[John Riley]

Muddy Creek

I went with Dale Stack to drown a cat on a fading summer afternoon.


I sat on the porch steps and watched him cross the unplowed field separating his trailer from our clapboard house. He dragged a burlap bag, the type chicken feed comes in, tied shut with baling string. When he got closer I heard the screeching and scratching coming from the inside.

Without a word, or a wave to my grandpa, I stood and followed Dale past the fig bush where the bumble bees grazed, down the two-rut tractor lane, through the electric fence, on across the empty pasture and down the dead leaf hill toward the creek. Muddy Creek it was called, as though they'd run out of creek names in the black days before we were born. I thought about those black days all the time. Sometimes it was like I had already lived and died. There didn't seem to be a place I was supposed to be in this life. I found no comfort in the woods, at church, or in living on a run-down farm with an old man with one arm who sat in a cane back chair and read and re-read the same old brown books until it was near enough to sundown for him to pull out the clear whiskey and drink straight from the bottle.

Dale walked tall, lightly, onto a tree trunk that had been tossed across the creek by one of the late afternoon storms that came up when the heat had no place to go. He stopped and looked at me. He wants me to flinch, I thought. When I didn't, he leaned forward and dropped the bag into the creek until it filled with water and the noise from the inside stopped. After a long moment, he pulled the bag out. Water drained through the rough threads and soon enough the cat started screeching and clawing. The afternoon filled with its ruckus.

Dale's face was blank as moonlight on a pond as he trailed the bag back and forth across the surface before letting it sink again. It settled on the sandy floor, the burlap the color of the rocks that broke the current. A few bubbles rose to the surface, then stopped. He pulled the bag up and the water drained out. There was no noise this time. He untied the twine and shook the carcass onto the log bridge. I recognized the cat. She'd been around a while. Dale stared at the body until the tips of the white fur were beginning to dry, fluttering a bit in the lightest of breezes, then turned and walked past me, back up the creek bank. I waited until he topped the rise to follow.

[Richard G]

Hi John,
this one isn't working, for me.

It's a great, arresting opening line, though it might work a bit better if reversed.
One fading summer afternoon I went with Dale Stack to drown a cat.

P2. It feels like a change of tense here. Given the opening why isn't it 'I was sitting on ... '?

P3. Why is this a separate paragraph?
It reads like an adult recalling a memory (and why would N be expected to find comfort with 'an old man ...'?

P4. The opening of this doesn't make much sense. How does one walk tall onto a tree trunk?

It feels like the preamble to a story. You've set the scene, now what?

RG.

[John Riley]

Thanks for the notes, Richard. Sorry it didn’t hit the spot for you.

[Matt Q]

I enjoyed this John. It's vivid and atmospheric. I don't think it's far off done. Here's how I'm reading it: The boy is living what sounds like a fairly bleak, miserable life with his alcoholic grandfather who doesn't seem to interact with him. The cat killing is a diversion from this. And Dale may be a role model, or at least, represent some alternative the his present life. The final sentence can be read that boy simply follows Dale back up the hill, but at the same there's a suggestion that he's perhaps making a choice (conscious or not) and following Dale in a deeper sense, going where he goes. For me that does enough to make this story seem complete.

I wonder about the first sentence. It's a striking first sentence, but against that it tells us what's going to happen before it does. The story might works better without it. You could start the piece, "I sat on the porch steps on a fading summer afternoon and watched Dale Stack cross the unplowed field separating his trailer from our clapboard house.". That said, it may not work better that way. But I reckon it's something to consider.

Dale walked tall, lightly, onto a tree trunk

Struck me as a little off. I'm not sure I can visualise it. Does he only walk tall as he steps onto the tree trunk? Maybe, "Dale walked tall, stepping lightly onto a tree trunk ..."?

best,

Matt

[Richard G]

Hi John.

Sorry it didn’t hit the spot for you.
My main problem is similar to the one Matt identified, given the opening sentence nothing that follows is a surprise. There's no twist in the tale (as it were) - the narrator seems to give the same emotional weight to 'without a word or wave to Grandpa' as they do to the cat being killed.

If Matt is right about 'following Dales in a deeper sense' then might you begin with P3? (It would suggest N has a fascination for the character and might wish to emulate him.)

Dale walked tall. He stepped lightly onto a tree trunk that had been tossed across the creek by one of the late afternoon storms that came up when the heat had no place to go. He stopped and looked at me. He wants me to flinch, I thought. When I didn't, he leaned forward and dropped the bag into the creek until it filled with water and the noise from the inside stopped. After a long moment, he pulled the bag out. Water drained through the rough threads and soon enough the cat started screeching and clawing. The afternoon filled with its ruckus.
- you have 'afternoon' in the opening, then twice in the paragraph - and I think that weakens 'afternoon storms'.

I'd watched him from the porch steps as he crossed the unplowed field separating his trailer from our clapboard house dragging a burlap bag, the type chicken feed comes in, tied shut with baling string. When he got closer I heard the screeching and scratching coming from the inside. I stood and followed without a word, or a wave to my grandpa, past the fig bush where the bumble bees grazed, down the two-rut tractor lane, through the electric fence, on across the empty pasture and down the dead leaf hill toward the creek.
- not sure why N wouldn't call the creek by name in the first instance (and you have three creeks in quick succession.)

Muddy Creek it was called, as though they'd run out of creek names in the black days before we were born. I thought about those black days all the time. Sometimes it was like I had already lived and died. There didn't seem to be a place I was supposed to be in this life. I found no comfort in the woods, at church, or in living on a run-down farm with an old man with one arm who sat in a cane back chair and read and re-read the same old brown books until it was near enough to sundown for him to pull out the clear whiskey and drink straight from the bottle.
- what's missing, for me, is a sense that N is (actively) looking for something better, they seem a bit too apathetic.

Dale's face was blank as moonlight on a pond as he trailed the bag back and forth across the surface before letting it sink again. It settled on the sandy floor, the burlap the color of the rocks that broke the current. A few bubbles rose to the surface, then stopped. He pulled the bag up and the water drained out. There was no noise this time. He untied the twine and shook the carcass onto the log bridge. I recognized the cat. She'd been around a while. Dale stared at the body until the tips of the white fur were beginning to dry, fluttering a bit in the lightest of breezes, then turned and walked past me, back up the creek bank. I waited until he topped the rise to follow.

Is the 'log bridge' the same as the felled tree? If Dale had wanted N to flinch earlier, why does he not look at them when he empties the sack? And why is that the extent of their interaction?

[John Riley]

The first sentence needs to go. I agree with that. I liked it as a sentence and didn't fully appreciate what it took from the story.

Matt, I'm pleased you like it overall. I wrote it a long time ago and still think it's pretty good. I appreciate the tips to improve it.

Richard, thanks for coming back with more detailed notes. The one issue with "Walking Tall " is that it's told from the narrator's perspective. Dale, the only one with a name, seems bigger and taller now. I'll have to think about it.

Thanks to both for the help. It's much valued.