Black Bear

[Wiggum]

(Story is about done, but these are the first few hundred words)

It’s been fifty years since I’ve seen Black Bear. A half century since that bloody night which sticks with me like a bad dream that doesn’t go the way of morning forgetfulness. Sometime on the morrow I’ll turn seventy five years old. I’m pretty sure that this will be my last birthday.

I was the product of spring love; born in the heart of winter. It’s called by most clans the time of the Wolf Moon. Many Indians believe that there is a giant tortoise riding in the night sky, with thirteen divided sections on its hardened carapace, each plate carrying a different moon. As the seasons turn so does the tortoise, and so changes the light that he shines down on our evening world. I find it strange that I was born under a wolf when I’m sure that it will be a bear that gets me in the end.

The winds are blowing warm off the plains, and with them a sound comes that portends only ill. It is the tune of copper bells, a dull sound off of soft metal and hard for the ears of an old man to pick up. I could hear their ring lightly a week ago. Each night they grow a little closer. A little louder.

When I was about twenty five I killed a large mountain cat. Looking back, I’m sure that bullet also killed a boy I cared for, and marked myself even further. That was the first of two ill fated exercises I had done with my guns within the course of a few brief years.

I had held out some faith over the years that my second shot had been the end of Black Bear and his kin, all the while knowing that my hope was false.

If he does come for me tonight I can at least go to heaven having given him as good as I’ll get.

I have worked in ranching for much of my life, mostly as a cowboy, driving steed and steer through the near south. In Oklahoma and Missouri mostly. When I was twenty I struck across a medium sized ranch owned by a man named Dennet. I more or less spent the rest of my life there.

The work was hard, but the accommodations were as comfortable as one could hope for, and Dennet was a fair man. Paid us square and on time, only asking that we do the work as he saw fit. He cared for his livestock and took interest in the well being of those that worked his land. I took quickly to the people, made an instant friendship with my trail partner John, his wife Janney, and his boy Sonny.

Fifty years ago I stood with my leg up on the fence of a horse pen with John’s boy, and that day ended up in a hardship that still breaks my heart. Sonny couldn’t have been more than fifteen at the time. He was growing into the spitting image of his father. Tall and lean, with a sandy mop of blonde hair and green eyes.

John had died five years earlier, in an evil fashion, leaving Sonny and Janney to fend for themselves on Dennett’s ranch. They got along fair enough; Janney was a fair hand in the ranch’s kitchen and could sew one hell of a seam. Sonny took to horses like he’d been bred by one.

Sonny’s eyes were focused on the distant northern horizon, “They say that trail is what did in for my daddy. That the Black Bear and his kin got him. They took him with cunning, you all trailing back from the drive to Abilene.”

 

[Boneman]

I like 'em. The words, that is. Nary a grammatical error in sight, and an opening that garners enough interest to want to read on. I like the narrative voice very much; even with no description of the narrator, I have a clear picture in my mind of the old guy - a cross between Clint Eastwood and Roland Deschain. Not sure if you intended him to be Indian, but for reasons known only to my brain, he didn't come out that way. I guess it's the years of stereotyping of ranchers as white guys, in the movies...

So, I'm only left with nitpicks. Here's a couple:

A half century since that bloody night which sticks with me like a bad dream that doesn’t go the way of morning forgetfulness. Sometime on the morrow I’ll turn seventy five years old. I’m pretty sure that this will be my last birthday.

The first sentence is a bit clunky, and I had to read it twice to get its full meaning. The language you use fits the narrator ( I hear it kind of laconic...) but I'm wondering if it might be better as: A half century since the bloody night which sticks with me like a bad dream that won't go the way of morning forgetfulness. Or even: A half century since thebloody night which sticks with me like a bad dream that won't go away.

I underlined the that because you use it quite a lot. The second sentence would not lose anything if you lose the word. I’m pretty sure this will be my last birthday.

