Sometimes, I can do nothing more than close my eyes and try to regulate my breathing as the veil rends and lifts away. Rarely is that ever enough to stop my tears. In truth, they are your tears, and the tears of your loved ones as they leave you. I am neither angel, nor demon; not heaven sent nor hell-bound. I simply am, in a way your earthly mind cannot grasp and worse still, chases away as Impossible.
My own time in your world comes only to me in fragments -- the scent of a perfume, heady with orchids, dabbed seductively behind the woman's ear in my embrace, music swirling languid around us. It is the scratch of a father's beard, the smell of earth and worry, heavy upon him. And sometimes, it is the solid sureness of a three year old frightened and curled against me like a cat, wild curls tickling my chin. I often wonder if these are my memories or yours, and I honestly cannot remember. I fear if I knew of my own time, the heartbreak of memory would be too much to bear. But the flashes I get seep into me like cool water and warm light as I walk the Dead away from all they've known and into a dark where they've never been. It is my charge to keep them safe, to tamp down their choking panic and, most importantly, brush the wisps of your grief and loss from them. If I did not sweep clear the cobwebs of you, the separation would be incomplete, and they would move neither forward nor back. Worse, still -- you would be trapped, as well; manacled and immobile in a world where you do not belong.
The Dying see me in whatever form their security takes on; a prairie grandmother dead for decades, with floured hands and a tired smile; the dog that scampered in the creek with their childhood selves, catching crayfish and feeling free in the way only children do. A middle-aged man once whispered into my embrace as I pulled him from a wrecked Saab, "Are you The Silver Surfer?" and I felt him, long ago, alone and lonely, beneath a blanket in a bunk-bed, while a drunken mother raged a room away about a faithless man and fairness. Thus I became for him what he believed in, the aegis of safety he'd desired when the surge of his emotions was at its strongest. Miles away, and in the present time, his wife felt the change in the air, immutable and implacable, that nothing would ever be right again.
Yes, The Dying see me, but you -- the living -- feel me, and for the many years I have done this duty, that has been the worst of my regret: that my presence muddles time, makes it feel slow and sodden, impossible to navigate for the grieving. Your clocks seem to move slower as time stretches, bleak and barren, along a path of grief, of hurt. I wish there was something I could do to ease that, for of the few emotions I can feel, Compassion is chief among them. While my priority is the Dead, I must also be careful of the living.
You must know this: No one dies without being mourned. This is something you do not believe -- maybe cannot -- because, in earthly terms, there are such things as "evil" and "wrong." But on the other side, well... every murderer had a mother, just as every sainted mother has a son.
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Comments: 121
Damn.
This makes me believe you had an intimate knowledge of this in a past(?) life...
Let me say how impressed I am with your lyric wordsmithing-- "the smell of earth and worry" struck a chord with me, as did the reflections of a childhood dog.
This is the type of "afterlife" I can imagine. I'm pleased you left the ratings on: a solid 10 for you.
Now you've given us how he sees himself. Great job, Joy!
Thank you again. I'm all teary eyed, particularly this, from My Friend, Dame Ruth: "You are a writer."
Somebody make sure that gets etched on my gravestone, please.
No, who's gonna be the first sacrifice their character to mine?! =)
Sandy's right...this character is not to be feared, but to feel compassion for. There's an innate beauty and a sense of empathy that cannot be avoided now that we know him so well.
Joy, this is the line that made me cry. Well, sob. I was teary in other spots. I identified with this character, from both sides.
Kinda like "The Santa Clause," but with more death and fewer elves.
Your character is far superior. I find myself longing for a far longer story about 'him'; wonder what kind of mortal he could encounter that would stop him in his tracks and make him reconsider his line of work.
And I've no question about how he would appear if he were to come for me today. What about you?
Joy, this is the line that made me cry.
Sandy Knauerâ„¢ , Feb 27, 2009, 3:55pm EST
Ditto on that.
I'm sorry you went through so much angst earlier about posting it and that I wasn't around to read this and tell you that you were nuts to have even one iota of worry! This was spectacular.
Now, keep your ass away from my character.
Yet.
I've only told you who he is and how he thinks. There's more -- much more. I haven't been this excited about something that came out of my own head in a long, long time.
And leave it to John O. to zero in on the word choice I faltered and worried over...
I love the idea that one of the ferryman's jobs is "to keep them safe, to tamp down their choking panic. . ." And I love the way you show that, especially, "a prairie grandmother dead for decades, with floured hands and a tired smile. . ."
But most of all, I love the ending. I love the specific idea of the ending. I love the way the whole story leads to and supports it. I love the way it's expressed.
