This is exactly what I mean when I say that plot doesn't matter. Or rather, it does matter, but to a lesser extent than the beauty of the prose and -- most of all -- the range of emotions a piece makes you go through. This story was a rollercoaster of emotions for me. First, the memories of your mother and family, then the way those memories infused your walk through the small cemetery, and finally, the sight of L., her words, and your state of mind afterward. Beautiful, Nathan. So essential, yet so profound and evocative.
Here are some passages that stood out to me (though I could very well quote the entire piece):
"There could be a hand inches from your foot, ready to thrust out of the soil and grab you by the ankle." -- Terrifying; exactly what I always think about in a graveyard but could never articulate so succinctly.
"Often I have wondered whether my mother has instilled in me some sense of what cannot be readily observed." -- Defining the undefinable so effortlessly.
"I realise I have drifted far from my original story. It tends to happen. My apologies. Let us join him again, the 20-year-old me still stood there alone on the road, the note tucked away in his pocket. I sense he is waiting for our prying eyes to alight once more on his form. I made my way around to the back of the church, trying my best to ignore the way the graveyard headstones turned to face me and watch me pass." -- A marvellous way to break the story and return to the initial thread.
"By now my heart was approaching my foot, and it threatened to leave my body altogether, perhaps to sink through the soil and give life to those buried below." and "There was no affection there. It wasn't a kiss that said sorry. It was a kiss that said only the opposite." -- Simply beautiful.
"I watched my fingers tear the note into pieces, the shredded paper fluttering in the air like snow." -- What an elegant finale!
Thank you so much, my friend. You are so generous with your thoughts and comments.
After finishing this piece, I was a little uncertain with the narrative and the way the story gets interrupted by the memory, but then I realised that I had just written it all without thinking about it and letting it run the way my brain evidently wanted it to run, which meant that it was, likely/hopefully, the way that I needed to tell it. I maintain treating this practice of writing and writing as a means of existing in a place of freedom of expression.
Yes, you said it best: "but then I realised that I had just written it all without thinking about it and letting it run the way my brain evidently wanted it to run, which meant that it was, likely/hopefully, the way that I needed to tell it." And I agree with Sharron's comment below 100%.
Oh, I almost forgot: the voiceover is great! I really enjoyed hearing you reading the story, as I had done last time around (but forgot to mention). From now on, I'll read all your pieces with your voice in my mind. :)
Thanks, Silvio. I appreciate the comment on the voiceover. I'm not 100% I'm going to keep doing them, or perhaps not for every post. I wonder/worry whether it detracts from what I often want to be emphasising in the writing and prose. I think this can sometimes be lost via the spoken word, though perhaps I'm wrong.
I think your preoccupation is legit, but I also think that, in your case, it actually enhances the prose by putting the right emphasis where it should be. At least it did for me! :)
I could tell 10 different stories of all the times a girl told me this and all the different ways. heartbreaking each time! i don’t think you could get me to show up at a creepy cemetery though. well done nathan!
Your return to the past reminds me of my own mother saying, on more than one occasion, 'it doesn't feel right here' or more often 'come, it's not safe here' and she grab us and leave, once she made us all leave our seats on a train three stations before our stop, it was only on the local news later we heard the train we'd left had derailed in a tunnel with passengers stranded for three hours. She too had perceptions far beyond those of a normal person, she scared us all with her telepathy often.
One word can be so destructive can't it, before we've even heard the sentence we are plunged into that negative space of self questioning, You wrote this so well Nathan,
"Before she walked away, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. There was no affection there. It wasn't a kiss that said sorry. It was a kiss that said only the opposite." Oh and it burns that kiss...
Sadly my mothers deep pre-sense of danger bypassed me, I would have suffered far less scrapes otherwise! My only precognitive sense, inherited perhaps, my mother never spoke of such things to us, is that I feel physically the moment life leaves the body of the people I love dearly, as if they pass through me on their way to elsewhere, it has happened six times, strangely though, the only person who avoided me, who I didn’t touch before she left this mortal coil, was my mother herself.
That's profound, Susie. I have heard other people talk of such and the scientific part of me wrestles with explanations, but then I realise I am content to sit with the wonder of it.
