The Virtual Storytellers Campfire

You think that's scary....I was quietly drifting off to conspiracy radio when I hear a caller say "Hi, my name is Paul, and I am the antichrist." I thought I had astrally projected and made the call myself. Luckily, it turned out to be a different Paul.

Whew! That's a relief!
Although, if you did call in to conspiracy radio, I'm sure they'd think you WERE. <LOL>

Good story, cav. Reminds me of dreams I've had. I am Irish, and my ancestors came from Cork.

Mrs. cav and I honeymooned in West Cork. I'm also a huge fan of Irish folk tales.

Pretty good little tale, cav.

Had a touch of food poisoning last night, and I was up pretty late. Not my own cooking, just so you know. Hey, it inspired Stoker's 'Dracula'....maybe I should eat eggs benedict at crappy restaurants more often...

I have just a tad of Irish - We Hienze 57 people have a tad of almost everything.

Just to bring a bit of the original 'workshop' idea back to this thread....Mrs. cav, who is a far more disciplined writer than myself, read all my drafts here, and gave me sound advice. I chose to work on the Cal and Brent piece, and I have done a second draft. I would like to develop this story. The changes were minor, I suppose, but I think they strengthen the whole tale. Feel free to comment, and give advice on structure, grammar, spelling, where things fall short in terms of explication, where things might be over-explained. I've got thick skin, I can take it.

Oh, and I still need a title (that's how I know it ain't done yet):

Cal approached the farmhouse in his black suit and matching Oxfords. There had been rain the night before, and the wet, sticky mud crept up over his shoes and pantcuffs as he walked. It had been a long time since he had seen Brent, but today, they had to talk. Cal came to the end of the path and there was Brent, sitting on the porch with a longneck and a shotgun, which was pretty much how Cal remembered him.

"Hi Brent."

Brent got up and extended a hand.

"Hey, little brother, what brings you to my neck of the woods? If you want a beer, grab one from the cooler. If you want something stronger, you gotta go inside. Plenty of whiskey in the cabinet."

Cal released his grip.

"Thanks Brent, I'm okay. I'm not really here on a social visit."

"Oh?"

"The family sent me over. We didn't see you at dad's funeral today."

Brent took a long swig of beer.

"Hmm….well, I'm not sure what you all expected."

"We just thought that under the circumstances…"

"Uh huh. You just thought. I have to say, that was always your strong point, Cal. You were lucky to be born with the brains, and not the looks, eh?"

"Brent…"

"What? I'm only saying that dad sure loved his liquor."

Brent chuckled.

"I sure enjoyed our late-night chats also, real heart-to-hearts."

"Enough Brent, I know. Still, you never went to see him in the hospital. When he asked for you, said that he wanted to make amends, we pleaded with you to go….you don't know how he changed in those last weeks. How could you know? You were so damned stubborn you couldn't accept he might have actually been sorry. Brent, why didn't you just go?"

"Well, I was too busy to see him."

"You were too busy. Brent, you live alone here in this shack, nobody in the family is really sure what you do to pay the bills, and quite frankly, I'm not sure I want to know. You spend most of the day drunk, so what exactly were you so busy with that you couldn't give the man a chance?"

"I was busy waiting for him to die. Well, like I said, I don't know what you expected. Come on little brother, all this death talk is depressing. Let's do something to cheer me up a little. Grab a cold six-pack, will ya?"

"Brent…where are we going…"

"We're gonna shoot us a deer."

Brent whistled for his dog Hope and picked up the shotgun. Hope lumbered over, slowly wagging his shaggy black tail.

"All right folks, let's go."

Brent was a good tracker, and knew the land well. It didn't take long to find a deer.

"Check him out there, Cal. Not a twelve-pointer, but a fine animal indeed."

Brent readied the gun and felled the deer in one clean shot.

"Ha ha! Let's go take a look."

They approached the deer. It was a handsome animal. Hope sat, anxiously thumping his tail against the wet ground, awaiting Brent's command.

"Okay boy, go for it."

Hope leapt up and hungrily sank his yellowed teeth into the carcass.

