lbh: changed father to guitar player, made allusion to italy, where the

first six strings were invented around this time

4 files changed, 28 insertions, 7 deletions

diff --git a/build.py b/build.py
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc1788f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/build.py
@@ -0,0 +1,18 @@
+import sys, re
+
+def remove_comments(source):
+    """
+    Returns 'source' minus docstrings.
+    """
+    comments = re.findall(r"'''[s\S]*?'''", source)
+    print(comments)
+    #return out
+
+
+filename = '%s' %(sys.argv[1])
+output  = '%s' %(sys.argv[2])
+with open(filename, newline='') as f:
+    content = f.read()
+    content = remove_comments(content)
+    with open(output, 'w') as file_object:
+        file_object.write(content)
diff --git a/ideas.txt b/ideas.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b1676ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/ideas.txt
@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+I dreamed a short story about a young girl who falls out of the sky and lands, along with a row of seat from an airplane, in a couple's backyard. The woman rescues her and befriends her and eventually takes her to the airport to re-unite her with her family, but then she's already with her family and when the woman looks back to the girl she brought with her she's not there and we're left wondering was it a dream, was it not a dream. Is the woman mentally ill? Is she being gaslighted by everyone? There is no way to no. There was, in my dream, something deeply unsettling, disturbing even about the ending, a kind of gothic horror to it that I think would be very hard to do well, but if I did pull it off, would be pretty good.
diff --git a/lbh.txt b/lbh.txt
index 80a5ceb..66cca97 100644
--- a/lbh.txt
+++ b/lbh.txt
@@ -387,9 +387,11 @@ Kobayashi leaned back against a stack of driftwood and packed his pipe. "This co
 
 Kobayashi grunted. "True." 
 
-Aunt Māra leaned forward and stirred the fire until a log caught and flame flickered orange light on all their faces. Lulu and Henry were asleep, their heads in Aunt Māra's lap. Birdie yawned. Her father looked over at her. "You got us all serious Birdie, should I pull out the fiddle, lighten up the night?"
+Aunt Māra leaned forward and stirred the fire until a log caught and flame flickered orange light on all their faces. Lulu and Henry were asleep, their heads in Aunt Māra's lap. Birdie yawned. Her father looked over at her. "You got us all serious Birdie, should I pull out the guitar, lighten up the night?"
 
-She surprised herself by saying no, that she was tired. She gathered up her quilts and walked up the rise of the dune, away from the fire and lay down in the sand, spread layers of quilt over her until she could feel a cocoon of warmth begin to form around her. She laid her head back and looked up. The dusty spray of the Milky Way spread across the sky. The hunter stood tall and strong, his bow ever at the ready. He must be with us she thought, he must be Alban. Maybe he too is looking for a place to be who he is, a place he can hunt and run free. As her eyelids drooped the stars seemed to gather up, and pull together, to rain down around her and keep her safe and warm, beside their brother the sea, where she was free.
+She surprised herself by saying no, that she was tired. Besides, there was too great of a chance he would play the sort of lonely sad songs that his guitar seemed to like on quiet evenings like this one.
+
+She gathered up her quilts and walked up the rise of the dune, away from the fire and lay down in the sand, spread layers of quilt over her until she could feel a cocoon of warmth begin to form around her. She laid her head back and looked up. The dusty spray of the Milky Way spread across the sky. The hunter stood tall and strong, his bow ever at the ready. He must be with us she thought, he must be Alban. Maybe he too is looking for a place to be who he is, a place he can hunt and run free. As her eyelids drooped the stars seemed to gather up, and pull together, to rain down around her and keep her safe and warm, beside their brother the sea, where she was free.
 
 ## Chapter 4:  Among the Stumps
 
@@ -1236,11 +1238,11 @@ Tamba continued to stare off at the eastern horizon. "I do not know," he said fi
 
 ---
 
-The cool continued the next day. After dinner that night her father pulled out his fiddle and Tamba joined in with some driftwood rasps he'd been working on. The fiddle and percussion dueled and danced with each other in Birdie's head, first her father leading then Tamba stepping to the front, stomping with his foot to add bass to his scratch and clack percussion.
+The cool continued the next day. After dinner that night her father pulled out his guitar. Aside from his chronometer and sextant, the guitar was Papa's most prize possession. He'd found the instrument in Wanderer's hold the day they'd found her drifting. He hadn't know what it was. The first time he tried playing it he'd used a bow. Then one evening in a coffee house in Boston he'd met an Italian man playing one in tk square. The man didn't speak much English and her father spoke almost no Italian, but the man had managed to show him a few things and her father just made up the rest. Usually he played lonesome songs, songs that made Birdie feel an ache in her chest though she could not really say why, but sometimes, when other instruments were around he did what he called, going a little crazy with it, and strummed and plucked the strings until lively, bouncing, rhythms you could dance to came out of it. Tonight Tamba joined in with some driftwood rasps he'd been working on. The guitar and percussion dueled and danced with each other in Birdie's head, first her father leading then Tamba stepping to the front, stomping with his foot to add bass to his scratch and clack percussion.
 
 Auntie Māra danced with Uncle Cole, her braid twisting back and forth, her feet light on the sand. The music found a pattern and the dancers hooked arms like the instruments and began to turn each other. Henry came rushing in and they broke apart their dance and both reached down to each take one of Henry's arms and they began to turn in the circle, Henry pushing them ever faster. Papa picked up on it, bringing his playing in line with the increasing speed of the dance until all of them were frantically spinning and finally spun apart, spilling into the sand. 
 
-It was late by the time fire died down and Papa traded his fiddle for his pipe. Henry was curled up against Lulu, already asleep. Birdie lay on the other side of Lulu, closest to the fire. She liked feeling the cool sand against her arm, the heat the fire on her back. She closed her eyes and began to drift toward sleep. In the background her father and aunt and uncle and Tamba continued to talk in lower tones. Birdie slept for a minute but woke up at some point to hear her uncle still talking. 
+It was late by the time fire died down and Papa traded the guitar for his pipe. Henry was curled up against Lulu, already asleep. Birdie lay on the other side of Lulu, closest to the fire. She liked feeling the cool sand against her arm, the heat the fire on her back. She closed her eyes and began to drift toward sleep. In the background her father and aunt and uncle and Tamba continued to talk in lower tones. Birdie slept for a minute but woke up at some point to hear her uncle still talking. 
 
 She drifted in and out of sleep still until she heard her uncle say with conviction in his voice, "I want to come with you this year when you leave." She woke up completely. She could almost picture the surprised on Papa's face. It probably matched her own she thought.
 
diff --git a/lbh2.txt b/lbh2.txt
index ff6493a..ba2f9f3 100644
--- a/lbh2.txt
+++ b/lbh2.txt
@@ -29,13 +29,13 @@ As Wanderer crested the wave Henry vaulted up the rest of the ladder and landed
 
 "Henry!"
 
-"Papa". 
+"Papa!" He threw his arms around his father as he did every morning.
 
-"Good morning son! Fine sailing this morning. You want the helm?"
+"Good morning son. Fine sailing today. You want the helm?"
 
 Henry turned around and looked forward. The water was a gray green color, white foam cresting the top of the waves rolling down toward them. The sail was reefed, probably more than it needed to be. "Sure, papa." Henry grabbed the wheel.
 
-"good boy, steady as she goes. I'm going to give her a bit more sail."
+"Good boy. Steady as she goes. I'm going to give her a bit more sail."
 
 Henry felt Wanderer shudder and shimmy as she road up and over the waves, but he kept her pointed downwind, in line with the swells as much as he could, though there was a sideswell as well that tried to push her to port every third or forth wave.