Breathe the wind

A wind wound through the desert, chilled hot sands, floated vultures on their errands, brushed baking rocks; the wind wound through this desert, uplifting the light and unburdening the heavy. 

The wind quickened, even though it hung heavier from the heat of the desert, as it approached the sea; for the wind knew the sea was not dead, but needed the reminder of fire, of heat, of passion, of love; and so the wind quickened, heartened by its promise. The waves of the sea lapped up the warmth of the wind, they brought that special heat down to the depths, down to the dark, down to where it could clear the confusion. 

It was this wind, now a breeze of the sea, refreshing the sands of the shore, that tranquilly swept up a craggy hill where sat thousands, a multitude, waiting to hear the wisdom pour from a man; while this sea breeze brought dew to the faltering leaves of the small plants tucked into crevices of the sandy rocks of the hill. But for all the numbers of people waiting, it was this man they waited for who saw the sea; the only one among them who heard the wind brush the rocks clean; the one who breathed in a sea breeze; the one who sat in a small boat supported by the shore and rocked to rest by the wave crests and this man breathed out these words: "Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears to hear; Listen!"

And he heartened them all, saying: "The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed goods seed in his field; but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, 'Master, did you not sow good seed in  your field? Where then, did these weeds come from?' He answered, 'An enemy has done this.' The slaves said to him, 'Then do you want us to go and gather them?' But he replied, 'No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.'"

He continued: "With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth, yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade."

And: "The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened."

These multitudes marveled at his words, these seekers departed, discussing, remembering, awing at the splendor, and booned along by a brisk breeze from off the sea; soothing their spirits. They wound their way through the rocks and back to their homes. 

A wind that night swept through the openings, fluttering fabrics, and flickered the fire inside the shack of the speaker of the day. A small group gathered now within, before the man as he watched the wind about the room and everyone else comforted themselves. These brought close to him asked, perplexed, "Why do you speak to them in parables?" He answered, "To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside, everything comes in parables. The reason I speak to them in parables is that 'seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand.' With them indeed is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah that says: You will indeed listened, but never understand, and you will indeed look, but never perceive. For this people's heart has grown dull, and their ears are hard of hearing, and they have shut their eyes; so that they might not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and understand with their heart and turn -- and I would heal them.'

"But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear. Truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it. "Do you not understand this parable? Then how will you understand all the parables? Hear then the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty."

But those around him that night had another query. "Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field."

"The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.

"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding a pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.

"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

"No one after lighting a lamp hides it under a jar, or puts it under a bed, but puts it on a lamp stand, so that those who enter may see the light. For nothing is hidden that will not be disclosed, nor is anything secret that will not become known and come to light. Then pay attention to how you listen; for to those who have, more will be given; and from those who do not have, even what they seem to have will be taken away."

"Have you understood all this?" And they answered, "Yes," so this man said, "Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old."

When he finished speaking, he contemplated the room and sighed. A draft arose, tousling the men's hair and garments while they searched for its source. The man they adored smiled and nodded his head goodbye. The draft slipped from that little hut on the beach becoming the shore breeze, coaxing the waters to calm; becoming the full sail exhorting the sailors toward home; becoming the still air refusing judgement on a pair of lovers; becoming the wicked tornado consuming and defiling all that is holy; becoming a dusty gust shouting out a warning; becoming a zephyr evaporating the sweat from the brow of a woman giving birth; becoming a dry wind through the desert, cooling and absorbing its decadent heat. 

Point of View Exercise Again

Here is another version of the Point of View Exercise. 

Part 1a

It was almost midnight. Rick stood in the dark; the rain drizzled. An all night diner glowed across the street. Some kind of beacon, it was. But for what kind of traveller? Rick figured he knew. It was about to go down. And he'd be smack in the middle. Best not to get crunched this time. 

He tousled his hair, undid his tie crooked, unbuttoned some buttons, and started stumbling across the street. He thumped into the large windows of the diner, scratching under his chin and letting out a groan. Three suited, strong young men sat inside. Each at a corner table. Two faced the door. The third sat where he would be behind anyone entering. The two men facing the front stared through the glass at Rick. So Rick lit up a cigarette. 

Two more men, older, sat against the wall opposite the counter. The man with his back to the door was hunched and seemed to be pleading with his hands. A large briefcase sat next to his chair on the floor. His companion sat erect, hands folded in his lap, and looked unimpressed. 

Rick held his cigarette with his lips and stumbled in. Conversation halted. He  flopped onto a bar stool at the counter. A waitress appeared from nowhere, her eyes darting to him and the suited men. She said nothing. Rick ordered four eggs over easy. She disappeared. The biggest man stood up, left his corner, and approached Rick.

It was a nice suit, Rick thought. He felt around his suit jacket for a cigarette pack. He asked the room where his cigarettes were. The big man approaching told him he had one in his mouth. He thanked the room. The big man told Rick it was time he were leaving. Rick nodded, teetered around, reached into his inside pocket and wrapped his hand around his gun. Without removing it, he fired and the bullet struck the big man in the chest. As he fell, he shot the other man facing the front. And then shot the last as he tried to get aim. Rick pulled his gun out and said, "There's three of my eggs over easy. Anybody want to guess how to not be the fourth?"

Part 1b

This was getting old, he thought. Last time he'd let the boss take him out on a trip like this. What was this nonsense? Something about an important book. Who was this small little man and, well, who gives a rat's arse? The waitress wasn't half bad looking, but she kept hiding. Had to call her three or four times before she'd come out of the kitchen. Lucky cook. He tried looking out the windows of the diner, but there was just black. He looked at the pathetic man there, begging. He'd brought his briefcase. Was it money? Maybe they'd be getting a little bonus after tonight? 

