A Reprise

The short story I submitted is an excerpt of a larger work. I began it in college and added to it one afternoon when we returned to College Station two years ago. I found in the environment that the story itself came back to me, and at that time I wrote the portion that I submitted to a magazine yesterday. The protagonist of the story is Nell, whose hair is the color of dead grass, whose eyes liken a dry summer's sky. The story takes place in waning summer. The change in the weather has provoked rain, and Nell works in the garden to prepare the dry soil. Nell is the oldest of several children. She bears most of the responsibilities of her mother, Catherine, who is bedridden after repeated miscarriages. Not covered in the short story are the family relationships, which suggest Catherine suffers more from depression than physical ailment. She is irascible to Nell, who has a Cinderella resemblance. When Nell becomes broken-down with chronic abdomen pain her mother and younger si

The Princess now saw no hope of turning her father's heart, so she resolved to run away. That night she gathered up three presents from her betrothed—a gold ring, a tiny golden spinning wheel, and a little golden hook—and put the dresses of the sun, the moon, and the stars into a walnut shell; then she blackened her face and hands with soot, put on her coat of a thousand furs, and ran away. All night she walked until she came to a great forest where she would be safe, and because she was tired, she climbed into the hollow of a tree and fell asleep.

I'm sorry about the large image previous. That was too important to size down. I took a last look at my stories, and I'm ready to send them. I will not be preparing a third, because "The Captive," my ultimate choice, just isn't suitable. I have to be honest with myself in that I am revising the situation, and the novel, to a vision different from before, and different from this story, and as it is, it just isn't what I want to write. I have two stories ready, and I certainly don't want to forget the whole thing because I don't have three, as I originally promised myself. Waking up this morning was interesting. I have had troubled sleep for months now. I wake up with gritted teeth and a sore jaw, and during the night I end up flopping on my stomach, or some convoluted position that puts me out of joint. Everything snaps back together when I rise, which is quite a jolt. Normally these physical symptoms are accompanied by feelings of intense dread or

Due to our leader’s ambition we traveled too far. We must be long past the Northwest Passage, past Quebec, past all known civilization in a world of snow and ice whose power lie not in resource, but in intimidation. Stark fear overwhelmed me as I beheld the black rocks streaked with white for the first time. Our ship skimmed slowly and relentlessly toward a perilously rocky shore. I wanted to beg a halt to the proceedings, but I was a mere particle in the complicated network of our society. The barren taiga gradually emerging in the mist promised no sustaining nourishment, nor relief from the pervading cold. We were to be sacrificed to our leader’s ambition. I kept my mutinous thoughts to myself as I watched men preparing to anchor the ship. The seas had been rough, and I had spent as much of the journey as I could within the hull, writing away by dim candlelight. The sailors did not think much of me, but that I was a waste of bunk and provision. I couldn't do my fair share

I had a truly wonderful weekend, perfectly balanced between craft, sleeping (24+ hrs...) and going out. Today Nathan and I went to the Dallas Museum of Art. We spent most of our time looking at the featured exhibit of Indian art. Then we sought out our favorites. For me, the European antiques, for him the Asian calligraphy. We did not find too much of the latter, unfortunately. I got a great portrait of both of us peering into a 1600's Netherlands mirror. I was particularly struck with looking at my reflection in very old mirrors. That is something I have always loved. Going around I realized Dutch art might be the next big thing for me. It's clean and simple with a very old presence I find stirring. We made two stops at the museum cafe for refreshments and coffee. I really liked that it was in the middle of the museum, so that you could retreat for a while when you wanted. Then after the museum we went to Barnes and Noble. The books at the museum gave me the idea to look for

"My dear girl," she said, "one happy Christmas Eve I dressed and decorated myself, expecting my lover, very soon to be my husband, would come that night to visit me. I sat down to wait. Once more I see that moment--I see the snow twilight stealing through the window over which the curtain was not dropped, for I designed to watch him ride up the white walk; I see and feel the soft firelight warming me, playing on my silk dress, and fitfully showing me my own young figure in a glass. I see the moon of a calm winter night, float full, clear, and cold, over the inky mass of shrubbery, and the silvered turf of my grounds. I wait, with some impatience in my pulse, but no doubt in my breast. The flames had died in the fire, but it was a bright mass yet; the moon was mounting high, but she was still visible from the lattice; the clock neared ten; he rarely tarried later than this, but once or twice he had been delayed so long. "Would he for once fail me? No--not even for on