Okay, here's what I have for the 800-word version so far:
High on the mountain’s shoulder, the brass-domed observatory kept watch over the village of Willowwink. Inside, Foo had nearly completed the evening’s observations when Mentor drifted in.
He would have helped, but every chart was sorted, every lantern lit, every lens polished. “Already finished?” he asked, sounding impressed and faintly lost.
Foo continued scribbling. “You've taught me well.”
For Mentor, something clicked. After a moment, he walked over and nudged her elbow. “Ask me.”
Foo stopped writing and rolled her eyes. "Mentor –"
"Ask," he instructed.
Foo sighed, going back to her notes. "What is the meaning of life?" she asked, the question routine, the answer always different, and never quite right.
He smiled. He had it this time. "Not to only observe, but to experience."
Foo looked up, uncomfortable with a truth that reverberated in her bones. "Huh."
“Ah," he said, her reaction confirming what he already knew. "At last, I’ve earned my promotion. I am now named Guru. And as my promotion means yours, congratulations, Head Astronomer!”
Guru'd spoken of ascending for months—but Foo was still flummoxed. “Tonight?”
“The stars rarely consider our human timelines,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “You’ll lead the observatory beautifully.”
He drifted off to gather his things. Guru was like a third arm that had decided to detach itself. At the suddenly looming prospect of his absence, Foo felt more incomplete than sad.
Later that night, as Foo descended from the observatory, she turned, briefly, to watch Guru ascend. She turned back toward Willowwink, making a flight that felt even less necessary than usual. Each night she flew down to update Guru's—or, she supposed, now it was her—sandwich board near the fountain.
She often wondered if anyone read her notices, but she might soon find out. After pinning the weather and star updates, she posted her first note that requested a reply.
“Seeking Astronomy Apprentice: Experience unnecessary; curiosity required. Reply if interested.” She pinned it with a star-shaped earring whose twin had vanished long ago.
Unbeknownst to Foo, the board steered the village, nudging plans as subtly and powerfully as wind shifted sand. Harvests, festivals, even market days bent around her updates.
Prince Gorl visited Willowwink daily; its observatory was the only one in his kingdom, and he used her information to keep his realm running smoothly.
He liked to travel disguised as a frog — people demanded more of a prince — but when he read Foo's request, he resumed his human form long enough to reply with his own question.
That evening, Foo returned and found a reply pinned with a tiny crown-shaped tack. It read: “Would you accept a humble frog?”
The next morning, Gorl found that his question had been answered with a question. He laughed, transforming long enough to reply: “Frogs can’t give you warts. You’re thinking of toads.”
When Foo read the frog's reply, she was relieved, but embarrassed. She was proud of her knowledge of astronomy, astrology, and weather, but was fully aware of her ignorance in almost every other arena.
She hoped that she'd learn as much from her new apprentice as he'd learn from her.
A couple of weeks later, Gorl was settling into his new role as Apprentice Astronomer. He was a keen learner, and already helpful. The great telescope hummed softly as Foo adjusted the eyepiece, tracing faint stars along the ridges. Beside her, Gorl crouched on the desk, using the modified lettering armature to transcribe that evening's board update from Foo's observations.
Foo sat up straight and stretched. "I don't even know if anyone reads these things," she murmured, out of habit. Guru had stopped responding to this question, long before he'd left.
The scratching of ink on paper came to an abrupt halt as Gorl stopped manipulating the armature."Are you jesting?" he asked.
Foo looked over at him. "Well, I know that you do—or at least happened to when—"
"Foo, the entire village reads your board every day," Gorl interrupted, hopping a bit in his agitation to her question. "Even I—happen to know that Prince Gorl uses the information to plan out larger festivals, sea trips, and just—everything—with the information that you provide."
Foo, a little alarmed by Gorl's passion at first, was trying to digest the fact that her work was important after all, and not just to the village? The whole kingdom?. Fighting a blush, she asked, "Really? I'm just — always asleep when — I've never even met a villager…."
Gorl stared up at her in amazement. "Why would you do it, if you didn't even know how important it was?" he asked.
Foo thought. "I like doing it. It's important to me, even if it's not to anyone else. The stars feel like friends, and I love that I can see so much from right here."
I like it but it doesn't feel like a complete story. GPT said that it's because the arc isn't complete. In the beginning, Guru says that life isn't just about observing, it's about experiencing, and that doesn't come full circle. It suggested having Foo ask Gorl a question about himself -- showing an interest in something outside of her world.
I think that's a good suggestion, and it could open up potential for the 1600 version, where what Gorl reveals here is expanded upon. I think it would be really funny for Foo to ask Gorl what interested him in the bulletin board in the first place. Which, you know, is because he's the prince and the prince uses the weather reports in order to set up support for his kingdom. Or, maybe, she can ask Gorl if he was named after the prince. That would be really funny. I'm not sure if that will make the story feel complete, but I'm going to do some editing and then I'll ask GPT what it thinks.