Thank you Nathan, my mother was younger than I am now, died suddenly nearly thirty years ago, I still think of her, and my father who died of a broken heart on his birthday five years later, most days - they were good people; much loved and much missed.
“Because I knew you’d come.” Crushing Nathan. Walking through the corridors of memory and fear, meeting the inner sense that “something is wrong” but continuing for…for love, I’m assuming. Only to be offered a cold dismissive ending. There’s ache in this, sure. But also a cruelty that I can’t wrap my head around, and I’m sorry your protagonist (you?) is still trying to make sense of it all.
Brilliant piece. I will return to this again to walk through that yard with you, past the “spire like a crone’s crooked finger.” Love this!!!!
This is all a distorted, contracted, morphed abbreviation, of course.
Plus, I let myself just run with the flashback to the church visit with my parents. Unsure if it was distracting, but in the end I decided to let it be what it had become.
No, I LOVED the flashbacks. It dimensionalized (is that a word?) and lengthened that walk to the church, adding an interiority to your experience that felt connected to the scene but also connected to something larger all at once.
Following my reading of the written story, I felt led to listen to your reading of this piece. I’m very glad I did, and I thought you did an excellent job of it!
One nuance that came through very clearly that I didn’t immediately pick up on when reading was when “L” turned around upon the narrator’s approach and said “Look.” While reading, I thought she had been looking at something that she was now going to point out (and I was also suspecting she was going to turn out to be ‘in spirit’ at this point!) But then she proceeded to dump the narrator, yikes!
When you read this out, the way you said “Look” made it clear she was going to follow that with something she knew he was not going to like, and my knowing was not just because I had already read the full story and knew what was coming next.
All this is just to say that the well spoken word can convey much; well done, Nathan!
One additional comment: I thought the cemetery experience from the narrator’s childhood added so much to the mood of the story, and that your handling of both the departure from and return to the main narrative were most skillful.
Thank you for posting your work; I look forward to reading more of it!
Loved reading this comment, Rose. Thank you for taking the time to contribute your thoughts. It's really important to hear how phrases can be first interpreted when the context hasn't yet made itself known. I hadn't even considered the notion that L could have been meaning “Look at this thing…” because the way she was saying it was already set in my mind, which was the way I delivered it verbally.
L had you meet her at the church cemetery so she could bury your romantic notion of your relationship with her. Cruel behavior. I suppose she didn't want to take the chance you might misinterpret her meaning. It sounds as though your mother had a well developed spiritual sense. I enjoyed reading your imagery of the church steeple and the walk through the graveyard, all were unique and descriptive.
Such a mysterious and at the same time relatable story, Nathan. You are the king of atmosphere! It’s lines like this: “The air was quivering.” Everything was building toward that line! (I would quote more of them but I’m on a phone…)
And the postscript captures this double puzzle layer. I’d love to see this one keep going! Sequel please. :)
Brilliant, Nathan. I love the combination of memories of church, of the fear of a cemetery, and of the particular kind of heartache that comes when subtle cruelty is handed out by someone you care sweetly for.
"doubly so when it involved a girl, " especially when it involved a girl who was not "the one." Great "autofiction" like feel to this, where the reader is left wondering what is auto and what is fiction as it should be. You and Silvio, you two, make me want to try this autofiction thing! :)
Very engaging, Nathan. Your language choices are exquisite. Editing impeccable. You do an excellent voice over. I know it is not easy. So... is this piece fiction or memoir?
This is my favorite story you've written, Nathan. It's just so beautifully written and spoken. I really respect the way you didn't try to resolve or make sense of these events--you let them stay as they were--*and as they still are* . . .Moments in time. . . Dual realities when two people are each seeing the same thing through completely different lenses--with different needs and emotions. It's so painful to be human sometimes. You nailed that feeling. 💛🙏 thank you
p.s. I will admit, I was waiting for our dear narrator to turn suddenly diabolical. I was like, Oh no-- not this time, Mr. Slake. I'll not be taken in by his sweet shaky hands, awkwardly waving the note, etc. BUT you fooled me again! lol 🤭😊
Oh, Ann, you're so lovely. What holes and hurt may have been left by this memory of an experience have been sealed over and cured by your kind words. 🤗
Thank you for the reassurance of it being OK to leave things as they are and not fight for a resolution, which is something I really struggle with with my writing. I think that when I write close or within the human experience it feels like (direct) resolution is almost unnecessary or never an option. So long as I am left feeling something, then I feel content, which is how I approach what I like to be reading in books, too.