Somebody thumped against the window of the diner. He sat up straight and concentrated on the figure. Some drunk, he thought by the look of him. Out too late. On his walk home. The figure lit up a cigarette. Then the figure opened the door. That was wrong. The door should have been locked. Why didn't Granger lock the door? Who was this guy? He watched the man stumble onto a bar stool. He looked over to his boss, who stared, angry now. The intruder tried to order some eggs. The waitress just disappeared. His boss nodded to him. It was an order: get this jerk out. Now. He stood up and approached. The man asked where his cigarette went. He told him it was still in his mouth and he had better get out here quick. 

It was after that he felt the burning in his chest. He was confused because he found himself laying on the ground. He thought he saw some others falling, too. But why? What was happening. Then he saw the man step over him and then he just wanted to close his eyes. 

Part 2

It was dark. It was slightly drizzling. A man stood on the street. There was a cook and a waitress in the diner across the street. They were hiding. There were also three dangerous looking men with guns inside, each sitting in a corner. Two other men sat inside also, having a serious discussion. The man outside stumbled across the street, appearing to be drunk. He leaned against the diner's window and lit a cigarette. He went inside. His entry ended all conversation. The new man sat on a stool at the counter. The waitress appeared, the new man gave her an order, and she disappeared. A big man from the corner stood up and approached the new man. He said something to him. There was a loud bang. The big man fell down. There was another loud bang. A second man fell down. The third man in a corner stood, removed his gun, and was aiming when there was another loud bang and he fell down, too. The new man stood up and said something, walking towards the two remaining seated men.

Part 3

Oh, yes. I was absolutely terrified, Lucy. I had no idea what to do. They just came in, demanded to set up the tables in this very particular way and then sat there and waited. They were dangerous. I knew it. Then they wanted some food. They weren't there to be social, not at all. Not in the least. Three of them sat in corners and just stared. They just sat there staring. I mean, why would they want to do that. I knew they were dangerous. 

And then Lucy, this terrified little man came in. And Bill and I were just scared out of our wits and were just hiding in the kitchen, trying not to look. But we were a little curious and tried to peak every now and then and of course, I mean, they would ask for little things something like coffee or more cream or something like that, but I tried to just stay out of their way and keep my head down because these were some seriously dangerous men, Lucy. So, then, this one boss man fellow who had this fine black suit and red shirt and I think it might have been made of silk, but he just sat there listening to this pathetic little man who kept pleading and begging and just going on about how he needed it back and I didn't know what he was talking about and it was hard to hear all the way in the kitchen, but then, oh my, Lucy, you won't believe it, but this jerk, this absolute jerk comes in and the rest of them don't like it one bit, and I'm thinking, what do i do, what do i do, so I leave the kitchen and stand there, trying to act natural, like the diner isn't full of crazy dangerous men who aren't afraid to hurt people like me and that guy ordered something and when I thought he was threw, I ran back to the kitchen. I ran back to the kitchen and stuck my head in a cupboard and wrapped my arms around my head and the next thing I hear are these shots. BANG! BANG! BANG! Three shots. And Lucy, it was terrible, but that man, I don't know, that man, he shot those men, he shot them down in my diner, in my diner he shot them dead, Lucy. I couldn't believe it!

Part 4

The rain drifted down from the sky and found Rick standing in the darkness across the street from an all night diner. The diner boasted a midnight special: bacon, eggs, toast and coffee for two dollars. Rick grumbled, "That special wouldn't draw that crowd."

Three men sat in their corners of the diner. Bored and wary. Their suits were too nice for the establishment. Their moods were too dour. And they hadn't eaten a bite. 

Rick knew his game, so he tousled his hair, loosened and crooked his tie, and undid a few buttons of his shirt and undid it. He stumbled across the street, suddenly drunk. He thumped into the window of the diner when he nearly lost what balance he had. He took the opportunity to survey the scene up close before he entered the arena. 

He saw his client, hunched and pleading to an unimpressed man in an expensive suit. They sat at a table against the wall opposite the counter of the diner. His client kept reaching down to check that his briefcase remained where he had left it next to his chair on the floor. The three thugs in the corners weren't polite enough to hide their stares at him through the glass. Rick didn't blink; just took out a cigarette, lit it, and puffed. As drunkenly as he could manage. 

Rick knew it was time to start the game. He staggered to the door and through it, managing to open it despite his inebriated state. The three body men took offense, straightening up in their chairs, but not intervening just yet. It gave Rick a chance. He just made it to the counter, where he flopped onto a stool. The three gunmen looked around, even more attentive now, and nervous. They knew they'd goofed. They knew the boss'd be livid. They knew they'd get an ear full and maybe some punishment. Best to resolve this as quick as possible. That door wasn't supposed to be unlocked. They'd forgotten. This wasn't a part of the plan so they didn't know what course of action to take. 

They watched the waitress appear out of the kitchen. Now they weren't so keen on her presence. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to garner her course of action now. Nobody told her until Rick ordered some food, slurring the words. "Four eggs, over easy," he said, pointing an index finger towards the ceiling as he swayed on the stool. He brushed his hair back with his fingers. 

The lead strong man sat in the far back corner. He saw the look and the nod from his boss. He had his orders now and knew what to do: Get the hoser out of there. Fast. 

He stood, approaching the drunk man who should have been at home in bed by now, but was now screwing with their late night plans. Hell, he should have been at home in bed right now. 

"Anybody seen my cigarettes?" Rick asked the room, while patting himself down.

"Check your lips, son," said the wise guy walking toward Rick. "Best you should be leavin' pal. Now."

"Ahhh," Rick responded, trying to look into the man's eyes looking down on him, but not quite able to focus all the while Rick's right hand found its way inside his jacket pocket and around the gun concealed there. 

