Thread: Chasing North on Faith

I had been waiting on the call for over a month. My buddy was getting impatient with me. I had given up my apartment and job thinking I would receive the call soon and would be out and on my way. I had very little money to help him out with rent or utilities, but I gave him what I could and he was understanding and thankful, even while I spent any extra change I had drinking beer at the neighborhood bar. I was biding my time, waiting to proceed onward, seaward, looking for a new pot of gold; I was excited but frustrated and felt I’d been left in limbo, not knowing when the call would come through, or if it would come through. Did I forget to send in a certain piece of paperwork or not spell my name correctly on one of the many forms I filled out? Did I send in the next of kin form, signing off any personal wealth in the event of a torpedo attack? I wasn’t sure; the amount of paperwork, certificates, endorsements, security clearances, insurance forms, etc., was confusing and large, and many seemed redundant and arbitrary. But what did I know? I was going on faith. The call finally came through. They wanted me in Bellingham on February 12, a Friday, ready to board at 1430, at the latest.

The number 25 bus, north to Belingham, left at nine a.m. The bus ride started out relaxing. It had not been the feared overcrowded coach filled with small children and spastic teenagers, released felons and a swinging bathroom door that wouldn’t latch. I had my own pair of seats to stretch out on and watched the scenery pass by outside the window. Most of the people on board were heading to Vancouver, B.C., for the Olympics. They were well dressed, but casual, and I expect excited, but if they were they kept quiet and to themselves. I was excited too, clean shaven for the first time in two years, and feeling comparatively sane now that I was moving onto something new, something I knew nothing about and had very little expectations of, beyond the fact that I felt my life was going to begin changing in ways I couldn’t predict, and I welcomed that eventuality, whatever it would bring.

In Everett, a woman in a black mini-skirt, black leggings, black high heels, and a red, close fitting sweater climbed on board. She was tall and well built. She was overburdened by a cache of shopping bags clutched in one hand, like a rustling army of small dogs, and a backpack in the other. She sat next to me after stowing her bags overhead and sat down with a sigh. Bright red lipstick was smeared across her mouth and mascara circled her eyes in heavy strokes. Her hair was pulled up off the top her head with a hair tie, like a young girl’s; it looked like a squirrel’s tail. She looked to be in her mid- forties to early fifties. She was crazy; loose screws, too much glue, something wacky, but sane enough to function; it was something from experience and not her mother’s womb, so it seemed. She hemmed and hawed and sighed and touched my thigh with her thigh and with her fingers, brushed my shoulder with her hair and giggled loudly and followed me off the bus at the next stop to have a cigarette. People looked at us and I thought about it, thought about the working latch on the bathroom door, about how to sneak us both in there, then I gave it up, crushed out my cigarette and went back to the bus. She got off two stops later and crawled into a crouching red sports car with tinted windows, throwing her bags in before her with shrill exclamations of, ”hey baby!”

The ship was beautiful. M/V Malaspina, is 408 feet long and about fifty feet from water line to housetop. She is navy blue and gold and white; the stack is navy blue with the Big Dipper and North Star – the ancient seaman’s center for navigation in the northern hemisphere, and Alaska’s state flag – in gold on either side, port and starboard. She is big and impressive. I walked down the ramp, it was like walking down the tongue of a great beast, and into her breast.

I was going to sea, but not really going to sea, not yet. We would experience the sea as it blew and rolled in from the Pacific, barreling down upon us with a fury that I knew from stories was only a tease of what the Pacific can really do (but the storm we did hit it was furious none the less, and it caused significant damage to the ship and sent passengers of all ages swinging and staggering about the decks, searching for the nearest bucket or toilet, trying to find balance in forty foot seas that caused us to pitch and roll and yaw and worry and see the wheel-house disappear in spray). But even on calm days the Pacific was felt when we churned our way across Dixon Entrance or through Queen Charlotte Sound, or any of the other smaller straits that lead directly out to the big blue and the world beyond. The rest of the time we were in waters protected by rows of densely scattered islands, leeward of the Pacific, and the scenery was an exposure to natural beauty like I had never seen. Mountains rose, snow-capped and craggy, straight out of the water; translucent blue glaciers fled, churning in full motion and grinding away - the sound was loud and visual, and there was nothing to hear - leaving eroded niches on the shoulders of mountains and tumbling in violent stillness into the coastal waters. Whales breached, porpoise swam in the wake off of the bow, it was pure and clean, the air was sweet, the peaks ran into the distance, contrails from high flying jets led pink tracers in the evening sky when the sun set on a clear, early spring day. I kept busy bumping around the machine spaces, busting my knuckles and cracking my head on low slung pipes. I was learning a new trade, and I was on my way. Going to where? I didn’t know.

