Repost - Adrift
Fraser
hand-format this one - I hope it comes out better.
ADRIFT
Fraser Thomson
The long, rumbling boom was clearly audible beneath the shrieking of the
wind. I raised my head. Scott - barely visible through the blizzard although
not
twenty yards ahead of me - turned to search for the source of the sound. My
collar was buttoned high and I had wrapped scarves so thickly about my face
that I could see only through a narrow, ice-obscured slit. But I could see
Scott,
and his sudden frantic waving and pointing caused me to halt in my tracks
and pull the frozen woolen layers from my face.
The crack was narrow, no more than a hand's breadth. It lay like a dark vein
in the white flesh of the ice ahead of me, widening even as I watched. I was
not unduly
concerned. We had seen many crevasses open in similar fashion during the
course of our hellish journey, and I knew that I would be able to walk
around
it in safety once the ice ceased its shifting.
The crack had widened to over a sled-length when I realised what was
happening.
It was no crevasse. I looked left and right, but the crack ran on until it
disappeared
into the swirling snow on either side of me. A glint of light reflected from
the black
depths and I knew that it could only come from water. The ice-shelf had
split, and in my
weariness I had failed to grasp my plight in time.
Scott dropped the traces of his sled and stumbled across the ice towards the
gap. He stopped on the very edge, and for a moment we simply gazed at each
other
across the water. There was little enough to say, even if our words could
have been
heard. I lifted a hand in farewell and he did likewise. We moved apart and
he faded
into the whirling clouds of ice.
Fear rose in me like a sickness, robbing my limbs of what little strength
they retained. And worse than fear was guilt. My sled contained the bulk of
our
rations for the final push towards One Ton Depot, where stored provisions
awaited us.
I felt that by my failure to react in time I might have doomed my friends -
the men with
whom I had suffered so greatly, achieved so much.
I realised then that there was a choice to be made. I could succumb to my
terrors and simply give up the struggle, or I could pull myself together and
act like a
man should act. Unlike poor, brave Oates, who had known himself to be a
drain on the team's
resources, I had all the food I could eat and more. His final walk out into
the snow had
been an act of unimaginable courage, whereas mine would be one of cowardice.
There was no
reason to give in to my fears. I would live with my guilt, but by God I
would live. I pulled canvas from my sled and set about making a bivouac to
shelter from
the blizzard. It provided meager shelter, but when I crawled in exhaustion
must
have claimed me instantly, for I recall no more of that first night.
When I awoke, the storm had abated. It was still inside my little tent, and
the air felt noticeably warmer. Snow had built up against the canvas side
and I struggled
to extricate myself from the cocoon. The sight that greeted me almost caused
my
heart to stop from a mixture of awe and terror. From horizon to blue
horizon, broken slabs
of ice floated on a web of inky sea. Huge bergs towered in the distance like
frozen cathedrals,
and the low sun lent a fiery aura to all it touched. The silence was near
absolute, save for my
breathing and the distant grind and crackle of ice meeting ice. I was alone.
Alone as any man has ever been.
My own floe was roughly rectangular in shape - perhaps sixty feet by forty.
It was dwarfed by some of the nearby massifs, a vulnerable speck in the
huge,
ever-shifting seascape.
I managed to stop gawping at my surroundings in time to snatch my sextant
from my kit bag and take a shot of the fast-sinking sun. I thought I had
made a hash of it:
according to my calculations I was a full degree north of my last shot,
taken roughly an hour
before the ice had cracked beneath me. I had slept for nearly twelve hours
according to my timepiece,
and that meant the floe was moving northward at nearly five knots. I
dismissed the idea as ridiculous
and vowed to take a more careful sighting when the sun made its next brief
appearance.
As I chewed on a meal of frozen mutton in my bivouac, my thoughts turned to
the men I'd left behind. I felt in my heart that they could make it to the
Depot. Scott had
immense mental strength - enough to pull the other three along with him if
required.
What awful hell it had been! The moment when we realised that Amundsen had
won the race, that eight hundred miles of brutal toil had been for nothing,
was a moment I
would take to my grave. Scott must have felt it worse, but he bucked the lot
of us up
and had us pose for the photograph in front of a proud Union Jack. Yes, I
thought, if the
blizzard ended for him as it had for me,.he would make it. I fell asleep,
clinging to the warmth of
that thought.
