The train had slowed for slightly rough track right before the lake bridge. There was a steep slope of grass and dirt that fell away from the tracks and ended in brush at the bottom near the lake’s edge.
“See,” he had said, pointing down the slope as they went by. “If we timed it just right we would hit the slope and roll. We might get hurt a little, but at least we would be off the train.”
Paula had nodded and watched the slope recede into the distance behind them, studying it the way he had hundreds of times. The train would be back at this exact point in eighteen days. They had time to think and talk about it.
On that first day, Mason had turned her out of the wind and looked her right in the eye to drive his point home. “We would be alive again. Back in the real world. And we would be together.”
Under his hands he had felt Paula shudder, either from the fear or the cold.
That had been four months ago. Every eighteen days they talked about jumping and decided against it. Paula just didn’t feel ready yet. She needed more time to think about it, to plan. She just hadn’t spent enough time on the train.
Every time around, Mason had decided to wait for her.
Mason glanced around the dark car, at all the sleeping people, and then at Paula, the faint light making her skin appear even more beautiful and soft than it really was. He stared at her for the longest time, just thinking.
He had to face facts. He was stuck on the train, just like so many others around him. He wasn’t sure, but he would bet there were many who simply died of old age on the train, never finding the courage to jump, to get on with their lives. He didn’t want to be one of those, but he was quickly headed that way.
His dad had been that way. He had never, ever, followed his dreams with anything. His fear and his wife, Mason’s mother, had made sure that he stayed in a dead-end job, working in a miserable place he hated right up to the moment of his early death.
What a waste of a life.
Before the train, before his father’s death, Mason had been doing the same thing. Getting by, existing, staying away from anything that might be risky, both in work and with women. True, he had been dreaming of bigger and better things, of his toy store, but it was the same dream he had had when he was a child.
When his father had died, Mason was thirty-two and had done nothing.
Where had all the years gone?
That day, before he had ended up on the train, he had sat in his old basement, staring at the remains of his train layout, feeling sorry for himself. He had nothing to show for the years, just as he had nothing to show now for the years on this train. Every eighteen days, he would start his path over again, following the same tracks, knowing every turn, every bump.
Around and around, waiting to gain a little courage and take some action.
Thousands and thousands of people had come on board since he had and then jumped off. He had had a number of lovers, some of whom jumped without him in the middle of the night, somehow knowing he wouldn’t jump with them.
Through college and beyond, he had had the same experience with the women he met. They wanted more from him in the way of commitment than he was willing to give them. He had been afraid of that as well. They had eventually left him, too, sometimes in the middle of the night.
Sherry, his last seatmate before Paula, had jumped on his slope. He was supposed to have jumped with her.
He had been too afraid, and instead just stood on the train and watched as she tumbled and rolled down the slope and vanished into the bushes at the bottom.
There was no sign of her eighteen days later.
The slope was coming by again today. With or without Paula, he would jump.
It was time.
Actually, it was long past time. He might fail in the jump, but he couldn’t die in this seat, without moving, without doing anything with his life.
He couldn’t die the way his father had died.
He had to at least try.
TWO
He covered Paula with one of his blankets and she murmured a soft “thanks.”
He stood and went through the double doors to the next car. It was dark, too. Running his hands along the overhead luggage rack to keep his balance in the moving car, he quickly made his way through the sleeping people and on forward until he reached the dining car.
It was still a good hour before breakfast, but the train’s staff were cleaning and setting tables when he came in. After the coolness of the coach cars, the warmth and the smell of fresh coffee in the dining car was a welcome relief.
“You’re up early,” Hank said from the waiter’s station in the middle of the car. “Coffee?” He held up a coffee pot in his giant hands.
“Thanks,” Mason said and slid into a table that wasn’t set yet. He’d been around the train long enough to know that the staff didn’t want passengers in the dining car before meal times. But he had been on board for so long that Hank, the six-foot, five-inch tall waiter, had become his best friend.
Before he had started working for the train, Hank had done a little of everything, sort of a jack of all trades. He could talk about anything and Mason loved that trait. Hank said he loved working with people, and as long as he was working in someplace where he could talk to folks, he was happy.
A couple of times, Mason had asked Hank about the train and how Hank had gotten on board.
Hank’s only answer had been that at one point or another, everyone was on the train for one reason or another. That was all he would say.
Their favorite conversation was about the toy and hobby store Mason wanted to start. As a kid, he had found safety and friendship in the local hobby store, saving his pennies and money from pop cans and later his paper route to buy a new piece for his train layout. His mother said that he sometimes spent more time in the toy store than he did at home.
Mason didn’t tell her that she was right. He loved the store more than anything, with all the promises of all the fun each toy seemed to represent.
