TINY TUESDAY (m)
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TINY TUESDAY (m)
| Tue, 12-04-2001 - 9:44am |
TINY TUESDAY (m)
In rounding up the writing with our senses series, let's write a scene or short story that concentrates on touch/skin.
Happy writing,
Mac

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Nice work maria.(m)
I liked the "feel" of the stone and it's engravings, the snow against his cheek, the flush of his anger.
Good work here.
Linda
Very moving story mac.(m)
But I think we need to "feel" a little more of the surroundings. What did his lips feel like when she touched them? Firm? Cold but yielding? How about the coffin? the satin lining? What did his sweaty arm feel like when she first met him on the football field? The touch of her sister's/brother's hand on her shoulder/arm?
You've done a great job of her feelings, add just a touch of physical texture and it will be even better.
Linda
Mmmhumm, kay, I could feel those blond locks(m)
a ticklin' myself--heheheh. Nice job.
Linda
Wonderful! I'm so impressed with this.(nt)
Thank you Linda...
for reading and for your advice. You are so right. One thing I really need to improve on is description and creating good imagery. I have never been good at that. I will re-write this for my own sake and work on creating more texture into it. Thanks again for reading and critiquing.
Wow. That's just about all I can say, is Wow. Fantastic work! (n/t)
TTE(m)
Annalee Tompkins felt the slow plod of the ox on the rough dirt path in the series of soft groans along the pine boards of the old wagon. Everything she owned was in the wagon box, tucked among the rough hemp seed sacks and the cold hand forged iron tools George had brought from his father's house. Everything except the crate of squawking chickens and geese that her father had tied to the back of the wagon bed. It was her wedding day, and the warmth of the late May sun crept through her homespun wool dress like a blush. The landscape was all greens dotted with the pink and yellow of spring blooms. She drank in the nutmeg scent of spice bush as they rolled past the woodlot.
The year was 1840, and at thirteen, she could only wonder what lay ahead for her and her seventeen year old groom. As they turned off the path toward the cabin, the tall, gray green grass brushed against her arm, catching against the fabric of her sleeve and tickling her hand.
"Whoa, ox." George turned toward her, his glance tracing her jaw without making it to her eyes. "We're here."
She looked at the cabin where they would start their life together. "It's a right smart house, Mr. Tompkins."
He pinked with pleasure. "Took a mighty long time t' build. I'll unload your things. Then I best git the seed unloaded and the ox fed afore supper." He came around to her side of the seat and took her hand. She felt the surprising gentleness of his rough, tanned hands as he helped her to the ground.
As she waited for him to open the door, she ran her thin fingers along the rough wood of the hand hewn logs and the cool mud chinks in between. It was a good house.
He brought in the goose down mattress she and her mother had labored over and laid it over the strong ropes woven across the frame of the one legged bed he had pegged into the walls of the cabin. She touched the rough cotton coverlet, still warm from the sun and caught her breath at the thought of sharing it with him. She plumped the feather pillows and covered the matress with a quilt from the chest he placed with care at the foot of the bed. Her fingers remembered each needle prick -- the price of learning the fine stitches that became the pride of her mother's quilting circle.
She held the footed cast iron skillet, cool against her cheeks -- a present from Grandma, well used and much loved. "If'n you'll bring up the wood, I'll set a fire in the fireplace," she said, as he brushed past her with the wood box full of tin plates and cups.
He brought the wood and turned to her, then, looking into her eyes. She felt a slow warmth creep up her neck and across her cheeks. She lowered her eyes. The wool dress was becoming uncomfortably itchy.
"I'll make us a bite of supper whilst you do your chores. You reckon they'll make chivary t'nite?"
"Reckon so."
His strong fingers trembled slightly as he touched her chin and brushed back a lock of black hair from her cheek. She looked into his liquid brown eye with wonder as he leaned forward and brushed his chapped lips against her face. "But they won't come round 'til after midnight, Wife."
She felt his shy smile like a blessing that lingered long after he'd left to do chores.
She took a deep breath and hugged herself as the curious warmth began to spread. Mama had told her only that she was to be an obediant wife, though she said it with a smile and blush that had made Annalee believe it was a good thing.
At last, she knelt and stirred the coals in the fireplace and placed the wood carefully -- smaller pieces first. As the wood caught and the flames blossomed, she knew the heat she felt was not all from the fire. She looked around at the good house and knew she would enjoy being an obedient wife.
Great questions...thanks Linda (m)
You're right. I think if I incorporate your suggestion, it'd make a better story.
Thanks a bundle,
Mac
Thanks Linda....;) n/t
Fabulous! (m)
This was a neat story and filled with rich details. It’s hard for us nowadays to imagine being married so young, but of course it was uncommon if you weren’t back then.
There were just a couple of spots that I noticed:
“She drank in the nutmeg scent of spice bush as they rolled past the woodlot.” Initially, I thought she was drinking nutmeg-flavored cider but then I realized what you meant. Why not use inhaled or drew?
“He brought in the goose down mattress she and her mother had labored over and laid it over the strong ropes woven across the frame of the one legged bed he had pegged into the walls of the cabin.” Since I have a rope bed (just for decorative purposes, I don’t sleep on it because they are terribly uncomfortable-LOL) in my house, I’m not sure I understand the “one legged” part.
These are minor things but I know you’d want to know about them. As a log-cabin (mine's circa 1830) dweller, your story was extra special to me! Thanks for the great story, Linda.
Mac
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