Pumpkin Stories

Yesterday afternoon, our writing group gathered to read our assigned stories on ‘Fear’. You can read my great literary offering on my October 31st posting. Hallowe’en seemed a great time to write about fear. After each of us read our very different stories. Some were based on true incidents. Some, like mine, were complete fiction. All had a different focus on the same topic. Before coffee and goodies, our host gave us a writing exercise to complete in ten minutes. We were to write from the perspective of the pumpkin in the Cinderella fairy tale. Here is my offering ~ pecked out on my cell phone. 

Pumpkin Perspective - in ten minutes

I was sitting alone in a field - well not really alone - because it was a field of pumpkins. Hallowe’en had come and gone. Those of us left were misshapen or too small or not the right shade of orange. We were destined to be fed to the pigs and horses. It was a lovely clear night - quiet and moonlit, fireflies all around. Curiously one of them seemed to be growing bigger, shining with a blue light. Then I felt a poke just at the base of my stem. The next thing I knew I was as big as the farmer’s cottage. I had been hollowed out and decorated more beautifully than any of my friends. And I had wheels. Not just any old wagon wheels but fancy carriage wheels. It was a night to remember. Once I’ve been made into pumpkin pie all my memories will be sweet and spicy mush.

Once home, I realized that I had not opened this 10 minute piece with my planned stem from the word PEACE: Equal differences….  So I have revised and edited this piece to a) start with Equal differences and b) attempt a bit more detail. Here is my revised and edited piece.

Pumpkin Perspective - revised

Equal differences, even in pumpkins, can be found in any old farmer’s field. For instance, when I’m sitting alone in a farmer’s field, looking at all my pumpkin buddies I can see all our differences. Some of us grow lopsided, some stay small only good of decoration, some grow huge and some are just ordinary - but we’re all orange. Bright orange, kind of green or pale. One night, I was sitting alone in a small field of pumpkins. Those of us left after children from the village had come for pumpkins that would become jack o’lanterns were misshapen or too small or not the right shade of orange. Those of us left behind were destined to be fed to the pigs and horses. This particular night turned out to be a really special night. It was just after Hallowe’en on a lovely clear night ~ peaceful and moonlit, fireflies all around. One of the fireflies was different. Curiously one of them seemed to be growing bigger, shining with a blue light. Like most fireflies, it disappeared and at the same time I felt a sharp poke at the base of my stem. The strangest feeling invaded my insides and the next thing I knew I had grown as big as the farmer’s cottage. All of my pumpkin seeds had vanished, replaced by brocaded seats. I had been decorated more beautifully than the jack o’lanterns in the village and definitely more than my field mates. And I had wheels. Not just any old wagon wheels but fancy carriage wheels. It was a night to remember. But my memories are disappearing so pardon if this story has been a bit sloppy. Once I’ve been made into pumpkin pie all my memories are just sweet and spicy mush.

“Revision is one of the exquisite pleasures of writing.”

~ Bernard Malamud, novelist