You, you're good.
And, you know -- I might have to parody myself and write another version of this explaining how sad my character is that NOBODY wants to play with him!
It's interesting that you pointed out the ending, because it made me nervous as hell to write it. I wanted to get it across to the reader that the Ferryman mourns the dead too, without being heavy-handed and coming right out and saying it. I was hoping that I got the point across that his emotions are pure and untampered with by earthly bonds.
I am just delighted that I seem to have pulled it off. Thank you all. I am so grateful for the praise. And there are a couple of spots I need to go back in and tighten up, too... please don't let me overwork this!
Joy, don't overwork this.
Thank you, JustMe (I feel like I should call you, "JustYou." =) I enjoyed your piece a lot! You did the lady with postcard sewn into the lining of the jacket, right? Great set-up -- everyone should really read it.
To me this is like you being nervous about putting anything up on gather. (Except for the pope part. Gather is NOT the pope.) Didn't I send you an email saying you're about the best writer on gather? And haven't you proved me right?
This is why writers drink themselves to death. Get a grip, Joy! You're writing chops are absolutely solid. You're good. You make the words do what you want them to. Not many here get even close to that.
It's like falling off a bicycle.
Uh, Sandy, that's the point I was making, that the classics saw Charon as ugly and nasty (as was their view of death) while Joy gave us his view of himself as a compassionate, beautiful soul.
I have to admit, I am completely in love with this thing here that I've created. I can see, now (especially after having read some of the other submissions,) how I'm almost limitless in where he can go. My biggest fear was treeing myself or writing myself into a corner (I have a tendency to do that,) but I'm pretty sure I haven't done that even in the back-story flesh-outs I've done earlier, and I think I can go forward without screwing anything up too badly, too.
But thank you all for trying to shore me up, here. I appreciate it. Really! We need to stop now, or I'm just going to look like a whinier, needier Mango from SNL.
Don't hesitate, Joy. You have the chops. Make them work for you.
I won't be surprised to see this in print.
I'm not kidding.
Charles: I can't afford books! *WAH* The library opens in the morning; I'll see what I can shake out of them.
And thank you too, Donna. I don't know that I'm all that familiar with "On a Pale Horse." I suppose I should seek that out, too.
Damn it Joy, you have me in tears; this is just beautiful and eloquent poetry!!!
Incidentally, my friend just emailed me his newest poem and you might be interested in these synchronistic lines in his poem:
Man alone may speak,
and man alone makes prophecy of death.
It is the dawning unadorned of eloquence
that is the source of awe.
And no -- I really can't write poetry. I've tried, but it's never very good. I have a couple of old poems around here, somewhere. I should toss 'em up here and give you all a hearty belly laugh.
There's a saying in theater: Dying is easy, comedy is hard. What Joy does all the time here takes a great deal of skill, work, and experience. And I'd like to suggest that, just because something's funny, doesn't mean it's not serious. Just because it's funny doesn't mean it's not art.
I agree with everyone above, this is the best piece of writing on Gather to date!
I'm not surprised. She has an ear, and a turn of phrase that shines through everything she writes.
Charles -- if I ever manage to get a book together, you are SO writing my blurbs for me. Thank you again; and, again -- I'm all choked up and teary-eyed.
Sue: I'm glad you didn't miss it, either. It wouldn't have been the same without ya! =)
There are two or three people I'm waiting for a weigh-in from and then I'll stop holding my breath...
And I've decided it was none other than Tom Gerace himself who 1'ed me. It's a complete and total lie, but oh! Wouldn't that just be the mostdelicious rumor, ever?!
To me, Joy, my cranky pants sistah, that is all.
It is enough.
It is more than enough.
I start to believe, despite myself, once again.
This actually, really, honestly...made me cry.
Wilka
Wilka
(Having suffered too much loss of late, and thanking you for the comfort of this "persona.") Blessed, Blessed be.
You felt panic about submitting this? Why? This is an amazing piece of work, perspective that can be felt and understood that transcends everyone, everywhere. Don't change a thing! There's not much else to say that hasn't already been said other than now I'm afraid to submit anything. And yes, you are a writer. A damned good one.
Marilyn
Kris: Neil Gaiman is too busy getting Santa Claus drunk on scotch to care... ;-)
Charles & Aniko: That's the spirit! We'll get the rumor that Tom Gerace trolls me deeply embedded in Gather Lore if it's the LAST thing we do! Well, last thing I do. There's no sense in the two of you sacrificing yourselves for my Stupid cause.