When I next awoke, the sun was just clearing the horizon. I took a series of
shots, being as careful as I possibly could. I knew that I had slept a
further eight
hours, and there was no arguing with the results this time. I was moving
steadily north at five
knots, covering nearly two hundred statute miles per day. On the ice, we had
been fortunate
to cover ten.
For the first time since Scott had disappeared into the blizzard I allowed
myself to feel a pinch of hope. If I continued to travel in the same
direction, at the same
speed, I would reach the Southern Ocean trade route within a week. Perhaps..
No. I crushed
the thought. As had been a constant on the journey, there was a cloud
attached
to every silver lining. The closer I got to possible human contact, the
warmer it would get.
The warmer it got, the smaller my floe would become. The cruel irony brought
tears of
anger to my eyes, and I found myself ready to curse God for his casual,
indifferent
malice.
Soon, however, I calmed.. Acceptance settled peacefully upon me, and I felt
ready to face whatever might come. I would live as long as He saw fit, and
there
was nothing in the world I could do to change a single detail of His plan. I
thought of
Margaret at home in Devon, and of Joy, an infant when I left, nearly a
toddler now. I prayed
that they would be taken care of by the others, and that they would remember
me fondly, if
only from the single photograph Mags kept above the fire.
And so it went. Day followed day and my speed and course remained constant.
Each morning the floe was smaller, less stable; each day was warmer than the
one
before. I existed in a state of peace I can only describe as monastic - I
had finally
leaned the power of acceptance, and only in my weakest moments would an
ironic voice in my
ear whisper what a shame it was that I had only learnt how to live just as I
was about
to die.
I had no doubt about my fate by that time. The floe was shrinking at an
astonishing rate - far quicker than I had expected. When the sea grew rough,
green humps of
water would surge up onto the ice, causing it to stagger and dip alarmingly.
A pod of
three Killer Whales had taken it upon themselves to provide an escort,
patiently
following in my wake, waiting for the inevitable.
I awoke on the morning of my fifth day adrift to the realisation that it
would be my last. The wind had risen, and the sea was bending to its will.
My floe had shrunk
to a mere twenty feet by ten, and it was no more than a matter of time
before a larger
wave would sweep across the surface, sending me tumbling into the dark green
waters.
I ate a hearty breakfast - as much as I could stomach - then pushed the sled
over the edge of the floe so that I would not be knocked off by it later in
the
day. It sank slowly in the clear water, only to be struck by a huge black
shadow with a
speed and force that made me shudder. I prayed that the cold would have me
senseless
before those same jaws closed around me.
I sat down in the centre of the floe and waited to die.
Roald Amundsen and his team had beaten us to the Pole by more than a month.
They had used dogs instead of our useless ponies, and had taken a different
route. We
had found their tent and a note addressed to Scott on our arrival at the
Pole, but we
never saw them at all, heading south or north. It was as if they were
ghosts, flitting in from
nowhere, leaving their message and disappearing again. They had departed the
frozen continent
on board their ship 'Fram', with all of the glory and none of the losses.
It was the 'Fram' that I saw when I woke from a short sleep, just before
midday. She had all sails set and was tearing Westward towards New Zealand
in great clouds
of spray. For a moment, I considered just sitting still. So resigned had I
become to my
solitude and my fate that the evidence of other human life seemed a rude
intrusion. But
self-preservation is the strongest of instincts, and before I knew it I was
on my feet, waving
and shouting for all I was worth.
She sailed on. I stood on my heaving platform, too devastated by hope raised
and dashed to do more than stare after her. I could not help but wonder what
I had done
to deserve the punishments that were being heaped upon me, each new torment
endowed
with fresh hooks of cruelty.
Then, as a larger wave sent freezing water swirling around my ankles, I saw
the 'Fram' heel to Port. Had they seen me? I waited, refusing to believe.
She rolled
heavily, beam-on to the sea as she came about. I saw canvas furling and
unfurling. By God,
she had seen me.
I cannot adequately describe the emotions I endured during the hour that
passed while the 'Fram' beat against the wind towards me. Fear is never so
keen as when
salvation is near at hand, hope never so strong nor so fragile. Every second
or third wave
was washing over the floe by the time they were close enough to launch a
longboat, and the Killer
Whales had moved in so near that I could hear their strange, clicking
language above
the sounds of the wind and the sea.
Up until the moment that strong hands grasped my forearms and pulled me from
the knee-deep water, I felt certain I would die. Even lying under the heap
of
rough blankets in the bottom of the longboat I was convinced that some fresh
disaster would
strike before we could get safely aboard the Fram.
Now I sit at my desk, and through my window I can see Joy playing on the
lawn in the Devon sunshine. It all seems a dream to me, a nightmare
experienced by
another man. And there is truth in that; the man who writes here today is
not the man who
joined the 'Terra Nova' at London all those months ago. The deaths that
ended the dream
weigh on my conscience, but I retain the strength I found when things were
at their
bleakest and I find that I can think back on it all, if not with pleasure,
then at least
with hard-won acceptance.
It is these rough notes that must serve as my attempt to carry out Scott's
last wish, written as he lay freezing and near death, only eleven miles from
One Ton Depot:
'Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance
and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart.'
Please excuse the criminal liberties I've taken with both the geography and
the history of Antarctica
Fraser
"Fraser" <fra...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:a9r54s$5mfgv$1...@ID-116198.news.dfncis.de...
Huw Lyan Thomas
news:a9r54s$5mfgv$1...@ID-116198.news.dfncis.de...
> Screwed up the formatting on the last one and had to go through and
> hand-format this one - I hope it comes out better.
It still got some odd breaks here. I had the same problem, too, and decided
the best thing was not to second-guess the software by putting hard breaks
in.
> ADRIFT
>
> Fraser Thomson
> When I awoke, the storm had abated. It was still inside my little tent,
and
the first time I read that, I thought the storm was still inside his tent
> the air felt noticeably warmer. Snow had built up against the canvas side
> and I struggled
> to extricate myself from the cocoon. The sight that greeted me almost
caused
> my
> heart to stop from a mixture of awe and terror. From horizon to blue
> horizon, broken slabs
> of ice floated on a web of inky sea. Huge bergs towered in the distance
like
> frozen cathedrals,
> and the low sun lent a fiery aura to all it touched. The silence was near
> absolute, save for my
> breathing and the distant grind and crackle of ice meeting ice. I was
alone.
> Alone as any man has ever been.
Splendid imagery, old chap.
> My own floe was roughly rectangular in shape - perhaps sixty feet by
forty.
> It was dwarfed by some of the nearby massifs, a vulnerable speck in the
> huge,
> ever-shifting seascape.
>
> I managed to stop gawping at my surroundings in time to snatch my sextant
gawping->gaping, for a more period feel?
> anger to my eyes, and I found myself ready to curse God for his casual,
> indifferent malice.
I don't think you need both casual and indifferent. Personally I'd go with
casual.
> Soon, however, I calmed.. Acceptance settled peacefully upon me, and I
felt
calmed..->calmed down?
> A pod of
> three Killer Whales had taken it upon themselves to provide an escort,
> patiently
> following in my wake, waiting for the inevitable.
I think those guys would be jumping onto the ice to get him, from the nature
programmes I've seen.
> I awoke on the morning of my fifth day adrift to the realisation that it
> would be my last. The wind had risen, and the sea was bending to its will.
and was bending the sea to its will?
Enjoyed it.
--
Fraser
Some replies below.
"Huw Lyan Thomas" <h...@NOhexSPAMlibrisPLEASE.com> wrote in message
news:a9rh2e$75t$1...@knossos.btinternet.com...
> "Fraser" <fra...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
> news:a9r54s$5mfgv$1...@ID-116198.news.dfncis.de...
> > When I awoke, the storm had abated. It was still inside my little tent,
> and
>
> the first time I read that, I thought the storm was still inside his tent
Ha! You're right, of course. How dumb.
> > Alone as any man has ever been.
>
> Splendid imagery, old chap.
>
Thank you, sir.
> > My own floe was roughly rectangular in shape - perhaps sixty feet by
> forty.
> > It was dwarfed by some of the nearby massifs, a vulnerable speck in the
> > huge,
> > ever-shifting seascape.
> >
> > I managed to stop gawping at my surroundings in time to snatch my
sextant
>
> gawping->gaping, for a more period feel?
