Grass Isn't Purple!

Gosmini is a Tailor who is ready to retire! But all is not well in the vast forests of Narza!

Gosmini was a simple person. It did not take much to please Gosmini. He had lived a simple life as a tailor in the Town of Norb. He did enjoy waking up every morning and going to his quaint shop. He did enjoy steeping his tea and working for the middle class of Narza. Even meeting nobles and creating wonderful (and fashionable) dresses and suits, hats and veils. He was in fact a master of the trade. And his trade was the master to him. But after many years of fashioning vest after vest, robe after robe, after many years of sewing in button and seam, strap and after all very clean; Gosmini had decided it was enough. His chest was full of coin and his back had grown weary of the constant back and forth from fabric to table. Sick of deadlines and most certainly sick of pricking his hand with needles day after day. Most definitely he had become sick of the monotony.

So Gosmini awoke one sunday and went to his shop. He grabbed his staff and his sack and went straight to the Noblemen of Norb. He purchased a quaint piece of property several leagues south of Norb with a nice cottage hanging over a small creek. He made all the necessary arrangements to get himself as far away from the rabble as possible.  He had made his shop a donation to another salesman in town who had fought for years to have the storefront. He gave his fabrics and tools to a young lady who had neighbored him for years; she had several children and Gosmini had found himself giving many pieces of clothing to her and her family. And finally Gosmini made a notice to his landlord, stating that he would no longer be residing in the home and he could finally put vacancy signs on the street. Once all of Gosmini’s arrangements were, well, arranged; he set out for his new home. Renting a horse and buggy and a young man to help him move all of his belongings in.

Whence he had reached the new cottage he began immediately sizing rooms and figuring where his furniture would go. He had the young man help him decide and after a few short hours there was no more work to be done. His table was set, his bed was made, his chest was secure, and the young man had a parcel containing a list of things Gosmini would need in the following months. The list contained food, a few stacks of firewood, and some other non essential items such as extra candles, a tea pot (honestly, how could one forget the tea pot? Even Gosmini couldn't believe his own foolishness) and slippers. But the most important thing was the small amount of coin it was going to require Gosmini to purchase all the items. His chest was full, but he did not want to waste any money should an emergency occur and he need to make repairs to the home; he had already noticed a plank of wood on his back porch that needed some extra nails, but he would fix that later he told himself.

Nonetheless, Gosmini was pleased. He had finally gotten away. He spent the first few weeks sitting on his porch, watching the creek pass, noticing the birds chirp, and enjoying the sunset as he lazily lived. Far, far, away one might add. Only a few more days had passed from this point when the young man returned again with more food and the non-essential items. Most pleased with the size of Gosmini’s new tea pot and the plushness of his new slippers. Once he had handed a new letter and some more coin he returned to his back porch with a nice hot cup of tea and a great smile on his face as he continued watching the creek bubble by.

Gosmini’s life continued like this for several months, Gosmini thought that this would be the ideal way to live out the later parts of one’s life, in peace and serenity. So he went through his head and enjoyed the memories of his life. The times he had created such wonderful garb for many, many great people throughout Narza and beyond. He recounted one time in particular where a fair Pesiry from across the Twiridin Narrows had approached him for his fine work. This particular Pesiry commented on his craftsmanship and requested a robe from him, and paid quite well; setting Gosmini several months ahead on his bills. He did quite enjoy being able to sit on his porch and not have to worry one more day about how he was going to pay his rent or how he was going to make that next coin. The work was all finished, he finally had the money to retire.

One perky Sunday morning Gosmini awoke from his warm bed and headed to his kitchen, warmed himself some tea and sat upon his porch, like he had done for months at a time. But this morning was different. Something was off, very, very off.

Gosmini thought: ‘No, it can’t be autumn yet. Not a leaf has turned, or at least, they didn’t yesterday. I must be dreaming, I am still in my bed. Grass isn’t purple, and trees don’t lose leaves overnight.’

Gosmini looked down at his arm and pinched himself, startled he looked back up at the creek in awe and thought again ( A fatal mistake I might add)

‘I could feel the pinch, but grass doesn’t turn purple, and trees don’t lose leaves overnight! I must be dreaming! This cannot be real! Sure, I could feel the pinch, but in a dream, fire doesn’t burn! I can prove this is a dream right now!’

I’m sure, being that Gosmini was no fool, that if he were able to look back on these events he would chuckle and laugh at his next move.

Gosmini walked to his kitchen and set foot at his stove. Looking brave and rather confidently at his teapot which was still quite hot, a grin let across his face and he slapped his hand on the teapot. Only moments later did Gosmini let out a loud howl and quickly jumped away from the stove dropping his teacup. He held his hand at his wrist and looked in horror and confusion. He thought again:

‘Grass doesn’t turn purple! Trees don’t lose leaves overnight!’

