Remembrance And Writing
Sep. 11th, 2012 07:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madwriterThis morning, cool and bright, was a day exactly like the morning when I went to work on September 11, 2001. That day I was a defense contractor, a Naval analyst, a few miles outside of D.C., and was only a few weeks back at my normal office after spending much of the summer working in Arlington two miles from the Pentagon--and going home every day through the Pentagon Metro station. I lived in what passed for a rural area there in Northern Virginia, on 11 wooded acres near Manassas that included the north fork of Bull Run Creek. The air that morning had the same brisk smell as it did this morning here when I took Tucker for a walk.
This morning I am a research librarian at a Methodist college in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, along with being a published writer of fiction, poetry, book reviews, and random bits of essays and editorials. I listened to the memorial service in Washington on my radio, including members of Congress singing "God Bless America" as they've done every September 11th since 2001. I thought about the sporadic news we heard from New York City eleven years ago today, the rumors flying around D.C., my friend James and I staring at the big black gash in the side of the Pentagon, and Laurie calling me to tell me to come home--back to the Blue Ridge Mountains--if things got worse, and I prayed. Then, because today was an otherwise perfect day and this is what I do, I sat down to writing today's bit of American history.
PROGRESS REPORT
New Words: 1900 on chapter 7 ("The Scalphunters") of Arizona. The trappers return home with not many plans to risk trying to get past the Apache again. Meanwhile the young Apache warrior Gian-nah-tah, Always Ready, son-in-law to Geronimo's grandfather Mahko, plots to ignore his grandmother Itsa-Ichii's warnings and launch a giant raid against the Alvarez villa.
Total Words: 168700.
Reason For Stopping: Had to get ready for work.
Book Year: 1829.
Mammalian Assistance: Vegas is now coming when I call him again, and guarded his box pile.
Exercise: Walked Tucker around the neighborhood.
Stimulants: A dollop of Coke.
Today's Opening Passage: One of the vaqueros rode ahead to send word that the party was nearly home. Thompson and El Rosa veered off to find a cantina in Tucson. There was a sudden chill that day and Solana met them at the front gate wrapped in a wool serape of bright red, brown, and purple, all colors Finn had seen up north. But her face was colder than the wind from the storm over the southern horizon.
Darling Du Jour: “I’ll go if you wish it,” (Finn) finished, “and stay if you wish it, though I’d advise against wanting my company too badly.”
For a few moments the siblings said nothing except wordless glances to each other. Even in the golden shafts of sunlight their faces were unreadable.
“And yet,” Rodrigo finally broke the stiff silence, “you showed no inclinations towards wanton murder during the months we ranged for beaver. Nothing towards Thompson, or the Navajo when they first arrived, or the soldiers. Nor have you shown such signs at any time you guarded the villa or rounded cattle and horses with the vaqueros. You hold your own ground, Senor Beckett.”
“I don’t know what sparks the redness,” Finn said. “Only that I can’t put out the fire once it’s lit.”
“I would have you stay,” Solana chimed in, surprising both men. “But if you start a fight without provocation, I will have you shot. I will shoot you myself if a weapon is at hand. Or if it is clear your tendencies are growing violent, I will cut your throat. Perhaps while you are sleeping.”
Rodrigo chuckled nervously until realizing her eyes were utterly serious.
Finn never doubted she meant what she said—or that she was capable of carrying out her warning.
“I do wish you would,” he answered.
Non-Research / Review Books In Progress: Rutherfurd; Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck.
This morning I am a research librarian at a Methodist college in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, along with being a published writer of fiction, poetry, book reviews, and random bits of essays and editorials. I listened to the memorial service in Washington on my radio, including members of Congress singing "God Bless America" as they've done every September 11th since 2001. I thought about the sporadic news we heard from New York City eleven years ago today, the rumors flying around D.C., my friend James and I staring at the big black gash in the side of the Pentagon, and Laurie calling me to tell me to come home--back to the Blue Ridge Mountains--if things got worse, and I prayed. Then, because today was an otherwise perfect day and this is what I do, I sat down to writing today's bit of American history.
New Words: 1900 on chapter 7 ("The Scalphunters") of Arizona. The trappers return home with not many plans to risk trying to get past the Apache again. Meanwhile the young Apache warrior Gian-nah-tah, Always Ready, son-in-law to Geronimo's grandfather Mahko, plots to ignore his grandmother Itsa-Ichii's warnings and launch a giant raid against the Alvarez villa.
Total Words: 168700.
Reason For Stopping: Had to get ready for work.
Book Year: 1829.
Mammalian Assistance: Vegas is now coming when I call him again, and guarded his box pile.
Exercise: Walked Tucker around the neighborhood.
Stimulants: A dollop of Coke.
Today's Opening Passage: One of the vaqueros rode ahead to send word that the party was nearly home. Thompson and El Rosa veered off to find a cantina in Tucson. There was a sudden chill that day and Solana met them at the front gate wrapped in a wool serape of bright red, brown, and purple, all colors Finn had seen up north. But her face was colder than the wind from the storm over the southern horizon.
Darling Du Jour: “I’ll go if you wish it,” (Finn) finished, “and stay if you wish it, though I’d advise against wanting my company too badly.”
For a few moments the siblings said nothing except wordless glances to each other. Even in the golden shafts of sunlight their faces were unreadable.
“And yet,” Rodrigo finally broke the stiff silence, “you showed no inclinations towards wanton murder during the months we ranged for beaver. Nothing towards Thompson, or the Navajo when they first arrived, or the soldiers. Nor have you shown such signs at any time you guarded the villa or rounded cattle and horses with the vaqueros. You hold your own ground, Senor Beckett.”
“I don’t know what sparks the redness,” Finn said. “Only that I can’t put out the fire once it’s lit.”
“I would have you stay,” Solana chimed in, surprising both men. “But if you start a fight without provocation, I will have you shot. I will shoot you myself if a weapon is at hand. Or if it is clear your tendencies are growing violent, I will cut your throat. Perhaps while you are sleeping.”
Rodrigo chuckled nervously until realizing her eyes were utterly serious.
Finn never doubted she meant what she said—or that she was capable of carrying out her warning.
“I do wish you would,” he answered.
Non-Research / Review Books In Progress: Rutherfurd; Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck.
