She doesn't deserve the sneer I give her, but she's always been forgiving enough to overlook moments of human selfishness. "You mean, when writing gets hard, I lose interest."
"Have you ever heard a writer say they enjoyed the process of writing? They enjoy having written." She watches me carefully. Continuing when I don't respond. "Or they don't. I think it was Nathaniel Hawthorne who tried to destroy ever copy of his first book."
"This hasn't been that much of a problem for me in the past," I say.
"And what's changed for you?"
I shrug. "It's possible I'm just out of things to say."
"I don't think so. I think your relationship with writing has shifted focus. You're not having fun with it anymore."
"Do you think it's time to hang it up?"
"Well, I'd never go so far as that. Maybe you just need a return to basics. I mean, you've made yourself a list of short stories to tackle this week, but you're not really giving yourself room to just play. That's why writing has become work to you, you're pressuring yourself to 'produce'."
I sigh. "I don't know how I feel about my character being wiser than me."
"I'm not wiser than you sweetie, I just have a perspective that factors out a lot of the noise of reality."
"Okay then. If you were me, what would you write?"
Caris's whole being perks up. "A fable. You like fables- actually we both do. They're concise, they have a beginning, middle, and end, and they can pretty much involve any characters in any setting. Try this: go to fairy tales. Find a character-type that represents the way you feel right now. Then find one that represents the way I feel. Then put them together and see what happens."
"Well, this should be rich."
"Forget about quality. Make it sincere and the quality will take care of itself."
She grins at me as I glare at her. "And where did you get that chestnut from?"
"I'm a fictional character. How the hell should I know?"
The Bridge and the Troll
The province of Meadley was known throughout the land as one
of the most pleasant caravan stops between Willow Fringe and Castle Sirois. In
addition to the hills and pastures that could relax even the most unsettled
soul, Meadley was home to some of the nation’s finest wool. For many years, the province had flourished in
the clothing trade, and it was unheard of for any traveler of coin or status to
bypass visiting the humble land.
But alas, prosperity has as much a cycle as the seasons. And
a few harsh bouts of weather had flooded the river separating Meadley from the
main country; leaving in the end a single bridge connecting the two. And this
bridge had become the home of a troll, who took most unkindly to the sound of
hoofs and wagons overhead.
The smaller wagons stood no chance against the fury of the
beast. The larger ones that made it to and from did so with an armed and
armored escort, a practice which quickly became more costly and inconvenient
than it was worth. And it took very little time for the citizens of Meadley to
feel the strain of being cut off from the trade routes.
So one day the troll was gathered at the river’s edge under
the bridge, waiting for a sizable fish to swim by when an odd thumping came
from the beams above him.
“Who’s that tramping on my bridge?” the troll bellowed.
A young female voice called down, “I’m not tramping, and it’s
not your bridge!”
“If it’s not tramping, what would you call it?”
“Walking!” The pounding of heavy steps sent a cloud of dust
down on the troll’s head. “This is tramping!”
“Stop that! Or I’ll come up there and eat you!”
“Oh I’m sorry. Is my province’s need to continue living getting in
the way of whatever you’re doing down there?”
“Tell you what,” said the troll. “You tell me where you live
and I’ll come clog dance across your roof a few times and see how you take to
it.”
“Well you see, my family was wise enough to choose a
location other than an access road to make their home-“
“Did I NOT make it clear that I’m willing to climb up there
and eat you?”
The rhythmic thumping continued, indifferent to the troll’s
threat. “Who announces that they’re going to eat somebody? You don’t warn them,
you just do it!”
“Are you wearing stones for shoes little human?”
“No, it’s a wheelbarrow. I apologize if that’s too LOUD for
you!”
“You could wake the dead with that thing.” The troll
grumbled.
“Get over it!” the lady snapped back. “You’ve left us no
alternative!”
“Have your kind build another bridge then!”
“Listen troll!” The silhouette of her head appeared over the
bridge’s edge. “It costs money to build a bridge, and we don’t have it! So this
wheelbarrow is how it’s going to have to be! If you want to come up here and
try me on for size, you’re welcome to it! Otherwise, suck it up!”
The troll was a little taken aback, and didn’t know how to
respond until she was well gone. He turned his attention back to the river, but
the fish didn’t hold his interest. He’d realized he’d never had a conversation
with a human before, and he didn’t know what to think about the exchange.
The troll was so engaged in thought throughout the day that
he completely lost track of time until he heard the sound of the young woman’s
wheelbarrow approaching from the opposite direction.
“How now?” he called. “Have you acquired this money you so
need?”
She stopped several yards away from the river. “Seriously? I
haven’t even set foot on the bridge.”
“Trolls have very keen hearing.”
“So I noticed,” she said. “No, I didn’t do as well as I
hoped. But I brought you something.”
The troll stared suspiciously as she lowered a basket on a
rope from the bridge down to his level. “What’s this?”
“Meat pies.”
He sniffed the basket, unclear as to what poison even
smelled like. “Why?”
“I thought you might like them. And it’s a peace offering. I’m
going to have to be using this bridge quite a bit before I’m able to raise the
funds to rebuild any of the others.”
“And why does this burden fall to you?”
“Somebody has to. You’ve frightened everyone in Meadley.”
“Why aren’t you frightened?”
“Who says I’m not?” She pulled the empty basket back up to
the bridge and carefully pushed the wheelbarrow across the river, forewarning
the troll that she would return the following day with another delivery of
wool.
The morning came, and the troll awakened to the sound of her
footsteps. He waited in amusement as she tapped softly on the bridge’s railing
to announce her presence. “Good day, troll,” she said. “I have several bushels
to carry across our bridge. Do you mind?”
Did he mind? The troll couldn’t grasp what he was hearing.
Nobody had asked him before. “I suppose that would be all right,” he said.
“Very good.”
And that same rhythmic thumping that irritated him so began
traveling across the planks of his bridge. He tried to ‘suck it up’ as she had
suggested the previous day, but his troll nature became too conscious for him. “Human!”
he shouted. “It occurs to me that if I were to come up there and move the
wheelbarrow for you that you would more quickly be across the bridge and well
on your way!”
“I daresay I shall not dispute you, good troll.”
Moments later the young woman found herself face to face
with the most horrifying nightmare of teeth and claws she’d ever seen. She
smiled. “My name is Celia.”
It started with that walk across the bridge, which turned
into a walk through the woods to Willow Fringe. Humans have an innate hatred of
trolls, and for this reason trolls rarely showed themselves by daylight for
fear of being hunted. But the sight of a troll pushing a wheelbarrow while
walking with a young woman was enough to stay the hands of those skilled with the
blade. Suffice to say, Celia’s wares fared significantly better that morning
than they had the previous day.
Soon Meadley had more than enough money to repair as many
bridges as they desired, but by then the troll was a valued member of the
community, and had moved into one of the spare barns near Celia’s family.
Meadley entered into a new era of prosperity compounded by the fact that they
were the first town to ever include a troll among its citizens. Celia was
eventually named governor of Meadley, and she remained close friends with the
troll for the rest of his days.
Caris can't stop smiling at me. "That was a sweet story. Am I to assume that you're the troll and I'm Celia?"
"Not exactly. It started off differently in my head, but I think I'm a bit happier with this one."
"That makes sense. I never imagined myself as so confrontational. Why do you think you're happier with this story?"
"I don't know. I can't say it's any better or worse than the one yesterday, but somehow this one just feels more..."
"Alive?"
I look into the empty space where only I can see Caris. "Yeah. That's it."
"That's a good feeling to close the evening on."
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