The morrim on North Salem

The morrim in North Salem

Joe drove the back roads from the farm, winding his ancient Impala around the narrow country lane, a cold beer between his knees. He passed Balanced Rock, hulking off the highway, a massive boulder sitting lightly on three small rocks. He shivered for a second. His grandmother had a saying: there’s a goose walking over your grave. Every time I drive by that damn rock, he thought.

Ignoring the ah, continuity error, this is the morrim that started it all. Sort of. I’ll leave that for another post.

I’ve actually seen another morrim, out here in Texas. And this is one of those things that you look back and say, ‘yeah, I’ve become a little bit too immersed in this fantasy world I’ve created.’ See, we were driving out to a vacation cabin in the Hill Country. As we wound along the Guadalupe River, crossing and recrossing the serpentine river, there was a giant boulder smack in the middle of the river. I mean, it was the size of a house. As it happened, there is a lost scene in Gordath Wood in which Lynn and Crae come across a morrim in the middle of a river, which I wrote before seeing the one in the Guadalupe. And as we passed it, I thought, ‘huh. I didn’t know they were that big.’

Any morrim out there by you? They don’t have to be glacier morrim, dragged to rest on the top of a bunch of rocks. Send me your pictures and tell me where you found them.

And just be careful when you walk in the woods. You never know where you will end up.


1 Comment

J. Kathleen Cheney · October 3, 2009 at 10:57 am

You know, I haven’t run across one here….but I’ll keep my eyes open.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related Posts

the writing life

Introducing…The Sisters Mederos

I am so happy and excited to announce the debut of my latest novel, The Sisters Mederos, coming out from Angry Robot Books in April of 2018. Regular readers of my blog will recognize the Read more…

observations

Complicated

Because the male gaze is crippling and demeaning. (That man in the sportscar. I was twelve.) Because the male gaze is a powerful drug, a pure hit. (That black dress, I walked like a goddess Read more…

observations

What the Dickens, Stephen King!

I just saw IT. And a few days ago Jack Conner reminded me that it was Stephen King’s birthday. Whereupon I commented that King is the Charles Dickens of our time. Some writers are meant Read more…