Saturday, May 31, 2025
Time: 9:15 AM
Song: Fields of Gold
Artist: Sting
Mode of Consumption: The radio playing the dining room while writing in the game room.
Link to song: https://open.spotify.com/track/0I1DJdLt9BKOb7GWmWxCjo?si=0165da276f7245f3
I’ve been assigned to write a ghost story for the NYC Midnight flash fiction contest. I’ve only just opened a blank word document as this song begins to play.
There’s something haunted about this song. The ripple of wind through the stalks of yellow grass.
It’s wistful. It’s lonely. It’s sad.
Could my ghost story be that?
How?
The story has to take place primarily on a driveway. I think of our driveway. It’s a long gravel drive that inclines at about 45 degrees. To the west of the lane is a pasture. To the east, a hill the rises dramatically, tall grass has sprouted. With grass on the left and the right, the ascension can sometimes feel like a tunnel. One where even you know what is at the top of the hill, you can still let your imagination run wild.
If I have a character walk such a driveway, recalling something that’s haunted him. What could it be?
The last object that needs to appear in the story is a rag.
That’s a curve ball.
**
Later, I have a draft, but it’s not hitting the right notes.
I walk our dog out in the big pasture. The grass has grown to nearly hip height.
On the way back, I begin to take a step. Something brown is curled in the grass. Is it a fox?
No, it’s a fawn. Its gangly legs pulled up around its body. Completely still.
Millie hasn’t smelled it, so I keep moving. I don’t need her scaring the fawn, and the mother could be anywhere close.
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