My roommate showed me this very interesting book a few weeks ago called The Mysteries of Harris Burdick.
In the introduction, it says that a man named Harris Burdick came to the publisher with a set of drawings. "I've got a story planned out for each of these drawings. Would you publish them?" the man asked. The publisher took a look at the set. Each page had an odd picture, a title and one line of a story. He was intrigued. He agreed to publish Harris Burdick's stories. Burdick left the pictures with the publisher and went away to write the stories, but never was to be seen again. Eventually, years later, the publisher decided to publish the pictures without the stories.
So, my idea for a writing prompt is this. I'll post below the links to a few of the pictures, and then we can all choose one to write about. Sound good?
Picture one: Mr. Linden's Library. "He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late."
Picture two: The Third Floor Bedroom. "It all began when someone left the window open."
Picture three: The Seven Chairs. "The fifth one ended up in France."
If you guys like this idea, we might do some of the other illustrations as well.
Duh, you're allowed. I might write something on this soon. Maybe tomorrow. We'll see.
ReplyDeleteLove them. Let's do these. How about we each choose one or more to write on and go for it.
ReplyDeleteI took the first picture... And I kind of got so caught up in it, I have no idea how long I've worked on it. Also, I'm not even to the point the picture shows. However! I will write that bit. Eventually. I'm just too tired to finish right now. So we'll say this is Picture One: Part One.
ReplyDelete~
The library was very still, the steady ticking of the clock over the cold fireplace the only sound. The walls were lined with crammed bookshelves, save a small space where a window let in a stream of lazy yellow light to bleach a patch of the rug. A huge desk took up almost half the room.
Samantha Eager peered through the doorway, half afraid to intrude on the dusty silence of the room.
“Stotle?” she called softly. There was silence for a moment, then a drowsy purr emanated from the corner and a furry black head poked up behind the desk, where the cat had been napping on the over-stuffed chair.
“Come here, Stotle, it’s time for breakfast.”
Stotle cocked his head to one side and extended a paw. “Mrow?”
“Yeah, c’mon, Stotle, good boy. Good kitty!”
Stotle did not seem pleased with the baby talk. Sitting back on his haunches, he began licking his tail, his attitude no longer interested in the least. Sam groaned. “Stupid cat,” she muttered to herself. Feeling much too loud to be allowed, she clomped across the room and seized the cat around its silky middle.
Holding him none too gently as he squirmed and yowled, Sam carried him down the stairs to the kitchen, where she set him down in front of his bowl.
“There. Now you – hey!”
Sam lunged for the cat as he streaked past, but she was too slow. Cursing feline kind, she scrambled back up the stairs after him. She found him sitting exactly in the middle of the rug in the library. Gritting her teeth, Sam moved forward to try again.
Two tries later, and Mr. Linden’s stubborn cat was still refusing to stay in the kitchen.
“You have to eat, stupid!” Sam said, glaring at the cat where he crouched under the enormous desk. After a moment, her shoulders slumped. Taking in a deep breath, she rolled her eyes. “Alright. Alright! You win. I’ll bring your food up here, since you seem to like this place so much. But if I get in trouble, it’s your fault!”
(Continued)
ReplyDeleteSam shook her head, watching Stotle devouring his food smack dab in the middle of the library rug. A whole week of this, and she had yet to succeed in getting Stotle to eat his food in the kitchen. She hoped Mr. Linden wouldn’t mind too much.
Bored, she turned and began to examine the books that filled the shelves.
“Adequate Numerology in the Pioneering Age… Better Scientific Formulas for Household Equations… Et What, Brute: Did Caesar Really Die?... What kind of junk is this? Does he really read all this stuff? Interesting Facts About Lichen in the Eighteenth Century – give me a break! Nobody cares about mold! Why would anyone even write this?”
Surprised that her eccentric, anything-but-boring neighbor would keep such dull books in his library, Sam went around the room, looking at every title. They were all similarly tedious and scholarly. All but one.
“The Prince and the Enchantress.” Sam stared at the name for a minute, then shrugged. “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”
Behind her, Stotle let out a loud, morose “Mrow” and she turned to find his bowl empty. “Good cat,” Sam said, absently. Taking one last glance at the book, she gathered up the bowl and left.