The explosion of the gun caused everyone to blink. The suited man slunk to the floor, curious. Before the second man along the back wall could react he found a feverish burning feeling in his chest which he couldn't stop looking for as he fell forward, out of his chair. That second explosion caused a little squeaky scream from the waitress, holding even tighter the grill cook lying next to her in the kitchen. 

The third guard had stood up, fumbled to get his gun out, and was just getting around to aiming it when the bullet ended his chances. The nervous man with the brief case, Rick's client, just stared, shocked and sweating even more now that men had died because of him. 

The man in the fancy suit sat rock still, not deigning to look to the man who had just absolutely ruined his evening. He felt he would leave alive and well, but not with the merchandise he had brought, and definitely with a streak of vengeance itching his spine. 

Rick stepped over the dying man under his bar stool and walked towards the pair at the table. It wasn't what he would have called sport, but he hadn't had many options. Clients will do that to you: not give you any wiggle room. He looked at the man in the sharp, expensive suit, cocked his head to one side and said casually, "There's three of my eggs over easy. Anybody want to guess how to avoid being the fourth?"

Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Violet Eyed Slap

I was sitting one spring morning with my dear friend Mister Sherlock Holmes at our residence on Baker Street, when a most profoundly upsetting and strikingly singular event failed to redirect the lives of two of the most upright and upstanding of British citizens; for it was not unusual in the least for Mister Sherlock Holmes to reject instances of cases out of hand when they failed to appeal to his sense of artistry or bored him with only a common intellectual solution. That is not to say he sought out the fashionable. Mundanity always appealed to him, even from the most humblest of origins, for the simple fact of its never approaching a repetitive mundanity. Singular aspects of even the most trivial of cases would arouse his fancy and send him into the deepest concentrations of thought I have ever witnessed. But it was never, excluding this one occurrence I will soon relate, that he took to resolve a problem he deemed unworthy of his exceptionally rational mind.

We heard the bell ring while we sat in the reading room reading the news papers and soon a lady was shown into the room of exceeding beauty, fortitude, resolution, and stature as to impress the great goddess Athena herself. We, of course, rose from our soft seats to stiff postures of most respectable greeting.

The lady glided into the room, seeming to not even cast a shadow and, indeed, though the fire were blazing, for it had been a cold, wet spring, the soft violet of her eyes brought upwards the light of the room and, might I add, the temperature of its occupants.

Always with his wits about him, Holmes spoke to the lady, saying, "Greetings and well met, my laudable lady. Please have a seat by the fire and warm yourself. If there is any service at all which we can provide for you, you have never found two more willing assistants."

The lady sat on the very edge of the leather chair, knees firmly together, hands clenching a small handbag in her lap.

"What brings you upon my doorstep this day?" Holmes asked.

"I know you might judge me by my appearance;" the lady began. "I hope only that you will put aside all aesthetic significances and help me for the reason of common humanity."

"My most well spoken Mademoiselle, do let us not fail you in your moment of need; and though I understand that you must hold to neither a meager income nor an immodest one, though your resources are made all the more mean by a rather stingy man, as Master of the House, and furthermore that you spend much of your time with a great many dogs, which must mean you work in, and judging by your education and status, share in the owning of, a kennel, and though all these facts I have gathered merely from the slightest of, I must confess, longing glances, upon you, nevertheless, I will strive not to allow my prejudgéd biases to sway my determination of the case you bring to my attention. You must trust me that no subjective viewpoint of my own can dissipate my substantial powers of objective observation and reasoning.

"Thank you Mister Holmes. And I have indeed come here today to press your unique abilities into my service, for you see, my mother has..."

"By Jove, my fellow Holmes, however did you come to such conclusions," I could not resist but saying, always being most intrigued by my companions astounding scrutiny.

"Well, I would hate to interrupt the lady."

"I must know," I said. "I'm sure the lady is as well fascinated by your methods."

The lady made to speak, most likely to agree to an explanation by Holmes, but my friend was already obliging her.

"Very well," Holmes said. "To start with the most obvious first: The lady's lovely dress is bedaubed in many hairs from so many varieties of dog breeds that even I have had trouble cataloguing them all in so short a period of time. With so great a diversity, there can be only one reasonable explanation: a kennel."

"Very impressible, Mister Holmes," the lady began, "but my mother..."

"And then, proceeding to the next most obvious perception of mine: the paucity of her man of the house's generosity. Now, when a woman walks out along the streets of our great city of London, there is no doubt that every other woman in the house has taken time to make sure that every bead, every jewel, every string, every button, and every line and brush of maquillage is just in its exact place and nothing strays. So, when a woman does leave the house, and, as in the case of the exquisite lady here, a single end of the lace of her corset hangs out of her dress, and there being no doubt she has not done her very best to look her very best, then it can most certainly be ascertained that said lady has no maid whatsoever to look after her, and that she dressed herself independently. The lady having no maid, and yet the status of belonging to the middle class, there can only be one reason: the man holding the purse strings is tight fisted to the extreme."

"Very impressive, Mister Holmes, and so if you'll let me tell you the details of my mother's..."

"Thank you kindly, my sweet lady. And also from that single and might I add singular detection, it can easily be concluded that your mother is at her wit's end and is suffering indeed, for even without the privilege of a maid, your mother should have been your last resort. But she must assuredly be distracted by some great calamity to forsake the appearance of her maiden daughter. And no doubt this issue revolves around finance, for it is most unfortunate that a beautiful specimen such as yourself should be subjected to the treatment of having to wear a watch fashionable two and a half years ago. And you certainly have not had the money available to update your accessory, much less to fix its slight imperfection of its mechanism noticeable only in the garbled chink of your watch's tick, all the more so you have not had the time or energy because from your hands it is quite obvious you are forced to maintain the cleanliness of the laundry and of the dishes."

