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Writing Sample from theProse

  Writing Sample from the Prose The following was written for a writing challenge on theprose.com. The prompt was as follows: Grey Wall  Check out the original over at  Grey Wall . Grey Wall Towering over everything was the Grey Wall. For a thousand generations the Grey Wall had separated the worlds, looming above each in silent threat of what lay on the other side. Looming in the heart of the unchosen. No being had every crossed the Wall. No human would try for the abject terror it brought the imagination. Even the birds, circling and wheeling about the azure sky would not cross the line of demarcation. The Wall meant safety and the Wall meant death. Zenyassa did not care for safety and she did not fear death. She was Unchosen. What did it matter? What was life without the risk of losing it? She could not feel alive sitting before a thatch hut milling grain while the men of her village hunted wild yissana beasts. Their hunt brought them adventures and risk for the great ...
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Respects to Hemmingway

 Respects to Hemmingway

The gravestone of Ernest Hemmingway.
    All the way back in September of 2021, I had the fortune of being in Idaho for a wedding. Having some free time after the event, we took off for the beautiful and rugged Sawtooth Mountains. Winding our way through the narrow mountain roads, we marveled at the beauty and majesty of the mighty granite swells littered with firs and lodge pole pines. We gulped the cold crisp mountain air, relishing in its cleanliness and the far cry from the humid slog of the swampy south. 

    Our road was taking us to Ketchum, by way of Stanley and Redfish Lake. We did not have much time, but in the time, we had we saw so much! One of my goals was to visit the grave of, and pay my respects to, the enigmatic master, Ernest Hemingway. 

It was a bitterly cold morning, for us southern folk, but we forged ahead along the mountain shaded sidewalk toward the cemetery. Despite the cold, we wandered the small sward until we found the object of our trek. The grave was easy to pick out by the myriad of offerings left on its surface. Pens, notebooks, a glass of some unknown liquor, and a condom...thankfully still wrapped. In most situations one might say this was disrespectful, but here I found it to be the opposite. I could feel the weight of his influence permeating the very air. Images of his life and works flashed through my mind and I dreamt of becoming just half as prolific as Hemmingway himself.

I have a long way to go.

At the time, I had not actually read any Hemmingway aside from the "Old Man and the Sea" back in high school. I thus vowed to read more. I now have "Farewell to Arms", "The Green Hills of Africa", and "For Whom the Bell Tolls" waiting on my shelf at home. Christmas presents so that I can be more "literary". I fully intend to study him and his writings more.

If you get the chance, and are ever in Ketchum, stop by the cemetery and pay your respects. It is a oddly special experience for any writer.
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