Okay, GPT and I agree that this is better:
High on the mountain’s shoulder, the brass-domed observatory kept watch over the village of Willowwink. Inside, Foo had nearly completed the evening’s observations when Mentor drifted in.
He would have helped, but every chart was sorted, every lantern lit, every lens polished. “Already finished?” he asked, sounding impressed and faintly lost.
Foo continued scribbling. “You've taught me well.”
For Mentor, something clicked. After a moment, he walked over and nudged her elbow. “Ask me.”
Foo stopped writing and rolled her eyes. "Mentor –"
"Ask," he instructed.
Foo sighed, going back to her notes. "What is the meaning of life?" she asked, the question routine, the answer always different, and never quite right.
He smiled. He had it this time. "Not to only observe, but to experience."
Foo looked up, uncomfortable with a truth that reverberated in her bones. "Huh."
“Ah," he said, her reaction confirming what he already knew. "At last, I’ve earned my promotion. I am now named Guru. And as my promotion means yours, congratulations, Head Astronomer!”
Guru'd spoken of ascending for years—but Foo was still flummoxed. “Tonight?”
“The stars rarely consider our human timelines,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “You’ll lead the observatory beautifully.”
He drifted off to gather his things.
Later that night, as Foo descended from the observatory, she turned, briefly, to watch Guru ascend. She turned back toward Willowwink, making a flight that felt even less necessary than usual. Each night she flew down to update Guru's—or, she supposed, now it was her—sandwich board near the fountain.
She often wondered if anyone read her notices, but she might soon find out. After pinning the weather and star updates, she held up an additional note.
“Seeking Astronomy Apprentice: Experience unnecessary; curiosity required. Reply if interested.” She pinned it with a star-shaped earring whose twin had vanished long ago.
Unbeknownst to Foo, the board steered the village, nudging plans as subtly and powerfully as wind shifted sand. Harvests, festivals, even market days bent around her updates.
Prince Gorl visited Willowwink daily; its observatory was the only one in his kingdom, and he used her information to keep his realm running smoothly.
He liked to travel disguised as a frog — people demanded more of a prince — but when he read Foo's request, he resumed his human form long enough to reply with his own question.
That evening, Foo returned and found a reply pinned with a tiny crown-shaped tack. It read: “Would you accept a humble frog?”
The next morning, Gorl found that his question had been answered with a question. He laughed, transforming long enough to reply: “Frogs can’t give you warts. You’re thinking of toads.”
When Foo read the frog's reply, she was relieved, but embarrassed. She was proud of her knowledge of astronomy, astrology, and weather, but was fully aware of her ignorance in almost every other arena.
She hoped that she'd learn as much from her new apprentice as he'd learn from her.
A couple of weeks later, the great telescope hummed softly as Foo adjusted the eyepiece, tracing faint stars along the ridges. Beside her, Gorl crouched on the desk, using the modified lettering armature to transcribe that evening's board update from Foo's observations.
Foo sat up straight and stretched. "I don't even know if anyone reads these things," she murmured.
The scratching of ink on paper came to an abrupt halt as Gorl stopped manipulating the armature. "Are you jesting?" he asked.
Foo looked over at him. "Well, I know that you do—or at least happened to when—"
"Foo, the entire village reads your board every day," Gorl interrupted, hopping a bit in his agitation to her question. "Even I—happen to know that Prince Gorl uses the information to plan out larger festivals, sea trips, and just—everything—with the information that you provide."
Foo, a little alarmed by Gorl's passion, fumbled with the telescope. Maybe it was a coincidence, but when she peered back through the telescope, it was focused on Guru's mountaintop. He had shown her his destination many times, in case she ever wanted to visit him when he was gone. Did she? Did she miss him? She didn't know. Guru had been so much a part of her that him leaving was like a third arm that had decided to detach itself. She felt more incomplete than sad.
But a visit wouldn't be enough to complete her. Him returning wouldn't complete her either. He'd have to never have left.
She adjusted the telescope to her favorite constellation. She turned to Gorl, thinking about how odd it must be to be a frog. She realized that she didn't know anything about him. "So, um, 'Gorl', huh? Were you named after the prince?"
Gorl had been staring at her. He blushed, his tiny webbed toes curling slightly. "Oh. Um. Yes."
We both really like the line about being complete not if Guru returned, but if he never left. We change when the people we love leave us, even temporarily. A reunion is a reminder of being whole, it's not actually becoming complete again. I'm glad that GPT didn't let me leave on that downer ending, though. Apparently, her asking Gorl about himself is enough to count as "experiencing" life rather than observing, but it doesn't seem like enough. But that's probably, like, Foo, I can't tell the difference.
Alright, onto the 1600-word version!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment