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The ties that burn
Apr. 17th, 2009 09:49 pmI was crossing the North Street bridge over the commuter rail line in Medford when an old woman walking a tiny white dog asked, "Do you have a cell phone?"
"I do," I said.
"Would you like to use it to report a fire?"
About a quarter mile to the southeast, near the Winthrop bridge, one of the tidy rectangular stacks of railroad ties beside the tracks was ablaze, belching oily black smoke into the sky. The flames were just starting to venture up the dry-grass hill towards the houses. I called the MBTA first; the guy there said, "Huh. Interesting. Um. Maybe you should call 911?" Which I did, only to be told that they already knew about it — and indeed a fire truck arrived moments later. I got to watch them spray everything down, which turned the black smoke white. And as I was leaving, I got to see a train do a double-take as it suddenly saw the smoke and vanished into it, horn blaring.
It's beautiful spring here; all the couples on the MBTA are suddenly affectionate. A young Japanese woman at the Dawes Island bus stop was dressed all in black and charcoal — black jacket, black skirt, black leather bag, charcoal hose — except the soles of her black high heels, which were cardinal red. Striking! They had much the same effect as taillights.
I did my first read-through of chapter 3 at Diesel tonight. Not bad — it's my dialogue that tends to need the most work, but I think I see how to fix it. I keep thinking of better ways to describe things, only to discover I'd already used that "better way" a few pages later.
"I do," I said.
"Would you like to use it to report a fire?"
About a quarter mile to the southeast, near the Winthrop bridge, one of the tidy rectangular stacks of railroad ties beside the tracks was ablaze, belching oily black smoke into the sky. The flames were just starting to venture up the dry-grass hill towards the houses. I called the MBTA first; the guy there said, "Huh. Interesting. Um. Maybe you should call 911?" Which I did, only to be told that they already knew about it — and indeed a fire truck arrived moments later. I got to watch them spray everything down, which turned the black smoke white. And as I was leaving, I got to see a train do a double-take as it suddenly saw the smoke and vanished into it, horn blaring.
It's beautiful spring here; all the couples on the MBTA are suddenly affectionate. A young Japanese woman at the Dawes Island bus stop was dressed all in black and charcoal — black jacket, black skirt, black leather bag, charcoal hose — except the soles of her black high heels, which were cardinal red. Striking! They had much the same effect as taillights.
I did my first read-through of chapter 3 at Diesel tonight. Not bad — it's my dialogue that tends to need the most work, but I think I see how to fix it. I keep thinking of better ways to describe things, only to discover I'd already used that "better way" a few pages later.