I'll begin with some general comments. You are a wonderful writer; the imagery is moving and poetic, descriptive enough to make me feel as though I were there, yet seemingly connected to something larger. Sentence structure was, for the most part, nicely balanced and varied, though I did note a few bits of repetition in the beginning (a lot of sentences begin with I). Overall you did well and I really enjoyed reading this.

Originally Posted by sailorguitar

I had been waiting on the call for over a month. My buddy was getting impatient with me. I had given up my apartment and job thinking I would receive the call soon and would be out and on my way. I had very little money to help him out with rent or utilities, but I gave him what I could and he was understanding and thankful, even while I spent any extra change I had drinking beer at the neighborhood bar. I was biding my time, waiting to proceed onward, seaward, looking for a new pot of gold; I was excited but frustrated and felt I’d been left in limbo, not knowing when the call would come through, or if it would come through. Did I forget to send in a certain piece of paperwork or not spell my name correctly on one of the many forms I filled out? Did I send in the next of kin form, signing off any personal wealth in the event of a torpedo attack? I wasn’t sure; the amount of paperwork, certificates, endorsements, security clearances, insurance forms, etc., was confusing and large, and many seemed redundant and arbitrary. But what did I know? I was going on faith. The call finally came through. They wanted me in Bellingham on February 12, a Friday, ready to board at 1430, at the latest.

Already I am a little bit confused. From the information you provide, I can deduce that you are waiting on a call from the navy: it is dangerous (all the forms), it is on the sea/related to the sea, and your mentioning of torpedos. You end with "Going to where? I don't know."--so maybe you want the job to be a mystery. The only reason it is confusing is that giving up your house and possessions on the faith of getting a job seems like quite an extreme act, especially since the average person would not do something like this for the average job. Thus I recommend either that you let on what the job is, so that the sacrifice is placed into context...or, maybe describe more what drew you to the job. In essence: contextualize the sacrifice.

The number 25 bus, north to Belingham, left at nine a.m. The bus ride started out relaxing. It had not been the feared overcrowded coach filled with small children and spastic teenagers, released felons and a swinging bathroom door that wouldn’t latch. I had my own pair of seats to stretch out on and watched the scenery pass by outside the window. Most of the people on board were heading to Vancouver, B.C., for the Olympics. They were well dressed, but casual, and I expect excited, but if they were they kept quiet and to themselves. I was excited too, clean shaven for the first time in two years, and feeling comparatively sane now that I was moving onto something new, something I knew nothing about and had very little expectations of, beyond the fact that I felt my life was going to begin changing in ways I couldn’t predict, and I welcomed that eventuality, whatever it would bring.

The only question I have with this paragraph is your statement that the bus ride "started out" relaxing. Is this foreshadowing for the woman? It might be best to either drop the "started out", letting the reader simply know that the ride was relaxing, or follow up with how the bus ride changed when the woman got on board.