Oh, wait! Duckie! I missed Duckie!!!! Hee hee... back when I was editing, I used to argue with myself all the time that those who can, write. Those who cannot, get themselves a nice, cushy job as editor. But I see what you're saying. And if I was my own editor, I'd be telling me there are a couple of spots in this that need tightened. And a dear and talented friend of mine offered an almost verbatim transcript of what's been flashing through my head since I posted this yesterday, so I'm pretty sure the both of us are right. It's mostly word choice (and John O. pointed out the most glaring of them. I suspected his comment above was his kindly veiled way of getting that across to me. I just couldn't think of an alternative.)
Ann M: Thank you! I was going for that "feeling" we all have when someone close to us dies; I suspect it's pretty much universal. And I've felt it, more often than I'd like. I fear I'll feel it again before it's all said and done.
Priscilla P.: Thank you. I did want a different "dimension" to play in. Earthly constraints are such a pain in the @ss! =)
Lady Raven Spirit: Thank you! I loved yours -- both counselor and veteran. I think you and I could "dove-tail" nicely... ;-)
Kay M.: Thank you for thinking it "perfection." It does need tightened a bit, but all in all -- I'm just so grateful for the praise and encouragement you're all giving me.
Wilka: I'm glad I could comfort you (and anyone else who needs it and can find it here.) I sort of wanted the "benevolent" character who, at first glance, should be terrifying. How I pulled it off is a mystery to me. =)
Sharon: Oh, no doubt about it -- This Ferryman here is going places. "Where," is the biggest question right now. See, we all have to get really involved in the WE stuff and make Gather a real site for writers so that some big agent can come in here and "discover" me again for the first time... and really, it does need tightened in a couple of spots.
Mugg: I'd like to keep my hands intact; it's easier type that way... ;-)
Caroline P: The Ferryman doesn't eat or drink but he's pleased to be offered a refreshing beverage! I suspect a lot of people drop their manners right quick when he shows up.
Lynn R.: Thank you, too. I have a couple of ideas and one pretty solid one as to where he's going... but I'm trying to keep that "air" of mystery about me. Because I'm a 'tard. =)
Marilyn N.: If you'll look at the bulk of my Gather writings, you'll see I traditionally do humorous, slice-of-life pieces -- sort of like a really, really angry and drunken Erma Bombeck. This was definitely outside of my "comfort zone," and -- I feared -- outside of the comfort zone that most people expect from me. But thank you for you kind words! I appreciate them. And don't be afraid to submit something. I'm hoping ol' Phoenix up there... or Charles... or Aniko... or Kris... or Ina... will submit something that makes me look like I wrote this with a fat, blue pencil. And anyone of them could absolutely do that. John O., too...
*WHEW* This is one lo-o-o-ong comment!
Spasmodic: Spasmodic! Hey, where ya been?! I haven't seen you in AGES!! I'm delighted that I could be inspiring. Writing is a solitary thing -- until you share it (well, DUH!) But some of the best stuff I've ever written has been "inspired" by some friend of mine's rough draft that they let me read or a crazy conversation about pushing the boundaries of what people think a story should be.
And, last but not least:
Phoenix: Thanks for coming over -- your words mean so much to me, and I've heard ya loud and clear. ;-) Now, srsly -- you gonna go on and jump into this pool and show me how it's really done?! I totally think you should! =)
The Ferryman is a well written, (and yes in need of some tightening), character. In fact, you fleshed out this persona so well that I am now craving a plot, some action and foibles to go along with the character you created so adeptly. Now that I've met this soul, I am eager to follow along as you develop a theme and a complete story.
Good work, Joy! Really good work.
(Now can you please get Don't Pay the Ferryman out of my head?)
Sandy: Then why's he always DB 1'in' me?! =)
Janna: As soon as I get, "Don't Fear The Reaper" unstuck, we'll address your problem. It wasn't supposed to be like that (The Grim Reaper,) but since I have that whole, BÖC Issue, it became so...
And with the appearance of Janna, there's only one other person I'd like to see show up and weigh in...
Wow.
Pants this was most excellent.
I almost soiled myself reading it.
I'm glad that I only have to appear, and not come up with something smart and wonderful to say, because in these cases I usually can't.
Desperately. Which is not to say I don't appreciate your lovely sentiment, Jean and Lori, it simply means that I'm wiped out and incapable of making any sense further that which can be conveyed monosyllabically and in grunts. And I don't even care if I misspelled the mono-word or made it up.
Janna -- you frequently come up with smart and wonderful Me envy you. Words good for you. Huhn... glik...
