As I was working on the pirate ship prompt, I couldn’t get this other story out of my head. I started this piece a while ago, so even though there’s way more than 500 words, they didn’t all come out today. I’m pretty pleased with it and if I had any idea what kind of plot was going on, I’d keep at it. Maybe someday

“Have you still got your blindfold on?” His voice came from where he was tied up behind me.

“Yes.”

“Promise me you won’t take it off.”

“Okay?” My voice shook and I hated it. A mental breakdown would definitely not help us now.

“You’ll be safer if they don’t think you’re resisting them.”

The engine rumbled and the tires kicked up bits of gravel that hit the sides of the vehicle with a metallic ping.

The driver took a corner too fast and the momentum pitched me across the bed of the truck. I landed against him and he groaned. Blindfolded and with my wrists and ankles bound, I shuffled awkwardly off of him to lean against the side.

“You’re hurt,” I said.

“Yes. Not bleeding, but they beat the shit out of me.” His voice was laced with pain.

“Why?”

“Because I got between them and you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s my job, highness.” A smile crept into his voice.

He was new to my security detail, with more qualifications than the others. I wracked my panicked brains until his name came to me. Jared. Clearly the situation was more dangerous than I’d been lead to believe by my advisors.

“And now my job is to stick to you like glue. I’ve got a GPS chip implanted; they’ll find us.”

The truck stopped and I could hear the ocean. Hands grabbed me and yanked me roughly out of the truck. I could hear someone else pulling Jared out too. I stumbled on the rocky ground as I was pulled along.

“Say hello to the fishes, Princess.”

Suddenly I was falling. Instinctively I curled into a ball, hoping not to hit one of the rocks that dotted the coastline. The water was icy. I struggled upward, straining for air. My head broke the surface and I gulped down the salty air. Still bound, the best I could manage was a back float on the waves. I heard a splash and prayed that he’d survived the fall as well.

“Jared!” My voice shook and squeaked. I forced my body to stay relaxed and floating, but I fear coursed through me, chilling me as much as the water. The blindfold was soaked and pressed heavily against my eyes. Suddenly there was a second splash not far to my right. I screamed. Who was throwing who into the water now?

“Princess?” Jared’s voice carried over the waves.

“Here!” I shouted.

“Coming. Hold on.”

A third splash and soon arms came around me. He slid the blindfold off and I blinked the saltwater out of my eyes. The night was black and the lights of the city were too far away to be seen from here.

Jared held me with one arm and sliced the rope around my wrists with a knife.

“What happened up there?”

“Fought them off.”

“Tied up?”

“Don’t underestimate me, princess.”

I shook my head, teeth chattering, as he reached down to cut the ropes off my ankles.

“Can you swim?” He asked.

“Yes. Let’s go.” Fear of hypothermia had me anxious to get to land. Then I remembered that this stretch of coastline was a rocky cliff. We’d have a long way to swim before we could actually get out of the water. I stopped, treading water, and turned to face Jared. “Which way? I can’t climb a cliff.”

“We’ll just find a place to get out of the water. There’s got to be a shelf or even a cave if we’re lucky. We just have to wait for them to track my signal.”

***

I curled tighter wrapping my arms around myself fighting the shivers coursing through me. Beside me Jared cursed and pulled me closer under the Mylar emergency blanket from one of his cargo pockets, trying to share his body heat despite not having any to spare. Swimming and climbing up the rocky shore had warmed me slightly, but now, huddled in the dark sea cave, the adrenaline had worn off leaving me frozen.

We’d taken stock of our supplies earlier: the blanket, our soaking clothes, and the knife Jared had taken from our captors. No way to build a fire, and even if there was, I’m not sure we’d have been willing to risk drawing attention to ourselves.

“There’s nothing else to do, Princess. We’ll be warmer without these wet clothes.”

I nodded. Anything was better than freezing to death awaiting rescue. Shoving out from under the blanket into the cold night air, I quickly shucked off my sodden jeans, socks, and long sleeve shirt. In the process, I realized I only had one shoe. When I turned back, Jared had stripped off his wet things and was waiting, holding up one edge of the crinkly blanket.