>
probably much better, thanks
> > anger to my eyes, and I found myself ready to curse God for his casual,
> > indifferent malice.
>
> I don't think you need both casual and indifferent. Personally I'd go with
> casual.
>
I think I should ditch both and find a better one.
> > Soon, however, I calmed.. Acceptance settled peacefully upon me, and I
> felt
>
> calmed..->calmed down?
>
right, who stole my down? eh?
> > A pod of
> > three Killer Whales had taken it upon themselves to provide an escort,
> > patiently
> > following in my wake, waiting for the inevitable.
>
> I think those guys would be jumping onto the ice to get him, from the
nature
> programmes I've seen.
>
>
hmmm. killer cod, maybe? <g>
> > I awoke on the morning of my fifth day adrift to the realisation that it
> > would be my last. The wind had risen, and the sea was bending to its
will.
>
> and was bending the sea to its will?
>
not sure. does it make a difference?
> Enjoyed it.
>
Glad you did, and thanks again.
Fraser
> --
>
> Huw
> www.sensecast.com
>
>
>
Huw Lyan Thomas
> > > would be my last. The wind had risen, and the sea was bending to its
> will.
> >
> > and was bending the sea to its will?
> >
>
> not sure. does it make a difference?
Not a big one, but the first time I read the sentence, I parsed "its" as
referring to the sea, rather than the wind. There's an active/passive thing,
as well. But it's a matter of taste, of course.
--
Alaric
Downloaded it for later reading, scanned the first paragraph and couldn't
leave it alone. Afterwards, I had to go round the websites. There wasn't a
real survivor, was there? Just interested. Can't find a reference. Doesn't
matter one way or the other of course. You create this guy's desperation and
subsequent acceptance with a real sharp eye, and I was fascinated
throughout.
> The long, rumbling boom was clearly audible beneath the shrieking of the
wind.
This is a grabber of an opening.
> I had wrapped scarves so thickly about my face that I could see only
through a narrow, ice-obscured slit.
You're putting me right there. I'm even cold.
> The ice-shelf had split, and in my weariness I had failed to grasp my
plight in time.
We moved apart and he faded into the whirling clouds of ice.
Awful. Just awful. Can't imagine how this would feel.
> Unlike poor, brave Oates, who had known himself to be a drain on the
team's resources, I had all the food I could eat and more. His final walk
out into the snow had been an act of unimaginable courage, whereas mine
would be one of cowardice.
Cowardice? Why would he feel that? There's no choice involved here.
> I would live with my guilt, but by God I would live.
Nice. I'd cut my.
> Huge bergs towered in the distance like frozen cathedrals, and the low sun
lent a fiery aura to all it touched. The silence was near absolute, save for
my breathing and the distant grind and crackle of ice meeting ice. I was
alone. Alone as any man has ever been.
This is such an enchanting and magical paragraph that you shouldn't ruin it
with those last two sentences.
> Scott had immense mental strength - enough to pull the other three along
with him if required.
Ah, the litanies of hope. But hadn't he already given up by now?
> The closer I got to possible human contact, the warmer it would get. The
warmer it got, the smaller my floe would become.
Took him a while to work that one out, didn't it? <g>
I existed in a state of peace I can only describe as monastic - I had
finally leaned the power of acceptance, and only in my weakest moments would
an ironic voice in my ear whisper what a shame it was that I had only learnt
how to live just as I was about to die.
Nice, but on rereading - learned to live? Is monastic isolation a way of
learning to live? I dunno.
> It sank slowly in the clear water, only to be struck by a huge black
shadow with a speed and force that made me shudder. I prayed that the cold
would have me senseless before those same jaws closed around me.
Er. . . .
Whistles.
Takes walk round room. Doesn't want to cock up Fraser's story.
Comes back. Swallows.
Quotes from two web sites (not checkin' up on ya, honest. It just hit me
while I was reading. Watch too much National Geographic.)