"Heh heh, look at that Cal, interesting how the beast always goes for the genitals first, eh?"

Cal watched Hope gorge on the deer. His muzzle was now a thick patchwork of blood and gore, and something in the dog's eyes looked uncomfortably familiar. The snapping jaws, the ragged fur, the fury of the attack….

"Brent, I think I need to throw up."

"Find a bush, don't mess up the animal."

Cal ran as best he could in his dress shoes and started retching.

"Cal, you never had the stomach to look a wounded animal in the face. Never even brought home hurt little birds. Nose buried in your books, nature just seemed dirty to you. God help you if you had to touch an animal in need, you might get germs."

"Shut the **** up Brent."

"Well Brent, today I'm gonna show you something. Look at this buck. This thing isn't wounded, it's dead. Even with Hope enjoying himself down there, do you really think this piece of meat suffers? Take a look at its' face, Cal, look at it. It almost looks peaceful, don't it?"

Cal forced a quick look. "Yes, I suppose it does."

Brent leaned on his gun and stared at Hope and the mutilated deer for a few minutes. Cal noticed that a strange pallor had come over Brent's face.

"Okay Hope, enough."

Hope left the buck alone and joined Brent.

"Come on Cal, let's go. Leave this guy here for the worms. It's the least we can do."

They walked slowly back to the farmhouse. Brent sat on the porch.

"Cal, is there some beer left?"

"Yeah, want one?"

"Yeah, you should have one, you probably need it. Grab me a little whiskey from inside too, will ya, a large one?"

"Sure."

Cal came back with the whiskey, and opened a beer. It was getting late. He sat down on the porch with Brent and enjoyed a welcome swig of beer. As it always was with Brent, the day had been strange for him.

Brent finished his beer and started on the whiskey.

"Cal…"

"Yes, Brent?"

There was a long pause. "Why did he do it, Cal?"

"I don't know Brent."

The two brothers sipped their drinks and watched the sun set in silence. Meanwhile, Hope chased squirrels in the backyard, amused by the thought that they were always too elusive to be caught.

thanks, cav, for the trouble. Too late tonight to respond and you may regret the effort on your part. I concede that I am addicted to adjectives,
SO:
Paragraph 1: Is this the family homestead or is this some place where Brent has just ended up. If the former, we need to know a whole lot more. If the latter, we need to see perhaps some more discomfort at where Cal is. And what are Oxfords? -rjb-

Thanks, rjb, that's the kind of constructive criticism I need. Keep it coming, when you can. Oxfords are dress shoes, that's all.

I consider that the tale is interesting. It seems it ought to give a bit of a broader hint as to what the father's transgressions were.

I'll be working on it paragraph by paragraph, so I probably won't post anything new for a few weeks at least. Mrs. cav pointed out many places where I need a lot more exposition, expansion and descriptive writing. I'm hoping rjb has some more tips coming as well.

let me see;

Cal approached the farmhouse in his black suit and matching Oxfords.
or did he approach it in his green Ford Fairlane.....
try : Cal, dressed in a black suit (ovbiously his), and matching Oxfords, approached the farmhouse.

There had been rain the night before, and the wet, sticky mud crept up over his shoes and pantcuffs as he walked. It had been a long time since he had seen Brent, but today, they had to talk. Cal came to the end of the path and there [he]was [ ], sitting on the porch with a [longneck], [ a long neck???, or is a 'longneck' something we should know about, the similarity is confusing, if one does not know what a 'longneck' is!] and a shotgun, which was pretty much how Cal remembered him.

"Hi Brent."

Brent got up and extended a hand.

"Hey, little brother, what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"If you want a beer, grab one from the cooler. If you want something stronger, you gotta go inside. Plenty of whiskey!" [ he would know ] in the cabinet.'

Cal released his grip.

"Thanks Brent, I'm okay. I'm not really here on a social visit."

"Oh?"

"The family sent me over. We [weren't at] [didn?t see you] at dad?s funeral today."

Brent took a long, [nervous] swig of beer.

