"Place pieces"

I do all sorts of brainstorming when it comes to coming up with the new ideas for one of my short stories. I am always amused with the ideas that my brain produces out of the blue. There is, however, one thing in common of all these ideas. They're each tied to a certain place.

A place, such as an abandoned cottage. Or a house on a cliff. Or a bench in a park. Or the middle of the woods. I can pretty much bet that my next setting for the new story is going to be at a local swimming pool, with very few people beside my main characters.You get the idea. It took me quite some time to understand what it actually meant, to place my characters in such, I dare say vacuumed, places.

And the answer to that could be best described as: the inevitability. The inevitability of life; it has that cruel tendency to go on, to evolve and expand, and to let it happen, we must say goodbye to our past, one way or another. We have to cut the cords with people and places that are no longer in our lives, or to clear the vibes of resentment towards people who are still somewhere around.

By putting them into these situations, I am forcing them to clear the past, to sort the problems among each other, and to send them on a new, hopefully improved, journey. Another thing, though, is that isolated places often provide us with a sense of comfort and stability. Being with a loved person between the four walls is sometimes a blessing for our lonely hearts. There is a feeling of intimacy, of understanding, of comfort.

How do you look at the "place pieces"? Are you prone to it, or do you prefer building the whole world from scratch?

Mike O'Doone - part 4

Mike was woken up that very early morning by a large thud coming from downstairs. He sat up, and remained under the covers, listening carefully. By the sound of it, it looked like the front door were moved by the intensity of the wind whirling outside. He couldn't be sure, however. He knew that he should probably go downstairs and check it out, but his brain was frozen from fear. 

Besides, it was still too dark for anything to be seen without lighting a candle, and Mike didn't have one near him. He was sure that he'd been asleep for only an hour or so. A few more thuds and then it stopped, although he could clearly hear that the wind was still raging outside. So it was...something? No, someone! Yes, Mike whispered to himself, someone is trying to scare me off. Well then, gentlemen, you know nothing about me. Putting a pillow over his head he closed his eyes and fell asleep once again. 

A few hours later he woke up again and, seeing that it wasn't so dark any more, came downstairs. The first thing he did was looking carefully around the room. Everything was in place. He was a type of person with a photographic memory, and even if a single item was moved but a few centimeters to the side...he'd have noticed it. There was something, however, that didn't give him a piece of mind that he needed. He walked to the door and pulled them open with no effort. That meant that someone was, indeed, trying - and succeeded - to open them. So if that is the case, what made them stop? What made them just walk away after they've put so much trouble into breaking in? And most importantly...who was it?

Was it that shady-looking man from the pub, who had threatened him once before? Or the, equally shady-looking, guy who was keeping his profile low in the darkness last night? Or the pub owner himself? There was, of course, the possibility of a complete stranger. But if it were a stranger, Mike thought to himself, why would he pick this house? Surely, the pub was worth much more money than this shabby old place. The possibilities were endless. Deciding to skip his breakfast and lunch at the pub, he started redecorating the living room. At one point he knew that he would have to build at least a wall or two, but for now he'll have to go with what he had. 
He started with the most tedious task ahead of him: dusting. The dust was evidently present in this place for years, because every single movement of a wet cloth raised it right up to his nose, causing him to sneeze and roll his eyes with irritation. 

When that horrible task was done a good half an hour later, Mike noticed that the floor, now sparkling and clean, was scratched; painfully so. Ah. So he needed to buy new tiles. That was one of the things he was counting on, when he set himself up for this adventure. He knew that this place was damaged, and he was determined to fix it. So just as he was preparing to go upstairs he heard a loud knock on the door. His feet froze in place and he slowly turned around, fixing his gaze on the knob.

It started moving. He stopped breathing.

 

Mike O'Doone - part 2

The weather outside was cold and Mike was glad that the pub was just a few footsteps away from his new home. In fact, it was both a blessing and a practicality, since his new home didn't have a kitchen. He opened the heavy door of a house painted in soft pink color. A bit unusual color for the pub, Mike thought. But hey, as long as he can get something to eat he couldn't care less if the pub was coated in gold.
As soon as he opened the door he was washed with a smell of freshly homemade bread and meat loaf. Wooden walls covered the entire interior, a few big chandeliers were placed on the ceiling in even distance, casting a heavy, dimmed light across the room. A big fireplace leaned against the wall on the right was turned on, giving Mike pleasant chills all over his body. He needed this pleasant warmth. There were only a few people inside, sitting around the biggest round, heavy wooden table and whispering beneath their breaths. Mike looked at them and his stomach turned over. There was something so scary about them, but he couldn't decide what exactly. They looked as any other person he met on his way here. Deciding not to give it any more thought he went to the middle of the room where the waiter was cleaning big, heavy ales of beer behind the bar. Mike sat down and the waiter nodded at him.
"What can I help you with, sir?"
"Well this ale of beer seems appealing. And whatever you're cooking at the back...I'll take some of it as well."
"A man with a sense of pleasure and taste. We don't get many of them around."
"Well I'm here to stay. You'll get used to it."
The waiter nodded and went to the kitchen. Mike slightly turned his head over his shoulder just to meet with a steady gaze of a man whose eyes were shaded with his cowboy-like hat. Mike shuddered despite the pleasant heat radiating from the fireplace. The waiter came in carrying a tray of meat loaf and a double-sized ale of dark beer.
"Anything else?"
Mike waved his head in negation. This was just enough. Just as he was about to take the first bite he heard a stool behind him scratch the floor. The man who stared at him just a moment ago stood up and worked his way towards him. He was much taller than Mike, with much more muscles.
"What is your business here, stranger?"
"I keep my business to myself. I'd prefer it to remain that way."
The man growled in rage and grabbed Mike's collar, lifting him up from the stool and pressing him against the wall.
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, here. You better watch your back everywhere you go."
Mike closed his eyes and stopped breathing because the odor coming from the man's mouth was unbearable.
"Beau, leave the man alone. He just came here to eat."
"He's moved into the old house, didn't you know that?"
"Of course I knew that! Everybody knows it for days now. But I'm telling you, let him eat his dinner in peace."
Beau reluctantly removed his hands off of his collar and went back to his buddies at the table. Mike got back on his seat and started eating his dinner.
"You'll have to forgive him, his wife passed away recently. He means no harm."
"That's not what it sounds like." Mike muttered.
"He's just barking. He won't bite. But I would like to give you a friendly advice; don't ask too many questions. They're not welcome here."
Mike looked at his plate. Suddenly the place seemed hostile. But he had his own agenda in this town and, by god, he will see it through!

