"The Creature"

A fictional morning.

“The Creature!”

It’s a late August night, and I’m awake. It’s bordering September, and it’s the usual sweltering heat here in the deep south. In this early morning hour, I’m looking at the clock, and it’s 3:05 am. I’m miserable. Why? The late summer morning’s mugginess is not the only reason for my restlessness. It seems I’m also unable to sleep because of thoughts. They’re thoughts that scream for attention. They’re words that need to be placed into a story’s format. Yes, I’m an author. I write novels and my mind won’t stop, and so, here I am. After minutes of trying to force myself to sleep, I rose from my bed.

A burst of anger coursed through my veins as I threw the thin sheet from my body, and once my feet hit the floor, I sat upright on the bed's edge. My head sank to rest in aging hands, and after a groan and a cough, I staggered to the bathroom.

I checked the air conditioner vent to see if it was on, and it’s doing its job. My flesh feels warm and sweaty for whatever reason. I knew without thinking the water from the shower was the relief I needed to give my mind a rest, and to cool my body.
It’s my guess maybe you are wondering where this is leading, but wonder no more. 

When I got out of the shower, I heard a strange noise. It was coming from outside the bedroom sliding glass doors! Those doors allow me to view my horses grazing in the pasture, and hearing the noise, I worried about them.

A curious and negative thought entered my head as I dropped my towel! After slipping back on my pjs bottoms, I headed for the nightstand next to my bed. The drawer held a small caliber pistol. I like to keep it within hand reach of my bed for emergencies. With caution, I opened the doors. When I stepped out onto the damp deck, I gazed about with only the light of a starlit sky. I find the air is crisp, and it feels nice on my damp bare chest. With a glance skyward, I noticed the moon is hiding, but the glittering sparkles high above me give off enough ample light for a clear view of my surroundings. I see nothing out of place, and all remains quiet as I inch along the deck that wraps around my house. With slow steps, I inspect each area of my property, following the wooden path beneath my feet.

Since coming outside, facing south, I look toward the pastures, and all is well. After turning toward the west, and overlooking the pond's still waters, nothing looks out of place. I rounded the corner to the north. There, the carport stands sentry guarding my vehicles, but still nothing that draws special attention. Puzzled, I turned to the east. The quiet country two lane road within eyesight from the front of my home is just that, quiet. I notice the grass is glowing from the dew. Solar lights along the fence and the security light next to the drive reflect the dampness, but again, all is well.

I’m ready to give up as a deep yawn broke my facial features, and returning to my starting point at the glass doors, I reached out for the handle, but just as my fingers touched the grip, I stopped short as a wave of shivers crossed my body. The strange noise came again, this time right behind me. As I gritted my teeth, I turned on the balls of my feet! I was ready to shoot or fight as I bravely stood to face whatever, only to see empty air space. I know I’m not imagining this, so moving to the railing, I placed my left hand on the top board as my eyes again searched out into the yard. As I held my weapon drawn and in the tight grip of my right hand, I waited to hear anything that shouldn’t be. In my mind I hoped a .22 would do the job, but who knows? Maybe I should have grabbed a larger caliber or rifle.

Minutes slipped by and nothing. Just as I was about to think I had gone nuts and was imagining everything, something touched my hand, A soft touch, an odd feeling, and my eyes rolled within their sockets downward pulling my head toward the touch, the railing, and my left hand which gripped the railing even tighter. I was ready to shoot or to die, whichever came about, but I wasn’t ready for what I was now staring at. A whimper and then another soft touch as this hairy beast stood on its hind legs resting its padded paw against my hand. At first I thought it was a large dog, but no, something else. In my mind, much worse! I had never seen an animal like this anywhere nearby and I could tell it had a serious injury by the blood on its fur and by the way It kept the other paw tightly guarded against its body. At this point I was really worried, you know what they say about a wounded animal!

As it returned my gaze, I could tell by its eyes that it meant me no harm. It was very weak from blood loss, and It seemed to plead quietly for my help. I stood motionless with no effort to comfort it, and watched the animal sink slowly back to the ground, hugging the side of the deck's foundation. I wondered what to do. My heart cried out for it, causing my mind to go into overdrive, and suddenly thoughts of another kind speared the beating muscle inside my chest, screaming out that it was a bad idea to aid this creature. Maybe it would go away, but maybe not!

That's when the love of God's creations joined in on the battle, followed by me giving in to my heart, and ignoring my mind. Walking down the deck steps, soon I was kneeling slowly beside this new arrival to my life. It watched me in its weakened condition, knowingly, with trusting large brown eyes. After studying it for a few minutes, my hands slid slowly under its body, gently picking it up into my arms. It was heavier than it looked, but not too bad. As it lay against me, I could feel its heart beating rapidly as its tongue hung to the side of its mouth, and as its head rested upon my shoulder. It was very child-like, and not much larger.

