Welcome to two new followers: Barbara and Kristi. I realise that I don't post as often as I should. The truth is, I am trying to write the next assignment about the two people left in the boat and decide who is to die. Very difficult for me to conceive it. I keep starting and trashing what I have written. Then, life gets busy.

What am I saying? Life is busy for everyone. In fact, I think back to my mother's life and remember how she was able to relax and just be in the moment. I have got too many irons in the fire and love to read too much. Just got Kathleen Norris's latest book, Acedie and Me. It's giving me lots to think about. That laziness I am afflicted with, is it really acedemie?

Thanks to all you followers.

Welcome to four wonderful followers to my blog! Jenny, Teresa, KiwiPoet, and Frenchy! I am still learning the diameters of blogging. I found out that I cannot cut and paste a document from Word into my blog. If there is any way to do this I would appreciate learning it.

I know that Jenny is taking part in the writing exercises from The Fiction Class by Susan Green. We are on the third exercise right now. I hope the others will too. I am open for feedback.

How many of you have blogs? I would love to start following you, too.

I forgot to post the next assignment. Here it is:

This is an exercise in learning how to write a climactic scene.

A boat sinks during a storm, and only ten of its passengers make it onto the lifeboat. One by one the survivors are knocked off until. after a month at sea, only two survivors are left. There is not enough food for both of them, and one of them is going to have to get rid of the other. One of them is a teenage girl who is very strong for her age, but she is blind. The other is a musician from a successful boys' band. He is twenty-six years old and smaller than the girl. Who will survive? Write the final scene.

Well, I haven't got anyone interested in joining me in this venture with The Fiction Class yet. The last assignment was to choose someone from history and write a description of them eating a meal. I hope everyone knows about Lady Isabella Bird and her travels in the Rocky Mountains in 1872, before Colorado won statehood. She is a very interesting Victorian lady who, when she was at home in England, was always ailing. She got her doctor to agree that travel would be beneficial for her health and traveled extensively. She wrote books about her travels, and they are worth reading. So, my story is about her, as follows:



It seemed to Isabella that they would never stop riding. The sun was beginning to set and she swayed, trance-like, in the saddle. The Western saddle, with the high horn in front, kept her securely in place. Much better than the English saddle she was used to, with the precarious sidesaddle. She was glad she had decided to defy convention and ride astride, even though it bunch up her crinoline, and chafed the inside of her legs. She had been tempted to war the old pair of overalls that Jim had offered, but then remembered the lawsuit she had files against The Times for saying she dressed like a man. However uncomfortable it was, she was determined not to forsake her feminine clothing.
When she had first met Jim Nugent, his harsh face and eye patch had discomfited her. And his reputation had not been too good. However, the owner of the trading post had assured her that he was the best guide around. Once she had grown used to his appearance and his rough ways, he had proved every bit as good as she had been told. But she wished he would stop riding.
As if he had heard her thoughts, Jim stopped suddenly, and Isabella's horse did a neat, little sidestep, nearly unseating her. Now that it seemed as though the trek was over, she perked up and looked around. The shadows were growing longer and she realized how hungry she was. They were in a clearning bordering a lake that sparkled under the lowering sun. Pine trees, and the occasional clump of quivering aspen, interested with granite boulders, surrounded the lake. A fish jumped and, just as quickly, dropped with a soft splash into the water.
Jim dismounted, then came over to help her. As her feet touched the ground, her knees buckled, and his arms tightened around her. She could not resist leaning against him. Her previous life, dull and predictable, with her sister and father in England, was a faraway dream. She never felt more alive and well than when she was traveling. She straightened up, and walked stiffly over to a fallen tree trunk, where she sat down. Jim took the horses over to the lake, where they drank noisily.
Jim gathered wood and quickly got a fire going. It was beginning to get cold. He handed her a piece of jerky. At first, she had not liked its tough stringiness, but she had become used to it, and she knew it might take a while before they ate. He took his fishing line from the saddlebag and walked around the lake, away from the horses. Chewing slowly, she stared dreamily at her surroundings, only getting up now and then to add more wood to the fire from the stack of wood Jim had gathered.
Jim hollered, and she smiled. They would eat tonight. Isabella got up and fell into their usual routine. She filled the batterend tin coffee pot from the lake, threw some coffee grounds from Jim's pack into the top, and balanced it on the glowing edge of the fire. The sun suddenly went down behind the mountains, and it was dark when he came into the firelight. The Rocky Mountain trout hanging from his line flashed silver as he walked into the clearing. He had already cleaned them, and he skewered them on a peeled twig and balanced them carefully over the flames.

While they were cooking, he got out his sourdough starter, flour and salt. He mixed up some dough and rolled it into a long strip. He wrapped it around another peeled stick, and propped it over the fire. He led the horses away from the water and hobbled them some distance from the fire. She could hear the lazy crunching of their teeth and they lipped at the grass.

They ate the simple meal in a companionable silence, broken only by the sound of the wind soughing in the trees, and the lapping of water. She thought of banquets she had attended in England, and gladly traded them for this meal under the Colorado sky. She studied Jim's face in the firelight. The shifting shadows made it difficult to see the patch over his eye. His face had become familiar to her now, and dear in every outline. He was a man that many women would love, but no sane woman would marry. She knee she was safe in his hands, and smiled at him across the fire, nursing the remains of her coffee in the tin mug.

Her father and sister would be horrified if they could see her now, but she had never felt more alive. Tomorrow they would continue their journey to Estes Park. Her time in the Rocky Mountains was coming to an end. She would have to return to England, although only to finish her book for the publishers. She was already planning her next trip--Japan, perhaps, or the Hindu Kush?