This is day 17 for me in @dragosroua's 30 day writing challenge. Today I have another episode in the Notes From an Amateur Writer series.
ON THE SHOULDERS OF GIANTS
I am in the process of reading the biography of Jimmy Page, written by Martin Power. It is a voluminous book, as is fitting for a life as rich and varied as Jimmy's. There is a lot I could talk about from his life story, and the details I am learning as I read through it. But what I wanted to concentrate on was one specific element of it; one story that sprang to mind, and it's significance for story telling.
In the chapter that was discussing Led Zeppelin's fourth album (which actually has no title, but is usually referred to IV, or Runes, or 4 Symbols) there is a discussion on the final song of the album – an old blues number titled 'When the Levee Breaks'.
It was first written back in 1929, as a result of the Great Mississippi Flood in 1927. It detailed the after effects of that particular tragedy, and how people's lives were impacted. It was first recorded by Kansas Joe McCoy and Memphis Minnie, and over the subsequent decades was given new life by a variety of artists. The most famous of which is Led Zeppelin, as mentioned earlier.
It tells a story in only a few words. Set to music, and passed down over the years, retold or resung by new story tellers along the way. It got me thinking about whether an author could approach a retelling; 'record' his own version, so to speak? This is my attempt at a 2017 version of When the Levee Breaks; but with words and no sound.
The lyrics to the song can be found here
Led Zeppelin's version of When the Levee Breaks
WHEN THE LEVEE BREAKS
"Been too long, I tell you. Been too long now." Jacob sniffed the air, held his hands to the heavens. He searched the sky for a sign, for a change. "No change up there. Just darkness." He hung his head, eyes filled with uncertainty.
"Darkness up there, rain down here. Been too long, for sure" Missy responded, but her words added nothing new. She knew it. Regretted speaking, but comfort was needed. She could see Jacob starting to succumb. It wasn't just the weather. The numbness of body, the fatigue of chill winds, driven through bone and soul. The howling cry of a demon child who refuses to die.
Death was all around them. Seeping into the ground, into the drowned earth, poisoning life's breeding ground, one drop at a time. One pelting, fierce drop at a time. One after the other. They stung the body, driving nails into their skin like a crucifixion for all their unknown sins.
Missy thought of those she knew from before the rains. Those she knew who were now dead. Why them, why not everyone? There was no rhyme nor reason. Life had clung to them, a ray of light casting itself into the darkness. But there was darkness all around. And so little light.
"We have to leave this god forsaken place Missy. We have to go. There's nothing here no more. Not for us."
Missy stared, blankly. These were true words Jacob spoke. She knew it. It was time to go. Perhaps even too late now, even for them. All around, oppression, soullessness, darkness; blankets of water flooding down from the firmament above. Drowning out all that knew life. Until its very last breath.
The heavens thundered around them. A beat drowning out their thoughts. Drowning out their fears. A marching tune, played by God himself. Was God taunting them, as he threw the daggers at them, deep into their insides? Or was God driving them on, lighting a fire under them? Move, he says. Keep moving, my people. Missy thought she could hear the voice of God. Booming through the clouds. Thundering towards them. But she wasn't really sure. Perhaps it was the wind. Perhaps her mind. It can play tricks; lead one astray.
Jacob and Missy stood, two forlorn figures, silhouetted against the trickle of light in the far distant. Silently observing the flood waters that held all they once knew. The burial ground for a past that had overstayed its welcome. Move on it shouted at them. Get away the waters hissed at them. Before you also lie beneath. Upon the levee they looked. Upon the last high ground. The only high ground. And they could see it, away to the south, away from where they stood. The gap, the break, that had invited in the demons and hounds of hell. Invited Death himself into their midst. And he had come galloping in, and set up home, all around them, in every direction they cast their eyes.
"Where we gonna go?" Missy asked. This had been their home. All that they had known. Why would God drive them from this place? Like this, like the plagues, and the apocalypse?
"Up north, perhaps." Jacob had no idea. He plucked the air for suggestions, for any lingering stray sense of hope. Up north is where people had gone before. Nothing down south. Just the waters, and the graves.
"To Chicago?" Missy didn't know what else was up north. She had never been away from the Delta. From her little part of the Delta. Friends and family had been there. So why would she need to leave? But she no longer had anyone else. It was just her and Jacob. No more roots here. Water has washed them all away. Lifted them up and spat them out. Everyone was telling them to leave. Waters, God, dead loved ones; be gone with you. Nothing but death here now. And they were listening. Reluctantly, through the daggers of hate spitting upon them from all around, they marched on. Proudly, stubbornly.
In the distance, at intervals around them, silhouettes began moving. Moving north, all of them. Life was emerging from the sodden ground, rejected by the hounds of death, thrown away by those who had laid waste to the world they had all once known. Sporadic signs of life. Small rays of light glistening on the dark waters surrounding them. In unison they moved, hunched over, towards a new world. A new destiny.
They were no longer welcome here. The levee had seen to that.
All images used with permission, and sourced from Unsplash.com.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you liked it then please like, comment, and follow.
Notes From an Amateur Writer blog series:
Notes From an Amateur Writer #1 - The Search For Inspiration
Notes From an Amateur Writer #2 - A Call to Action: Interacting With the World Outside of Me
Notes From an Amateur Writer #3 - Facing the Challenge
Notes From an Amateur Writer #4 - The Soundtrack to Grief and Loss
Notes From an Amateur Writer #5 - Music as a Catalyst for Imagination: Jimi Hendrix's Little Wing
Notes From an Amateur Writer #6 - The Stories All Around Us
Notes From an Amateur Writer #7 - Introducing Nomad [A Cyberpunk Mystery in the Making]
Notes From an Amateur Writer #8 - The House at the Edge of the World
Notes From an Amateur Writer #9 - Making Peace With My Kindle
Notes From an Amateur Writer #10 - Learning the Craft of Story Structure
Notes From an Amateur Writer #11 - Adults Sit at the Big Table, Children Sit at the Small Table
Notes From an Amateur Writer #12 - The Time I Won a Lego Competition
Notes From an Amateur Writer #13 - Learning to Fly
Notes From an Amateur Writer #14 - The Tucker 48: Face to Face With a Million Dollar Vehicle
Short Fiction:
Bang Bang You're Dead
I Have No Name and I Must Scream
The Last Book Store
The Judge
The Man In The Mirror