At home, it wasn’t fun to listen to his parents argue so much. He couldn’t understand how his two younger brothers stood it. They had rooms upstairs. He at least had the basement and his train layout.
Hank slid the coffee in front of Mason and then dropped into the seat across the booth, letting his long legs stretch out into the aisle.
Mason nodded thanks and sipped the wonderfully hot coffee.
“You’re looking serious this morning.”
Mason took another slow sip and then set the cup down. “I’m going to jump today. About ten, near the bridge.”
Hank leaned forward slightly. “Going to miss you, but I think it’s for the better. Paula going to go with you?”
“She might,” Mason said.
“But she might not, huh?”
Mason took another sip from his coffee and didn’t answer.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-two when I got onto this thing,” Mason said.
“And from what we talked about, you had been doing the same thing most of the years since college?”
Mason nodded. “Now, I’ve been on this train almost longer than I can remember. Seems like a lifetime, actually. Maybe ten years or so. I’m guessing, but I lost count a long time ago, as if time means anything here.”
Hank whistled softly. “I knew it was a long time, but didn’t have any idea it was that long. So what are you going to do with this jump?”
Mason laughed. “Take a wild guess.”
Hank laughed. “Going to open that toy store finally, huh?”
“Yeah. The one I used to spend my afternoons in closed up when the owner died, about a month before my dad died. It was what I was thinking about in my parents’ basement when I ended up here. If the store is still there when I get off, I’m going to make his son an offer. If not, then I’m going to just open my own.”
“Hey, that’s great,” Hank said. “You got everything you need? Money and all that?”
Mason n
odded. “I even know the suppliers and had set up business accounts with them before...” Mason indicated the train and just shrugged. “I’m hoping I end up back the same age, at the same moment after my dad died.”
Hank just smiled and nodded his head as if that made sense.
Mason was glad Hank didn’t ask the next question. Why had it taken him so long?
From down the car came the sound of rattling dishes and pans. Hank glanced over his shoulder and then back at Mason. “You better go wake Paula and tell her what you decided. You want to give her some time to make up her mind. She might be ready, too.”
“Good idea,” Mason said and downed the last of his coffee.
They both stood at once and Mason extended his hand. “Thanks for being a friend.”
Hank shook his hand. “You’re welcome. It’s been my pleasure.”
Mason let go of Hank’s firm grip and turned to move back into the coach cars.
“Mason?” Hank said.
Mason stopped and turned back to his tall friend.
“You’ll make it. Just believe that.”
Mason smiled. “You know, for some reason, today, I actually do.”
THREE
A few minutes later he softly woke up Paula and asked her to come with him downstairs so that they could talk.
They made their way down the familiar spiral staircase and locked themselves into the small woman’s bathroom near the carry-on luggage compartment. The bathroom always smelled damp and unclean and this morning was no exception.
Paula dashed some water on her face, toweled it off, and then turned and faced him. “You’re going to jump, aren’t you?”
“At the slope,” he said. “And I hope you’ll come with me.”
“The toy store?” she asked.
“The toy store,” he said. “And my home town is a lovely place to live. And you told me you liked to ski and hike. There’s a lot of that around there. There is no more beautiful place in the entire world.”
She touched his face gently. “I know. You’ve told me a dozen times. It sounds wonderful.”
“But,” he said, “you’re not coming.”
Paula frowned. “I didn’t say that.”
“But I can tell.”
Paula took his hand, her grip warm in his cold palm. “I’ve always wanted to play music. You know that. I’ve told you all my dreams. Your home town is a small town, with no real facilities for me to help my music. I need to go to a bigger city that has a good music community and maybe even a university with a good music program.”
Mason took a deep breath and pulled her close to him. “I know that,” he said, softly. “I just hoped you would come and visit me. I think you’re ready to get your music career really going, start that group you’ve been talking about... and I want you to jump with me. That’s all.”
Paula pushed him back and looked into his eyes. Mason could see that she was fighting tears, but after a short moment she said, “You mean that, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Of course. You need to get on with your music and I need to get on with my toy store. And you know, I’ve been trying to make up my mind on this for so long that I have finally realized that I have more than enough money put away. I might be able to help you a little along the way. As long as you come and see me in my store once in a while.”
That did it. Tears ran down her face and she hugged him so hard he didn’t know if his ribs were going to break or not.
Finally, she pushed him back against the sink and held him as best she could at arm’s length. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
She smiled. “For believing in me. That was all it took. Just one person to believe in my dream. My family never did. My friends always laughed.”
Mason smiled and kissed her, her lips wet from the tears. She kissed him back, hard. Then she held him and said, “You’re going to make a great toy store owner, you know that?”
He stared at her. “Now I do.”
A few minutes later they were back at their seats gathering their things. It was going to be a rough jump, but they’d both make it. Of that, he now had no doubt.