The lady wrung her hands in agitation. "Thank you Mister Holmes. You have saved me at least a great deal of explanation. You must understand, my mother is no stupid, reckless woman. Her mind is as agile as a viper and so she knew, when my beloved father died two and a half years ago, the necessity of allying with an established male to assist and to represent her in our family's business affairs.

"My mother and father opened a dog breeding kennel, as you so acutely observed, for their love and keenness for man's best friends exceeded love and passed well onto devotion. They raised their dogs, raised their own reputation, and they raised me, and as you can see they were excellent breeders. We moved well into the middle class and the clients we served were of higher and higher status. One night my father was woken from slumber by an urgent mission. A dog, not of our own kennel but of a breed well known to my father, had suddenly and rapaciously taken to madness. The caller was a very well to do client and my father took great, careful discretion in the protection of their reputation. My father arrived in due haste to find the creature had destroyed the stuffings of most of the cushions in the manse and to put it delicately, had then sought to do the same to the maid who had attempted to calm its wild with a bone. It took her arm as the bone and so it was my father found them upon his entry. He coaxed the creature...."

"Please, mademoiselle, I am at your disposal, but I cannot spend my life there. Do hurry to the denouement of your story and the reason for my involvement."

"Yes, of course. I do apologize. Well, so it was that my father left us. For a better world, I have no doubt. And yet, he left us in a world all the worse for his departure. My family's business affairs were not ready for the sudden loss of my father and so it was my mother, in order simply to gain her due, succumbed to the notion that a good alliance with a man would enable her to settle my family's accounts. No doubt her best intentions were at heart, and yet there are so many coercers out there. My dear mother assumed she'd found an honest man, but even an honest man, when presented with the opportunity for control, and especially control of a higher line of finance than the man is accustomed, may succumb to the most selfish and fearful of temptations. For, you see, Mister Holmes, my step father has now taken it upon himself to consider my family's own wealth, hard worked and difficultly won, as his very own, earned through services rendered during its securement after my father's unfortunate demise. My mother is at her wits end, resorting to fits of screaming her peace and yet to no avail. And of late my loathful step father, though to issue him such a name debases me, has taken to securing his self assumed rights with physical violence. Physical violence! Against my own mother, in the house I grew up in, under the roof I was taught to respect my mother country, the rule of law, and most importantly the righteous institution of family. I have had enough sir, and come to seek your help, guidance, and advice in my very personal matter."

Holmes sat for quite some time, his fingertips firmly pressed together, while he sat in his chair, deep in concentration. The young maiden herself nervously sat very stiffly, waiting, hoping, for the help she was sure was to come.

Suddenly, Holmes spoke up, rising from his chair as he did so. "My dear lady, I can not comprehend why you have come to me in this matter. It is evident there is not any interest for me in your case. The details are common, the motives are base, there is a remarkable lack of ingenuity on the part of all parties involved, making exception for the part about the kennel, that was most charming, but that aside, there really is no reason for me personally to study or invest my considerable talents in your case, because, quite frankly, there is no case to be solved my darling dear."

I remained seated, nodding in the always sensible words of the imminent Mister Holmes when I saw the young miss stand with back straight, jaw set, and then, just when I assumed she would turn tail and politely, if absolutely upsetedly, beat retreat, she tightly drew together her radiant lips and saying nothing stalked up to the very form of my dear friend Sherlock Holmes and stared him straight in the eyes.

"Say something if you must, but I do hope you'll hurry along to your next appointment; I have important matters to attend to."

And it was then a most extra ordinary event occurred, for the young lady slapped Mister Sherlock Holmes, without his due respect, and then smugly and arrogantly told him: "Take all your capacities, my dear sir, and deign to solve out the mystery I've just given you with a sting to your cheek!" And so saying, and so leaving Holmes profoundly shaken, if not by the physical violence she so meanly resorted to, than most certainly by the deep mystery as to why she would have committed such an atrocity, she stormed out of our rooms on Baker Street.

For the next week, Holmes was out of sorts. I hardly saw him at all in my comings and goings, he never sat for meals, always taking them in his room or in his laboratory. His physical appearance grew increasingly disheveled and a real beard appeared among his features for the first time while I had known him.

At last, after a long week of this degrading behavior, I walked downstairs to breakfast to find Holmes sitting, shaved, hair combed, clothes neatly pressed reading a newspaper and enjoying a muffin.

"Good morning," said I. "It is a happy morning indeed to have you back amongst the living."

"Indeed, Mister Watson. And yet it is because I have a new case."

"Well, my good sir, what is the mission this time? Do tell."

"I fear the recent singularly tragic and remarkably enigmatic event of a soft velvet hand striking my cheek so sternly has left a certain sting my mind can not bear to release until such a time as I can say with the certainty only available through the logical processes capable by my faculties and due to undaunted practice, that I have resolved the Case of my Slapped Cheek. I should like to begin without any further delay. I shall go forth and discover where this family's kennel must be and then I shall come hither and retrieve you for a most assuredly great adventure."

And so it was I spent the morning reading papers and a few of the latest works of fiction until my friend and associate returned slightly before lunch. We ate quickly and then departed for our destination by coach.

We rode in silence as I am sure my companion was deep in introspective ponderings upon the matter at hand. We arrived in due time and exited the coach to the banter of barking dogs behind high walls. Our terminus was the house adjoined to the kennel; we rang the bell and were shown politely into the parlor by a woman of middle age, with what appeared to be growing strains on her face, her hair pulled back tightly into a bun, though rather raggedly. Grey streaked her auburn hair in parts and her eyes betrayed a burden. But she overcame whatever limitations she suffered and saw to her duties as hostess.

Her conversational abilities were sorely lacking, for distracted it was obvious she was. Holmes inquired after the state of her business only after giving our condolences for her loss of her husband and obvious mainstay of her life.

