I'm working on another story for my writing fiction class comming up this semester (my Alice one seems to be dieing as I speak). I'm trying to actually prepare for the class since I don't know when I'll have to present. Anyway, this new story is a work of historical fiction based around the events of James MacPhearson's life and mixed with my family tree. See, we dunno if he's the James we're decended from or not, but in my story, he is. It's possible. The story is still in it's earliest stages and even now needs tweeking. I'm not entirely happy with the title "Fiddle Strings" and I think I'm going to have the speaker introduce herself in the beginning as Chloe MacPhearson, my ancestor and possible grandaughter of James. I decided to post it and see what you think, though I'm sure no one will read it. So here ya go:
It is important that we never stop telling stories. They are what keep history alive and remind us of those who have lived before us. More importantly, they tell us things that happened that may not be recorded any other way. It is important that we never forget. In true mountain fashion, I would like to share with you a story that, like most stories, is based in fact, however it has been…enhanced to fill in the gaps left out by history books.
It all began at a wedding. The Scottish Lord William MacPhearson of Inverneshire was walking amongst the people, returning their smiles as they shared dance and food around him. It was an outdoor affair and there were so many people that it was hard to tell who was invited and who had just appeared for the free food. No one seemed to mind the intrusion however; they were too busy having a good time to notice. He made his way across the green grass and through the dancing couples to the table where the food was laid out. He began helping himself to the various cheeses when out of the corner of his eye he caught the sparkle of bracelets near the bread. He quickly shot a glance to the wrist connected to these bracelets and then to the owner. It was at this moment that his heart stopped as he stared at what he thought to be the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She stood frozen as well, but more so out of fear than amazement. Apparently he had just caught her in the act of stuffing bread into the pockets of her skirt. He broke into a smile and laughed softly, “Don’t worry my dear, I’m sure no one will notice. It is free after all.” She smiled and blushed deeply as he said this, being slightly ashamed of her behavior.