Short Story #1: The Readin' Lass

Introduction - Following is the first short story of my new writing project (refer to previous post for details), based on a suggestion from my mentor: "a story from the perspective of a Nac Mac Feegle who is spying on a young woman who is reading The Wee Free Men for the first time". I hope that it is appreciated, and please give me some more suggestions because writing this has been great fun.


Disclaimer - Because I am not Terry Pratchett, I cannot vouch for the accuracy or inoffensiveness of the Wee Free Man-speak (in fact, my Wee Free Man-speak might even be shamefully intermingled with some Southern American inflection because I happen to be reading To Kill a Mockingbird), but I tried writing it without using the affected Scottish brogue and it just looked wrong. Also, this will probably make very little sense to anyone who hasn't read Terry Pratchett's Tiffany Aching books.


And now, without further ado......


The Readin' Lass


I peek oot from behind the curtains at the big wee lass, tryin' to figure out what she's doin'. She's not movin' much. Looks a bit lazy, really. Maybe she's just starin' doon at her hands. I've seen bigjobs doin' stranger things. But I've got no pressin' engaygements at the mooment, so I might as well go en for a closer look.


I zip aroond to the other side of the room and lean in. I can jest aboot see what she's holdin' noo. I lean in, jest a little closer, and...


Och, crivens! She's readin'!


I make a beeline for the nearest exit. Nayver trust a lass who reads, noo that's jest common knowledge. Written words is dangerous things.


I've nearly made it safely oot when I hear somethin' odd and turn back aroond without stoppin' to think it through. I hafta squint to see her better, cause ye can bet yeer boots I won't be gettin' too close agin.


She's laughin.


Noo, I've heerd o' writin' causin' the wailin', and the pullin' o' the hair, and the gnashin' o' the teeth; I've heerd o' writin' leadin' to the likes o' curses and murder most foul; but I've nayver heerd o' any writin' makin' a body laugh.


Laughin' is somethin' ye do when fightin', or boozin', or when the Big Man tells a joke whether it's amusin' or not.


I take a wee step closer.


I turn my heid a bit to see what the book's front looks like and I nearly leap outta my skin.


Feegles.


There're Feegles on her book, painted up nice and pretty! I'd swear it on my heid!


Ooh, so she's a-laughin' at Feegles, is she? Weil, she'll wish she hadn't, oh, she'll wish...


"Hello."


CRIVENS!


I leap right outta sight and git back to hidin' behind her curtains, but it's too late. She saw me alreidy, and now she's laughin' agin.


I'll no' stand fer this.


I spring back oot, holdin' my sword high and lookin' quite terrifyin'. "Now see here, ye big wee lassie!" I say in my moost commandin' voice. "I dunno what filthy slanders yu've been readin', but they're none o' them true, ye hear? Who wrote 'em? I'll find 'im and he'll wish he'd never so much as thought about Feegles!"


She's not smilin' anymore. Clever lass. The corners of her mooth is jest twitchin', that's all (from fear, undootedly).


"Forgive me, master Feegle," she says very po-lightly. "But I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."


"Oh yeah?" I say. "Then how'd ye ken I'm called a Feegle?" (Noo I've caught her in her deception.)


"Why, I've just been reading about you," she says. "Well, not you specifically, but Feegles in general. The Wee Free Men."


"Tell me what it says!" I insist. She reaches for the book and starts to open it. I shriek (in a verra manly way). "No, don't read it, that's no' safe! Jest tell me what it says about Feegles."


"Well... It says you're very brave," she esplains.


"That's... oh," I say. That's no' a slanderous falsehood. "Go on."


"And very ferocious."


"Yeah?"


"And that you're the greatest drinkers and fighters the world has ever known."


Maybe this book isn't soo bad after all.


Then I remember somethin'.


"Weil, if it says all that about Feegles, what were ye laughin' at?" I inquaar. We'll jest see hoo she dodges that.


She smiles. "I was laughing at everybody else in the book. They're all a bit ridiculous, especially when compared to all you Feegles."


I think this over a mooment. "That makes sense," I say.


"Well, of course it does," she says back.


I think it over another mooment. "I'm still no' entirely shure I believe ye," I say at last.


"Oh?"


"Per'aps... per'aps, big wee lassie, ye could read me a little?" I ask.


She lifts her eyebrows. "Are you sure? I thought it wasn't safe."


I puff my chist out. "Are yu' suggesting that a Nac Mac Feegle is afeerd of a few written words?"


"Of course not," she says. "I wouldn't dream of saying anything half so silly. Come over here."


I go over and sit doon next to her.


Truth be told, it is a big risk lettin' somebody read alood to yu'. But surely somethin' that says so many good things aboot Feegles canna be too dangerous.


Besides, I'm a Nac Mac Feegle. I can handle a wee bit o' danger jest fine.


THE END.


~Pearl Clayton          

So I Had This Crazy Idea

Hello, humans.


I have a somewhat shocking revelation to make to you all:


I like writing.


I know, it's stunning. I'm sure you would have had no way of guessing or predicting that.


Anyway, I enjoy making fictional compositions as much as I enjoy contributing to this blog, but I find that I don't actually do much fictional writing (or at least, not as much as I'd like to). Well, no, that's a filthy lie. I currently have two mostly completed manuscripts of not insignificant length sitting on my desktop glaring at me reproachfully. I've been working on one since last April and the other since last November, and yet I keep not finishing them. I also have a "short" story (which, if I ever finish it, is ideally going to end up being just over 10,000 words) that I've been working on for three months and am not even halfway through yet.


I don't know why I've been having so much trouble making myself write lately. If I really thought hard about it, I could probably come up with a lot of very plausible explanations (like laziness, my self-imposed and overly strenuous reading schedule, a fear of dissatisfaction with finished products stemming from my crippling perfectionism, etc.) but instead I've chosen to believe the very silly explanation that my currently half-finished stories and all my other story ideas are just so long that I've been daunted and exhausted by the length (but I am going to finish both of them before the end of the summer, dang it!).


So now we come to my crazy idea.


Several months ago, I asked my mother to, as part of our minimalistic homeschooling method, start assigning me short story projects (and I mean, like, actually short, not 10,000 words). The thinking behind this was that, since I respond very well to instruction I would benefit greatly from being told what to write about, and that the practice might help and inspire me to get through my longer stories. But, due to the miles of difference between my mother's and my personalities, this project ended after just one assignment.


So now I'm trying a different approach.


My idea is that you, my readers, can give me suggestions or setups for short stories, which I'll then write right on my blog and post for your general enjoyment. This will, in theory, accomplish the same objectives I was hoping to accomplish through the other, failed project, while also giving me the chance to get more extensive feedback on my work than I usually do.


And before you start asking what I mean by "suggestions or setups", allow me to say that not even I am entirely sure what I mean. Basically I'm looking for any kind of jumping-off point, which could be anything from "a story about a raindrop" to "the first-person narrative of a girl caught outside during an air raid in the London Blitz" to "a 'Doctor Who' fanfiction" (also, please don't actually say a story about a raindrop; I do not want to write a story about a raindrop).


So...... yeah. If anyone thinks this is a terrible idea or doesn't want to see new fiction writing on this blog dedicated to fiction, go ahead and say so and I'll try not to cry too much. Otherwise, please offer up your suggestions and we'll see where this goes.


*Takes deep breath*


You may begin.


~Pearl Clayton