"Hmm. Well, I?m not sure what you all expected[?]"

"We just thought that under the circumstances[....]"

"Uh huh. You just thought."
"I have to say, that was always your strong point, Cal. You were lucky to be born with the brains, and not the looks, eh?"

"Brent?"

"What? I?m only saying that dad sure loved his liquor." [odd way of saying it/bringing this up?]

Brent chuckled.

"I sure enjoyed our late-night chats; [with dad, or Cal] [ also,] real heart-to-hearts."

"Enough Brent."

"[I know.] Still, you never went to see him in the hospital. When he asked for you, said [that] he wanted to make amends."
"We pleaded with you to go?."

"You don?t know how he changed in those last weeks. How could you know? You were so damned stubborn you couldn?t accept he might have actually been sorry."

"Brent, why didn?t you just go?"

"Well, I was too busy [to see him]."

"[You were] Too busy!"

"Brent, you live [alone here] here alone, in this shack, nobody in the family is really sure what you do to pay the bills, and quite frankly, I?m not sure I want to know. You spend most of the day drunk; so what exactly were you so busy with that you couldn?t give the man a chance?"

"I was busy waiting for him to die!"

[Well, like I said,] "I don?t know what you expected."
"Come on little brother, all this death talk is depressing. Let?s do something to cheer me up a little. Grab a cold six-pack, will ya?"

"Where are we going?"

"We?re gonna shoot us a deer!"[Brent] whistling for his dog Hope and pick[ing] up the shotgun.

Hope lumbered over, slowly wagging his shaggy black tail.

"All right [folks ??], let?s go."

Brent [was] being a good tracker, and kn[owing] the land well, It didn?t take long to find a deer.

"Check him out there, Cal."
"Not a twelve-pointer, but a fine animal indeed."

Brent [raised] readied the gun and felled the deer in one clean shot.

"Ha ha!"
"Let?s go take a look."

They approached the deer. It was a handsome animal. Hope sat, anxiously thumping his tail against the wet ground, awaiting Brent?s command.

"Okay boy, go for it."

Hope leapt up and hungrily sank his yellowed teeth into the carcass.

"Heh heh, look at that Cal, interesting how the beast always goes for the genitals first, eh?"

Cal watched Hope gorge on the deer. His muzzle was now a thick patchwork of blood and gore, and something in the dog?s eyes looked uncomfortably familiar. The snapping jaws, the ragged fur, the fury of the attack."

"[Brent,] I think I need to throw up."

"Find a bush, don?t mess up the animal."

Cal [moved] [ran] as best he could in his dress shoes and start[ing to retch]ing.

"Cal, you never had the stomach to look a wounded animal in the face. Never even brought home hurt little birds. Nose buried in your books, nature just seemed dirty to you. God help you if you [ever]had [the need] to touch an animal. [in need,] you might get germs."

"Shut the **** up. [Brent.]"

["Well Brent, today I?m gonna show you something."
"Look at this buck. This thing isn?t wounded, it?s dead. Even with Hope enjoying himself down there, do you really think this piece of meat suffers? Take a look at its? face, Cal, look at it. It almost looks peaceful, don?t it?"

Cal forced a quick look.
"Yes, I suppose it does."

Brent leaned on his gun and stared at Hope and the mutilated deer for a few minutes. Cal noticed that a strange pallor had come over Brent?s face.

"Okay Hope, enough!"

Hope [immediately] left the buck [alone] and [joined - came to]Brent.

"Come on Cal, let?s go. Leave this guy here for the worms. It?s the least we can do."

They walked slowly back to the farmhouse.
Brent sat [down] on the porch, [looking _______(serious, forlorn, anxious?)].

"Cal; [is there some] [any] beer left??

"Yeah, want one?"

"Yeah, you should have one, you probably need it. Grab me a little whiskey from inside too, will ya, a large one?"

"Sure."

Cal [came back with] [brought] the whiskey, and opened a beer. It was getting late. He sat down on the porch with Brent and enjoyed a [welcome] [calming] swig of beer. As [it] always [was] with Brent, the day had been [a] strange [one].

