2017-05-07: Personal Correspondence - Short Stories
- Cutscene: Personal Correspondence - Short Stories
- Cast: Jude Moshe
- Where: Adelyn Ranchlands
- Date: May 7, 2017
- Summary: A sales pitch for a short story.
My Dearest Nathan, Light of My Heart,
Does it still infuriate you when I open up my letters like that? Ha ha, sorry! Seriously. I just get a warm fuzzy feeling deep down inside when I picture the way your face must scrunch up reading it, like you've just eaten a fistful of lemons. It's the last time. I swear.
But most people would be flattered knowing someone thinks so fondly of them, for the record.
Anyway, I wanted to run something by you, and see what you think. Lately I've been thinking of dabbling a bit in the field of short stories -- you know, something for kids. Little allegorical tales to get someone's noxious brat to eat their vegetables more often. Something endearing like that. Christ -- can most people even afford vegetables on this god-forsaken continent? I feel like green things are probably more expensive than diamonds here. Have I ever mentioned how grateful I am to you for assigning me here?
But I know, I know. Fiction isn't our market, you've told me that a dozen times already, and I've been happy to self-publish when I have to, but hear me out on this one. I was thinking about a short-story -- maybe even a series of them -- centered around two characters. Some kind of animal, maybe. Let's call them lovebirds for now. These lovebirds were raised by a pack of wolves out in the depths of the mountains where only wildness and strength thrive. They're treated well but maybe feeling a bit out of place -- they're god damn lovebirds, you know? (NOTE: figure out reasons why wolves wouldn't just eat lovebirds)
Anyway. One day something happens. An accident, maybe. Or maybe it's just fate at work: the lovebirds' entire wolf pack is killed by an evil troll, or something. Either way, their pack is tragically killed and the rest of the wolves blame them, because who can really trust a lovebird but another lovebird? A little dark for a kid's story, I know, but sometimes you need dark to sell the lesson. The lovebirds, they're forced to fly away from their home, out into the big wide world. And from there, we can just follow their adventures. What kinds of things do they see? What do they do? What makes these two lovebirds so special? Can they ever really return home? You know, that kind of thing.
It's a little outside the Gazette's wheelhouse, I know, but trust me -- I think we can get a good audience for this. I've got a gut feeling about it. Have I ever let you down? I mean, in any significant way?
At the very least, it ought to make for fun reading, right?
Always the Apple of Your Eye,
Jude
Dear Mr. Moshe,
As always, you have the perfect gift of turning something easily said in four words into forty. Truly commendable.
That said, I brought your idea to the editor-in-chief, and he seemed keen on it. He'd like you to drum up a rough draft about the birds' story abroad and if it looks like it's marketable, we'll work from there.
He did have one recommendation: including a few more side characters. In particular, he'd like it if a golden magpie ended up traveling with them. You know, the kind of mischievous trickster that could get certain members of the cast in trouble they do not necessarily want to be in.
Feel free to come by the Adlehyde branch and we can discuss this at length. We can also talk about how much I appreciate your unique brand of salutations.
Sincerely,
Nathan
"Ouch. He sure as hell still knows how to cut to the quick, doesn't he?"
Ash falls haphazard on the sharply creased slip of paper beneath Jude Moshe as the embers of his cigarette illuminate it in a dull, orange glow. One booted heel propped against the thick bark of one of the rare trees dotting the landscape of the Adelyn Ranchlands, the sight of Filgaia's two moons hang heavy in the night sky, their pale luminance complementing the cool breeze that whispers through the peaceful hillside. But Jude's gaze doesn't focus on that beautifully clear night sky, or the way the fields of wheat beyond rolls like waves of grain; it is focused on the last message on that letter gripped in his hands, as it has for the past five minutes.
His gaze is distant, less deep in thought and more simply... detached as he hones in on those jumbles of words that gradually lose both focus and sense until they're nothing more than a confused series of lines in his sight. At his shoulder, a brightly colored, mechanical bird tilts its head curiously, chirping a tinny chirp as if in a vain effort to get Jude's attention; it receives an errant pat on its sleek head as its reward.
"You did good, Jacob," he assures, a rare mote of fondness in his voice before a weary little sigh escapes his lips. His words are wry but empty when he speaks next. Like someone with the good fortune to be watching a travesty from the rafters.
"... Honestly, I always kinda pictured her more as a shrike, myself."
Sparks crackle along the edges of the paper where his fingers grip. Flames catch the tragically dry material as if transferred by the heat of his touch, until it is all engulfed into so much ash that falls as easily between his fingers as the burnt remnants of his cigarette. He finally looks up at that night sky; the downward twitch of his lips is brief, no more lasting than the ashes carried off into the night by the sweep of the breeze.
"What a pain, huh?"