> Orca pods also attack and kill other whales including the enormous blue
whales and even other orcas. And in some areas, killer whales make
astonishing leaps from deep water onto beaches to grab a stray seal from the
shore. With these behaviors, it's easy to see how people might think orcas
are ruthless killers that will attack anything in the water, including
people. But it's not so. ORCAS eat almost every marine animal in the world's
oceans but have no taste for land creatures, such as us. And they get plenty
of opportunities. In 1977, an orca, with no warning, struck a racing boat
off the coast of Brazil. The boat sank in 15 minutes, leaving some crew
members in a life raft and some in the water. The four or five orcas there
did not attack either the swimmers or the raft, and all sailors survived.
The collision with the boat was likely an accident on the whale's part.
And the other:-
> Killer whales, or orcas, are actually the largest member of the dolphin
family and the top predator in the marine environment. Spanish whalers
called orcas "whale killers" after observing them hunt in packs, killing or
overcoming marine mammals, including whales. Somehow, their name got turned
around to today's designation, "killer whales." No accurate report exists of
orcas in the wild attacking or killing humans.I could not help but wonder
what I had done to deserve the punishments that were being heaped upon me,
each new torment endowed with fresh hooks of cruelty.
Suppose your character might not know this, but you might be better with
sharks.
> Every second or third wave was washing over the floe by the time they were
close enough to launch a longboat, and the Killer Whales had moved in so
near that I could hear their strange, clicking language above the sounds of
the wind and the sea.
Lovely para, though, despite the whales.
> 'Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood,
endurance and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart.'
Great concluding quote.
Exceptional.
Fraser
Thanks for the read and comments. Invaluable as always. I hope my formatting
cock-ups didn't make it too hard to read, but I didn't want to keep posting
until I got it right.
Some comments on yours below :
"Alaric" <alar...@btinternet.com> wrote in message
news:a9shdr$ig4$1...@knossos.btinternet.com...
> Love this, Fraser. Just love it. Some wonderful narrative and tension.
> Downloaded it for later reading, scanned the first paragraph and couldn't
> leave it alone. Afterwards, I had to go round the websites. There wasn't a
> real survivor, was there? Just interested. Can't find a reference. Doesn't
> matter one way or the other of course. You create this guy's desperation
and
> subsequent acceptance with a real sharp eye, and I was fascinated
> throughout.
No, there was no survivor, but I'm very glad you felt the need to check. :-)
>
> > Unlike poor, brave Oates, who had known himself to be a drain on the
> team's resources, I had all the food I could eat and more. His final walk
> out into the snow had been an act of unimaginable courage, whereas mine
> would be one of cowardice.
>
> Cowardice? Why would he feel that? There's no choice involved here.
I had in mind that he would see it as cowardice to end his own life just
because all seemed lost -- with no good reason except his own fear. I just
can't see one of those guys doing that, but I may well be wrong.
>
> > I would live with my guilt, but by God I would live.
>
> Nice. I'd cut my.
yes, much better.
>
> > Huge bergs towered in the distance like frozen cathedrals, and the low
sun
> lent a fiery aura to all it touched. The silence was near absolute, save
for
> my breathing and the distant grind and crackle of ice meeting ice. I was
> alone. Alone as any man has ever been.
>
> This is such an enchanting and magical paragraph that you shouldn't ruin
it
> with those last two sentences.
>
thanks, and you're right. those two were scheduled for execution, but
escaped with the help of a crooked screw...
> > Scott had immense mental strength - enough to pull the other three along
> with him if required.
>
> Ah, the litanies of hope. But hadn't he already given up by now?
>
Scott? Not yet. The blizzard they were in when my fictional crack occured
was the one that would finally pin them down. My man drifted out of it.
Because I say so. <g>
> > The closer I got to possible human contact, the warmer it would get. The
> warmer it got, the smaller my floe would become.
>
> Took him a while to work that one out, didn't it? <g>
Think I spelled it out too much? :-)
>
> I existed in a state of peace I can only describe as monastic - I had
> finally leaned the power of acceptance, and only in my weakest moments
would
> an ironic voice in my ear whisper what a shame it was that I had only
learnt
> how to live just as I was about to die.
>
> Nice, but on rereading - learned to live? Is monastic isolation a way of
> learning to live? I dunno.
>
I was going for acceptance as a way to live, not the monastic life that
engendered it.
> > It sank slowly in the clear water, only to be struck by a huge black
> shadow with a speed and force that made me shudder. I prayed that the cold
> would have me senseless before those same jaws closed around me.