Carefully carrying this creature onto the deck and to the doors, my foot slid open the glass slider wide enough for me to enter with no further injury or discomfort toward my burden. Seconds into the room, after laying this animal upon my bed, and with the aid of the overhead light, I examined its leg and foot. “Oh, good Lord! Broken!” A passing vehicle must have struck him, and I couldn’t see any other visible injuries, but the bleeding had stopped. That was a good sign. I didn’t think it would suffer much more than it had. Having it inside my house may not have been the brightest idea I’ve ever had, but that’s hindsight. I decided later and at a decent hour, I would take it to a vet to let them deal with it. Another yawn struck me as I placed my bed sheet over it as though it was the child it resembled. Why? I just did. It seemed to welcome the comfort of the bed and closed its eyes. I guess it was going to sleep. I hoped it would live. My night was over, and so grabbing my jeans and a shirt, turning off the overhead light, I closed the bedroom door, went to the kitchen, and made coffee.

The coffee brewed as I dressed, and afterward I settled into my recliner to wait for daylight. In the meantime, I planned to write with no thought of anything else… well, except the steaming cup full of the alluring, wonderful smelling brew that sat on the table beside me. I yawned, my eyes closed, and I found rest as dreams of the bear cub filled my night.

A short fictional story. The End.

Reviews

[JayG]

You’re working hard, but you’ve fallen into the most common trap in writing: You’re trying to “tell the reader a story.” And to do that you’re transcribing yourself reporting and explaining, as if on stage as a storyteller. There’s a flow of facts, as in a history, but who reads history books for an entertainment?

Look at the opening, not as the author, but as a fiction reader or agent must:

• It’s a late August night, and I’m awake.

Who cares? Does the season really matter? No. And of course, this person is awake. So line one is data that’s irrelevant to the story.

In paragraph 1 you use 110 words to say:
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The bedside clock said it was 3 AM, and trying to fall sleep wasn’t working. So, frustrated, I gave up and left the bed.
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In 24 words we learn the same thing. Since you don’t tell the reader what’s bothering this unknown person, telling the reader that they are bothered is a waste of words. The entire purpose of the opening section is to place the protagonist on the deck to meet the bear. So anything that doesn’t contribute to that serves only to slow the narrative and bore the reader. Do we care that he or she coughed? No. Do we need a guided tour of their deck and what can be seen seenm it, step-by-step. No, because every sentence must meaningfully set the scene, develop character, or, move the plot. And learning where a pond is located is none of them, or that horses can be seen at other times do none of them, and can be replaced with. "After a look around the deck and the area near the house..." Never lose sight of Alfred Hitchcock's observation of: “Drama is life with the dull bits cut out.”

• It’s my guess maybe you are wondering where this is leading, but wonder no more.

If they are wondering, you’ve failed, because a reader who is wondering is one who's already turned away. I cannot stress this enough. Because were this a submission to an agent the rejection would have come in the first paragraph because it's data, not story.

That aside, in all the world, only you know the emotion you’d place into the narrator’s voice. Yet you expect the reader to hear it as they read. Only you know the elements of that storyteller’s performance: gestures, expression changes, body language, meaningful pauses for breath, and more. Yet you expect the reader to visualize YOUR performance as they read.

Obviously, that’s impossible. Still, because it's the only approach to fiction presentation we know when we leave school, over 90% of hopeful writers fall into the trap. Why? Because for the storyteller it works. You CAN hear emotion in the storyteller’s voice, and visualize your performance. And who addresses the problem they don’t see as being one—which is why I thought you might want to know, given that the solution is simple.

The thing we forget is that we were assigned so many reports and essays in school was to ready us for employment, and the reports, letters, and other nonfiction applications that employers need from us. The skills of the Fiction Writing profession, like those of any other, are acquired in addition to our school-day skills.

As Wilson Mizner put it: “If you steal from one author it’s plagiarism; if you steal from many it’s research.” So...research. Dig into the skills the pros take for granted and make them yours. Make your reader live the story, not hear about it secondhand. Make them care and feel, not learn of a series of events in a fictional character’s life.

Grab a copy of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict and try a few chapters for fit. I think you’ll find them ewe-opening.
https://dokumen.pub/qdownload/gmc-goal-motivation-and-conflict-9781611943184.html

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

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“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

“In sum, if you want to improve your chances of publication, keep your story visible on stage and yourself mum.”
~ Sol Stein

“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.”
~ Ernest Hemingway