Writing in the Woods

Writing in the Woods. 



           I have always been a city boy, lived in the Big Town all my life. I really like being where everything and everyone is within close reach. The way I have long I seen the world is that if anything interesting is going on, it’s happening in the city – good jobs, good food, big league sports, and multiple movies and musical acts from which to choose.

           So why am I heading for a remote cabin right now. It’s a long story, which is more than I can say about my ‘work of literature’ as my wife calls it. I retired about a month ago. I had been anticipating it for quite some time, even though I hadn’t really had any definite thoughts about what I would be doing with all my new-found free time.

           In my spare time, when I wasn’t at work or out somewhere enjoying city life, I wrote short stories. They gave me joy, but what I really wanted to do was write a novel, why my ever-joking wife called a ‘novel idea’ for my retirement.

           The problem was that I was going nowhere with the big story. I felt that there were too many sounds, too many people on the street and too many lights on at night that I could see out my window, for me to concentrate on my ‘work of literature.’

           While I certainly didn’t resent the presence of my wife, I was beginning to be distracted by her. We had a friend who had the same idea about writing a novel in his retirement years, and we had listened to him and his wife complaining about the lack of respect they were receiving from each other. I did not want that to happen with us. Our relationship was too important for that.

           Then my wife came up with an idea. We owned a cabin in the woods that my father gave us in his will. We had never been there yet, as we had no idea what we could do ‘way out there’. One evening when I was making quite audible sounds and shaking signs of frustration, my wife suggested the cabin, ‘just to get a good start on your story.’ I surprised myself by how fast I said ‘yes’ to her. 

           So here I am driving out to the family’s little parallel-logged piece of wilderness. As there was no electrical power in the cabin, I brought with me not the computer whose blank screen had been haunting me for days, but a handful of pens and plenty of pads of paper on which to write.        

           I’d like to say that, freed from the constraints of the city, I soon began to write freely, but that would be an outright lie. During the first week, I created a substantial pile of papers with writing scratched out, sometimes with enough force to tear the paper. 

           Then it happened – an inspiration that would last for days. But it didn’t come from me..

The Opening Chapter of the Book

           “I’d often thought that the metaphor of the wind ‘howling like a wolf’ was something of an exaggeration. But then, I had never heard, outside of the exaggerations of television sound- tracks, either a wind or a wolf that made such a sound. That was until today. I was sitting at what I would call my desk, put it was really a table, when I heard a strange sound.

           At first I thought that it was the wind, as the branches I could see from out of one of the cabin’s two windows were bending in towards the cabin. But then, quite suddenly, it stopped. It made me curious, so I opened the door. The branches were still bending, but there was no howling. Then, all of a sudden, the sound began again, but there was no change in the bending of the branches. I had no idea what was going on until I saw it. There was a rather large wolf walking in my general direction, occasionally howling, but in shorter utterances than before. I guess I could have made it back to the cabin and shut the door, but for some unexplainable reason I just stood there, staring into the bright glowing yellow eyes of the approaching wolf, as dramatic a colour as the howling was a sound. I had read somewhere that a wolf can mesmerize its intended victim with its eyes. I was very close to living it at that time.

           He stopped (I would not know his gender until a little later) about four human paces in front of me, and just stared my way. He was definitely a wolf not a husky, as there was no wagging to his tail, and no barking. Yet in no way did he threaten me. 

           He ended his stare by slowly turning and walking away, casting his eyes back my way several times like he was expecting me to follow him. I did so, thinking it fortunate that that I had a sharp knife strapped to my belt. .

           Then he led me to what I would guess was his den. Lying there was a sorry sight. It was a female wolf on her side, caught on one foot a leg-hold trap.  She moved a little, so I knew that she was still alive.  Curiously, I also noticed that there was what looked like a well-worn and sometimes chewed dog collar not far from where she was ling.  Using my knife to do some prying, I was able, with some intense effort, to set her free. She got up slowly and limped over to her mate.

           The next day brought a different sort of surprise. I heard the now familiar howling, and went to the door. I couldn’t see him, but I could see, smell and almost step on a dead rabbit that had been dropped directly in front of the door.

           Our friendship grew over the next few days, and actually I started thinking about cooking one of the presented rabbits in the fireplace. I burned the first one, but eventually learned how to do the job properly. I won’t say that they taste like chicken.

           Here is my story of the weeks to follow. No important detail will be left out.”

Words to My Wife

           What do you think Martha? Our local newspaper reviewed my book quite positively, referring to it as a “remarkable example of the author’s imaginative writing”. I know that we rather debated whether or not I should reveal the truth about the story, but now I think that you were right in saying that the manuscript wouldn’t even get published if I tried to sell it to a publisher as ‘creative non-fiction’, which, of course, it was. As you know, all of it really took place. I am glad that people think that it is fiction. I wouldn’t want local people crowding the woods looking for my wolf companion and his family.