Let's continue playing...

...with the 2nd version of the story. I must point out that the last post was not premeditated. It came as a result of seeing the picture, which is the point, of course. Here is a modified photo of a previous one. Let's see where it takes me.

Version 2:

The house stood in front of him. It was nothing like he remembered. No, wait. He couldn't have remembered it. He's heard about it from his room-mate, but he's never seen it before. It was a plain, wooden house. Actually, a cottage could cover it better. Surrounded with thick woods, the house was barely visible even when the sun was in the middle of the sky. The lavender bush that once was so lovely, so deep and rich in color, was now a sun-burned gathering of straws. There was life in the house but that life was cold and almost dead.

The people who lived there knew nothing of his presence. They were probably inside. Mother was making lunch, a child, a baby girl, was playing on her blanket, and a grandmother was reading a book. Men were not around. He knew that would be the case. All the men have gone long before he even heard his room-mate's story.

"Sometimes I feel like the destiny had her fingers in it. My grandfather went to war and never came back. My father was seduced by another woman. Me...I had a passion for gambling and easy girls, and that is what brought me here. There are no men left in this house. If someone's put a spell over it...well...the spell is too powerful. But you...my dear friend....maybe you can break it. Maybe you can remove whatever the curse is placed upon it." His room-mate breathed shallowly, lying on his prison bed. He had only hours to live.

At his death bed he promised he would look his family up and try to bring back life to the house. And now, as he stood there, fighting all his internal feelings that he should run away. Perhaps it was only the determination of woman who lived there, to take care of the house, that chased away all men who came into their lives. But he will not give in. He will break the chain of unfortunate events. He will bring back harmony. And first of all, he will do all that he can to bring the lavender bush back to life. 

Clenching his fists as if looking for support he stepped in front of the door and knocked softly. And then he waited....

Playing with the plot....

....or how the picture can trigger your mind. I've already written about how I'm kinaesthetic 90 percent of the time. But sometimes this type doesn't work for me. Sitting in front of a computer sometimes just won't do. And a blank page can't  exactly motivate my fingers to write, so I need an incentive. That's when pictures/photos come in really handy. Depending on the content of the picture a story can go in various directions. And the content of the picture can set the perfect mood that you've been looking for. So I want to try and play a little with a photo I've took with my iPad in my back yard. I'll play with two various possibilities of the story.

Option 1:

Lilly stepped on her front porch. She breathed in deeply with her eyes closed. Lavender. The smell of this particularly beautiful lavender bush, that grew just in front of her porch, filled her nostrils and immediately took her back to her childhood. She was only a little girl then, but she remembered every detail of that most important day of her life. The sun that burned the grass beneath her bare feet. The wind that played with the flowers in her hair. And the smell....the smell was so intense, so deep inside of her that she felt as if it is a part of her blood. There was only one person who could make this fragile plant grow into a powerful evidence that nature can never be tamed.
"Grandpa! You're back!" She threw herself in his arms and he picked her up and spun her around. Back then she was a wee little girl.
"Of course I'm back! I've promised, haven't I?"
"You have."
She looked at a clean spot on the ground. Grandpa seemed to be watering it.
"What is this, grandpa?"
"This is lavender seed. One day it will grow into a big beauty, just like yourself."
"How long will it take the seed to grow?"
"A few years."
"Why so long?"
"Because nature doesn't rush. Only humans do. Nature takes her time and waits for the perfect conditions before it reveals her magic to whoever wants to see it."
"I want to see it."
"I know you do. But there is something very special about this plant, my dear child."
"Is there?"
"Oh yes...in time you will understand everything. Now, let's go inside. But you must promise me that you will water this plant every evening, and protect it from all the bad conditions."
"I promise, grandpa."
That night grandpa fell asleep and never woke up. For years she tried to unravel the secret of the plant but she couldn't. She sat in front of the ground and whispering to the little seed, begging it to say whatever it was keeping from her, and then one day she gave up. She thought that, in the end, grandpa was just playing with her, nurturing her imagination, keeping it alive.
But now, in her mid thirties, beautiful just as he promised her, with a bucket full of water and preparing to water the beloved plant a realization hit her. Every time she thought of the plant, every time she tended to it, she felt grandpa's loving presence. And she understood why. By seeding the plant with so much love, a huge part of his heart and soul merged with it, growing with it. And every time she looked at the plant she immediately thought of her grandpa. In that way he was alive for her. He was present in her every day, and enjoyed her children playing under the shades of lavender flowers.

What are your thoughts on this? How does the picture affect you? Option 2 comes in two days.