BOSOX WIN!!!
Well, now that I got that off my chest I just want to spend a few moments outlining an idea I had for a short story based on a story from Frazier's "The Golden Bough" which I read a few months back. I also enrolled in this online novel writing contest. I don't know if I can write that quickly, but the pressure will definately curtail my perfectionist tendencies that I have with my writing. But I'm alos interested in the idea I have at the end of this posting. Co-op writing. Before I bengin I just want to tell everyone that I'm really enjoying this format, and the ability to interact with all of you.

"The Golden Bough" starts off with an interesting story that takes place on the edge of the lake of Nemii, in Greece. The northern edge of this lake was lined by a forest of fir and poplar. Within this forest was a small clearing, inside which existed only two things; a pear tree holding a golden fruit, and a man. This solitary figure clad in nothing but a short linen tunic and holding a short sword, paces back and forth in front of the tree. In the heat of the afternoon he stands under it's boughs, listening to the songbirds, admiring the slow, long circles of the hawk and the eagle. He watches as summer climaxes the trees burst into the autumnal fire of reds and yellows, until it dries up into the sepia tones of late fall. Carefully he gathers leaves of the tree in his cloak. When all of the leaves have fallen and the branches of his tree clatter in the silence of winter, he opens his cloak and lays a small ceremonial ceramic lamp at the base of the tree. He murmers prayers as he empties a small flask of olive oil squeezed from the fruit of the sacred olive tree planted on the Acropolis into the lamp. Lighting the lamp he turns and holds it up to the golden pear. "For Artemidis," he says slowly drawing out the words. Placing the lamp at the base of the tree he draws out his sword and drives it into the soil with two hands. A lark's slow, mournful cry echoes in the forest. Bats fly into the air with the miasmic dying of daylight only to be blown apart by the winds coming off of the lake over the naked forest and into the clearing. As the man burned the leaves he glimpsed the vague forms of nymphs, centaurs, and finally Artemidis herself through the smoke.

Winter arrives, clothing the tree in diamonds. The fleece that hangs from his shoulders gives him little comfort. His sword, red with rust, hangs limply at his side. He fights with all of his will to remain awake as much as possible. When sleep inevitably comes it is restless, filled only by dreams of lightening stretching across the sky. With winter comes the trials.

Young challengers begin arriving from the surrounding villages. The courageous confront him honorably, stating their intentions openly. With a whisper of a beard on their chins, they fall. Others, thinking themselves to be cunning, rush in during the dead of night, only to be cut down. Their blood warms his hands. Some linger at the edge of the trees, debating whether or not to approach the shivering priest. Some do, and they fall. Some try to talk to him. He responds with a dark grimace, barely visible beneath the dark locks of his matted hair. He knows that the real challengers wouldn't arrive until after the winter solstace.

They come from as far as Ithaca and wait patiently for their chance to face the man beneath the golden pear. With wonder they would watch from the woods as priest would cut down one after another of their number. With time he would fall too and another will take his place for the coming spring.

Just a short outline of a story I'd like to expand upon sometime in the future. As I said at the beginning of this post, this legend is from Frazier's venerated tome, "The Golden Bough". Maybe at some time all of us JBU'ers could get together and write a story online, each of us taking a chapter. Maybe we could do the whole Faulkner thing, with multiple views of the same event... Who knows?