RE: your p.s. Hehe. I am glad that was the case and I have kept you second guessing. ;)
In your intro, you may want to mention, “…thanks for reading or listen or doing both” while eating cookies .
Thank you for adding one or three, more reason for me to ‘quiver’ in a cemetery. As if I needed another. I grew up with a cemetery just outside our quiet rural neighborhood. A circle, thankfully my home was near the center of the circle, had I lived just 25 ft across the road, the acres long cemetery would have been right in my backyard. Fortunately there was a home that blocked my immediate view. As it was, I remember climbing out of bed in the darkness, hands on the wall making my way to the window, looking across the street watching the sky to see if bodies actually rose to heaven by themselves, or by angels. I trembled even more when I couldn’t see evidence. Funny, now that I am writing this, like you, I thought of my mom ( for a different reason) . She always said when you’re dead you’re dead, buried in the dirt and that’s it. Thanks mom. Ah, no wonder I grew up with such an awful feeling about death (one of the reasons why I am such a careful reader of Chloe’s D&B, always the student, and always a work in progress). Ok, now I am off track. Love the narration, Nathan. Your voice has a keen ability to carry the reader further into the story than just words alone. I think the ‘side story’ worked very well, as if we are getting a glimpse of the writer sitting in a Wingback leather chair, pen in hand writing the story as thoughts surface on paper. And L, you were too good for her. I did expect L to be ‘otherworldly’ maybe if there is a part II ? I will add one more to the list of Silvio’s Incredible Quotes;“…the crooked spire a crone’s finger that pointed up into the sky.”
How I love reading your comments, Lor. I always feel something, learn something, am left smiling.
I, too, have been strengthening my resolve and attitude toward death all thanks to Chloe. (Though I will admit, I am currently one post behind in my studying.)
It makes me happy to hear you say that the voice brought you further in, because I have spent a day wondering whether it would have the opposite effect whilst I still try to work on my delivery. Often I favour reading over hearing a story, but I like and enjoy the option when others have offered it.
There could be a part II, III, ... X. Far too many, to be honest. The watch has many gears, long scattered and broken.
Cool ! more to come. Though I have a feeling you are going to take me ‘deeper’ into the cemetery , maybe you could preface Part II with; ‘stay tuned for more trembling and quivering’.
Then I can prepare with a mug of hot chocolate. By the way, if I can send a smile across the waters, I can’t think of a higher compliment.
This is exactly what I mean when I say that plot doesn't matter. Or rather, it does matter, but to a lesser extent than the beauty of the prose and -- most of all -- the range of emotions a piece makes you go through. This story was a rollercoaster of emotions for me. First, the memories of your mother and family, then the way those memories infused your walk through the small cemetery, and finally, the sight of L., her words, and your state of mind afterward. Beautiful, Nathan. So essential, yet so profound and evocative.
Here are some passages that stood out to me (though I could very well quote the entire piece):
"There could be a hand inches from your foot, ready to thrust out of the soil and grab you by the ankle." -- Terrifying; exactly what I always think about in a graveyard but could never articulate so succinctly.
"Often I have wondered whether my mother has instilled in me some sense of what cannot be readily observed." -- Defining the undefinable so effortlessly.
"I realise I have drifted far from my original story. It tends to happen. My apologies. Let us join him again, the 20-year-old me still stood there alone on the road, the note tucked away in his pocket. I sense he is waiting for our prying eyes to alight once more on his form. I made my way around to the back of the church, trying my best to ignore the way the graveyard headstones turned to face me and watch me pass." -- A marvellous way to break the story and return to the initial thread.
