preservation Act of 2000, you are now the owner of the Oswego Harbor West Pierhead Lighthouse.”
posted by WDavid | 7/09/2006 05:59:00 PM
4 Comments:
The news article I found was on USA Today Online. It was about a Rhode Island lighthouse up for sale as part of the Coast Guards efforts to get rid of surplus lighthouses. I did a lot of follow up research on the whole "lighthouse for sale" thing and found one currently for sale in Oswego, NY on Lake Ontario that I really liked. The photos of the lighthouse suggested stormy weather so I researched lake storms too. That's when everything fell into place for the story and I started typing. Again, my apologies for the length (1070 words) but I don't think this particular story could have been told in 300 words. BTW, I also found a web article that mentioned that some think this particular lighthouse is haunted with the ghosts of several Coast Guardsmen who were killed in 1942 while changing lighthousekeepers. I have some ideas about carrying the story further and exploring this "haunted" angle. I've wanted to write a ghost story for a long time but haven't found the right path yet...maybe this will be it.
A ghost story eh? Can't wait to see how it emerges. I really liked this story and it makes me wonder what he's going to do with the lighthouse now that he owns it.
Here are the comments from the class on "The Path". There's quite a few of them...everyone seemed to like it a lot.
---------
Chele writes: I really liked this. I am impressed with your research and I think the idea of a follow-up focusing on the ghost story would be cool.
Ruth writes: The Times had a recent story about a lighthouse that was sold for only $35k near Norfolk, VA. My husband and I couldn't believe it! I never thought to consider the backstory because I was more interested in how we could get in on such a deal. Great story and writing.
Cindy writes: Excellent suspense! I know a good story when I start reading faster and faster to find out what happens. I had the typical woman/mom response of "how could you put your child in danger", but that added to the emotion of the piece. Great job!
Your Instructor writes: Hi WDavid: your writing is exciting and full of tension. I can feel the adventure this boy experienced and the dialogue adds to it beautifully. As for the length, in the assignment you'll notice I didn't limit the length of what you wrote, only of what was posted. Eva
WDavid writes: Eva, you're correct, of course. I apologize for misrepresenting the assignment limits. I should have said that I dislike posting partial stories. Obviously, writing within the limits set by the editor, or following the editor's submission instructions is an important aspect of writing that we must all learn if we hope to be published. I'll strive to improve in that area. :-) I would appreciate any and all comments on my style, grammar, plot, etc... For example...the last paragraph of the flashback was originally two."DAD!" stood alone and then a new paragraph began with "I screamed..." At the last minute, I changed it based on a family member's comment. Which way is correct or which is more powerful? All criticism is eagerly sought.
Helen writes: This is quite a powerful story. Full of danger, emotion, great description. It really grabbed my attention!
Marilyn2 writes: DavidW this is wonderful. As one peer said I read faster to learn what was going to happen. I loved "My father voice fought against the roaring wind." and so many other descriptions. Your vision of the lighthouse, how it looked, the stormy seas were all present in my mind as I read this. The research you conducted is impressive. I liked your handling of Dad as it is. It is powerful, the whole thing David. Do me a favor and go back to lesson 4(1328) and read my rendition of a color since I did misread the instructions and see what you think? Thanks
WDavid writes: Marilyn2...Thanks for your comments. I re-read parts of my story each time I read a new comment here, just to reinforce it in my mind. This time, I wondered if anyone thought that the main character was in the process of joining the coast guard instead of buying the lighthouse itself. It was never my intention to mislead, but I can see that you might be expecting that and then get a totally different resolution. If so, was the final revelation a happy surprise or a bit of a let down? Marilyn2, as requested, I went back to the lesson 4 assignment and posted my comments there on your 2nd color piece.
Ginger writes: I felt such angst while reading your passages of your characters in the water. You "swept" me away right to the end.