He already felt warmer to my touch, and if I’d had any blood to spare, I’m sure I would’ve blushed at the way I plastered myself against him. Survival instincts leave no room for embarrassment.

After a minute, I heard his voice rumble through my ear against his chest, “Any better, highness?”

“I think so.” My teeth had stopped chattering long enough to reply. “Call me Rose. We’ve been kidnapped, nearly drowned, and now we’re wrapped in the same blanket in our underwear. I think that puts us on a first name basis.”

He chuckled and shifted his arms more comfortably around me.

“As you wish, Rose.”

 

I got a little serious yesterday, so here’s a little levity. Also, I laughed when I was rereading some of yesterday’s post about this blog being “about reality.” So here’s a heavy dose of fiction.

When I taught Composition at NDSU, I had Fiction Freewriting Fridays. This was one of the most successful prompts with my students, so now I’d like to try it.

 

“The trailer was just sitting in the parking lot.” Troy was still vibrating with energy, several hours after the heist. “So I backed my pick-up up to it, and next thing I know I’m cruising through town with a pirate ship behind me.”

I glanced out the window at the stolen homecoming float in the driveway. Yet another in a series of ever-escalating pranks between the two high schools in our city.

“You’re not just going to keep it in your driveway are you? That’s just asking to get your house egged and your truck keyed.” I raised my eyebrows at Troy. He was alright as a boyfriend, but it was true what they say about teenage boys and the undeveloped prefrontal lobe.

“Babe. I’d like to see them try. The guys and I are camping out in the yard tonight with paintball guns. Anyone who comes for this float will be marked!”

“It wasn’t enough to totally destroy them in their own homecoming football game? Whose idea was it to steal that pirate ship the night before the parade, anyway?”

“Good writing is clear thinking made visible.” -Bill Wheeler

I have a paperweight on my desk with that phrase on it. Is it accurate? What would you change it to? “Good writing is….?”

I agree with the spirit of this quote, but it could be misleading in the fact that it implies that the clear thinking comes before the good writing. But if this were the case, there would be no good writing.

For me, writing is the process of clarifying my thinking. When I was in grad school for English (for a year, pre-baby), my catchphrase became “go type some stuff.” Whether it was actually a paper, a group project, or simply to rearrange my thoughts to share aloud, I found a great deal of clarity in closing my mouth and putting my fingers to the keys.

You can find this suggestion in a lot of places. It’s the root of keeping a journal. The act of writing helps us to understand our thoughts and ourselves that much better. Some people swear by a certain pen or paper or keyboard. It doesn’t really make a difference to me, but often I find myself reaching for either the computer or a pencil. Apparently, I like to have the option to erase as I’m going along. (That’s something I just realized as I typed this. See, it does work!)

I keep wanting to write the sentence: “Good writing is more than just clear thinking though.” But when I type that, I get hung up. I don’t know what comes next. I think good writing starts with clarifying your thoughts, but the best writing goes beyond that.

I can write something “good” that makes my thoughts clear to me, but if it doesn’t connect with another reader, it doesn’t reach its full potential as a text. There will always be bits of writing that are inherently personal, that don’t want to connect with others. And that can be “good” writing.

Stepping beyond the “good,” into the “better” or “best,” requires broadening one’s thinking to include others. The challenge is empathy.

Right now, I really don’t have empathy. I’m having a frustrating afternoon. I don’t think I’m doing quite enough social activities lately. I need a little more human connection. But, I want to be invited to do something, I don’t want to start it. I don’t want to say, “Hey let’s go do something!” This is so selfish and unrealistic and I’m ashamed of feeling this way.

I’m not happy with this post. It’s all rambly and useless. The point of this was to write things that people could relate to. And this is nonsense. Who am I to think that I can say it better than someone who’s got a quote printed in a paperweight?

This post has gone a direction that I wasn’t expecting. But this blog is about reality and about writing, and so I’m going to leave it like this. I could erase the struck-out text, but that would be putting a false front on. I’m not looking for pity, just realizing some truths about my heart.

Good writing is clear thinking made visible. Thoughts are made clear by the process of writing. Better writing is edited writing. The best writing is something I’m still striving towards. Writing that is clear and edited and honest all at the same time.