Honestly, the thing that seems the most obvious to me is that when I start a prompt, one evening of writing seems to not be enough time. It is challenging me to let stories go partially written. Even when I go back the next day and add to the story, it feels like there is much more to tell.
This is the start of the story I had been tempted to write, based off a Flogging Molly song called “Devil’s dance floor”. I do not think that I am nearly far enough into this story to even see how it pertains to the song or its title.
I am cautiously hopeful that as life shakes out into a new schedule over the next week or so, I can give my writing more time. Maybe even complete a whole short story based off of these prompts. I suppose we will see. It seems to be giving me a lot more to learn than just “get back into the habit of writing”.
I really struggle with not seeing a creative project fully realized. And so far, September is letting me face that peeve with every prompt.
Also sharing super raw, just written, first draft is another lesson I am wrestling with.
Footsteps crunched over gravel. The dark, moonless night made travel slow. Unease trickled down Dave’s back as he picked his way down the old country road. He had stayed too late at the pub drinking and enjoying the live music with friends, but now, 40 minutes into his walk home the crisp night air had effectively sobered him up.
Ahead of him the torchlight flickered and then stuttered to a dim glow. Brilliant.
With annoyance Dave bashed his hand against the side of the torch shaft. After the third solid whack, the light shone with its familiar luminosity.
Nodding to himself, Dave let his thoughts return inward as his feet carried him further down the old gravel road. He relived parts of the evening, the raucous jokes told with friends, humming bars of the best songs played throughout the night. The stress of the week had melted away into some forgotten back recess of his mind.
As he wandered, a slight breeze swirled around him. Shifting pieces of his hair. Playfully fluttering his jacket, his trousers, brushing along his face. It was as if a fairy had joined him on this late night wander and was playfully distracting him. Along that breeze, a distant melody tickled Dave’s senses. At first, he did not believe that the song was truly there, but as he continued the music grew louder.
His attention fully grasped, Dave stepped off the gravel road and into the overgrown field to the left of him. Dormant grass crinkled underfoot and autumn leaves crackled. Dave barely noticed as he strode out, following the sound of music. The field gave way to an ancient forest, gnarled trees thick against the inky black sky.
Playing the torchlight over the trail that made its way through the forest in front of him, frustration mounted as the torch gave a finally shuttering blink, and went out. Exasperated, Dave through the torch to the right, back into the old field he had just crossed.
The music was definitely louder the closer Dave got to the woods. Throwing caution to the wind, Dave stepped onto the forest trail and followed the jaunty music that had enraptured him.
It was hard to tell how long he had been walking. Dave was vaguely aware that dawn should be drawing closer. The time piece affixed to his right wrist had stopped working, sometime around 2:30 am, Holding it to his ear, Dave shook his wrist. The lack of ticking should have bothered him, yet the jaunty tune ahead seemed to reach out a spectral finger and draw his face towards the journey ahead.
With two quick flicks of the wrist, Dave had the watch off and without much thought, the watch too was tossed to the right of the path he was on.
The path was well worn, maybe used by hunters or local farmers. The packed dirt gently guiding him through the otherwise thick trees. Left and right, nothing but darkness and the outline of tree shapes could be seen 3 feet off the path.
All Jazd Up 