Wow! Thank you everyone for sharing their stories and critiquing. I have learned a lot from this experience. It was my first time to do Writer in Motion and I am happy I decided to participate. I didn't post about my steps in the last two drafts so I thought I would post some about it here. For each draft, once I received critiques I copied off their notes and went through them one by one making changes (not every change needed to be made). I always find critiques helpful and have thick skin (thanks to graduate school) so I have no problem with people tearing apart my writing. I will write more about my experience this coming week.
"You'll feel free." They said. "Empowered."
Lies. All lies. It was hot, dirt clogged my mouth and nose and I hadn't taken a shower in days. My legs were hot noodles of pain, my thighs swollen three sizes too big and instead of self-assurance I gained existential crisis. Divorce should be the lowest point of life. Or infertility. Or rehab at thirty-two. Or the time a flock of birds pooed, not once, but multiple times in your hair during your first kiss. But no! This moment, when I am bare-foot, pants ripped, ass hanging out and miles away from any source of humanity--this was worse.
I took a hesitant step, cringing as spiky needles and hidden pine cones assaulted my feet. I sighed. The trail I was following was still nowhere to be found.
Hiking should provide peace by filling the body with endorphins until you say, "I've conquered this motherf'ing mountain and I can climb whatever hill of bullshit you throw at me now, life."
And to be fair that did happen. I reached the peak of the motherf'ing mountain/hill and I gained an oh, so brief, but exhilarating moment of clarity which I commemorated with the everlasting selfie. Who would have believed my journey without photographic evidence? Plus, I had planned for the moment. I stripped out of my hiking clothes, reveling in the suns warmth before donning a black ensemble. Hair perfect, body slimmed, camera timer on--I lit a flare stick, held onto a metal safety post and BAM! The perfect selfie.
I even had a thigh gap from which sunshine shone through like freaking rays of angels. It. Was. Perfect. I looked like I was flying. I looked like a hippie bad-ass.
But that was before IT happened. Before everything came crashing down, myself included, so fast every fat cell in my body rippled. Damn pigs. Who knew they could so mean? You see the movie Babe and you think, Awwwww! I want a baby piggy. But then an overgrown, hairy, monster charges you, and you have a new understanding.
Could anything be more humiliating than being mauled by a pig? A PIG! Maybe it was punishment for eating all those schnitzel dinners. Do I regret eating the pork--No, but now I would be more appreciative for its salty goodness.
Stabbing pain ripped me from my reverie as I stepped on a hidden pinecone. "When does the misery end?" I yelled to the forest gods, hopping on one foot.
The bushes to my left rustled. I froze, my heart hammering. Not again, not again, not again! I waited, scanning for any sign of a snout or horns or devilish beady eyes. The rustling stopped and I sighed in relief. I couldn't handle another flight for my life. One was humiliating enough.
My ears were still ringing from my pursuer?s piercing squeal during my mad dash only an hour ago. At least I thought it had been an hour--time no longer exists in the wild.
After another ten minutes wandering, I knew I was hopelessly lost. The trail was gone. I couldn't find my supplies, my shoes, food--ANYTHING! It was official. I was going to die there. The most I could expect was to be found in a week, emaciated and mentally unstable. Tears stung my eyes. I never liked hiking. Nature always tried to kill me. First by anaphylactic shock when a bee stung me on my wedding day. Secondly when bats dive-bombed me from a pine tree in front of my in-laws. My skirt had flipped up exposing my nethers and I could never meet their eyes again.
I let loose a devastated sob. Why me? Reese Witherspoon may be able to go WILD and hike like a goddess of nature, but I was no goddess.
Wiping my eyes, I noticed a figure in front of me. Watching me. I froze. It couldn't be! But it was! The same ravenous, territorial son of a bitch had hunted me down. It must have followed my scent of despair and mid-life crisis.
With a snort and growl it launched at me. I let loose an earth shattering wail and ran like hell. It didn't take long for me to trip and slam to the ground. I screamed. Impending doom advanced my exposed behind ready to gore with porcelain tusks. Frantic, I grabbed the nearest stick, turned and squeezed my eyes shut.
Blood sprayed across my face and I screamed. I am dying! I knew it was happening but...but...where were the flashes of my life? Was nothing worth remembering?
The squealing died down. And despite the fact I was drenched in blood I didn't feel any pain.
I peeked open an eye sealed shut by salty tears, and my mouth gaped. On the end of the stick, skewered through the throat was the wild boar, its eyes still lucid.
I scrambled away and dry heaved into a bush. My body shook when I looked back at the grotesque scene, mortified.
I did it! I killed the pig. That son of a bitch would never chase a helpless divorcee or middle-aged selfie enthusiast again. Finally, I was the master of nature. Suck it Reese!
It kicked a cloven hoof. I screamed and fell backwards into the nearest bushes, landing right on my missing back pack. Clothes, shoes, food, everything! Maybe I wasn't going to die after all.
On my feet again, I stared at the now motionless pig. "Hell, yeah!" I threw my fist in the air and leapt on my blistered feet. I was a survivor. Not a hopeless without a man. I was a bonafide, chauvinist pig-killer. "As soon as I get back I'm having bacon, baby!"
Topic: Grasping the WILD- Draft 4 (Read 1982 times)