Fragments of the last letter Trev wrote on Hyneria
"Trev, I want to show you something," said Em. "I've never shown these to anyone. Promise me you won't laugh." Em opened the drawer to her desk and pulled out several letters. "I've been writing these since we left Hyneria, almost two hundred by last count."
Trev picked up a letter. Ran his finger alone the edge, flipped it over and back. Holding it to the light, he remarked the ink, the handwriting, the care and penmanship.
"You think I'm silly, don't you," said Em.
"Who do you write them to?"
"My dad."
"All of them?"
"Yep."
"All handwritten. On paper."
Em grabbed the letter from his hand. "I'm sorry I showed them to you."
"No, no."
"You think I'm crazy. I can see it in your eyes."
"Em--"
"Just go. Please, go."
"Baby," Trev reached out to move the hair from her eyes. "Look at me. I don't think you're crazy."
"Then what?"
Trev looked away. "It's just . . ."
Em reached to his face. "Just what?"
"It's just that I used to write letters too. Handwritten. Maybe not two hundred. But I wrote a lot of them. Posted every one."
With her other hand, Em brought Trev's face to hers. "Tell me."
"I suppose, like your letters, I never got a response. Never knew if they were received. Never knew if they were read. Each one, a hope. Each one, a piece of me. The ink might has well been my blood. You can only bleed so much. You can only hope so long, but you know what?"
"What baby, tell me?"
"I wrote them anyway. I wrote them to the last. And I held hope, to the bitter end."
"Your tears on the dock. She didn't show did she?"
"Nope. She didn't show."
20 comments:
Image created in Corel Painter with a few adjustments to contrast in Aperture. Blogger, however, deems to sometimes change the look of an image (less saturation, clarity, etc) when compressed for publication. At first I thought it was just my monitor that was washing the image out. But, when I compare the version in Aperture head to head with the same image uploaded to Blogger, I realize it is not my monitor but Blogger itself that is taking liberties with the image. So, use your imagination. This image is much more vibrant than the one you see here. :-D
When we don't know what we are missing, :-), image looks wonderful to me, to know that it can look better would have to be seen.
Fragments. Like a piece of shattered earthenware, an aroma carried on the wind, the momentary squeeze of a hand, a chapter like this makes me marvel, and smile as the image pops into my head of you surveying your many chapters, of your holding a reign onto all of them and keeping them under control, so that you know just where to find and offer a fragment. It amazes how you come to these, how your mind works to bring about a chapter such as this one, a short glimpse, a (respectively) simple event and yet the reigns that touch it, the links to other chapters, are not few nor are they straightforward, which is why it seems as though at times events were set out first, the story later, for there is rhyme and there is reason and there is pattern, truth is of course, it is just genius, that makes it seem that way. This was an intro to a comment, but I've run out of time, will have to come back to it later today. Loved this chapter. Em and Trev, once mostly in the background to stronger characters like Kyra, Rog, Von, Yul and John fill a great space now. You are a wonderful writer.
Sweetest, even your warmup comments are wonderful to behold. Sometimes I think I write this story just so that I might read your comments. :-)
The Story, even when I'm not writing, is never far from my mind. I've imagined many, many chapters that have never been written. One small example is a chapter, not written, but imagined, of Trev, standing at a window on Bravo, watching the dock, searching for that one spot of yellow, as Bravo leaves moor and heads to space. I think Rog interrupts his train of thought. :-)
I have another chapter, from the girl's point of view, of her and the last letter, in her kitchen on the morning. It involves her mother and a few choice words. Stay tuned. :-)
Always. Sweet dreams, H
Who's Andrew? His pictures are amazing. Helps me picture how Kyra and the rest look like through other's eyes.
Come over for some hanami. Bring bentos, beer. Plastic sheet provided for sakura gazing. :)
I like to write these things just after I have read, well, in truth it depends, sometimes I like to soak them in for the longest time, roll them around and savour every flavour before commenting, but sometimes, and this is one of those times, the impressions are fast and furious and noting them all down is a challenge and one to be undertaken at once. Later is never the same.
That said, everyone (I should hope anyway) likes a happy ending and it isn't that you provide those as such but you provide moments of great warmth within your chapters. That there are moments of pain and grief and sadness only lends credence to scenes such as this one. This could be understood as the opinion that this is an entirely happy scene that needs balance in something else in order to be believable, that isn't what I wanted to say at all, but there are aspects of this chapter that are thoroughly heart-warming. The desire to share and taking the chance, leaping into revelation and when the desired reaction is delayed, she automatically assumes that he has reacted in accordance with her fear, the vulnerability shown, the speedy shutdown, so real, so learned and something we have all done at some point. The happy ending that I was referring to was that her fears were unfounded and his pause had to do with his own memories which he in turn shares. Such a tender moment, of revelation, of sharing the things that they have kept to themselves, chambers of the heart that are so vulnerable, and the beauty comes in the understanding.. and in the similarity, that here are two people who are alike in a significant way. As said above, how you create these chapters, these moments to not only tell us something specific in the most imaginative and beautiful of ways about a character or a philosophy etc, but like a symphony orchestra, each part played alone is musical, instruments repeat, the melody continues and together something astounding and complex is produced.
