yorelm
Well-Known Member
Okay, I'm juggling a real problem here. The crux of the story is "Faye has problem, then goes thru conflict to solve that problem." But I feel, esp with the bits about her husband, it's seems to be a different story than what I'm going for--a unusual speculative adventure. When I get to the 'husband' part, it's starting to sound far too serious to me and one huge distraction.
The "dilemma" is that I want to reader to understand why she wants a divorce (along with her bigger problem), but I didn't want it to seem flippant, but it's too long and, again, too serious. How might I accomplish both? That is, not having her divorce sound flippant, but keep it MUCH shorter? Should I simply 'write out' the husband (which is what I'm most considering)?
As I read over it before pasting, it almost sounded like a romance. That and young adult just aren't my forte and not my intended audience.
All other mentions are welcome too.
***
Bedlam Monika lived in an old brick apartment complex--classy, not rundown--in Midtown. I believe it was a hotel at one time, renovated into rentals. Security buzzed me in. I signed the register, then took the elevator up and knocked on door 307.
Beldam Monika answered. It had to be her; her looks so fit her voice. She stared through fierce amber eyes, almost too clear for her age, sort of a vamp look. She was wrapped in a gold and blue shawl over a black dress with a high neckline, almost but not quite formal looking.
"Faye? Looks like you found me well enough. Come in, dear," she said with a warm smile. Her voice sounded genuinely inviting, which put me at ease a bit. I caught myself staring, then awkwardly forced my gaze away before stepping inside.
I'd expected some kind of mystical vibe to the place, but instead, it simply looked like a really cozy living room. No crystal balls or beaded curtains--just dim lighting that made everything feel relaxed and intimate.
There was a tiny altar tucked into one corner, but it wasn't flashy or attention-seeking. An Indian rug covered most of the hardwood floor, and the walls were filled with paintings of famous jazz musicians--at least two of them were Miles Davis, so I guessed she was a rather big fan. It all felt pretty normal, which was weirdly comforting.
"Have a seat there." She waved to a sectional couch, and I had to maneuver through a pile of pillows for a sitting space.
She settled into a plush rocker across from me. "First, tell me how you found out about your situation?"
"I was still a child. I would ask my mom why I seemed different, but she always sidestepped the real answer. It took my father to sit me down and tell me I inherited the trait from my maternal grandfather after skipping Mom. Seems I was the lucky catch. It feels strange to actually speak to someone about it. It's like sharing a 31-year-old secret for the first time." My hands were fidgeting in my lap; I made myself still them.
Monika nodded thoughtfully, and her expression softened. "You're nervous. Some lavender tea? It won't take long to prepare."
[[the prev "tea mention" is now lemonade]]
"No. Thank you. Now that I'm actually speaking about my problem, I guess I'm a little tense. You don't know how much I want to be rid of it, but I keep feeling something's not right about this whole thing. It's not just about me--it's about my husband too."
"How so?"
"He hasn't done anything wrong, exactly. It's just his passion's no longer there--he used to do things like surprise weekend plans, dance with me in the kitchen out of nowhere. Now, more and more, he’s withdrawn, somewhere else even when he’s right beside me. If he'd just open up and talk to me, tell me if there's something wrong I'm not aware of, I'd try to understand. To not even get that is just too frustrating. I'm isolated. He's still a good man, but my own happiness has to be real, not just an obligation. That's why I sought you, Beldam Monika."
"Just Monika is fine."
Monika rose and stepped over to the shrine array. A honey-gold cloth draped the counter. There wasn't any symbolic religious deity or anything, just a few candles and a couple of brass bowls covered with damp white handkerchiefs. She lifted the cloths, and the bowls were filled with colored pearls and gems, all coated in oil, judging from their heady fragrance and wet gleam.
Monika centered herself in front of the counter and spread her arms in a welcoming gesture. The room's atmosphere shifted--warm light bleeding into deep violet that pulsed against my skin. My chest tightened, then released, and my anxiety flushed in a wave. An enchantment, I guessed--some kind of calming spell designed to put nervous clients like me at ease.