"By now my heart was approaching my foot, and it threatened to leave my body altogether, perhaps to sink through the soil and give life to those buried below." and "There was no affection there. It wasn't a kiss that said sorry. It was a kiss that said only the opposite." -- Simply beautiful.
"I watched my fingers tear the note into pieces, the shredded paper fluttering in the air like snow." -- What an elegant finale!
Thank you so much, my friend. You are so generous with your thoughts and comments.
After finishing this piece, I was a little uncertain with the narrative and the way the story gets interrupted by the memory, but then I realised that I had just written it all without thinking about it and letting it run the way my brain evidently wanted it to run, which meant that it was, likely/hopefully, the way that I needed to tell it. I maintain treating this practice of writing and writing as a means of existing in a place of freedom of expression.
Yes, you said it best: "but then I realised that I had just written it all without thinking about it and letting it run the way my brain evidently wanted it to run, which meant that it was, likely/hopefully, the way that I needed to tell it." And I agree with Sharron's comment below 100%.
🤗
I have no trouble whatsoever with the transitions in this piece.
Thanks, Sharron. That's great to hear.
Yes, all of those and more.
Agree. The atmosphere takes us.
Oh, I almost forgot: the voiceover is great! I really enjoyed hearing you reading the story, as I had done last time around (but forgot to mention). From now on, I'll read all your pieces with your voice in my mind. :)
Thanks, Silvio. I appreciate the comment on the voiceover. I'm not 100% I'm going to keep doing them, or perhaps not for every post. I wonder/worry whether it detracts from what I often want to be emphasising in the writing and prose. I think this can sometimes be lost via the spoken word, though perhaps I'm wrong.
I think your preoccupation is legit, but I also think that, in your case, it actually enhances the prose by putting the right emphasis where it should be. At least it did for me! :)
I could tell 10 different stories of all the times a girl told me this and all the different ways. heartbreaking each time! i don’t think you could get me to show up at a creepy cemetery though. well done nathan!
Thanks Clancy. Appreciate you reading. A common theme (sans cemetery), I'm sure.
Your return to the past reminds me of my own mother saying, on more than one occasion, 'it doesn't feel right here' or more often 'come, it's not safe here' and she grab us and leave, once she made us all leave our seats on a train three stations before our stop, it was only on the local news later we heard the train we'd left had derailed in a tunnel with passengers stranded for three hours. She too had perceptions far beyond those of a normal person, she scared us all with her telepathy often.
One word can be so destructive can't it, before we've even heard the sentence we are plunged into that negative space of self questioning, You wrote this so well Nathan,
"Before she walked away, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. There was no affection there. It wasn't a kiss that said sorry. It was a kiss that said only the opposite." Oh and it burns that kiss...
Wow, thanks for sharing that. That's some serious sixth sense. Has it been passed down to you?
Yes, the one word, the tone of the word, it can all say so much.
Thanks for your beautiful comments, Susie.
Sadly my mothers deep pre-sense of danger bypassed me, I would have suffered far less scrapes otherwise! My only precognitive sense, inherited perhaps, my mother never spoke of such things to us, is that I feel physically the moment life leaves the body of the people I love dearly, as if they pass through me on their way to elsewhere, it has happened six times, strangely though, the only person who avoided me, who I didn’t touch before she left this mortal coil, was my mother herself.
That's profound, Susie. I have heard other people talk of such and the scientific part of me wrestles with explanations, but then I realise I am content to sit with the wonder of it.
My condolences on the passing of your mother.
Thank you Nathan, my mother was younger than I am now, died suddenly nearly thirty years ago, I still think of her, and my father who died of a broken heart on his birthday five years later, most days - they were good people; much loved and much missed.
Oh Susie. I'm so sorry.
Thank you, Time blurs all sadnesses Nathan, less so the injustice but I try to believe our days are written, nothing changes our end.
Oh, Nathan. The expectation, the trepidation and the final humiliation. So well done.
And don't feel bad, I've been there--got the T-shirt.
Notice the transitions here, Jim. Much the same as in the story you are working on. It works beautifully, don't you think?
I very much look forward to reading it, should it end up being shared, Jim.
Thanks, Jim, love the comment.