We were not long there before a guttural shout sounded from the back of the house. The Madame quickly excused herself and it was not a long period of time before we noticed over the background of dogs barking in the kennel, a deep, inarticulate screaming, a small whimpering voice pleading, and the unmistakable sound of a hard object striking soft flesh.

We rudely moved ourselves closer to the source of the commotion and found the lady of the house we had only just met standing in terror with tears streaming her face, her bodice ripped, and already black marks appearing and swelling growing across her once quite lovely, respectable cheeks. A man stood above her, sweating, hair akimbo, taut fingers gripping her throat, and fist held above his head, hanging waiting to pound down. He caught us out of the corner of his eye.

"Get out rogues! Remove yourselves! Can't you see I've got to take care of business back here? I have every right to treat my property as I see fit. Or do you gentlemen disagree?"

"Oh no, you are quite right, sir, and I am sure she is responsible for every thrash she must endure. No, we surely only came to bid the fair lady farewell, to thank her for her hospitality, and to see that she was still alive, for we shan't get far if we were to destroy all our precious womankind. And yet, you are quite right sir, we must indeed keep them in line, or all civilization would be obliterated. As it stands, we bid you adieu!"

We left the house in some rush, as our coach was still waiting. Once we settled into our seats on the slightly bumpy ride, Holmes said, "Alas, I must now return to my terrible l'état d'ennui."

"What?" I said, "have you solved the mystery."

"Why of course my dear Watson. How could I not? In any case, it was not so hard to see."

"My fine sir, then, do tell. Is it a single villian? Is it some deep conspiracy? Who is the evil mastermind? Where may we find him? And forget not the infallible logical process you used to come to your final solution."

"Sadly, Watson, we are all accomplice to the horrible crimes we have witnessed today. But Happily, I have discerned the reason, the reason for such a beautiful violet eyed figure to strike me firmly enough for the sting to still remain in my cheek at least a week, but also the reason for the strikes we were present for today.

"You see, Watson, in order for civilization, and to be specific, the civilization of Man, to birth itself, we had to domestic not cow, not sheep, not dogs, but the wildest of all the creatures of the earth: Woman. Here lies the great conspiracy of Mankind, the dark secret, hidden, obscured, and suppressed to the point where we consider it natural for a man to beat a woman, for humanity to be violent and suspicious of each other, and for us all to possess the desire to dominate in a perceived, yet imaginary contest. Previously, there was indeed a garden of Eden, a place of peace for all life, living together connected. But somewhere, somehow, there came a terrible terror over the minds of men. Some society, somewhere could no longer calm our fears, indeed, no doubt manipulated our fear into raw, aweful, violent power. Because man suddenly isolated himself from himself, from his kind, from his women, from his collaboration with life, from his garden, from his forest, from his role in the sympathy of the cycle of nature; because man detached himself, through a mysterious process lost in the mysts of foggy time, Man propelled himself to the top of a food chain through physical violence, self induced by rabid fear, and established himself as ruler over a ruled who had never needed ruling before. Man victimized himself so he could victimize and we have all suffered for that original sin ever since. But women most especially so, because we men understand that if we are to maintain the delusion that we are afraid, that we need fear to create the violence that creates the awesome power we wield to dominate the earth and the mother and each other, we must destroy the womanly divine power to heal, to grow, to birth, and to rebirth.

"It is probable that all the sinister acts of our time and of all history stem directly from the events described by my elucidation. We must promise in the future, we must endeavor to be more willing to assist the weaker and more charming sex in their fights against injustice. But that is for the future. As for now, my dear Watson, I dare say we may well have saved a life today and my mind at least is at ease; my relentless desire to discern the darkest of mysteries has been appeased by our investigation. So, now I say let us fight tiresome boredom by making our cook do her duty and make us food without getting her share of the goods while our maid cleans the clothes we have so unfortunately weathered during the escapades of our adventure to-day."

And so it was. We never discussed the matter again.

Uninterested Narrator

The same story as exercise seven, but narrated by an uninvolved, distant narrator. I hope this isn't very exciting.

Mid April

Masses of men gathered not very far from each other and assembled into orderly rows and columns. One group of them wore grey and were very dirty and seemed very weary and at the same time ferocious. The other group wore blue and seemed intent but a little paranoid, like something would fall out of the skies and explode them into thousands of fragments.

In front of the grey group of men, rode another man clad in grey and wearing very clean clothes. They had gold brocades and he wore a sword. He rode haughtily and distant. He gave a salute to the men assembled with his hat in the air. Most of those men almost burst into tears. He arrived into the lines of soldiers wearing blue. They gave their own salute to him and he tipped his hat to them. He arrived by horse at a small cabin. A man came off of the porch and met him. They did not speak. The man from the porch wore blue, but no hat. The man just arrived on his horse offered his sword up to the other man, but the man from the porch would not accept it and gestured for them to enter the cabin .

Two Generals Meet in April

Okay, the next exercise has many parts. The first part has two sections, which lie below. This exercise is a work in point of view and for this exercise we will be telling the same story from different characters' points of view. I probably cheated by using a real life story. It's what moved me. It's probably not completely accurate.

The General in Gray

He stood on his horse as tall as he could. He wore full dress uniform, gold brocade circling up his arms, a sword slung around his waist, a tassled hat sat on his grey hair, white gloves, and his boots polished black. He rode in front of his troops, serious, stern. He knew if he looked into their faces he would cry because he knew what their faces would say: dirty, tired, tried, worn, fragile, proud. He would never ask for his time with these men back. He prayed for their souls and wished so many of their lives had not been so violently cut so short. He asked God to give him strength for this meeting, for these men, to see his land through this abyss. He could no longer look forward, but turned his head towards his men and lifted his hat above his head in grand salute to their valor, their sacrifice, and their memory. He prayed to hold his tears in and they held their ground, as his army had always done.