Fiercely now he stomped to his back porch, slammed open his back door, rose his fist at the creek and yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Grass isn’t purple, and trees don’t lose leaves overnight!”

“Well they did.” Came a strange voice from the side of Gosmini’s porch.

Now, if you hadn’t noticed, Gosmini is easily startled, and things that perturb him, perturb him deeply. And as a result of this startling new voice from the side of Gosmini’s porch, he jumped very high in the air and fell down with his hand slipping into the plank that rose above the others on his back porch. Mind you, this is also the hand he burned on the teapot, which resulted in Gosmini giving out another loud howl. But before he could focus on the immense pain in his hand he was even more startled by what gave Gosmini the jump in the first place. Before Gosmini stood a purple sunflower, with eyes, and yes, a mouth.

“Oh, no. No, no, no! Grass isn’t purple, trees don’t lose leaves overnight, and most certainly sunflowers do not have mouths!” Gosmini said in the most shaky of voices.

“Well I do now.” Said the sunflower.

Gosmini was obviously quite shaken by the whole experience and began hyperventilating, he had absolutely no clue what to think of the situation and could not come to any solid conclusion. He spent a few stark moments looking at the creature and fainted from his astonishment.

When Gosmini awoke he found himself hanging from a vine (a purple vine to be noted) and could see no recognizable features about the land around him. All he could see was thick bush, a tall tree from which he hung, and a purple sunflower walking towards him.

“Well, don’t you look nice hanging from that vine? I thought: where else to put you than from this tree? I am quite pleased with how you look there.” The sunflower seemed very happy with his accomplishment and rooted himself only a few feet from Gosmini.

“No. Oh, no, no, no. You get me down from here this instant. I can’t stay here! Take me home!”

“I can’t do that!”

“And why not?”

“Well to begin, I have no clue where we are! And second, I like you there!”

“Well I don’t like me here! So, I will release myself and find my own way home!”

“Well, you’re mine now. So, I won’t let you do that.”

“Oh, mr., or mrs., or whatever you are I have a home, with a tea pot and a chair and a porch that I would like to stay at. With no purple grass, or purple sunflowers, or purple vines hanging from trees without leaves! I am going to un-hang myself and return to that home and you are going to leave me alone!” Shouted Gosmini very loudly. So loud that it echoed throughout the valley that they had found themselves in.

Just then the ground began shaking and groaning was heard echoing throughout the valley so deep and so loud. The sunflower let on a terrible frown and began to uproot himself racing towards Gosmini.

“You’ve done it now! We’ve got to leave! You are one loud tapestry, why did I ever choose you?”

“What?” Shouted Gosmini, “I am no tapestry and what have I done other than hang?”

Just then, the tree from which Gosmini was hanging began shaking and soon twisted and threw a ginormous fit, squealing and screaming. Gosmini, still hanging from the purple vine, began screaming as well. The sunflower at this point had began to hang from Gosmini, climbing up his body and untying the knot around Gosmini’s ankles.

“We’ve got to leave! We’ve got to leave!” Shouted the sunflower.

Once untied the two fell to the ground, and Gosmini tried his damnedest to run away but the sunflower, using his stalk leaves as hands, grabbed Gosmini and began dragging him away from the epicenter of this event. He dragged him up a hill not too far from the turbulent tree and just as it seemed they might get away with their lives, a branch from the tree fell onto the sunflower. At this point Gosmini was free and began running for his life. He ran as quick as the wind would let him through the thick brush. Gosmini had lost his slippers at this point and his feet were being quite torn up, his clothes has become tattered and his gray hair curled up into bunches. But, nonetheless, he kept running and running until he came to a clearing in the brush where Gosmini slowed down his step and even fell to the ground for a moment, just to take a deep breath. He muttered the words:

“Grass isn’t green, trees don’t lose leaves, and sunflowers can talk. Wait, no, that’s not right. Grass isn’t purple, trees don’t lose leaves overnight, and sunflowers certainly cannot talk!”

Gosmini took several moments to sit on the grass and wonder about the events that occurred, several very long moments. He was quite winded and noticed a hunger in his belly, he also noticed the tears in his clothes and the wounds on his feet. He looked up around the area which he sat, noticing nothing recognizable about his surroundings. Gosmini was no adventurer and had never spent much time in the forests surrounding Norb, especially not this far south. It appeared that Gosmini sat upon the flat summit of a small hill on the side of the valley, it was quite clear and he could see all around him. To his left was a hill that lead out of the valley and to the right was a decline that lead into the valley.

“I am no fool, I am going to climb this hill and find my way out of this treacherous valley, go home, and enjoy a nice warm pot of tea!” Said Gosmini stoutly as he rose to his feet.

It did not take long to cover the half leauge up the valley wall, and at the top Gosmini was pleased to see that outward of the valley was green trees, green grass, and even what seemed to be a small town in the distance, maybe it was Norb thought Gosmini. Gosmini proudly stepped forward towards the town, only to be stopped in a short second afterward by a slimy feeling on his leg.