Maybe the rest will come to me later. But again, loved this chapter.
Saffy, Andrew Jones is one of the most fabulous digital artists working today. I've been using some of his art in the header images to give some visuals to a few of the characters in addition to what I have already done. The idea is to enrich the readers visual inventory.
Sunshine, one thing that is never far from my mind is the idea that these are the last seven, eight or nine hynerians in the universe and how that fact affects their individual behavior. In other words, I believe their reality changes their behavior such that there is a willingness to share things now, that if they were back on hyneria with millions and millions of other hynerians, they would not share or not share as quickly.
We come back to the idea of connections, of relationships. When your connections and relationships go from thousands and dozens to just a finite handful, a number that will not grow but perhaps decrease, well, I think that changes everything. Still, old habits are hard to break, and pain still blocks a complete opening.
As always, your engaged comments are a delight. :-)
Whats amazing, and not that I would encourage anyone to do this, but when you go away from the story for awhile, and then come back, a person really realizes that your talent is endless, your skill still astonishing.
This was beautiful !
Meg
Meg, you are very kind. I've said this so many times but I'll say it again, I wish I could experience The Story from the point of view of a reader rather than the one writing it. Let me use a very crude example: When I play with myself, the experience is one thing, but when someone else does it to me, the experience is absolutely and totally different. Same thing is happening, a hand moving, yet, the experience is night and day. I'm envious of those who are able to read the story. Perhaps one day, when enough time has passed, I too can experience the writing in that way. One can always hope. :-)
I have scads of letters and notes and signed cards, special because they were penned by hand, not emailed or phoned. Even a signature on a card....the card had to be held and touched by that person and thus it is special.
Her box of letters is a treasure box, a physical container outside of her being, holding her thoughts and feelings. She shared so much. Is she understanding with Trev, that HER box makes him think of his own letters and the "she" that they were written to? I guess all of them have their history and have to be respectful of that.
Not expressing myself as I would like. Can't find my words tonight.
The preceeding comments may be too distracting. :^D
Jen
Jen, she does understand that her letters are a painful reminder to Trev of his letters. In a way, they have discovered a common bond of sorts. Em writing letters of love to a father she will never see again and Trev, having written letters to a love he feared would never respond. The act of writing, as Trev points out in this chapter, is, to a certain extent, an end in itself. Nice to see you stopping by Jen of eyes sparkling. :-)
I agree with autumn--I have no idea what we're missing cause it looks awesome to me too!
This whole concept is amazing... led me to some deep thoughts about the future and how technological we have become. How so many of us don't have a clue what each other's handwriting looks like...etc... yet we write to each other all the time. interesting...
--snow
Snow, I find that so interesting about Em (and Trev too in this case). In a world of data slates, they both chose to handwrite their correspondence. There is something magical about paper and ink and the strokes we personally put on page with our own hand, a unique signature, something that says we care enough to take the time and make the effort; the effort to have good paper, and stamps, to write and seal, and mail, to choose a communication that is not instant, not electronically generic, not done in a whirl of 'gettin stuff done.' A handwritten letter has a communication all of its own; that goes both ways, which is to say, it is as meaningful to the writer as to the receiver.
Always nice to see you stopping by. Keep warm and keep smiling my dear ninja blogger babe. :-)
Each one, a hope. Each one, a piece of me.
Very Beautiful Words Tr'ee. I can totally relate to this chapter.
Kimmie
Thank you Kimmie. There is a strong autobiographical element in this chapter. Let's just say there was a time I wrote my share of letters.
I absolutely love this image. I also am intrigued by the chapter that goes with it. "She didn't show." Ouch.
W, your kind words are very much appreciated. Thanks. :-)
Our penmanship is something that is distinctly our own.
I love to hand-write.
I love watching the ink appear on the paper and form the words that are in my mind.
Of course, I enjoy typing too.
But, I do take great pride in writing a letter.
Carefully choosing the stationary and the pen and so forth.
And when someone sees your hand-writing for the first time, it's like ...I don't know...it makes you feel like they're seeing a part of you.
At least, with me it is like that.
Strumper, I feel the same way. These days, getting a hand written letter in the mail is a big deal.
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