Brent, finish[ing the] beer and started on the whiskey.

"Cal?"

"Yes, Brent?"

There was a long pause.

"Why did he do it, Cal?"

"[ ]Don?t know[ ]."

The two brothers sipped their drinks and watched the sun set in silence.

Meanwhile, Hope chased squirrels in the backyard, [seemingly unaware [amused by the thought] that they were always too elusive to be caught.


your thoughts?

I'm taking all editorial advice Bo. Thanks.

so...basically in the making notes stage right now.

Good evening, cav. I'm not sure, because I haven't read Bo's post in its entirity and compared it to yours, but he/she seems to be working on the dialogue between Brent and Cal. Cool.
You should not, in my opinion, ever ever answer the question...
"Why did he do it.'

Okay...I'm doing this slowly. This is my rework of the first paragraph. Let me know what you think:

Cal approached the farmhouse where he and Brent spent many summers in their youth. Brent took over the place when he left home, over a decade ago. Nobody else in the family visited the farmhouse much after that.

Cal's thoughts turned to the muddy ground. There had been heavy rain the night before, and he was dressed in his best black suit, and his good shoes. Cal felt a little discomfort at the filth as the wet, sticky mud rode up over his pantcuffs, and he brooded over the dry-cleaning costs he would have to pay after this visit to his brother.

The farmhouse was just up the path. Cal noticed that Brent had let the place go. The eaves were clogged, the roof looked like it was about to collapse, and the weeds had taken over the land. Brent was sitting on the porch, with a longneck, and a shotgun in his hand, which was pretty much how Cal remembered him.

Okie dokie....this will be the last of Cal and Brent here, before I just work on it myself, with a little help from 'The Elements of Style':

Cal approached the farmhouse where he and Brent spent so many summers when they were young kids. Guests always commented on how clean-cut Cal and ragged Brent complimented each other. Those were different times, and Cal sorely missed them.

Brent took over the place when he left the family home, almost a decade ago. Nobody visited there much after that.

Cal's thoughts turned to the muddy ground as he plodded towards the house. There had been heavy rain the night before, and he was dressed in his best black suit, and his good shoes. He felt a little discomfort at the filth, and contemplated the dry-cleaning costs he would have to pay after this visit.

Cal continued slowly up the path. The first thing he noticed was that Brent had let the place go. He had really let it go. The eaves were clogged, the roof looked like it was about to collapse, and the weeds had taken over the land. It was a pity, really. Cal spotted Brent sitting on the porch with a Coors longneck, and a shotgun in his hand, which was pretty much how he remembered his brother.

"Hi Brent."

Brent got up and extended a hand.

"Hey, little brother, what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Cal felt uncomfortable. Their relationship had been strained at best for years now.

"If you want a beer, grab one from the cooler. If you want something stronger, you gotta go inside. Plenty of whiskey in the cabinet."

Cal released his grip on Brent's overly strong handshake.

"Thanks Brent, I'm okay. I'm not really here on a social visit."

"Oh?"

"The family sent me over. We didn't see you at dad's funeral today."

Brent took a long swig of beer.

"Hmm….well, I'm not sure what you all expected."

"We just thought that under the circumstances…"

"Uh huh. You just thought. I have to say, that was always your strong point, Cal. You were lucky to be born with the brains, and not the looks."

"Brent…"

"What? I'm only saying that dad sure loved his liquor."

Brent chuckled.

"I sure enjoyed our late-night chats also, real heart-to-hearts."

"Enough Brent, I know", Cal said. "Still, you never went to see him in the hospital. When he asked for you, said that he wanted to make amends, we pleaded with you to go. You don't know how he changed in those last weeks. How could you know? You were so damned stubborn you couldn't accept he might have actually been sorry. Brent, why didn't you just visit?"

"Well, I was too busy to see him."

"You were too busy?"

Cal was visibly upset.

"Brent, you live alone here in this shack, nobody in the family is really sure what you do to pay the bills, and quite frankly, I'm not sure I want to know. You spend most of the day drunk, so what exactly were you so busy with that you couldn't give the man a chance?"