Many a similar t-shirt has been worn!
Beautiful. The description of the boy’s memory of his mother’s fear. Dead on.
Thank you, Michael. That means a lot. 🙏
“Because I knew you’d come.” Crushing Nathan. Walking through the corridors of memory and fear, meeting the inner sense that “something is wrong” but continuing for…for love, I’m assuming. Only to be offered a cold dismissive ending. There’s ache in this, sure. But also a cruelty that I can’t wrap my head around, and I’m sorry your protagonist (you?) is still trying to make sense of it all.
Brilliant piece. I will return to this again to walk through that yard with you, past the “spire like a crone’s crooked finger.” Love this!!!!
You assume correct, on all accounts. ;)
You read with the keenest senses.
This is all a distorted, contracted, morphed abbreviation, of course.
Plus, I let myself just run with the flashback to the church visit with my parents. Unsure if it was distracting, but in the end I decided to let it be what it had become.
No, I LOVED the flashbacks. It dimensionalized (is that a word?) and lengthened that walk to the church, adding an interiority to your experience that felt connected to the scene but also connected to something larger all at once.
Even if it's not a real word (I haven't looked, hehe) then I very much approve of its usage here.
🧡
Following my reading of the written story, I felt led to listen to your reading of this piece. I’m very glad I did, and I thought you did an excellent job of it!
One nuance that came through very clearly that I didn’t immediately pick up on when reading was when “L” turned around upon the narrator’s approach and said “Look.” While reading, I thought she had been looking at something that she was now going to point out (and I was also suspecting she was going to turn out to be ‘in spirit’ at this point!) But then she proceeded to dump the narrator, yikes!
When you read this out, the way you said “Look” made it clear she was going to follow that with something she knew he was not going to like, and my knowing was not just because I had already read the full story and knew what was coming next.
All this is just to say that the well spoken word can convey much; well done, Nathan!
One additional comment: I thought the cemetery experience from the narrator’s childhood added so much to the mood of the story, and that your handling of both the departure from and return to the main narrative were most skillful.
Thank you for posting your work; I look forward to reading more of it!
Loved reading this comment, Rose. Thank you for taking the time to contribute your thoughts. It's really important to hear how phrases can be first interpreted when the context hasn't yet made itself known. I hadn't even considered the notion that L could have been meaning “Look at this thing…” because the way she was saying it was already set in my mind, which was the way I delivered it verbally.
Thanks so much again. 😊
L had you meet her at the church cemetery so she could bury your romantic notion of your relationship with her. Cruel behavior. I suppose she didn't want to take the chance you might misinterpret her meaning. It sounds as though your mother had a well developed spiritual sense. I enjoyed reading your imagery of the church steeple and the walk through the graveyard, all were unique and descriptive.
Thanks so much, K.C. Most definitely buried, though occasionally some thoughts of it find themselves resurrected in my mind.
“Why here?” I heard myself ask, aware I might have been crying. “Why at a graveyard?”
“Because I knew you'd come. You'd always come wherever I asked.”
Dodged a bullet, imho - there's a strange and rather cold exercise of power in those words.
Not at all the direction I expected this story to take, all the more crushing in the end. Well done, Nathan!
Happy to have sent it in a direction that was unexpected. ;)
Thanks for the thoughts, Troy. Definitely bullet dodged.
You had me at “The bodies might not even be that deep.” Very eerie line, that!
Thanks for reading and the comment, Rose. :)
Such a mysterious and at the same time relatable story, Nathan. You are the king of atmosphere! It’s lines like this: “The air was quivering.” Everything was building toward that line! (I would quote more of them but I’m on a phone…)
And the postscript captures this double puzzle layer. I’d love to see this one keep going! Sequel please. :)
You’re not the first to ask for a sequel, hehe. Thanks so much, Kate.
Some more along these lines may trickle out at some people. There’s plenty enough in the well of reality to draw from. ;)
Brilliant, Nathan. I love the combination of memories of church, of the fear of a cemetery, and of the particular kind of heartache that comes when subtle cruelty is handed out by someone you care sweetly for.