>
> Er. . . .
>
> Whistles.
>
> Takes walk round room. Doesn't want to cock up Fraser's story.
>
Heh. Don't worry, Huw beat you to it. You're both right. Sharks is a better
idea, although I liked cod too...
> > 'Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood,
> endurance and courage of my companions which would have stirred the
heart.'
>
> Great concluding quote.
>
Glad you weren't offended that I cut the reference to Englishmen from the
quote! Sounded a little Imperial.
> Exceptional.
>
>
Thanks again, Al. Glad you enjoyed it.
Fraser
Anopheles
"Fraser" wrote:
> Screwed up the formatting on the last one and had to go through and
> hand-format this one - I hope it comes out better.
>
>
> ADRIFT
>
> Fraser Thomson
>
>
> The long, rumbling boom was clearly audible beneath the shrieking of the
> wind. I raised my head. Scott - barely visible through the blizzard
although
> not
> twenty yards ahead of me - turned to search for the source of the sound.
My
> collar was buttoned high and I had wrapped scarves so thickly about my
face
> that I could see only through a narrow, ice-obscured slit. But I could see
> Scott,
> and his sudden frantic waving and pointing caused me to halt in my tracks
> and pull the frozen woolen layers from my face.
Great start, Fraser.
comma after crawled in.
> When I awoke, the storm had abated. It was still inside my little tent,
and
> the air felt noticeably warmer.
Problem here between 1st and 2nd sentences. You mean onr thing, it says
another. Use a word other than "still" to correct it.
Looks like he'll be coming through the heads anytime now. I'll put the
kettle on.
Not know for their taste for humans, are they?
Is that likely?
Love it, Fraser. Very well written.
Not sure you couldn't shorten it though.
Tale of Woe
Floe go
No Ho Ho
Whales show
Big blow!
Keep low
Fram Ho!
Good Oh!
No?
Anopheles
Quadpus
> Screwed up the formatting on the last one and had to go through and
> hand-format this one - I hope it comes out better.
Er, it didn't. What's the rule...hard line breaks every 72 characters?
> Please excuse the criminal liberties I've taken with both the geography and
> the history of Antarctica
Speaking as a native Antarctican, I take offense at the glib and
stereotyped manner with which you have portrayed my homeland.
Seriously, though, I thought this was a great story. Very tight and
suspenseful. There were some lovely visual moments and I'm deathly
afraid of killer whales now. Nice work. Wouldn't change a thing.
4Xpus
Fraser
"Anopheles" <hison...@bluep.com> wrote in message
news:3cc2...@pan.izone.net.au...
> Love it, Fraser. Very well written.
>
> Not sure you couldn't shorten it though.
>
>
> Tale of Woe
>
> Floe go
> No Ho Ho
> Whales show
> Big blow!
> Keep low
> Fram Ho!
> Good Oh!
>
> No?
>
> Anopheles
LOL!
Thanks Barry, for the nits and the compliment and especially the poem. :-)
The whales are gone. Buggers .
Fraser
Fraser
"Quadpus" <qua...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:7dd67e3a.02042...@posting.google.com...
> "Fraser" <fra...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:<a9r54s$5mfgv$1...@ID-116198.news.dfncis.de>...
> > Screwed up the formatting on the last one and had to go through and
> > hand-format this one - I hope it comes out better.
>
> Er, it didn't. What's the rule...hard line breaks every 72 characters?
I really don't know what I did wrong with this one. Normally manage it just
fine...:-(
>
> > Please excuse the criminal liberties I've taken with both the geography
and
> > the history of Antarctica
>
> Speaking as a native Antarctican, I take offense at the glib and
> stereotyped manner with which you have portrayed my homeland.
>
Heh. Show me your passport.
> Seriously, though, I thought this was a great story. Very tight and
> suspenseful. There were some lovely visual moments and I'm deathly
> afraid of killer whales now. Nice work. Wouldn't change a thing.
>
> 4Xpus
Thanks, Quad. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Fraser
Huw Lyan Thomas
news:3cc2...@pan.izone.net.au...
> Tale of Woe
>
> Floe go
> No Ho Ho
> Whales show
> Big blow!
> Keep low
> Fram Ho!
> Good Oh!
>
> No?
Love it!