Many Indians believe that there is a giant tortoise riding in the night sky, with thirteen divided sections on its hardened carapace, each plate carrying a different moon. As the seasons turn so does the tortoise, and so changes the light that he shines down on our evening world. I find it strange that I was born under a wolf when I’m sure that it will be a bear that gets me in the end.

I always wondered where the different moons came from... is this true, or your imagination? Whatever it is, I love the image. I think you could delete both of the underlined that's, as I'm not sure the narrator I have would use that word. Read it aloud and you may agree. And ignore it, if you wish!

I can see in this next sentence that you're trying to avoid using the word 'hope' twice, but I'm not so sure you hold out faith...

I had held out some faith over the years that my second shot had been the end of Black Bear and his kin, all the while knowing that my hope was false.

And there's a small problem with tenses there: You're narrating in the past tense, which is working well, but why the 'I had held'? linked with the 'had been the end' If you lose the first 'had', it's much better (IMHO!).

That's all I've got to say. Good work.

 

[Wiggum]

Thanks

I'm new to writing, and repetitive words bug me much the same.

But they can be hard to see when you're reading your own work.

The tortoise is true as far as a Native American myth goes, I couldn't make that up if I tried. The 13th is the Blue Moon, which doesn't happen every year.

 

[Wiggum]

I could only sigh. Son and I had the same conversation many times. “What got your
daddy now rests, without bones, on your floor. You tread on it daily, and from what Janney says, you sleep on it from time to time. A black puma is wicked enough, no need to be bringing a black bear into the story.”

I had gutted the large cat that I believed had got John, and cured the pelt. I offered it to Janney, not thinking she’d accept it, but hoping it might bring her and Sonny a little peace. I did it out of respect for John, the best man I’d ever ridden a trail with. The two had lost husband and father to that damned beast. To my surprise Janney did take the pelt, placed it in front of the small wood stove in the shack that they lived in.

It’s a wicked looking skin. A black so shiny it seems to give off its own light.

I had hoped that Sonny would leave off the subject at the pen, but he continued. “Hearsay is that it wasn’t a puma that got him. That his bleeders weren’t from cat’s claws. That part of his back was missing, bones gone, heart gone. Said that he was butchered, parts taken.”

I looked at the ground shaking my head.

We had brought John’s body back to the ranch unceremoniously strapped across his horse’s back and bound in a blood encrusted prairie blanket. It was only by chance that Sonny had come across our path that morning. Seeing his father’s mount and the foul package it carried, he knew the tidings before we told him.

Since that day he suffered from a palsy that set upon him when he got riled. His speech got stuttered and his body would take to shaking.

He looked at me, the shakes now taking hold, his breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps, “Breathing? Bells? Can you hear? At night?”

“No Sonny, I haven’t heard anything, animal or otherwise. I’ve slept as sound as can be;
nothing has raised a single hair on my head.” I grabbed his shoulders in hopes of quelling
whatever fear had gripped him. “Take a good breath, there’s nothing out here to do you any
harm.”

That soothed him a bit. Sonny let his chin fall to his chest, his arms go loose, and set
his legs solid beneath him. He looked up at me then, the fear in his eyes absolute. Our eyeballs locked, and I couldn’t turn from his gaze. When he opened his mouth he was forced to swallow a couple times just to get words out.

When they came, they were stilted and dire.

“I hear a bell tolling, tied to the shag of a bear” Sonny whispered. “Two others running
on night’s paw. One swift and dark, the other a halfsie hooved and paining behind.” The boy’s
eyes were turning up into his head, showing more white than pupil, and a tear had started to
stream from each.

“The bell was ringing for a kin slayer Ben. It was ringing for you.”

 

[alchemist]

I quite like it too (and see Tommy Lee Jones as the narrator). I preferred the second part as I found the first a little too rambling for my taste: black bear>narrator born>present>cat>bear>present>life history... It took me a couple of reads to get it all in.

The narrator's conviction that this will be his last year - that's based on the bells and past events, rather than being an idle idea? If so, I think more mention in the first paragraph of the reasoning behind it may hook the reader more, e.g.