"I was busy waiting for him to die. Well, like I said, I don't know what you expected. Come on little brother, all this death talk is depressing. Let's do something to cheer me up a little. Grab a cold six-pack, will ya?"

"Brent, where are we going?"

Cal had a bad feeling about his brother's plan, and felt an instinct that whatever it was, it couldn't possibly turn out well.

"We're gonna shoot us a deer."

Brent whistled for his dog Hope and picked up the shotgun. Hope lumbered over, wagging his shaggy black tail.

"All right folks, let's go."

Brent was a good tracker, and knew the land well. There were some deep woods just beyond the boundaries of the property where he had spent a lot of time hunting. It didn't take long to find a deer.

"Check him out there, Cal. Not a twelve-pointer, but a fine animal indeed."

Brent readied the gun and felled the deer in one clean shot.

"Ha ha! Let's go take a look."

They approached the deer. It was a handsome animal. The afternoon sun made the hide seem like it was glistening. With its dark eyes closed, it gave the impression of angelic innocence interrupted. The antlers weren't perfect, but looked like they could still take a good rut.

Hope sat, thumping his tail against the wet ground, awaiting Brent's command.

"Okay boy, go for it."

Hope leapt up and hungrily sank his yellowed teeth into the carcass.

"Heh heh, look at that Cal, interesting how the beast always goes for the genitals first."

Cal watched Hope gorge on the deer. His muzzle was now a thick patchwork of blood and gore, and something in the dog's eyes looked uncomfortably familiar. It was the fury of the attack. The dog's jaws snapped at the carcass, ripping fur, pulling out tendon and organs, and then Cal heard the distinct sound of crunching bone.

"Brent, I think I need to throw up."

"Find a bush, don't mess up the animal."

Cal ran as best he could, dizzy from his nausea, and started retching.

"Cal, you never had the stomach to look a wounded animal in the face. Never even brought home hurt little birds. Nose buried in your books, nature just seemed dirty to you. God help you if you had to touch an animal in need, you might get germs."

"Shut the **** up Brent."

"Well Cal, today I'm gonna show you something. Check out this buck. This thing isn't wounded, it's dead. Even with Hope enjoying himself down there, do you really think this piece of meat suffers? Look at it's face. It's almost peaceful, isn't it?"

Cal forced a quick look. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Brent leaned on his gun and stared at Hope and the mutilated deer for a few minutes. Cal noticed that a strange pallor had come over Brent's face. It was something that he had never seen before in Brent, but Cal couldn't put his finger on what it was in his state. He was still dizzy from the sickness.

"Okay Hope, enough. Come on Cal, let's go. Help me drag this thing back home. There's still some useable meat on it."

Cal struggled dragging the deer back to the farmhouse. Blood covered his hands, and his shirt. Despite the slow going, and the feeling he was going to throw up again, something Cal saw in Brent's face made him want to prove that he could be strong for his brother, so he endured. The journey back to the farmhouse seemed endless. When they got back, Brent said "Cal, drag this down to the basement freezer for me, will ya?"

Cal swallowed his disgust and painfully dragged the carcass down the long stairs to the cellar. When he got back, Brent was sitting on the porch. He looked pensive. That was what Cal saw on his brother's face back in the woods.

"Cal, is there some beer left?"

"Yeah, want one?"

"Yeah, you should have one, you probably need it. Grab me a little whiskey from inside too, will ya, a large one?"

"Sure."

Cal came back with the whiskey, and opened a beer. It was getting late. He sat down on the porch with Brent and enjoyed a welcome swig from the bottle. As it always was with Brent, the day had been strange for Cal. Brent finished the longneck and started on the whiskey.

"Cal…"

"Yes, Brent?"

There was a long pause.

"Why did he do it?"

"I don't know, Brent."

The two brothers sipped their drinks and watched the sun set in silence. Meanwhile, Hope chased squirrels in the backyard, completely oblivious to the thought that they were often too elusive to be caught.