Yesterday, while in the shower, I had a great idea for a scene in Ida’s story. But I had to go to work, and by the time I returned home and could spend time writing, the idea had faded. It’s still there. I’ll just have to wait for it to resurface. Eventually. Fingers crossed.
Nonetheless, I did write yesterday anyway (hoping the morning’s revelation could be lured back) until I got stuck on what the characters of Ida Wayward Ravenstar and Millie-Marie looked like. I decided to go back to the story I started this month with–the story of Miranda Magpie Jones. She’s the character who inspired A Night in a Graveyard and Other Stories of Immortality, and she’s still there, waiting for her story to be told.
Now the story of Ida and Millie-Marie seems to be bigger than a short story, so that will take some sorting out come June. Not to mention the other stories I want to finish.
This is the one morning I can sleep in and take my time. So, I was being slow and lazy in my morning routine. La-la-la-di-da… and I was when the shower when I realized something about Miranda Magpie Jone’s story line. (Why do some many ideas show up in the shower?) And this time, I could sit down to write it out. It is still a rough, rough draft, but at least the idea is there and I know what the character wants. That’s some kind of progress, right?
Thanks as always for reading.
Miranda Magpie Jones stood on the rough sand and stared out over the ocean. She didn’t stand exactly as she was a ghost, but few of the living could see her, floating inches above sand she couldn’t feel. A seagull swooped down, flying straight through her chest. Neither she nor the bird felt anything, though the seagull missed its quarry scuttling on the ground.
In her new form, scarcely a form at all, she decided to go by Magpie. The living called her Miranda, and she didn’t answer to them anymore. They hadn’t been much help in the end, after all.
Across the water in England was her murderer. What was he doing? Luring another victim? Nursing guilt? Most likely not the latter, though if he were, she’d consider sparing him. Perhaps. Forgiveness didn’t come easily when there was only one way to end this ghostly existence.
She braced herself and concentrated. Slowly she drifted out over the water. Several feet out, she picked up speed, her faded image speeding across the ocean. Rain began, falling through her. Schools of fish darted under her. The fins of dolphins cut through the waves. Clouds rolled and churned. It must have been cold, but she felt nothing but the sense of speed. She knew she was moving but she could have been in an empty room for all she felt.
But the view was beautiful. In the distance, a ship traveled. By the time she reached it, the sun peered through the clouds. People walked along the deck of the ship and a few people stared out at the sea. Miranda Magpie waved, but no one waved back. Of course. She skirted the sides of the ship, catching glimpses into portholes. People dressed, dozed, kissed, and danced. She used to do those things. Maybe she would again, if everything went to plan.
Soon, the ship disappeared behind her and she focused on the horizon. His heartbeat drew her on. She could just barely hear it. She could hear it everywhere and anywhere in the world. His heartbeat would always be there in her head until it stopped. And how hard could stopping it be?