I’m pretty sure that this will be my last birthday; the signs are there for my kind

(or something better than what I wrote).

But overall, good, interesting stuff.

 

[hopewrites]

I am utterly enchanted. If it were third person I would hear a fire crackling as the night warps close around the teller of a tale that will eat the night away. But I like it much more for being first person, I like the slow introduction into your narrators world, much like easing into a steaming pond at a hot spring. Defantly a good John Wayne drawl, no need to hurry a good tale, and no need to make fact more interesting then it already is. I picture a man of near 6ft with the long dark hair and tan of a native but the keen light eyes and hard lines of "the white man" a mix, maybe half and half maybe 1/4-3/4 close enough to value both heritages and blend them as seamlessly as he himself is blended.
I adore the way that your animals are described, it is consistent with the values and beliefs of his assumed heritage (assumed because with out telling us straight up what his heritage is you have let it be assumed that it is native. not that he has assumed a heritage not his own) which deepens the story and adds flavor at the same time.

like Boneman, I would love to read more. your story quickly captivated my heart and attention.

 

[Wiggum]

And thanks for reading, and commenting.

Taking notes on the recommendations, they've been great

 

[Wiggum]

I quite like it too (and see Tommy Lee Jones as the narrator).
The narrator's conviction that this will be his last year - that's based on the bells and past events, rather than being an idle idea?

That's based on the bells, and the idea of tolling.

Not well presented, but it's one thing I'm working on.

Thanks

 

[The Judge]

Wiggum, we have a word limit of 1500 for critiquing pieces, so if a second or subsequent extract takes the total over 1500, a new thread has to be started. (Unless the extract is simply a revamped verision of the original, in which case it's usually easier to keep it in the same thread.)

So, as this last piece took you over the 1500, I've moved it over to a thread of its own, and labelled it as "Part 2" (I know it's the third extract, but I thought people would get confused if I called it Part 3!).

 

[Brian G Turner]

I think opening paragraphs are very telling, I think in this instance it reads as confused and lacking in focus.

For example, what is the focus of the first paragraph? Dramatic intent? Black Bear? The birthday?

What sticks out most is the phrase "sometime on the morrow I'll turn 75 years old" - sometime on the morrow?? Most people count their birthday's from the technical start of the day, not some vague "sometime". That to me douses your attempt at dramatic effect.

The result is that your opening paragraph - which could be really strong - I think reads as weak but with a lot of potential for tightening.

For example:

Tomorrow I'll turn seventy-five. I'm pretty sure it'll be my last birthday. And although it's fifty years since I last saw Black Bear, I've never slept well since because of that night.

It's still not great - there's a discontinuity between the topic of "birthday" and "black bear" but I'd personally suggest it reads sharper.

Am afraid I didn't read through the rest because to me the first para has to set a strong impression - a single focus to push onto the next paragraph - I think you still need to address that. I did skip read some of it and found no real single thread that was pushing the sstory forward - sorry.

However, simply my personal opinion and feedback for you to consider.

 

[Wiggum]

Wiggum, we have a word limit of 1500 for critiquing pieces, so if a second or subsequent extract takes the total over 1500, a new thread has to be started.

My bad, thanks

I, Brian...it's weird, because I either get the disjointed comment (it's been cleaned up quite a bit, the first draft was like a Pollack painting on steroids) or that the narrative runs smooth as butter.

Sometime on the morrow is used because of the attention people take to the time of birth during the day, which may well be too modern of a convention.

I'm somewhere in the middle about it. I like the sparseness of the language, I think it serves the narrator well, but I agree, it needs polish.

Appreciate you taking the time.

 

[Brian G Turner]

No worries, Wiggum, and hope I didn't come across as harsh sounding. I've had some pretty hard comments myself and frankly welcomed them. Ultimately, you go with your own judgement on the feedback you get, because only you know the overall context the writing works with.