Monika returned to the recliner and gave me the most gentle smile. "Now tell me more specifically what you expect. But first come here and take my hands. I need to feel what you feel as you speak."
Well, that would be a twist! I pushed myself up and crossed to her, my jitters fluttering back despite the violet calm she'd woven. This was becoming more personal. Her hands were soft as a little girl's and just a little moist. The touch instantly soothed me. She closed her eyes and sat perfectly still as I spilled everything. Only occasionally did I feel a slight, almost imperceptible tightening in her grip.
"You may return to your seat. I sensed thoughts of suicide. That's deeply concerning. This lifelong anomaly of yours, along with your husband's present indifference, is destroying your inner balance. Your emotional psyche is demanding release from too many directions, and for too long."
It didn't surprise me she would make the inference; she was a beldam. They were reputed to be able to tap into those streams of the mind. Still, having those dark corners exposed made me uneasy, having someone see something so personal as suicidal thoughts. I tried to downplay it. "Just a whim. I'd never really follow through." I studied the floor as I spoke.
"Thoughts of ending one's life should never be 'just a whim.' It would be a shame with those lovely features. I bet you go for the cheaper and natural look. None of those expensive chemical-filled creams."
The sudden shift threw me until I caught on. She'd noticed my discomfort and gave me an easy out. I played along. "Are you saying I look like I raid the grocery store for face cream?"
"Sure do, honey."
I laughed. She said that as natural as a friend who'd known me for years. The familiarity didn't fit her first visual impression at all. But I admit she had me pegged. My face has seen about as many herbal oils and fruit as my diet.
"But more seriously, dear, the only problem I have is the means to resolve your situation. I can free you, but what you need is something I can no longer obtain on my own. You may have to put in a bit of personal leg work."
"Meaning...?"
"You'll need to enter a cyclic plane, one I cannot visit anymore until I have time for adjustments. Its present atmosphere drains my spirit too severely. Even a minute there would leave me spent for days."
I hadn't visited a cyclic plane in ages. Just hearing those words brought back memories. The technical specs were beyond me, but imagine a pocket universe built to order. My last visit was with Curt for my birthday a few years back, when we were still dating. He knew I was an adrenaline junkie, so he chose one designed as an endless fare (his long gone side). It might be fun to visit one again, even if Monika's was probably completely different.
"Will it be safe for me if it affects you the way you said?"
"You don't carry a beldam's essence. It won't affect you in the least. But I must say there's one thing that disturbs me--your husband. I can't in good conscience dismiss his feelings in the situation. Yes, I know you want to leave him after I free you, but according to you, he's done nothing wrong except become too complacent--that's not to say I don't understand your reasoning."
I felt drawn to Monika beyond what you'd expect from a first meeting, which, of course, was how she had to feel about me. That she spoke up for Curt, a complete stranger to her, made me want to like her more. I just didn't have that choice. Still, she made another correct inference. Sure, Curt had lost that old impulsiveness that had made me say yes at the altar, but he didn't deserve to be hurt.
"I've wrestled with this too," I said. "But I figure Curt can recover from losing me. What I inherited from my grandfather--that's a lifetime sentence unless I do something about it."
"What if I crafted two remedies?" she offered. "One to free you, another to soften the blow for your husband. But as I said, you'll need to visit the plane in my place. I don't mind deducting a fair amount from my fee for your effort."
A lower fee would definitely be accepted, but I was already willing. "I'll go."
"Good. The first thing you need to know is that this particular plane is not the type you'd normally purchase a ticket for. We beldams discover our own and mold them for our purposes, our own personal 'themes.' It will be unlike any you may have visited before. Mainly meaning: it will have substance."
I really didn't know what to make of that. It didn't sound frightening or anything, but it put me slightly on edge.