In Everett, a woman in a black mini-skirt, black leggings, black high heels, and a red, close fitting sweater climbed on board. She was tall and well built. She was overburdened by a cache of shopping bags clutched in one hand, like a rustling army of small dogs, and a backpack in the other. She sat next to me after stowing her bags overhead and sat down with a sigh. Bright red lipstick was smeared across her mouth and mascara circled her eyes in heavy strokes. Her hair was pulled up off the top her head with a hair tie, like a young girl’s; it looked like a squirrel’s tail. She looked to be in her mid- forties to early fifties. She was crazy; loose screws, too much glue, something wacky, but sane enough to function; it was something from experience and not her mother’s womb, so it seemed. She hemmed and hawed and sighed and touched my thigh with her thigh and with her fingers, brushed my shoulder with her hair and giggled loudly and followed me off the bus at the next stop to have a cigarette. People looked at us and I thought about it, thought about the working latch on the bathroom door, about how to sneak us both in there, then I gave it up, crushed out my cigarette and went back to the bus. She got off two stops later and crawled into a crouching red sports car with tinted windows, throwing her bags in before her with shrill exclamations of, ”hey baby!”

It seems like the girl is a significant part of this story (if not, then why add it?). There is a heavy repetition of black and red in this part (symbolism?). I'd vary the wording (black, satin, dark as night, etc.) unless you have a reason for repeating black and red over and over. Another thing was that I found her character a bit strange. You state that she was crazy--but how? Maybe give a few examples of those. Also, you say that she begins to flirt with you, but do not really describe her in a sexy way; to justify your thoughts of taking her into the bathroom, maybe you should describe her introduction in a way that makes it seem as if you were attracted to her?

The ship was beautiful. M/V Malaspina, is 408 feet long and about fifty feet from water line to housetop. She is navy blue and gold and white; the stack is navy blue with the Big Dipper and North Star – the ancient seaman’s center for navigation in the northern hemisphere, and Alaska’s state flag – in gold on either side, port and starboard. She is big and impressive. I walked down the ramp, it was like walking down the tongue of a great beast, and into her breast.

Only thing with this paragraph is a shift in tenses...the ship is described in the present tense, but your actions are in past tense.

I was going to sea, but not really going to sea, not yet. We would experience the sea as it blew and rolled in from the Pacific, barreling down upon us with a fury that I knew from stories was only a tease of what the Pacific can really do (but the storm we did hit it was furious none the less, and it caused significant damage to the ship and sent passengers of all ages swinging and staggering about the decks, searching for the nearest bucket or toilet, trying to find balance in forty foot seas that caused us to pitch and roll and yaw and worry and see the wheel-house disappear in spray). But even on calm days the Pacific was felt when we churned our way across Dixon Entrance or through Queen Charlotte Sound, or any of the other smaller straits that lead directly out to the big blue and the world beyond. The rest of the time we were in waters protected by rows of densely scattered islands, leeward of the Pacific, and the scenery was an exposure to natural beauty like I had never seen. Mountains rose, snow-capped and craggy, straight out of the water; translucent blue glaciers fled, churning in full motion and grinding away - the sound was loud and visual, and there was nothing to hear - leaving eroded niches on the shoulders of mountains and tumbling in violent stillness into the coastal waters. Whales breached, porpoise swam in the wake off of the bow, it was pure and clean, the air was sweet, the peaks ran into the distance, contrails from high flying jets led pink tracers in the evening sky when the sun set on a clear, early spring day. I kept busy bumping around the machine spaces, busting my knuckles and cracking my head on low slung pipes. I was learning a new trade, and I was on my way. Going to where? I don’t know.

This is my favorite paragraph-the imagery is absolutely gorgeous! I do not, however, feel any kind of resolution with the beginning of the story. I assume, from the sounds of it, that you got the job? The climax of your story appears to rest upon the assumption of whether or not you would get the job...that's why you made the sacrifices, and that is why the journey north is such an act of faith. Yet, by the time it ends, I am left wondering how the climax was resolved. I would add in another paragraph, maybe right as you get to the ship, explaining how your sacrifice and your journey of faith was resolved. Other than that, great writing! Keep it up!

Thank you for the critique. I unfortunately don't have the time to work on this... have to go away for work. The story is about getting into something new, doing something that is completely foreign to any experiences in the past, and because of that it shades everything in newness. Things take on unknown meanings, so my fuel was faith; haveing the faith that things would work out, without knowing how. Thanks for reading and the reply.