The cabin approached. His line of grey clad troops ended and another stretched out before him like a blue sea. Waves of them had crashed themselves to death upon his army and here they now stood. He had never seen them so close. As he looked over them from his horse they shifted position together into perfect salute. To him. He tipped his hat in response, honored and impressed.

An attendant took his horse's reins and he stepped off in front of the cabin. His horse was led away and he stood alone in an ocean of blue. The dark bearded man stepped out of the shade of the porch of the cabin, serious, somber, with solid eyes, and nodded. The grey general undid the ties holding his sword and scabbard to his belt and held it before him with two hands. He bowed his head and presented his sword to the victorious general. The blue general shook his head and gestured that he would not accept it. With honor surviving, he was done.

The General in Blue

He leaned against the post of the porch on his elbow, with his hand over his head, looking out over his troops. Most of them had cleaned their uniforms for today. He had sent them through the meat grinder, but these boys had survived, and they wouldn't get killed by war now. Not after today. He was ready for a rest, ready to write his memoirs, to record and reflect on the moments he hadn't let himself think about because danger was ever present and each moment was more painful than the last. He couldn't forget these men. And he couldn't forget the man he fought against. He would finally meet that man today.

His aid handed him his gloves and began buttoning his dress coat. It was first time he had worn gloves the whole war. He watched his great foe ride up. He saw the boys' impromptu salute as if he expected it. He was the grey bearded man step off his horse and face him. He saw poise itself in that man before him. The blue general walked forward somber and serious, impressed by this man who had resisted him so long and so valiantly. He nodded his respect.

The great grey general removed his sword and presented it to him. The blue general felt like it was all finally over at last, that this was a man one could converse with even when both disagreed, that this was a man fit for the task at hand and he would not let him down. The blue general could not accept the sword; his opponent was too honorable, too valorous, too respectful and too much a part of bringing back together these people. No, he could not take his sword, this was not a conquering was, it was a war of union. He motioned for them to enter the cabin. The business was at hand.

A Long Two Part Exercise

Here is exercise six. It has been a very difficult exercise for me because one of the requirements was to write a story about an old woman. Apparently, I don't know old women well enough and also, I wanted to take the story a little deeper than I was capable. So, below is the best I can do. The rest of the exercise, which was the point of the exercise, not actually learning about what it is to be an old woman, but telling the story of an old woman who is living in the present while having thoughts and memories of a time past by. And then telling her reflections and her doings in either the first person, with her narrating, or in a third person narrator. And then using either all past tense, all present tense, or changing the tense used when the time being discussed changes. I focused more on what kinds of different things are discussed when telling a story from first or from third person perspectives. Can you tell I'm starting classes tomorrow?!?

Third person, completely in past tense:

For Establishing Less

She stormed out of the coven. She raged, screaming, sobbing, shaking, cursing those stupid witches. Her emotions overwhelmed her. She had no thoughts, just feelings of remorse, regret, rage, loss. She tripped through the moonlit midnight.

The dark had never bothered her. Not that night she first forced her presence on the coven, not any night since nor before. They had gathered in their circle like always, surrounding a bonfire of cedar. She remembered having gone there every full moon for two years, in secret and unknown to anyone, she watched and longed to join them. She worked up her courage and entered their circle to all their shock. They delayed her admittance. They stalled. They let her come but dallied around the idea of her full initiation into the coven. They said she had had no teacher. They said she was too wild, too out of control, not sensible enough. and tonight they threw all those same allegations at her. Threw at her refuse and curses stinging and paining her. She had lived for the coven. She would die for the coven, for their secrets for the rites. But they rejected her after twenty six years of service, they rejected and exiled her.

She tripped over roots and vines, despite the bright moon. She stumbled through the underbrush, lashing out at branches and leaves with her hands and twigs and rocks she would pick up after having fallen. Her hands bled and her lip swelled. Her forehead already had bruises and her elbows were scrapped raw and covered with dirt. Dried leaves clung to her wool clothes. She cried, she sobbed, she moaned for her loss, for the life she had always dreamed was taken from her, stolen, robbed. She had nothing left. She knew so much and wanted so much to help, to play some part, to join in to raise up the sisterpact. But why had they cast her into oblivion? Why had they declared her forbidden? Why did they do that? Why did they do that?

How could they?

She slipped on leaves and crashed into the ground. She covered her face in her elbows and sobbed. She sobbed there for hours. Squirrels came and went. Ants investigated and moved on.

She felt empty. She stood up slowly and realized she knew where she was and how to get to her shack. It didn't take her long to get back. Her head was empty now, not wanting more grief from her memories. She approached the her shack. Vines had long ago replaced the walls. Anda tree now supported the roof it had once counted on for protection. Moss reflected the moon back in a bright green light all around the shack. She opened the door and shuffled inside and risking a conflagration of emotions, slammed the door. They didn't come back. Instead she remembered one of her young pupils, just the other day having stormed off in frustration from her lesson. The girl had called her a hag, had said the old hag couldn't teach because she didn't know a broom from a forkroot. The girl had shouted that she wanted a new teacher, someone who could actually make a potion that worked, someone who could actually start a bonfire, actually lead to completion a group spell. The old woman, remembered the dumb brat and wondered if that was why she'd lost her place. Or was it before the girl storming out, when she filled the head mistresses house with scorpions?

She reached her tinctures and potions shelves. She grabbed a jar labeled wanderlust. Dust shifted on the lid and fell as she yanked it off the shelf. She read the label, then lifted the bottle high in the air, as high as her stout arms could reach, and looked at the ground, she crashed it into the packed dirt floor of her shack. It shattered, glass covered the floor and stuck in her woolens. She reached up to the shelf again. She grabbed a jar labeled Vengeance Procured. She didn't read this one, she just shattered it against the floor. Her foot began bleeding from a sharp glass piece.

She stood, panting over the broken jars. She noticed a large, long, pointed piece of broken glass. She knew what she had to do. She reached for it, picking it up while it sliced a red line across her fingers. She didn't notice the red flow down her newly made weapon. Her eyes were distant, looking out the walls of the shack, towards the glen where under the moonlight no doubt were still gathered the witches of her old coven. She would teach them all she knew tonight. She would hear their howls and call them banshees.

And now we move on to the second part. First person, present tense shifting to the past tense:

A Darkness Disclosed

Ahhhhhhh! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What were they thinking? What could they possibly be thinking? Mother of life, how could they be so stupid! How dare they! How could they? Oh nooo.

I've fallen. My mouth is full of dirt. How could they? What have they done to me? I am nothing now. I am lost. All I can do is wander through this forest forever. I can haunt them and their children and their children's children. Ohhh, nooo. There is nothing left for me.

I've got to get away from here. I've got to get away from their glen. I've got to find a way to get far away. These trees. Curse these trees. They hate me. I hate these trees. I punish these trees. Ahhhhh! Stupid trees. Stupid leaves. Stupid branches. Stupid vines. Ahhh. Curse you dirt. Dirt in my mouth is better than they have treated me. They never liked me. They never wanted me. I always wanted them. I loved them. I love the coven. Those abysmal scoundrels. They exiled me? How could they? Why would they? I gave them everything I am. I watched their meetings for so long before I could ask them to help me learn, before I could ask them for help. And then they wanted nothing to do with me. They hoped I would go away, but they wouldn't send me away then! Why do they send me away now! Noooooo. How can it be?

It took me so long to get up the courage to ask for their help, to approach their fireside. I wanted to learn. I wanted to know. I wanted to help them for helping me and now they turn on me. They throw me out into the abyss. They forbid me from returning. What did I do wrong? Why?

No, I fell again, I can't bare this. I can't go on. Ooooh, nonoooononooonooo. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Hmmmm. Where am I? I know this place. I must get to my house. I must get home. Home will help me. It's not far now. I know the way. There it is. I see it through the thicket. Almost there. Home will help. But why would they? Here's the door. And here I am and why would they? I needed them so much. Unlike that little brat. That little child monster, shouting and yelling at me. Telling me I knew nothing of the craft. Threatening me like that. How could she? Didn't she know what I have been through? Didn't she know my loss? I just want to help, doesn't she know? My baby, my baby, my poor little baby. I just wanted her to live. I just wanted her to be here. She's gone. She's gone, my baby. Forever. And now I have nothing again. Now, I am alone again. They cast me out. They threw me out and I have nothing. NOTHING!

Oh, I've broken my jar. My tincture shelves are here, but I've broken one of them. There are more. I don't need them anymore. I don't need anyone anymore. I can't need anyone anymore. I've got nothing left. There is no one to need anymore. They can all disappear! They can all die now because I don't need them anymore. No MORE!

I broke another one. I broke another one. There it is. They have broken me. Why did they break me. Why did they destroy my life? Why choose me to punish when I was already being punished? Didn't they know? Didn't they see my loss? Didn't they care? No, they didn't care. They always hated me. They never wanted me. They never knew my pain. I'll show them my pain. I'll teach them so they learn real good why I hurt. Oh, she'll learn now. They'll all learn now. I'll write their lessons on their bodies so they can't forget. I'll make sure it sinks in all the way to their bones.

Hunting Flowers

Here is exercise five. Absolutely no adjectives or adverbs allowed. Brutal.

Hunting Flowers

The moon lifted. The sun set. The grass grew. The flowers bloomed. Their blossoms released their fragrances. The bees searched. The ants dug. The hills felt the cascading light. The wind played with the grasses and flowers of the meadow. The trees sat. The birds sang. The shadows grew. And the lovers meandered. They talked. They smiled. They saw squirrels and laughed. They touched the bark of the trees. They would take a moment to stop and gaze at each other. They saw hanging pine needles and leaves. They saw the flowers. They smelled the flowers. They picked the flowers and adorned them on each other. They held hands, intertwining fingers. They wandered. They whispered of marriage. They dazzled each other. They heard the howl. They froze. They saw the moon. They knew what it circle meant. They knew the stories. They ran. It ran. They sprinted. It sprinted. Their breathing hurt. They didn't care. But they slowed. It stalked them. They wondered if they wronged in running. They doubted their instinct. They could not hear it. They could not see it. They looked and saw only the shadows. And then they heard it. They heard its charging. They turned and saw its fangs. They saw its snarl. They saw its fur. They saw its jaws. But all they could see while they screamed, while they were torn apart, forever, was its eyes.

Putting on Heirs

Here is the third part of the fourth exercise. Again with the repetition. Only now, it is repetition of the structure, which is to say, some part of the story itself, rather than the words or rhythm is repeated, such as an action or event. I accidentally already accomplished this exercise in the story Raven. I anticipated the repetition technique. But, here is what I hope is another example of the repetition technique.

Heir

The wind blew off the sea. It was a cooling breeze, the man thought as he reached the top of a hill. The sea stretched out before him. he was unafraid. He carried with him a satchel for his belongings. He scanned the horizon, seeing no ships masts or sails. His eyes reached the shore again and saw across a green valley another hill. On top sat a town behind a tall wall, with watch towers. He adjusted the spear he carried in his hand. He had no fear. He would soon be vaulting walls much bigger than those, with sentries much more sinister, and foes much more dangerous. He noticed next to him an altar. Taking a few steps towards it, he saw it was an altar to Zeus. The could not even scare him.

He walked away, down the hill and into a gathering of people. Everyone craned their necks to see and hear and the little ones tugged at togas to get to know what the fuss was all about. he strode through the crowd till he reached a comfortable spot.

A bard danced about before them all. He sang a ridiculous and raucous song while throwing things in the air and catching them while all the people laughed. The act ended to shouts of pleasure, but then the man of everyone's attention became quite grave. He looked about , not menacingly, but worried that those within his confidence lacked something mortally important.

"Do you know?" His voice was slightly more than a whisper. Everyone hushed. "Do you know?" he asked again pleading from face to face all around him. Louder now, he asked them all again, "Do you know the beginning?" And the people looked around slightly confused. He said so all could clearly hear him now: "Do you know how ruled the great gods and whence they came and how majestic their power became? Do you know the truth of the matter of the immortal deities? Well, what are we teaching our young these days. Leave it to this old bard then.

From against a rock, he too up his lyre and with a chord strummed shook the revelry from everyone and brought worry and doubt. Another discord strummed and his hand continued in grand gesture pointing to the Olympians high upon their thrones.

"As many stories begin, so does this one: not where one might think. Not on the snowy clearness of Olympus, but everywhere and nowhere. Chasm ruled al and was it all. For none could chaos but Chasm. Chasm wrought the Earth in all her random holy mess and brought forth Earth's mothering wisdom. And Mother Earth then ruled the world in Chasm's place for now there was order from the abyss. And Earth's rule was fair of face and firm of figure and flowers grew in meadows made for maidens, while mountains crashed up and up and over it all Earth bore Heaven to worship her and she him, for without passionate Eros, all would be lost and potential would not be. And earth's equal, Heaven, gave to earth his seed and she then in her mighty wisdom she created children of power and of light. Many stories do her children have but only her own struggle concerns us now. For it is there where we find the fate of our own predicament.

"The youngest of all Earth's children, the most brave, the most clever, the most exacting; the one who was not afraid. It was he who stood up to the invincibility of his astral father.

"As for Heaven, he remained frightened of his children and so once each was born, he hid them deep in the caverns of earth. He could not bear their birth. And when Mother Earth could bear such suffering no longer, she riled her children. 'Who among you is not afraid? Who among you is mighty enough to wield this weapon of my creation, Who has the power to slice with my sharp sickle at the power of Father Heaven?' And only one among the many children of Earth, whether of her own making or from the loins of Heaven, stood forth and raised their voice in courage.

"'I shall,' stated bold Kronos. The strong-handed Titan took up the sickle and waited.

"And the time came when Heaven came down upon Earth, revealed himself and filled her deepest inner reaches and at that moment, hard hearted Kronos swung his blade, scattering Heaven's power across the Earth and sea and over the wide width of the world. And from them arose more tales of power, beauty, and love, which we must forsake for our most important of tales concerning us now. For from that strike onwards, Kronos ruled the world from the distant high mantles of the sky to the lowest, darkest crags beneath the land. With his power, he took fair eyed Rhea, his sister, to wife and showed his power through his divine offspring.

"But it was just those offspring who he feared. He grew timid when he heard, and remembered, the children of the mighty are also the greatest threat to the mighty. And so, not trusting his wife's dark recesses, he swallowed each offspring as its mother bore them. In a gulp each, he assured his place atop the world.

"And lo, how beautiful eyed Rhea suffered and tor at her hair and garments and grew weary and sad giving up her children to the mighty mouth of Kronos. She sought the wisdom of her mother and father, Earth and Heaven and they divined the future. When her broad shouldered son approached, heralded by floods and lightning strikes of pain, she snuck through darkness, hiding herself away from even the most penetrating vision. There she bore thunder wielding Zeus, in secret and safety. To her mighty husband she handed a rock, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and named him son, Zeus, and bold Kronos, he took the boulder up and right away devoured it whole, knowing his food sustained him in his power.

"But in great secret in the caves and gardens of Crete, there grew a boy who would challenge the mighty Kronos. The son of Heaven's son brought forth his rival power and with his mother's aid and knowledge he overthrew the tyrant Kronos and forced out each sibling in turn to be free and roam the land and sea and skies in freedom, pronouncing their own glory. Kronos could not stop allmighty Zeus. Coming to Kronos' aid were the rest of his siblings, the Titans, but they could only compete with these overpowering Olympians.

"After ten long years of suffering and strife, the immortal gods of Olympus prevailed, overthrowing their Titan forebears and tossing them forever into the abyss of Tartaros.

"And thus it comes to reality the Thunder bearing god became father of all and ruled if not beneficently or mercifully, than most certainly, justly over the wide earth. Remember forever that what we have can be taken away and give unto he whose plans never fail, whose all knowing and cunning have yet to miss their mark, the mighty, the powerful -"

"Bard!" came a shout from the audience. "Silver tongued Bard! the traveling man with the spears and satchel said, stepping forward. "Bard! Answer a searching man a question! In what direction did you say lies mighty Olympus? Remind me where I might find this thunder bearing Zeus!"

The bard faltered, began to speak, and then, just stood pointing in the direction of Mount Olympus, home of the gods.

"Thanks from a stranger, fair Bard," the man said and turned in that direction.

"Wait! Wait fine sir! What awaits you on the Olympic mountain? Do you travel to pray? To sacrifice? To divine your future? Surely you must have some purpose to your journey?"

The traveling man stopped, turned his head, and said over his shoulder, "I pray none to no one. I sacrifice to no one and so never sacrifice in vain. My future, I know already, Bard of sweet words. I lay claim to Olympus. I challenge the might of those gods. I am the heir to Zeus and I got to take my rightful throne. He can not stop me," he said facing forward. "I am not afraid."