Joy, if Tom Gerace is DB 1'in you, I can only think of two possible reasons he would do so:
1) He knows a ten rating on great writing has about a ten-second shelf-life on Gather so he 1's you to let the rest of us know he found some great writing.
2) He hates me and figures you'll blame me if your rating is below 10.
I hope it's #1
(Oooh! There's fake drama somewhere?! Do I dare seek it out or do I just wait for it to find me?!)
Dunno if Sandy's thinking the same thing I am, but if she is, it's currently the Most Viewed article. I think the dude's full of (scrolls up to see if there's a flag) sh*t.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to "Tom Gerace is my Troll and DB 1s Me Every Time I Forget To Turn Off The Ratings." Don't forget to follow the 10 Steps To Writing an Effective Posticle About Low Ratings.
No, I haven't been drinking; I'm just tired. At least my eyes have quit bleeding since I read some bolded collection of minutiae masquerading as something else entirely...
Joy, the Ferryman can have the dad if he dies. He did have a mother at one time
Joy, I read this and the comments with tears in my eyes... then I went back and read it again! Damn Joy.. This is an amazing piece, I can hardly wait for more!
Some of my thoughts as I read this...
My own time in your world comes only to me in snatches I wouldn't have noticed this if not for John's comment... maybe 'glimpses' or 'flashes'?
It is my charge to keep them safe, to tamp down their choking panic and, most importantly, brush the wisps of your grief and loss from them. If I did not sweep clear the cobwebs of you, the separation would be incomplete, and they would move neither forward nor back.
Now I know where ghosts come from...
You must know this: No one dies without being mourned.
Any one contemplating ending their life needs to be told this, some how, some way.
I'm sorry Joy, I know this is not really pertinent as a critique of your writing but some of these lines brought up residuals from the past.
Can't use "flashes," though; that would violate Redundancy Statutes. =) Actually, with the help of a writer that I absolutely revere, I am about to tighten this. She had the same issues I had upon reading it, but since she isn't lazy (such as I am,) she figured it out.
There's a GLARING one above, in that if something is "imperceptible," the wife would not perceive it. I didn't catch that until the second time I read it on-line, and that is an ABSOLUTE writing no-no. But I was being stubborn about repeating "I" words, and I like the idea of "implacable."
Let's see what I can pull out of my bag o' tricks, shall we?!
Dammit.
It's good to know I can't lure people into saying a bunch of things in comments and then take remove the body of the article to make it appear from a different premise. I guess...
O.M.F.G.
You know what's gone on in my life in the past few months. This piece comforted me more than anything anyone said, any card, and hug... for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Joy.
Van read this too, and we both cried, and he found comfort, too, in the loss of his parents. We talked about who they saw as the Ferryman. Van said, "Vicky, this is the very best piece of writing I've read anywhere in any way, shape or form." I agree. You need to write a book, Joy - YOU NEED TO WRITE BOOKS, JOY! Again, thank you for this. Now I know who it was that was in that room that night. Aunt Opal was my Mom's Ferryman and now I know she wasn't afraid.
I'm not surprised.
Floored? yes. Awestruck? Yes (in the good way, not the "dread" way).
Vicky's Van said: >>"Vicky, this is the very best piece of writing I've read anywhere in any way, shape or form."<<
and it is for me too. Joy, you took a blank word page and created this world on it. It made me lean in closer to the monitor as I read it. I was there, in that story, watching instead of reading. This doesn't happen a lot, even with my favorite authors-this is a gift that you posses.
Vicky, I would be lying and guilty of the Sin of Omission if I didn't admit publicly that I thought about you the whole time I was writing this, and that your mom's death was the impetus behind it. We've talked about our moms' deaths before and there were some eerie similarities. My mom would point toward the ceiling and smile (she couldn't speak or [allegedly] see, because of the stroke she'd suffered during her bypass,) and you've shared your own mother's "visions." So, I guess it was for both of our mothers. I didn't want to say anything until you'd had a chance to read it (you were the "last person," I was "waiting for,) lest you feel pressured or on the spot.
And if I could comfort you (and Van, too,) in even the slightest way with this, then I could abandon this character right here and realize he's served a very valid purpose. Gosh, I'm crying now, too, because in the back of my mind, I really did this for you, Vick. I love you.
Incredibly powerful, and way out of left field - that is meant as a compliment, by the way - pure imagination.
Michael's comparison with the Grim Reaper from "On a Pale Horse" is apt. I remember reading that years ago and this entranced me just as much as that did, way back when.
Well done. Very, very well done.
I will say that I have a paralyzing fear of anything related to death and dying, but still I read this three times. It's that good.
You're an amazing woman, Joy!