She began a slow rock in the recliner. "I'll need you to retrieve two faces--one to represent you, and the other, your husband."
I stared at her for a few seconds before speaking. "I'm sorry, did you say faces?"
The "dilemma" is that I want to reader to understand why she wants a divorce (along with her bigger problem), but I didn't want it to seem flippant, but it's too long and, again, too serious. How might I accomplish both? That is, not having her divorce sound flippant, but keep it MUCH shorter? Should I simply 'write out' the husband (which is what I'm most considering)?
As I read over it before pasting, it almost sounded like a romance. That and young adult just aren't my forte and not my intended audience.
All other mentions are welcome too.
***
Bedlam Monika lived in an old brick apartment complex--classy, not rundown--in Midtown. I believe it was a hotel at one time, renovated into rentals. Security buzzed me in. I signed the register, then took the elevator up and knocked on door 307.
Beldam Monika answered. It had to be her; her looks so fit her voice. She stared through fierce amber eyes, almost too clear for her age, sort of a vamp look. She was wrapped in a gold and blue shawl over a black dress with a high neckline, almost but not quite formal looking.
"Faye? Looks like you found me well enough. Come in, dear," she said with a warm smile. Her voice sounded genuinely inviting, which put me at ease a bit. I caught myself staring, then awkwardly forced my gaze away before stepping inside.
I'd expected some kind of mystical vibe to the place, but instead, it simply looked like a really cozy living room. No crystal balls or beaded curtains--just dim lighting that made everything feel relaxed and intimate.
There was a tiny altar tucked into one corner, but it wasn't flashy or attention-seeking. An Indian rug covered most of the hardwood floor, and the walls were filled with paintings of famous jazz musicians--at least two of them were Miles Davis, so I guessed she was a rather big fan. It all felt pretty normal, which was weirdly comforting.
"Have a seat there." She waved to a sectional couch, and I had to maneuver through a pile of pillows for a sitting space.
She settled into a plush rocker across from me. "First, tell me how you found out about your situation?"
"I was still a child. I would ask my mom why I seemed different, but she always sidestepped the real answer. It took my father to sit me down and tell me I inherited the trait from my maternal grandfather after skipping Mom. Seems I was the lucky catch. It feels strange to actually speak to someone about it. It's like sharing a 31-year-old secret for the first time." My hands were fidgeting in my lap; I made myself still them.
Monika nodded thoughtfully, and her expression softened. "You're nervous. Some lavender tea? It won't take long to prepare."
[[the prev "tea mention" is now lemonade]]
"No. Thank you. Now that I'm actually speaking about my problem, I guess I'm a little tense. You don't know how much I want to be rid of it, but I keep feeling something's not right about this whole thing. It's not just about me--it's about my husband too."
"How so?"
"He hasn't done anything wrong, exactly. It's just his passion's no longer there--he used to do things like surprise weekend plans, dance with me in the kitchen out of nowhere. Now, more and more, he’s withdrawn, somewhere else even when he’s right beside me. If he'd just open up and talk to me, tell me if there's something wrong I'm not aware of, I'd try to understand. To not even get that is just too frustrating. I'm isolated. He's still a good man, but my own happiness has to be real, not just an obligation. That's why I sought you, Beldam Monika."
"Just Monika is fine."
Monika rose and stepped over to the shrine array. A honey-gold cloth draped the counter. There wasn't any symbolic religious deity or anything, just a few candles and a couple of brass bowls covered with damp white handkerchiefs. She lifted the cloths, and the bowls were filled with colored pearls and gems, all coated in oil, judging from their heady fragrance and wet gleam.
Monika centered herself in front of the counter and spread her arms in a welcoming gesture. The room's atmosphere shifted--warm light bleeding into deep violet that pulsed against my skin. My chest tightened, then released, and my anxiety flushed in a wave. An enchantment, I guessed--some kind of calming spell designed to put nervous clients like me at ease.
