other posts in this event
introduce yourself
three facts about your work in progress
your writing space
Prompt no. 4 in About the Author August is to share a snippet of my work in progress. That is easier said than done, because this story is one I decided to put my energy into plotting rather than writing. I tend to want to write scenes that I can see very vividly and I’ll work on those until they get to maybe 2nd draft level and then I realize I didn’t develop the actual story and I get overwhelmed and pick up a new project. So in order to avoid that unproductive cycle, I disciplined myself to plot instead. I actually really enjoyed it. Seeing the scenes connect and entwine was so fulfilling and exciting. I did write a few scenes here and there but they are outdated, scrambled, and very short. It took me a wwwhiilleee to choose which one to post. A lot of them had spoilers and that's just not allowed.
I finally settled on a scene I'm not sure will even be in the completed story but I think depicts the characters fairly well. At this point, Ichabod and Caitriona decide to lure the horseman to them in an effort to determine why he is haunting Sleepy Hollow. You also see Crispin's (the horseman's) obsession with Catriona. As far as quality writing goes, I'm not in love with the way this scene is written, it's fairly straightforward and blech but I like the happenings. I like the tension, the fact that Crispin gets to show an emotion other than rage, you see the protective side of Ichy (I legitimately refer to Ichabod as Ichy throughout my notes). Hopefully it's not too dreadful.
"Can you see?" whispered Catriona. Though she hadn't yet lit the candle, she tip-toed across the room.
"Yes," Ichabod said, resting his brow on the cold wood and watching her billowing skirts as she unlatched the window. She pushed it open, letting in a crisp chill that could whip your spine into shape. She placed the stub of a candle on the sill, then halted. Ichabod shifted, his joints already complaining.
"What is it?" he asked, squinting into the treeline outside. Catriona shook her head lightly, as if she were bothered by a fly. She lifted a match to the striker. Her hand shook so hard she couldn't place it. She tried again, smudging her palm with soot. Ichabod stepped from the wardrobe. Her brown eyes glittered like freshly polished wood under her furrowed brow.
"I can't get it," she trembled, missing the box again. Ichabod draped his hand over hers. It folded like a flower closing up, but still it shook. She blinked at him as he lead her fingers to the striker and drew the match down. It spat sparks and ignited.
"You can do this, Catriona," he said, their hands still holding the match. "You've faced him before, a dozen times. And you did it alone. Now, you have me and I reckon we make a pretty good team." Caitriona's jaw clenched and she drew a breath in that sucked the flame toward her. Though there was a smudge of that wild fear he'd seen in her that first night in the garden, it was shaded with something else. Determination. "Alright, Mr. Crane," she said, leading their hands towards the wick, "a team."
The flame licked to life and Ichabod retreated into the wardrobe. He re-positioned his hand on the hilt again and again trying to anticipate the best way to charge if need be. Catriona stood at the window with her hands stitched together, breathing slow, long breaths. They waited. Through the mist it was hard to see anything but the tops of the trees and the stars. Ichabod watched more and more wink to life. The candle's wax bubbled down the sides and dried on the sill. They must have been there for over an hour, but Ichabod did not dare speak and Catriona kept her eyes on the treeline. Ichabod rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he would not come. Perhaps he was too angry with Catriona for lying to him. If that were true, it would be best to meet Abraham in the barn where they could formulate a plan. Ichabod placed a hand on the wardrobe door to open it when the stoic, solid figure of the headless horseman strode into view.
"Catriona," said Crispin. His voice was softer than Ichabod had expected. It was not rasping and pained as he had imagined. It was full of… emotion. So much so that he could imagine an expression for each of his words. "You know the light offends me," the horseman finished.
"Yes. But your darkness frightens me," answered Catriona. Ichabod was impressed by the steadiness of her voice as his own knees bobbed. She moved to pinch the flame.
"Then I would have you leave it," said Crispin, grasping her hand to stop her from extinguishing it. Catriona stood still and the headless horseman cradled her hand in his, continuing to hold it. Ichabod felt his fingers pulse against the sword's hilt. Finally, Crispin released Catriona's hand. "You lied to me," he said, quietly.
"I did," replied Catriona.
"You tore my heart out and you flaunted it in my face with that… boy."
Catriona nearly turned her head towards the wardrobe but caught herself just in time. Instead, she looked to the floor. "I was afraid," she said. There was a long pause wherein Crispin stood still as stone. His chest did not rise or fall with breath. His body did not move with any life at all.
"Wait!" He froze. "If you would only tell me what you are here for," she said, gripping his large glove. This was it. Ichabod strained his ears. "What it is you need to do, I could help you." Crispin teetered ever so slightly, as if on a precipice, towards Catriona and then to the woods. He could not have shown more confliction if he had had a face. He placed his other hand on Catriona's, cupping her wrist. Ichabod got closer.
"No need, Catriona," said Crispin, and he let her hand fall. "I do not crave heaven, for I have already experienced it through you," and in three strides back he was enveloped by the mist. The sound of Goliath's hooves pounded in Ichabod's ears, mingling with his heartbeat. Catriona turned to Ichabod, eyes wide.
"No." There was an edge to the horseman's words as he had retreated. "He's let go of all need to be good," Ichabod said.
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