FOUR
The bell on the front door of Toys, Trains, and Gifts jangled lightly and Mason looked up from the main counter. The woman entering was dressed in a new ski parka, with matching ski pants and hat. She had long blonde hair drifting out of the back of the ski cap and the most striking blue eyes he had ever seen. Her skin looked soft, and she had the cutest perky nose. Instantly, he felt as if he knew her. But since quitting his corporate job and opening the toy store, he had felt that about a lot of people.
But this woman was someone really special. He could tell. And it was everything he could to not go rushing over to her and make a fool out of himself.
She saw him, glanced at him twice, as if recognizing him as well, then stopped beside a rack of Hot Wheels, actually studying them as if she knew what she was looking for.
After a moment, she turned and moved over to the working HO Scale train set running in a large layout under the main window and back into the corner of the shop. It was the same layout he had designed as a kid in his parents’ basement. It took up a lot of floor space in his store, but for some reason, he had known from the beginning that it was worth it.
Now he never shut the train off, letting the cars run their course automatically with a new, state-of-the-art computer control panel. It was as if shutting it off might make him shut down his store. He had even rigged up battery backup systems to keep it going during power failures.
It turned out to be a real attraction. Late at night, when the nearby movie theater would let out, he would see people standing and just staring in his window, watching the train go through its eighteen-minute course. Sometimes they would be staring so intently, it was as if they weren’t in their bodies anymore.
Customers did that at times during the day as well. Mason had learned to just let them stare. It didn’t hurt business.
Mason watched as the beautiful woman studied the moving train for the longest time, just like he did every so often. The moment he had moved that layout from his basement to his new store and got it working again, it had seemed oddly familiar, not because he built it, but because of something else he couldn’t quite remember.
Finally, she shook her head and turned away from the train as it went in behind a mountain. She came slowly toward the counter, winding her way in and around the miniature supplies and model kits, looking at everything as she came.
He never took his gaze off her.
To break the ice, when she got close enough, he stuck out his hand. “I’m Mason. I own this place.”
He noticed again how really proud he was of those words. He was proud of his store. It wasn’t the biggest by a long ways. But it was something he was very proud of. And it was all his.
The woman smiled a huge, beautiful smile and took his hand. “I’m Paula. I’m a musician, here on regional tour with my group.” While still holding his hand, she waved her other arm around at the store. “You have a wonderful place here. It feels like I have been in here before, like I could stay forever.”
“I’m glad you like it.” For some reason he was even more pleased than usual. Her compliment felt very important to him for some reason.
She paused, seeming to not want to let go of Mason’s hand. Mason hoped at that moment that she never would.
“Have we met before?” she asked hesitantly, looking him directly in the eyes.”
“It seems to me we have,” Mason said and her look of worry lightened.
He smiled at her and went on, “But it might take lunch for us to figure out from where.”
Her smile and light laugh were so wonderful, Mason knew he would never forget them, and wanted to see and hear them a lot more.
She gave his hand one last soft squeeze and let go. “I’d love that.”
Mason turned to Hank, his six-foot five-inch tall employee and close friend, wh
o obviously must have overheard their conversation. He grinned at Mason. “I’ll guard the store, boss. You two take your time.”
“Thanks,” Mason said to Hank and winked.
Then he turned and opened the front door for Paula. “There’s this great lunch place just up the street called The Dining Car. Sound good to you?”
“Sounds wonderful,” Paula said. She took his hand and pulled him through the door into the cold winter air.
The scale model train in his store window ran along a rough mountain slope, turned and disappeared into a tunnel.
Outside, in the distance, there was the faint sound of a train whistle, but neither of them noticed.
With more than a hundred published novels and more than seventeen million copies of his books in print, USA Today bestselling author Dean Wesley Smith knows how to outline. And he knows how to write a novel without an outline.
In this WMG Writer’s Guide, Dean takes you step-by-step through the process of writing without an outline and explains why not having an outline boosts your creative voice and keeps you more interested in your writing.
Want to enjoy your writing more and entertain yourself? Then toss away your outline and Write into the Dark.
WRITING INTO THE DARK
A WMG Writer’s Guide
Part 2 of 2
CHAPTER SIX
SOME PROCESS HINTS
In this chapter, I’m going to talk about some process hints before we go any farther.
Remember, trust the process.
That takes a belief system in your own work. Of course, believing in our own work is where the critical voice hits us all the hardest. And where our wall against the critical voice is the weakest.
But writing into the dark takes a belief system in story. It takes a trust that your creative voice knows what it is doing. And it takes a vast amount of mental fight to walk against all the myths and let the fine work your creative voice has done alone and not ruin it with rewriting.
Smith's Monthly #27 Page 4