--
Alaric
> > Floe go
> > No Ho Ho
> > Whales show
> > Big blow!
> > Keep low
> > Fram Ho!
> > Good Oh!
Bloody hell. What's that Jervis started now?
Alaric
> > No Ho Ho
> > Whales show
> > Big blow!
> > Keep low
> > Fram Ho!
> > Good Oh!
Bloody hell. What's that Jervis started now?
Alaric McDermott
>>> The closer I got to possible human contact, the warmer it would
get. The warmer it got, the smaller my floe would become.
>> Took him a while to work that one out, didn't it? <g>
> Think I spelled it out too much? :-)
No, not at all. The reader needs the clarity.
Rick LeBlanc
> Screwed up the formatting on the last one and had to go through and
> hand-format this one - I hope it comes out better.
That's okay. It's a great story and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Very solid
writing, Fraser. Loved the voice, the tension and the moments of hope,
surrender and personal reflection.
Nice of you to share this. I'm sure you could sell it otherwise.
Rick
>The long, rumbling boom was clearly audible beneath the shrieking of the
> wind...
grizzellda
> Screwed up the formatting on the last one and had to go through and
> hand-format this one - I hope it comes out better.
>
>
> ADRIFT
>
> Fraser Thomson
>
>
Heh, I just commented on the first post. I think it's the same, just
different formatting, no?
grizzellda
grizzellda
>
> Not sure you couldn't shorten it though.
>
>
> Tale of Woe
>
> Floe go
> No Ho Ho
> Whales show
> Big blow!
> Keep low
> Fram Ho!
> Good Oh!
>
> No?
>
> Anopheles
>
>
>
NO!
grizzellda
>
>
Fraser
"Rick LeBlanc" <tow...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:mvhx8.5321$cT2.3...@news-nb00s0.nbnet.nb.ca...
> Fraser wrote: ADRIFT
> > Screwed up the formatting on the last one and had to go through and
> > hand-format this one - I hope it comes out better.
>
> That's okay. It's a great story and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Very solid
> writing, Fraser. Loved the voice, the tension and the moments of hope,
> surrender and personal reflection.
> Nice of you to share this. I'm sure you could sell it otherwise.
>
> Rick
Thanks, Rick. Much appreciated. When will be seeing another story from your
good self? Been a while, methinks.
Fraser
Longden
>Screwed up the formatting on the last one and had to go through and
>hand-format this one - I hope it comes out better.
>
>
>ADRIFT
>
>Fraser Thomson
>
>..........
I would swear you were there. Not just the Antarctic setting, but the convincing
observations on hope, fear, impending death. Great stuff.
--
Longden
Phraser
<Longden> wrote in message news:3ccf1f34...@news.clara.net...
Thank you, Longden. Glad you enjoyed it.
Fraser
Bradley Stoke
You said (wisely):
> Please excuse the criminal liberties I've taken with both the geography and
> the history of Antarctica
You are in very dangerous territory. I can't think of an expedition as
heavily documented and speculated on as Scott's ill-fated trek to the
South Pole. There is no definitive text, but I'd recommend Apsley
Cherry-Gerrard's "Worst Journey in the World" and Beryl Bainbridge's
"Birthday Boys". Both, in very different ways, excellent accounts of
the event.
As you almost certainly know, much of your story is just not right.
And just as Trekkies probably come down on you like a ton of bricks if
you get some Borg's hairstyle wrong or some detail about the Klingons
slightly awry, there must be already a lot of people out there
sharpening their pencils (to use a rather anachronistic term) while
they think what particular detail to take offence at.
However, having said all that, the story wasn't too bad. Though I felt
it would have been improved if the extreme conditions were described
in more detail. From what I've heard about the Antarctic, there really
is virtually nothing on the planet to compare with it. I think that
there is a fresh story struggling to emerge which would not antagonise
a section of your potential readership that focuses rather more on the
feel of the despair and desolation, and rather less on the narrative.
Bradley Stoke
Fraser
Bring em on! :) Seriously, if anyone is about to get upset because I
invented a character and a situation and linked them to Scott's expedition,
they need to get out more. Historical fiction. Pure fiction. 'Nuff said.
Fraser
"Bradley Stoke" <bradle...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:c4b08ced.02050...@posting.google.com...