In bed, trying to fall asleep that night, Sam couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Linden’s odd collection of books. Why would he, a man who wore bright orange pajamas out onto the balcony to water his petunias at two in the afternoon and sang opera occasionally in the middle of the night, have all those stuffy books? He didn’t seem the type. And why, when the rest of his library was so dreary, did he have just the one fairy tale? She’d never even heard of that story. The Prince and the Enchantress. Sounded like a good read, maybe. But why did Mr. Linden have it?
The next day, with another trip to Mr. Linden’s apartment completed and all her questions still unanswered, Sam was unable to keep it to herself anymore. Her mother listened very sympathetically over a dinner of chicken and broccoli, then offered some advice.
“Why don’t you ask Mr. Linden? He said we could visit him, you know.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Mom, I’m not going to the hospital just to ask Mr. Linden why he has a stupid book.”
“Then don’t go to ask him about a stupid book. Go because he’s your neighbor, and he’s elderly, and he hasn’t got any family and might like some company.”
(Continued)
ReplyDeleteIt took another week before Sam was able to convince herself to go. Nevertheless, on the twenty fourth of August, there was a tap on the door of ward fourteen, and the nurse let in a skinny, brown haired sixteen year old girl with a daisy in one hand and a ‘get well soon’ card in the other.
“Sam! How’s old Stotle doing?” Mr. Linden crowed from his bed, his eyes alight with glee.
“He’s good.”
“He’s been eating well?”
“Yep.”
“And has he been a good cat?”
Sam looked down at the floor.
“Ha! I thought not. The rogue! What’s he been up to?”
Sam shrugged. “He won’t eat in the kitchen.”
Mr. Linden waved a hand. “Oh, that. He pulls that one on everybody he can; he likes the library too much for his own good! Well, he’s a stubborn puss, but you just call him by his full name and he’ll do what you say.”
“His full name?”
“Aristotle James Pyramus Hoover Linden. He’ll know you’re serious if you go to the bother of saying all that. He likes his nickname better – like you, I suppose, eh, Samantha?”
Mr. Linden laughed, and Sam managed to manufacture an artificial chuckle for his benefit, already wondering what madness had driven her here. Then, remembering, she decided to pose her question.
“Um, Mr. Linden?”
Mr. Linden smiled from beneath his white mustache and looked up at her, his eyes tiny through his spectacles. “Yes, Sam?
“Since Stotle wouldn’t eat anywhere but the library, I’ve spent a lot of time in there, looking at your books, and I was wondering why… your books are all… what makes you decide…”
“You’re wondering why I have such an odd bunch of stories in there?”
Sam nodded.
Mr. Linden chuckled. “Every story in my library has a story outside of what’s written in its pages. How I got it, why I kept it… it’s all up here.” He tapped his head. “Every book in that library is special for some reason or other.”
“What about… the fairy tale?”
Mr. Linden’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Hmm?”
“The Prince and the Enchantress?”
“Ah! The most special book of all,” Mr. Linden said enthusiastically, settling back in his pillows and putting his fingertips together. “That book has an amazing tale.”
“I haven’t read it.”
“Oh, I should imagine not.”
“Is it any good?”
Mr. Linden stared at her for a moment. Then a crazy little half smiled formed on his mustached face. “I’ll tell you what, Miss Eager… you borrow it, read it, and tell me if you think it is any good.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. She shrugged. “Sure. Okay, why not.”
Mr. Linden’s face went serious. “A warning before you read it. Don’t leave the book open and unsupervised. You don’t want to know what’ll happen if you do.”
Sam gulped. “Yes, sir.”
The smile was back. “Good. Now, run along. It’s about time for my afternoon nap.”
...The commenty thingey wouldn't let me post all of it at once. And no wonder. I didn't realize it was *that* long!
DeleteLisa, I wish I'd read this earlier. I love it. It's charming. And Mr. Linden is delightful with his orange pajamas.
ReplyDeleteI did a scene on this as well, but find I don't want to post it. Maybe someday.. when I've finished the story.