Ruth writes: WDavid, I think you worry too much. This piece is perfect as it is. A writer needs to worry about comma's as if they are ants that he/she doesn't want to step on, but oh well, it does happen :-) That's what editors are for. You wrote an amazing story. I would be very surprised to learn that you had NOT been brought up around the ocean.
WDavid writes: Ruth...Thanks for your comments. Ya, I do worry a lot that my writing needs refinement. I spent 25 years in Hampton Virginia...right next to Norfolk/Va. Beach, so ya, I grew up by the sea and I like lighthouses, though I don't take the time to visit them like I should. The last time was a trip to Nova Scotia about ten years ago and boy was that a great time! You mentioned a Norfolk Lighthouse that sold for $35K...which one was it?
Ruth writes: WDavid, Sorry, but I can't answer your question about the specific lighthouse. My husband brought The Washington Times article to my attention because he was astonished at the price. It was only a couple of days ago, so you might be able to find the article easily on-line.
Anne writes: I was entranced while reading your story. I feel so child like in my writing and have a long way to go to become as adept a writer as you. I love the sea and my life long dream is to own a house on the beach.
Glenda writes: Hey WDavid,
I like how you tied the present with the flashback with the line in the first paragraph,"...a tempest in my mind..." Good tension building durning the flashback and a surprise at the end. I would leave all as is. It reads quites well.
Marilyn2 writes: DavidW - small world -Hampton, VA. I lived in Virginia Beach, VA for 23 years up till end of 1999.
Teresa writes: When I reached the part where the boy and his dad were on their hands and knees crawling, I couldn't read fast enough. Very suspenseful!
Denise writes: To WDavid: Very suspenseful. I could picture the boy and his father as the wind whipped around them. You have a real gift. Have you been writing long?
mark writes: OK, I cheated on this assignment. On the others I forged ahead and did mine the way I thought it should be done before I read others. This one had me stymied to say the least so I decided to read a few to give me a better understanding of the goal. You did a really good job. And I even began "bubbling" some other ideas for the story as I read...anyway thanks for the inspiration on taking a simple article and turning it into a fascinating story. I'm off to do my own writing again...it will be a few days before I get it posted but let me know what you think.
steph writes: Ok wdavid- I think we have met before in our last class!!! anyway what an awesome story and untill i read the posts i was going to ask if you came frim oswego( i am from syracuse area!!) I never would have been able to guess you werent ... so... great research and great job what a story and please post your ghost story for us to read !!!
WDavid writes: Denise...I've been writing off and on since I was young. The first memory I have of writing was entering a poetry contest in third or fourth grade...I got 2nd place for 4 line poem about flying. I remember writing a descriptive piece about dinosaurs in junior high (I was gonna grow up and be a paleontologist but instead became a bookkeeper) and I got hooked on cinquaines at one point in early college. Then there was a long fallow period where I seemed burned out on the whole creative side of life. Then, about four years ago I started writing again, fiction this time, and though it was only now and then it's been building steam recently. Since January I've really been getting into it with a ferver and the writing classes I'm taking, online and in the classroom, are keeping me excited and hopeful that one day I'll find a place in print for my works.
Hazel writes: Hi WDavid. This was a wonderful story. You wrote it so well. I love stories that I can be impressed and get lost in the writing style. I sometimes think that the story itself can be bad as long as the writing style is good. You did both a great story and it was well written. I have read a few of your postings now and I think you have a great talent and can do things with your talent if you so choose to. I cant wait to see whats next. If you choose to add to this story I would really be interested in seeing where it goes.
Excellent piece Dave. Aren't you getting tired of hearing that? Everybody loves you bro! You da Bomb!
I messed up reading it. I completely missed the line that includes "so many years ago." I thought the write was still a young kid. So when I got to the end I was really confused about how he was taking possession of the lighthouse. My fault, re-reading it correctly it all makes sense.
One typo. I missed it the first time but when one of your classmates included the line in her comments I noticed it.
"My father voice fought against the roaring wind."
Should be father's.
Sorry I have fallen behind in reading your stuff.
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