It was a vine! A purple vine had wrapped itself around Gosmini’s ankle and began tugging him back towards the valley. The vine tugged and pulled Gosmini back down the wall of the valley with great haste, leaves furled up around him as he slid down the hills. He let out groans of agony and discomfort as he slid, but before he reached the clearing he sat at less than an hour ago, he was able to get his hands on two trees and the sliding stopped for a moment.

“You cannot take me back! No purple vine is going to get the best of me!”

Gosmini pulled with all his might to avert the vines from taking him, but the effort was in vain, only moments later the right tree snapped and he began slidding down the hills again.

“No! No, no, no!” Shouted Gosmini.

About halfway down the second hill Gosmini was thrown into the air and realized what was pulling him all along. The tree that the sunflower had hung him from pulled him all the way back! Gosmini could now see that this tree had eyes and a mouth just like the sunflower. Gosmini gasped in horror as he looked at the tree.

“The young flower was correct, you are a fanciful tapestry; now it’s time to make sure you don’t wake me from slumber.”

FIN

Author's Note

Dialogue? Sentence structure? Censure me with an iron fist and a steel gauntlet!

Reviews

[JayG]

• Gosmini was a simple person. It did not take much to please Gosmini. He had lived a simple life as a tailor in the Town of Norb. He did enjoy waking up every morning and going to his quaint shop. He did enjoy steeping his tea and working for the middle class of Narza.
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You're presenting this like a report. First you talk about the person in overview. Then you explain his backstory. That's a history lesson, not a story. Story happens as we read, and it's meant to entertain, not inform.

The problem isn't one of good or bad writing, or talent, or even the story. It's that you, like everyone who leaves their schooldays, believe you learned how to write. And given that, you need a good story idea, a knack for words, and a bit of luck.

Unfortunately, the truth is, all those reports and essays we wrote were meant to teach us a style of writing we need on the job, where the purpose of writing is to inform. So it's fact based and author-centric. You TELL the story. In other words, nonfiction writing skills.

But fiction's goal is to entertain, so the writing for that is emotion-based and character-centric, a style of writing that they even told us exists during our school days.

And because they didn't, you're using the writing skills you know, and use every day. So, as you were taught, you explain the story to the reader, as though they're with you and able to hear you. But that's the problem. Only you can hear the emotion in your voice. And HOW you tell a story matters just as much as what you say, because fully 60% of our in-person communications is through nonverbal means..

So the emotion you place in your performance? Not there for the reader. The way you illustrate mood with facial expression, eye movement, and gesture? Missing, too.

Have your computer read the opening to you and you'll hear what the reader gets as they read, which is not at all like what you "hear" as you read.

The solution? Simple. Add the tricks of the trade that the pros take for granted to your tool-kit. Thay're designed to get around the problems and mandates of our medium. Unless, for example, you know how a scene differs on the page, can you write one an acquiring editor will smile on?

The local library's fiction writing section is filled with books from successful writers, agents and publishers, and teachers, all happy to help. Devour a half dozen, and you'll be amazed at the change.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[Asha]

So, I havent looked at the rest of my story with this in mind, but was the whole thing (in your opinion) presented this way?

[Asha]

Also, thank you for your insight, I think this was super helpful and appreciate it very much!

[JayG]

• So, I havent looked at the rest of my story with this in mind, but was the whole thing (in your opinion) presented this way?

Absolutely. Exactly as you've been trained to do, your narrator is 100% talking to the reader about what happened—narrating the story, in other words. And because you hear the emotion in your voice as you read, and know the scene in ways the reader can't, it works. For you, every line calls up images, memories, and intent from your mind. But for me, a reader? Every line calls up images, memories, and intent from YOUR mind. As everyone knows, my mind is empty. And since you're not there to ask, I have to make do with what the words suggest to me, based on MY background and views of what matters.

Not great news, I know. It hit me really hard when I got back the results of a paid critique, and took me days t recover.

You have a lot of company, literally everyone who decides to record the stories buzzing around in their heads will either write what amounts to a detailed book report, in the form of a chronicle, or record themself telling the story aloud. I was no exception, when I was moved to record my campfire stories and turned on something I've never been able to turn off again.

It's no big deal, because, though we don't know it, we graduate our school years exactly as well qualified to write fiction as to write a screen play, or perform an appendectomy. And though we know we can't practice medicine, somehow, it never dawns on us that we might need more than our high school English to practice the profession of fiction writer, in spite of knowing that every field requires the practitioner to learn the craft of the profession.

Take a look at the articles in the writing section of my blog (the one I link to) The first articles you come to, Inisde Out, and Mirror for the Mind, explain why it's critical to present the protagonist's viewpoint, instead of the author's.

Hope this clarifies.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[Asha]

Thank you so much jay!