The Grave Digger’s Manifesto - a peek inside my writing process
I started working on a new short story last night, and I figured I’d open the door and give you guys a peek as to how I write. This is a totally unedited first writing session, copied and pasted as-is for you to check out. This particular story started out with nothing more than a title “The Grave Digger’s Manifesto”. There was no character, no scenes… nothing beyond that title. But I really love the title, so I figured the only way to make it into something was to start it. So, here you go — the start. What will it become? I have no idea. And that’s what I love about writing. It is pure creation!
The Grave Digger’s Manifesto
By: Stephen Lindsay
Removing an elderly woman’s pearls is no easy feat. It takes precision timing and a steady hand. Just gripping and yanking it not advised. For one, most good sets of pearls don’t have a clasp, so if you just rip them free, they’re going to break.
And let’s be honest – digging out individual pearls from the satin folds in the bottom of a casket is much more of a headache than it’s worth.
The best method for pearl extraction is to slip one hand under the old bird’s neck and gently lift her head. Then, with your other hand, you slide the pearls up and over.
Of course, this method is not without its own perils and pitfalls. For one, it takes a strong stomach to lift the head of someone in the midst of eternal rest. You’d think it would be the feel of their skin that would cause the hairs on your neck stand up and your sphincter to shrink.
Not true.
The truly horrify part of a corpse is its hair. And when said corpse is an old lady, the hair is even worse. Part of a mortician’s job is to ensure that grandma’s dead flesh looks vibrant and what’s left of her hair isn’t matted to her skull. With the skin, layers of caked on make-up do the trick. With the hair, it’s typically a combination of spray, gel, and sculpting wax. The hair becomes an impenetrable helmet, able to withstand a full day under the fluorescent lights of a funeral parlor showing room.
When following the lift-and-slip method for extracting the pearls, there’s always a chance that they could get caught in the hair. This is typically the time to cut your losses and move on. Untangling such a mess is nearly impossible. A few Fossors carry a pair of scissors for just such an occasion, but something about giving a dead old lady a cheap, barbershop haircut feels… wrong. Of course, it’s better than simply yanking on them until they come free. More often than not you’re going to find clumps of hair and bits of scalp mixed in with the pearls. And that, my friends, is a hard necklace to sell.
Well the tangle does take place, its best to take a step back, close the casket, and walk away. Just another toll for the ferryman.
Pearl necklaces aren’t the only prize to be won when playing the burial box lottery. Not be a long shot. There are all manner of watches, jewelry, and trinkets. Stuff animals, musical instruments… you name it. If somebody once loved it, it’s going to find its way into that casket with them. But there’s something about a pearl necklace — something that feels like a treasure just waiting to be found. Whatever the allure, Fossors are never happier than when they come across a nice, long rope of pearls.
There was ways to hedge your bets. If you’re burying a Eunice or a Gertrude or an Eleanor, for example, there’s a good chance that she’s pushing 80. Names like that haven’t been in fashion since Hitler was using a tiny comb to keep his ‘stache neat and tidy. And one thing that almost all old ladies have in common is the love for a nice set of pearls. Diamonds and other precious gems get passed down to daughters and granddaughters, but pearls invariably make the final trip with their owner.
Do all Fossors pilfer the dead? Of course not. Some are content to merely dig their ditches and deposit their freight. Ashes to ashes and all that shit. Perhaps they feel a spiritual connection to their task. Or maybe it’s the understanding that they’re committing one to their final resting place, and with such knowledge comes a sense of responsibility. Maybe they’re morally opposed to stealing.
Me? I’m morally opposed to living on a grave digger’s wages. I feel a spiritual connection to paying my rent. I’m weighed down by the burden of knowledge that comes from tossing shovel full after shovel full of fresh earth over such valuable bounties.
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