Thanks so much Holly. That is deftly summarised. :D
"doubly so when it involved a girl, " especially when it involved a girl who was not "the one." Great "autofiction" like feel to this, where the reader is left wondering what is auto and what is fiction as it should be. You and Silvio, you two, make me want to try this autofiction thing! :)
You should ABSOLUTELY do this, my friend. Would love to read.
Very engaging, Nathan. Your language choices are exquisite. Editing impeccable. You do an excellent voice over. I know it is not easy. So... is this piece fiction or memoir?
Too kind, Sharron. Far too kind. :D
(Though, I will admit that I sweat over editing and editing for perhaps too long, haha.)
As to your question...
So... both. 👍🏻
This is my favorite story you've written, Nathan. It's just so beautifully written and spoken. I really respect the way you didn't try to resolve or make sense of these events--you let them stay as they were--*and as they still are* . . .Moments in time. . . Dual realities when two people are each seeing the same thing through completely different lenses--with different needs and emotions. It's so painful to be human sometimes. You nailed that feeling. 💛🙏 thank you
p.s. I will admit, I was waiting for our dear narrator to turn suddenly diabolical. I was like, Oh no-- not this time, Mr. Slake. I'll not be taken in by his sweet shaky hands, awkwardly waving the note, etc. BUT you fooled me again! lol 🤭😊
Oh, Ann, you're so lovely. What holes and hurt may have been left by this memory of an experience have been sealed over and cured by your kind words. 🤗
Thank you for the reassurance of it being OK to leave things as they are and not fight for a resolution, which is something I really struggle with with my writing. I think that when I write close or within the human experience it feels like (direct) resolution is almost unnecessary or never an option. So long as I am left feeling something, then I feel content, which is how I approach what I like to be reading in books, too.
RE: your p.s. Hehe. I am glad that was the case and I have kept you second guessing. ;)
In your intro, you may want to mention, “…thanks for reading or listen or doing both” while eating cookies .
Thank you for adding one or three, more reason for me to ‘quiver’ in a cemetery. As if I needed another. I grew up with a cemetery just outside our quiet rural neighborhood. A circle, thankfully my home was near the center of the circle, had I lived just 25 ft across the road, the acres long cemetery would have been right in my backyard. Fortunately there was a home that blocked my immediate view. As it was, I remember climbing out of bed in the darkness, hands on the wall making my way to the window, looking across the street watching the sky to see if bodies actually rose to heaven by themselves, or by angels. I trembled even more when I couldn’t see evidence. Funny, now that I am writing this, like you, I thought of my mom ( for a different reason) . She always said when you’re dead you’re dead, buried in the dirt and that’s it. Thanks mom. Ah, no wonder I grew up with such an awful feeling about death (one of the reasons why I am such a careful reader of Chloe’s D&B, always the student, and always a work in progress). Ok, now I am off track. Love the narration, Nathan. Your voice has a keen ability to carry the reader further into the story than just words alone. I think the ‘side story’ worked very well, as if we are getting a glimpse of the writer sitting in a Wingback leather chair, pen in hand writing the story as thoughts surface on paper. And L, you were too good for her. I did expect L to be ‘otherworldly’ maybe if there is a part II ? I will add one more to the list of Silvio’s Incredible Quotes;“…the crooked spire a crone’s finger that pointed up into the sky.”
How I love reading your comments, Lor. I always feel something, learn something, am left smiling.
I, too, have been strengthening my resolve and attitude toward death all thanks to Chloe. (Though I will admit, I am currently one post behind in my studying.)
It makes me happy to hear you say that the voice brought you further in, because I have spent a day wondering whether it would have the opposite effect whilst I still try to work on my delivery. Often I favour reading over hearing a story, but I like and enjoy the option when others have offered it.
There could be a part II, III, ... X. Far too many, to be honest. The watch has many gears, long scattered and broken.
Cool ! more to come. Though I have a feeling you are going to take me ‘deeper’ into the cemetery , maybe you could preface Part II with; ‘stay tuned for more trembling and quivering’.
Then I can prepare with a mug of hot chocolate. By the way, if I can send a smile across the waters, I can’t think of a higher compliment.