Monika returned to the recliner and gave me the most gentle smile. "Now tell me more specifically what you expect. But first come here and take my hands. I need to feel what you feel as you speak."
Well, that would be a twist! I pushed myself up and crossed to her, my jitters fluttering back despite the violet calm she'd woven. This was becoming more personal. Her hands were soft as a little girl's and just a little moist. The touch instantly soothed me. She closed her eyes and sat perfectly still as I spilled everything. Only occasionally did I feel a slight, almost imperceptible tightening in her grip.
"You may return to your seat. I sensed thoughts of suicide. That's deeply concerning. This lifelong anomaly of yours, along with your husband's present indifference, is destroying your inner balance. Your emotional psyche is demanding release from too many directions, and for too long."
It didn't surprise me she would make the inference; she was a beldam. They were reputed to be able to tap into those streams of the mind. Still, having those dark corners exposed made me uneasy, having someone see something so personal as suicidal thoughts. I tried to downplay it. "Just a whim. I'd never really follow through." I studied the floor as I spoke.
"Thoughts of ending one's life should never be 'just a whim.' It would be a shame with those lovely features. I bet you go for the cheaper and natural look. None of those expensive chemical-filled creams."
The sudden shift threw me until I caught on. She'd noticed my discomfort and gave me an easy out. I played along. "Are you saying I look like I raid the grocery store for face cream?"
"Sure do, honey."
I laughed. She said that as natural as a friend who'd known me for years. The familiarity didn't fit her first visual impression at all. But I admit she had me pegged. My face has seen about as many herbal oils and fruit as my diet.
"But more seriously, dear, the only problem I have is the means to resolve your situation. I can free you, but what you need is something I can no longer obtain on my own. You may have to put in a bit of personal leg work."
"Meaning...?"
"You'll need to enter a cyclic plane, one I cannot visit anymore until I have time for adjustments. Its present atmosphere drains my spirit too severely. Even a minute there would leave me spent for days."
I hadn't visited a cyclic plane in ages. Just hearing those words brought back memories. The technical specs were beyond me, but imagine a pocket universe built to order. My last visit was with Curt for my birthday a few years back, when we were still dating. He knew I was an adrenaline junkie, so he chose one designed as an endless fare (his long gone side). It might be fun to visit one again, even if Monika's was probably completely different.
"Will it be safe for me if it affects you the way you said?"
"You don't carry a beldam's essence. It won't affect you in the least. But I must say there's one thing that disturbs me--your husband. I can't in good conscience dismiss his feelings in the situation. Yes, I know you want to leave him after I free you, but according to you, he's done nothing wrong except become too complacent--that's not to say I don't understand your reasoning."
I felt drawn to Monika beyond what you'd expect from a first meeting, which, of course, was how she had to feel about me. That she spoke up for Curt, a complete stranger to her, made me want to like her more. I just didn't have that choice. Still, she made another correct inference. Sure, Curt had lost that old impulsiveness that had made me say yes at the altar, but he didn't deserve to be hurt.
"I've wrestled with this too," I said. "But I figure Curt can recover from losing me. What I inherited from my grandfather--that's a lifetime sentence unless I do something about it."
"What if I crafted two remedies?" she offered. "One to free you, another to soften the blow for your husband. But as I said, you'll need to visit the plane in my place. I don't mind deducting a fair amount from my fee for your effort."
A lower fee would definitely be accepted, but I was already willing. "I'll go."
"Good. The first thing you need to know is that this particular plane is not the type you'd normally purchase a ticket for. We beldams discover our own and mold them for our purposes, our own personal 'themes.' It will be unlike any you may have visited before. Mainly meaning: it will have substance."
I really didn't know what to make of that. It didn't sound frightening or anything, but it put me slightly on edge.
She began a slow rock in the recliner. "I'll need you to retrieve two faces--one to represent you, and the other, your husband."
I stared at her for a few seconds before speaking. "I'm sorry, did you say faces?"
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